The messenger came at such speed that the guards considered if they had authority to stop him. Clearly something was on fire or enemies attacking.
"I come", he gasped for air, "on behalf of captain Beleg. I must see Thingol at once."
They knew him and didn't invoke the formalities.
"Go. Your coat is ripped, though."
Thingol rose and walked to meet him.
"Apologies, highness, for rushing to your halls breathless. Three great eagles landed on the bridge over Esgalduin. They came bearing Luthien and Beren. He is barely alive."
"But she?"
"She's well, but very worried about his and our future. She took a Silmaril from Morgoth. His hand was ripped off by a werewolf."
"Send horsemen and a wagon to fetch them," Thingol said to the messenger. "Chancellor, dispatch a messenger for healers. I will find Melian."
"They already got a wagon. It should be here in fifteen minutes."
He dismissed the messenger, who bowed and ran. The chancellor hurried off while Thingol made good pace to Melian's favourite garden, his bodyguards in tow. She wasn't there and he sent two to find her.
Going to meet the wagon, he met Luthien already walking towards the healer's halls, carrying Beren.
"Let them carry him, surely you are tired."
"Thank you, I am."
One of Thingol's guards stretched out his hands and accepted Beren from Luthien's arms.
"I'm sorry for ignoring your command, father, but I had reasons. I overestimated myself, yet I also underestimated myself, and of course, your command was unjust."
She'd never been one to beat around the bush, Thingol knew.
"I have realized it wasn't fair. I have felt fresh love, back a long time ago, and it doesn't bend to opinions of parents, kings and kin. I've come to regret issuing my command. I heard you got the Silmaril. Are we officially at war with Angband, instead of how it's been before?"
"I don't know. We saw an army march south already before we entered Angband. Finrod prepares for war."
"Finrod has let me know. I didn't allow his envoys into Doriath to recruit, but sent a wagon train of materials he wanted. He wants strange things indeed. What he does with the excrement is the greatest puzzle for me."
"He makes blasting fire from it, no doubt. I stopped in Nargothrond on our way to Angband. Beren tried without me first, together with Finrod and a small company of guards. The lord of Tol Sirion stopped them and almost took them captive, but Finrod sang to the river and the island started falling apart. Before that however, Mairon utterly pillaged Beren's mind for information. They escaped downstream and after resting, we tried again with Beren. We met one of Turgon's men and he helped us. We met a werewolf who turned out to be one of the Avari and she could change form, but guess who had trapped her in the wolf form... we freed her and she gave us a host of information about Mairon. We met dwarves and they helped us travel undetected, but I cannnot tell you how, for I swore to keep their secret. In the end, I disguised Beren as Mairon and myself I cast as his vampire messenger named Thuringwethil. We walked in like good confidence artists are supposed to. It all went wrong when we walked back out, though."
"I will have questions about Finrod's ways and their implications later, can you help me with them?"
"I'll do my best to answer. Do you want the Silmaril now or later?"
"Let's get over with it, so we can put that behind us."
"You must return it to Feänor's sons though, please remember."
"I can't see how they deserve it."
"I cannot emphasize this enough. That stone is accursed. Let it not linger long in your hands. It's been in the iron crown."
"A good point. I'll probably negotiate a little before I yield it up."
Melian was already in the infirmary and healers were ready.
"Did you know in advance, beloved?," asked Thingol.
"I felt the eagles cross our borders, and I guessed their business soon," Melian replied.
Luthien summarized what had befallen to Beren, what she'd attempted to do, and how they'd returned to Doriath.
"When we landed, he didn't awaken any more. I fear the mountain air has worsened his condition greatly."
Healers and Melian immediately examined Beren.
"I'll awaken him, for he needs to drink. We may have to amputate more of his hand, however. See these tissues," she pointed. "They stretch a good deal upward from the wound, and they're a conduit for its spread."
"It won't be long until it takes hold elsewhere in his body, we need to mix the most potent antiseptic ointment," a healer noted. "His kidneys's are probably heavily strained, you should support their function."
"Please wait with amputation at least until tomorrow, please try medicines first," asked Luthien.
"I agree. Morning is a bad time to operate, humans have a strict rhythm that their bodies follow. The same deed at the wrong time can bring needless harm. If we can't stop it by tomorrow noon, tomorrow afternoon is the time to operate," deemed Melian.
They started working on him. The wound was flushed with crystals dissolved in water that disinfected where they reached, dressed with ointment made of plants and special fungi that set back any other microbial life.
Melian sent her spirit coursing through his body, exploring it thorougly, finding more spots where infection was taking hold. His immune system wasn't dividing its resources wisely, so she tugged it in the right direction, shutting down needless reactions and strengthening needed ones. Where she believed that wouldn't suffice, healers took pre-emptive action. Where lesions of infection neared the skin, they tried to dissolve substances through skin to tilt the balance in his favour. Some places could be only reached through bloodstream, though. The way to the bloodstream was through the stomach.
"Let's wake him."
It proved hard. Luthien tried and couldn't make contact with his mind. Beren had drifted too far off into the wasteland beyond sleep. Melian tried. When she reached his consciousness, however, Beren felt a pattern he had felt before, and fled from her.
"Don't go, I mean no harm to you!"
"Who are you?!"
"I am Melian. You are in Doriath."
"You could be someone else."
"You are safe. You made it to Menegroth. You're in the infirmary. Please remember where you stopped, and come back to Luthien's company. The road there is hard, but she awaits you. We need to treat you. You need to drink the healers' medicines and plentiful water. Then you can sleep. Please, take my hand, follow me."
He approached her with care, doubting if she was real. She felt real and her touch on his mind was different. Mairon had pulled at every memory, throwing everything he'd read carelessly in disarray. Melian didn't distract him or dive into his past. He accepted her guidance and support, and undertook the effort to awaken. It was... he could only describe it as digging his way up through stiff and heavy snow.
Beren had been hit by an avalanche in mountains in his youth. Three of his hunting companions had remained under snow. Beren had fought his way to the surface and passed out there. Awakening instead of freezing to death had been so hard. In the company of Melian's spirit, who assured she wouldn't leave him behind, and could awaken him with hard stimulants if nothing else worked, the struggle to make his broken body awaken was less formidable. Fear of failure was removed, only effort was needed. Instead of stumbling in the dark, he knew the way, tried again and again, and each time he found an obstacle, she would clear it from the way.
Finally he opened his eyes and started coughing. Luthien sighed with relief.
They immediately gave him a potion that ensured he'd stay awake for a little while. After that came many other liquids, some to fight infection, some to set his balance of salts and water right, some to nourish and give energy selectively to him, not the disease.
"Please heal," Thingol asked. "I haven't always wished you well, but it's about time I started doing that. You've done far more than you should have, and you've lost too much already."
"Thanks," he said and fell into a restless sleep.
The guards posted by Elemmakil didn't challange Glorfindel for a password.
His voice was sufficient to recognize him.
Ecthelion came to the fourth gate with a second horse in tow and they talked of what could be talked publicly on streets, riding calmly towards the island of white rock in the middle of the valley. From that island rose two further islands, rightmost a little higher. Once a rocky peak of Amon Gwareth, stretching out from a glacial lake between mountains, it now accommodated Turgon's store-rooms and armories. On its top were the king's dwellings, most notably the tower. From Amon Gwareth to the neigbouring rocky hill there went a long and slender bridge. It was the perfect spot for kids to fly kites, or lovers to watch the warm sunsets of summer evenings.
Rising nearly a hundred steps beyond the level of the bridge, the king's tower was a marvel of careful engineering. It was sleek and strong, yet beautiful in form.
When they reached up there, Turgon's advisor Galdor went to arrange a meeting of the Council while Duilin offered refreshments. His dwellings were nearby and Glorfindel accepted. Weary of the months of travel, he was happy to bathe and play a match of chess. Urgency however pressed him onward and his appetite was less than he expected.
After an hour, couriers had done their share of message-passing. The Council would assemble in the evening, so Glorfindel could brief them about the world around.
Eleven members belonged to the Council, each for one House of Gondolin's elves. Turgon presided as king, but listened carefully to advise of his sister Aredhel, to Penlod, Galdor, Duilin, Ecthelion, Rog, Salgant and Egalmoth. Glorfindel wasn't an active member as his time was spent traveling distant lands, but when present, he represented the House of the Golden Flower, otherwise replaced by Enerdhil the jewel-smith.
The newcomer to the Council was Tuor. He was a human and stood at the table for all those without a House behind them, and there were numerous such people in the city, so some of them had to represent them.
Instead of Penlod there came Pengolodh, for his father was a healer and out in town receiving a birth, a duty which didn't bend well to planning. Glorfindel was glad to see him present. Searching for him and asking if he'd help would otherwise take time.
Doubt never existed that Turgon had the last word, but the table of the Council was round - who presented their case, stood at the center of the circle.
Thus, when all were in assembly, it was Glorfindel who abandoned his place and walked to the center.
"My colleagues, my lord... it is often that I have arrived and resentfully dragged myself here, to make news of nothing catch your slightest interest. Today, regretfully I must say that interesting times have started."
After his description of what he'd seen, questions were quick to follow. So many raised their index finger that Pengolodh seized his quill and offered to keep track.
"Please outline Finrod's mechanism and conclusions in more detail," Turgon asked.
"To explain it otherwise, a set of machines he's built, of which I brought along a smaller copy, constantly record the motions of the earth itself. They record an elfling casting a rock into the canyon. They record a landslide, a dam breaking, natural earthquakes but also Mairon messing with earth when he builds things. Finrod could monitor the rise of Angband comfortably from Nargothrond, and survey activity on Tol Sirion without leaving home either. He believes his machines can alert of a dragon approaching over a distance of tens of miles."
"Provided the dragon walks. We have these reports, you know," interfered Duilin.
"The reports are pretty much confirmed," said Rog. "Your magpie didn't imagine things. I asked some miners to take time and they went up to talk with eagles, bearing food and helpful materials for nesting. The eagles received such attention well. They've seen it too. It flies clumsily, but regardless, it does fly. Its flight is a storm, its landing is an earthquake too, its breath when angered is a forest fire... and if such a creature were to land on our city, none of Finrod's machines will help us know in advance. I say we phase out wooden buildings and dwell deeper underground. It helped the dwarves. Finrod likes his mountain. Thingol dwells in a thousand caves."
That's when Galdor wanted word.
"The direction of your plan is sound. Reworking all that's built, however... it's a huge task. Centuries are needed. Meanwhile, an attack may come in years. I suggest building paths. Secure paths that run underground, but fall short of rebuilding Menegroth or Nargothrond here. Paths that lead to the mountains. Paths that lead to your mines, to the springs. Even paths to Cissaegrim. These can be built in years."
"They can," Rog admitted.
"It would be a prelude to abandoning the city," Turgon mentioned without adding that he'd not. Gondolin was dear to him.
"I'm pained to hear these considerations," Tuor said, "but all cities of my kind have fallen. That three large elvish cities stand against such might, is a wonder to me, but should we not... be prepared? I don't think Ulmo would appear to bluff."
"I trust his word," Turgon said, "but Ulmo had a task for me too, and my task is not fulfilled. I'm fine with rebuilding, but if we start to abandon Gondolin, my task will forever be neglected. I cannot bear to know that. Gondolin wasn't only meant to be a safe haven. It had a role to play in the coming storm."
"As has Nargothrond," said Glorfindel, "and Finrod's certain that the strike will land on him. They are already evacuating. People with families to raise are opting to go elsewhere, at least for a while. Sirion is popular among the Noldor, while Sindar head to Menegroth. And that brings me to his proposal."
"I'm not qualified to evaluate his proposal," admitted Turgon. "Will anyone of you stand up and take this challenge?"
Rog tilted his head. "My intuition says it's feasible, but I'm poor at math. I'm ready to help doing it, however."
That's when Pengolodh stood up.
"I can verify his calculations. We can even make miniature models first. I propose we drop the idea of dropping anything from the king's tower, however. It is insuficient and seems barbaric, even if it would be necessarily so. Instead, from the tower we can signal to the mountains via mirror during day, via fire during night. In the mountains, Rog's deepest mine-shafts can be used to send a message via earth."
"But didn't Rog say that carving a shaft a thousand steps deep was unfeasible here?" inquired Glorfindel.
"Infeasible here in the valley, as water will break in," Rog corrected. "Entirely possible in the mountains however, just like you describe of Finrod's mountain. We actually happen to have a shaft almost eight hundred steps in depth. Let's improve it a little."
What Finrod had proposed was dropping ten tons of streamlined weight by one kilometer onto rock, and repeating that three times. His alternative suggestion of collapsing three chambers in a mine was off the table at the moment, as Gondolin had no experience with dwarvish blasting powders. Following instructions to start their safe making would be slow.
If the project worked, though, the two cities would be linked by a means of signaling that nobody could prevent, and that could carry a message from Nargothrond to Gondolin in seconds, even if the message meant one thing: being under attack.
The meeting carried on. Tuor had to excuse himself soon as he grew sleepy. Elves could hold meetings that lasted ten hours straight, provided that wine and salty water from the springs were on table. He could not, and neither could he let Idril wait, for she had little Eärendil to care for.
Author's note: as you observe, in this flavour the world, Aredhel either never met Eöl, or they met, chatted and went their separate ways. Or perhaps they did live together, but Maeglin lives with Eöl? Who knows. I wish I did. The House of the Mole does not exist, however.
