Erestor's Secret

Many thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers! And Elle - no, not all fluff in this one! I think there will be enough angst to keep you happy!

Title: Erestor’s Secret (6/?)
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, except for the cats. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Timeline: Gondolin, 501 of the First Age
Warning: AU
Beta: Patricia - thank you!
Summary: Ecthelion confronts Dringion, and a surprising turn of events.


Chapter 6

Ecthelion took a deep breath to calm himself, then walked into the king’s stables. The stables were alive with activity. Elves moved back and forth, currying and grooming the horses, bringing them food and water, moving horses in and out, and cleaning out the numerous stalls. He looked around and located the stable master. Approaching him, Ecthelion asked, “Who was it that held my horse this morning, Herdir, along with my brother’s and Lord Glorfindel’s?”

“Was there a problem, my Lord?” the stable master asked. “I assigned that task to Gildinon.” He pointed to a stable hand. He was not the one Ecthelion had seen holding their horses.

“It was not he who held our horses, Herdir. Whom did he pass that task on to?”

The stable master called the elf, Gildinon, over. It was confirmed that he had turned the horses over to Dringion. “I hope I did nothing wrong, Herdir. Dringion offered, and I returned to my other duties here.”

“Where is Dringion?” Ecthelion asked.

Herdir sent for Dringion. “Will you tell me what the problem is, my Lord?” the stable master asked. “If Dringion did something wrong, it is my responsibility.”

Ecthelion simply shook his head, then watched as Dringion entered the room and flinched as he saw the Lord of Fountain. “Dringion,” he said coldly. “Tell me, what made you decide to hold our horses today?”

“What….what do you mean, my Lord?” The way Ecthelion said his name sent a chill down Dringion’s spine.

“Did you think we would not recognize you, just because you left and did not wait for us to arrive?” Ecthelion removed the piece of cut girth from a pocket and held it up. “Does this look familiar to you?” Advancing toward the guard he held it before his eyes. “My brother lies dying, you spawn of an Orc!” Thel screamed at Dringion.

Dringion turned as white as the winter snows as Ecthelion’s words sank into his mind. Dear, Valar! What had he done? “I….I did not mean him to be harmed….I only wished to scare him a little….”

Herdir looked on in shock. He knew Dringion had gotten himself into trouble, but he had always been a good and faithful elf, and Herdir considered him a friend. “Dringion, what did you do?” he whispered. The other elves in the stable ceased their work and began to gather around.

“I did not mean to hurt him…..I did not mean to hurt him,” Dringion kept whispering.

Ecthelion grabbed one of Dringion’s arms and twisted it behind the guard’s back and up until a loud snap was heard. Ecthelion released the arm and stepped back, his mind seeing only the sight of his beloved brother, his red blood stark against his white face.

Groaning in pain Dringion said nothing, but dropped to his knees, his head bowed and his broken arm held in his opposite hand. He knew he deserved what Ecthelion would do to him, and did not fight back. With any luck, the Lord of the Fountain would kill him and end his torment.

Ecthelion wove the fingers of his hands together into a large fist, and swinging his arms like a club, landed the fist up and into Dringion’s face, crushing his nose. The guard crumpled to the ground. “If I broke your leg now, you would still not have all of the injuries Erestor has,” he spat at the guard. “You will come with me to our king.” He pulled Dringion to his feet; the guard swayed, and Ecthelion grabbed his unbroken arm roughly and pulled him along.

Herdir left the stables, running swiftly to the House of the Tree, in search of their Lord, Galdor. If anyone could help Dringion now, it was Galdor.

Ecthelion brought the broken Dringion to Turgon’s hall. The king’s great hall was lined with banners and standards set high in the walls, and in the center stood an enormous table lined with nearly one hundred chairs. At one end of the room was a fireplace which twenty full-grown elves could easily stand in, and at the other was a raised dais with Turgon’s chair and those of his closest advisors. The king and his advisors looked up when Ecthelion burst into the room with Dringion.

“What is this, Ecthelion?” Turgon asked in amazement, seeing one of his guards pulled along by the Lord of the Fountain and thrown to the floor. “Is it your habit now to assault the guards of my house?”

Bowing before the king, Ecthelion said, “It is not, my Lord,” and explained everything that had happened. “My sweet brother lies in mortal danger from his injuries, and I bring his persecutor to you now for your judgment, my king.”

Turgon stood and walked over to where Dringion lay, crumpled on the floor. “Is this true, Dringion?”

Dringion nodded. “Aye, My Lord King. I did not mean to hurt him…..but I cut the girth. Punish me as you see fit, my Lord.” The guard kept his head bowed and his eyes on the floor.

Turgon stood and looked in amazement at his guard, a member of his household, and walked toward the two elves. “Why would you do these things, Dringion? You have always been a good and faithful guard. Did you not love Erestor then?”

“I did not, my Lord.” Dringion’s voice was low and broken. “It was only to stop the pain in my heart that has consumed me since the one I love rejected me. I could not bear the pain….I looked for one to take the pain away, and could not bear that Lord Erestor rejected me as well. I….lost myself, my Lord, in my grief. Please, my Lord….kill me….or banish me from this city and I will let the orcs have me. I can bear this pain….this torment….no longer.”

Ecthelion was shocked by Dringion’s words, as was Turgon. The high king and the lord looked at each other, and Ecthelion shook his head, signifying he did not know of what Dringion spoke.

“So in your grief for the one you loved rejecting you, you attacked one of my advisors?”

“Forgive me, my good Lord,” Dringion sobbed out. Consumed with his grief, he drew a knife from his boot and nearly had nearly plunged it into his heart before Turgon grabbed his wrist and pulled the knife from his hand. “No….my Lord….let me die! I deserve to die! I want to die! I beg you, kill me!” Dringion’s pitiful wails and sobs tore at the hearts of all those present, even Ecthelion’s.

Galdor ran through the streets, heedless of the stares he received. His robes and hair in disarray, he burst into the king’s great hall just as Dringion was prepared to thrust the knife into his chest, and cried out, “No!” Seeing Turgon take the knife from Dringion, he eyes closed and he drew a great breath in relief. As Dringion begged to die, he advanced and knelt before the king and Ecthelion. “Please, my Lord King….Ecthelion…..I have come to beg for your mercy for Dringion. The guilt is mine….I am the cause of his grief which led to this.

“Galdor, what interest has the House of the Tree in this?” Turgon asked. “How do you bear any of his guilt?”

“In my stubborn pride, I rejected his love, my Lord….I wished for sons, and so I spurned him. But I love him, my Lord, and my foolishness has caused us this grief.” Galdor was heedless of the tears that ran down him face. “Please, my Lord, let me take him to my house. My king, Ecthelion…..I will vouch for his actions from this day, I give you my word. He was a good elf….and will be again. Or if you will not, cast me out with him, for I will not be parted from him again while I live.” As the Lord of the Tree folk waited for the king’s answer, he turned and drew the bloodied and broken guard into his arms, cradling him close. Whispering to the elf he loved, he begged his forgiveness, and mingled his tears with Dringion’s.

Turgon drew Ecthelion over to the dais, and motioned for him to be seated. Seating himself in his chair, he said, “Well, my lords, what say you to all of this? What shall my decision be? Ecthelion? What say you?”

Ecthelion sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “My Lord, an hour ago, I wanted to kill Dringion with my bare hands. Now….I pity him. And Galdor is a friend. Banishing them would not help Erestor, my Lord. Let Galdor take him home.” Ecthelion glanced back at Galdor and Dringion. “Look at them, my Lord. Dringion has suffered enough - and at my hands as well.”

The other advisors nodded in agreement. “Very well,” Turgon said, rising.

Ecthelion stood and walked over to Galdor and Dringion with the king. Galdor looked up at them, his face clothed in misery.

“You may take him to your home, Galdor. As long as Erestor recovers, Dringion has suffered enough,” Turgon said. What would happen if Erestor died, he left unsaid.

Dringion raised his head and looked at Turgon and Ecthelion. “I may leave? With Galdor?” He swallowed, and wiped his face with his hand. “Thank you, my Lord. I do not deserve this.”

“I will help you, Galdor,” Ecthelion said, helping his friend to stand.

Galdor picked Dringion up and stood him on his feet, supporting him with an arm around his waist. He wanted nothing more than to carry his beloved away in his arms, but knew Dringion would want to walk out of the room.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Galdor said to Turgon. “I promise you, you will not regret this decision.”

“Lord Ecthelion,” Dringion said, “I will not ask for your forgiveness, but I will pray for Erestor’s recovery, and when he is well, I will come and beg for his forgiveness, and Lord Glorfindel’s. I am so very sorry…so very sorry….” His voice trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Ecthelion nodded. “Come, Galdor. We will leave now, and you can take Dringion home.”

Outside the palace, Herdir waited with a horse and small wagon to drive his friend and Galdor home.

Tbc….

Gildinon – silver spark
Herdir – the master