Chains of Anghabar

 By Tyellas

Summary: Silmarillion-based. Glorfindel, purest and best of the Elves of Gondolin, clashes with the lusts and grudges of Maeglin and is blackmailed into a tainted BDSM encounter. Something breaks for both of them by the time they're through.  

Story Warnings and Notes: DARKFIC.  NC-17, slash, BDSM, graphic sex of questionable consent.  

Disclaimer: These characters and Middle-Earth are the copyright of the Tolkien estate and this fan fiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright in any way.

Thank you to beta reader Aayesha.

Feedback is welcome to Tyellas@hotmail.com  

 

"My lord Ecthelion, I meant naught ill by it! I only sought to speak as was right," Glorfindel protested.

Ecthelion looked at the second in command of his guard and shook his head. He was fond of Glorfindel, but he spoke crossly to his friend as they crossed the main plaza of Gondolin. They paused on the white stone pavement before a tiered fountain, sparkling like crystal in the sunlight. "You might have looked about before you spoke to Maeglin. Our prince is gravely offended, that you said he was too harsh in ansereg within the hearing of our king, Turgon."

"What he did to that fellow is far beyond what is meet for ansereg's trials," Glorfindel said, his face stubborn with the expression of one who knows he is good and right.

"That is the purpose of ansereg -- to deal out pain so that warriors may be strengthened and hardened. Maeglin was surpassing harsh, but he did not exceed its laws, for that hapless smith shall heal. And by your words Maeglin has taken against our Guard, the Company of the Gate of Steel. You must make such amends with him as content him. Otherwise, good luck for our Guard's soldiers getting so much as an iron pocket-knife out of the mines. Let alone having anything repaired by the smiths," grumbled Ecthelion. 

"For the Guard's sake, then," said Glorfindel, resigned. He did not think it was right that Maeglin would let a grudge between two elves stand between the work of the smiths and those who might use it. However, such was Maeglin's power in the city, through his kinship to the King and through his metal-craft, that to say so even to Ecthelion would make matters worse.

Under his steel helm, Ecthelion smiled in relief. "Well said. The news of the day will be your chance. Our King asked me to choose a messenger to ride to the mine of Anghabar with the tidings. Maeglin is there now. You are kin to Idril, and thus distant kin to him as well. It is very seemly that you be the one to tell him that Idril is affianced to good Tuor."

"As it please you," said Glorfindel. They came to the edge of the plaza, and parted with elaborate courtesy.

Glorfindel went along with a heavy heart. He was not happy with most of the changes in the Hidden City since Turgon had commanded that the gates be shut to all passage, even to messengers. Ritual and etiquette, gossip and keen tales increasingly preoccupied the safety-trapped elves. In the absence of chances for battle, the guard soldiers had turned more and more to the painful, lust-laced trials of ansereg. Glorfindel had hoped that mortal Tuor, the messenger of Ulmo, would change things with the news he brought, and lead to the city being opened to the world again. With grace, Tuor's wedding to Idril might give Tuor the power to do so. Maeglin, as prince of the city, might have swayed Turgon. But Maeglin was pleased with the status quo, for he had much power thereby.

Once Glorfindel had arrayed himself in green and taken up his flowered shield, he rode up the mountain-paths of Gondolin's valley to the iron mine of Anghabar. He saw it from well away, a broad dark pit bowled out from a foothill and paths leading up into cliff-faces beyond. The mine had been delved deep, following the seams of metal that laced stone and earth. For Gondolin hungered for steel. Maeglin's craft of divining iron and its alloys from the mountains about had made the city rich in metals. Turgon ruled Gondolin, and Maeglin bode by his law there. But Maeglin ruled Anghabar. The mine was worked in shifts by all elf-men of the city. And if Maeglin was displeased by you, you might find your name drawn for Anghabar anon.

Glorfindel drew up to the pit-opening carefully, regretting the bright mantle he had donned. The stone of Anghabar was dark and crumbling; sooty black dust spread about from the pit's rock-heaps. The miner Glorfindel queried said that Maeglin was within the greatest cave. Glorfindel tied his horse well away from the darkened water that ran in thin falls from some of the cave-mouths, and went within.

By the time Glorfindel's eyes adjusted to the dimness of cave-shadow and elven-lamp, he realized Maeglin was nearby, giving orders to the workers. Like all who worked in Anghabar, Maeglin was dressed in tall dusty boots, with no sign of office save the dark panel of his smith's leather apron. Maeglin's rough work clothes emphasized his haughty beauty, his skin as fair as Glorfindel's, his eyes and hair as black as the night of the mines around them. Glorfindel went to him, and waited to be acknowledged by the busy smith.

Maeglin saw Glorfindel from the moment he entered the cave, and his mouth curled at the irony. After Glorfindel's insult (for so he considered it) before Turgon, he had been tempted to call Glorfindel to suffer Anghabar's travails. However, there was a handful he dared not summon. Idril's kinsman had been one of them. And here the golden-haired elf had come to the iron mine on his own behalf, to stand bewildered and half-glimmering in its darkness. Amused by this, Maeglin stood silent, arms folded tight, waiting for Glorfindel to speak first.

Glorfindel, after waiting for a greeting and receiving none, knelt to speak his piece. "Lord Maeglin, well met. I come with a message for you from the city and court, having heard that you were at your valued labours here." Maeglin tilted his head, listening, so Glorfindel spoke on. "Your kinswoman, our lady Idril, is engaged to be trothplighted to the mortal lord Tuor, messenger of Ulmo and kinsman to ---"

Maeglin interrupted. "Engaged to be wed?"

"Yes, with Turgon's blessing. They will be wed less than a year hence, when…" Maeglin quit listening, sickened with shock. He had lusted for his cousin Idril long. She was ever cool to him, but she had taken no lover, and this had helped him endure his forbidden desire. At times he had wondered if she, too, had hidden a dark secret in her heart. He had seen her spending time with Tuor, but counted it at little. Idril had all but made pets of the young mortals Húrin and Huor when they had dwelt a while in Gondolin. But this! This was perverse. All his restraint, his courting of her favour, was dashed to naught by Idril's vile choice. He realized Glorfindel was speaking to him directly, and snapped, "Repeat yourself, Glorfindel: your voice is not as clear as such a messenger's should be."

"I asked if I might talk with you of a matter between us." Glorfindel eyed the curious mine-workers and smiths standing by, and said, "In private?" Maeglin turned and gestured to be followed. Glorfindel obeyed. The two walked down into the dark, then through an iron gate into a second cave. Chains hung from pulleys beside a trapdoor, with canny weights and balances to draw the iron-ore up from the depths. Two shallow trolleys sat by. This cave, unlike the other, was lit by a skylight to the open air, and the chains had a dark gleam in the thin light. As Glorfindel wandered in to stand near the slight sunlight, Maeglin closed and bolted the cave's gate. "This is the most privacy Anghabar has. Speak," he commanded.

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "I must apologize for speaking of your work of ansereg before our king, Turgon. I have heard that you are displeased thereby, and I would make amends."

Maeglin strode up and faced off with Glorfindel, the faint square of sun grey on the black floor between them. They were the same height. "You say hard words in public, Lord Glorfindel, then take them away in private. I can tell that you have little love for me, but that you love well your Guard, and would have them armed well." Glorfindel was abashed at the truth of this.

"Knave of Ecthelion! You are too goodly to be shrewd. Do not meddle in games you cannot master." Maeglin saw his shamed look, and smiled for the first time. Glorfindel waited with composed grace for Maeglin to scold him further, reddened with embarrassment, his golden hair the same hue as Idril's. Idril was lost to Maeglin, now - but Glorfindel was beholden. And there was no longer any reason to spare him. Perhaps he might succour his destroyed heart by using Glorfindel as he had pictured, in his darkest dreams, conquering Idril.

Maeglin smiled, and his look was fiery. "But be cheered. My goodwill may be regained, with deeds, not words. If you truly mean your apology, give yourself to me in ansereg. You shall not be tried beyond your measure. I will show you that from my mastery I give to each what they can bear. Then you may take fair message to Ecthelion, that our quarrel is resolved. Is it well?"

Glorfindel drew in the humid air of the cave sharply. Was this right? There was an air of punishment to Maeglin's demand. Maeglin hid his true spirit deeply, but he was telling the truth beyond doubt. Ever turned towards the good, Glorfindel thought what might be set right by his submission. Maeglin's pride would be assuaged and his beloved Guard would have what they needed. It might even bring him some new wisdom. "As you wish it, Lord Maeglin. When I ride back to the city, I shall reserve one of the chambers of ansereg, and -"

Maeglin laughed.  "When we take that sport here, Glorfindel, we do it in this very chamber. The forges of Anghabar anneal more than steel! Submit to me now," he said, eyes glittering.

"Who will be the second, for the trial's honour?" asked Glorfindel.

"I prefer this to be intimate. And I am stealing time from labour as it is. My trial, and a message, or leave now and say to Ecthelion what you will. Make yourself willing or go!" 

Glorfindel decided to trust Maeglin and his own courage. He knelt before Maeglin for the second time. "I am willing. I give myself to you in ansereg," he said, bowing his head gracefully.

Maeglin caught his breath as Glorfindel's thick braid fell forward, gleaming in the sun. The faint light set a glow to Glorfindel's face. He wondered if the rest of the elf-lord's skin was as fine and fair. "Very well. Let us begin." In the absence of a circle on the floor to create a space for the rite, Maeglin slowly paced around Glorfindel three times, encompassing most of the bare floor in the round cave. "Now be you bound by this hour!"

"Yes, my lord," said Glorfindel. He swallowed as quietly as he could. Expecting to take off some clothes, he reached up to undo his gold cloak-pin.

"A good start," Maeglin admitted. He took a few steps back into the shadows. "Strip to the skin. I want you nude." Glorfindel undressed, setting his clothes aside neatly, never meeting Maeglin's eyes. His body was lean and strapped with muscle from training daily as good soldiers should, skin glowing, sensitive to the flush of the blood beneath. But Glorfindel's body was not as perfect as his face. He was marred with several scars of honour from battle. Looking on the naked elf-man, fair, strong, and brave, Maeglin decided what he would do to avenge his dishonour.

"Shall I clasp the chains that hang yonder, my lord?" Near where Glorfindel stood, within the span of the circle Maeglin had walked, two chains hung from pulleys on the ceiling. They were not matched. One chain was only as wide as two fingers, made of fine links, and the other was thicker.

"No," said Maeglin. "Get on your knees and cover your head with your arms." Unbalanced by this strange demand, Glorfindel obeyed, kneeling with his legs closed for modesty.  He peered up as Maeglin, to his surprise, took the chains himself. Maeglin drew the clanking lengths onto the floor until the chains' ends fell from the pulleys, and they tumbled into two piles on the floor.

"But - the clasping of the chains -" Glorfindel protested.

"You will not need that signal," said Maeglin. "I swore that I would not exceed your measure. You will not be tormented beyond what you can bear."  He walked to one side and placed some iron clips in his apron's pocket. Then he lifted the coarser of the fallen chains, many pounds in its full length, and threw it to the stone again before Glorfindel, who flinched back involuntarily. "Stay kneeling, and put your arms behind your back." Muscles rippled as Glorfindel complied, pulling his chest taut and setting off his lean waist. "Spread your limbs." After that, Maeglin touched him at last, lifting his precious braid before draping the first length of chain around his neck.

The unexpected weight of it dragged Glorfindel's shoulders forward, and he braced anew. Maeglin dragged the doubled chain through the space between his legs, up the divide of his arse, and back over his shoulders again. The smith's strong hands wove and pulled the chain into a harness around Glorfindel's body. Maeglin used the clips he had taken to fasten his work in place, leaving one long end of the chain unbound, draping from Glorfindel's neck like a hound's leash. Then Maeglin hauled over the second, finer chain. With this, he bound and weighed Glorfindel's arms behind his back. The chains slid down but not over his hands, and were woven into the body-harness. A great length remained, and Maeglin wrapped it around the front, then down to bind Glorfindel's ankles to each other. He could not rise from kneeling, now.

Maeglin stood back to admire his work of woven iron and flesh. He decided to make one last adjustment and came forward to undo Glorfindel's thick braid, combing the waved, brilliant hair out over the chained shoulders, a few locks drawn forward. He liked how that softened Glorfindel's resolute face, whether Glorfindel would or no. The dark iron chains were grease-coated to endure the damps of the mine without rusting. Glorfindel's heat was already melting the grease to oil. Brown stains were streaking down his skin, like dried blood or bistre.

Glorfindel arched beneath the heavy chains, feeling the weight pulling the skin on his neck. The chains' cold was fading, and he felt the oil trickling, slowly running down between his legs. His muscles were starting to ache already. The only way to bear it was to spread his thighs more. He peered up at Maeglin, wondering, as he had throughout his binding, what would happen next.

Several minutes passed.

Maeglin did not move or speak.

In the cool cave, Glorfindel began to sweat. He cleared his throat, appallingly conscious about speaking. "My lord. You have bound me. When comes the next part of this trial?"

"This is the trial," said Maeglin.

"What?" cried Glorfindel.

"Bear you the chains!" Maeglin shouted. "And bear them long! I need not lift my hands against you, when the chains will torment you. Well might you be bound if captured by orcs; thus might you expect to bide in the hands of Morgoth."

Glorfindel burned with humiliation that this was to be the trial. Maeglin was completely right about the uses of this bondage. Still, it was not by enduring such bindings that the devotees of ansereg won praise and honour, but by bearing the lash and more inventive torments. Glorfindel quelled his rising anger and his stung pride by thinking again on why he endured, for the sake of the Guards of the Great Gate. Breathing deeply, he concentrated on honour, doing his utmost to shut out the waxing pain in his muscles and bones, the feel of the sliding metal pulled tight in his most intimate crevices. He did not meet Maeglin's eyes.

Maeglin's eyes never left Glorfindel, gloating in the sight of the one who had insulted him, bound, besmirched, and nigh shaking with humiliation. He thought again about his restraint for Idril's sake and how it had all been useless. What good was virtue when vengeance was so sweet? He had been hard, he knew, even ruthless at times - sometimes it was what was needsome, to complete a great work. And he had chafed at the restraints of propriety and tact, just as Glorfindel chafed now in the chains. As he watched more hair fall forward around Glorfindel's face, he bethought how far he might free himself of his own bonds, and what it might bring him. He looked on what it had brought him now, a treasure of beauty given over to his hands and his iron.

Trapped in his body's suffering and shame, Glorfindel lost track of time's passage. The silence in the cave seemed unreal, broken only by distant booming, echoes from the mines. His thighs were screaming now. One of the chains between his legs had slipped to one side; the other was pulled tight along his crack, and his least move sent it sliding, maddeningly. He had heard tell of the trial of binding going for a full night. Longing to moan with pain, he forced himself to be silent. Maeglin would shame him, but he would not shame himself. I can bear this, moment by moment; I have given myself to this hour for my boon companions' sake. Thinking of it that way helped him surrender to what was happening to him. Husbanding his strength, he relaxed within the chains, letting himself slump within their weight, and looked directly at Maeglin for the first time.

Maeglin smiled, lips closed and tight, as he saw Glorfindel finally realize how to endure the trial of the chains. He had hoped that Glorfindel's pride would lead him to quiver and break, resisting the pounds of metal beyond endurance. Still, watching his bound prize, he'd had had plenty of time to plot what to do next.

"I have not exceeded you yet, have I, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel blinked in astonishment at being addressed, then said, "No."

Maeglin picked up a pair of long iron tongs from the cave's mining equipment. "If I put you to pain, could you take it?"

"Yes," said Glorfindel, soft and courteous.

Maeglin stepped close to Glorfindel again. The tongs were such a length that he did not need to bend to nip and snip at Glorfindel's chest, where flesh was exposed between the chains. Glorfindel rocked back and hissed at the wicked pinches. Pain, yes, but a tiny pain with each nip.

"So you are willing to be tormented further?"

"Yes!" Glorfindel said, loud and clear.

"Do you think you can take it?"

Glorfindel gazed up at him, blue eyes blazing with pride and truth. "I know I can, my lord." 

Maeglin nipped at him further with the tongs. Though Glorfindel tilted his head back, he did not shift his torso, meeting the pain.

"You are sure you can suffer more?"

"Yes!" cried Glorfindel, adding, "My measure is more than you credit."

Using the tongs, Maeglin plucked up the chain's end that hung from Glorfindel's neck and brought it to his hand. He tossed the tongs aside, and they clanged on the stone. "Well, I shall plumb your measure, then."  Maeglin jerked on the chain, dragging Glorfindel forward by his throat, and he choked. "Bend over," Maeglin said, stern and hard.

Glorfindel found that he could bend forwards in the chain harness, doubling at his waist. "All the way," Maeglin insisted, reaching forwards and shoving his head towards the floor. Glorfindel felt the cold stone against his cheek as a shock, then froze at a worse one.  He had bent expecting to be beaten. Instead, Maeglin's hand was touching the back of his thighs, moving aside the chain jammed along the lines of his crotch, so that everything was helplessly exposed.

"Like to untried," Maeglin mulled aloud. "You favour women, don't you?"

"Yes, women I love. Why do you ask - Ah!" He was embarrased twice, by his helpless cry of discomfort, and by his arse being pierced by a calloused finger.

"Then it will be a trial cruel for you to be taken, Glorfindel. As you requested."

Pinned, Glorfindel fought down the urge to writhe away. He had never felt desire for elf-men, never chosen that indulgence, let alone thought to be blackmailed to it. Thinking fast, he gasped, "My lord, I thought you had a favourite?"

Maeglin's laugh was cruel. "That does not matter at times like this." Reeling with lust and power, he thought perhaps he might have a new favourite by the time they were done. The sight of Glorfindel bent over, flushed beneath the stains and chains, face lost behind the silken, golden hair, made his cock rise. Did he want the fellow for his own sake, or because he was so like Idril? He'd find out. "You said you could bear torment, Glorfindel. Is that not true?" he asked, treasuring the way his victim squirmed at the question.

Glorfindel could see no escape. "Do as you will, and I shall bear it," he growled. He heard Maeglin's soft chuckle, then the sound of leather and fabric being shifted. His gut convulsed when he felt, for the first time in his long life, a hard, hot cock slid against his arse-cleft. He felt a vague, heavy bluntness press against his opening, the sensations sharp and confusing. Part of Glorfindel's pride had always been that he was above petty likes and dislikes, but to be disgraced for the third time - by Ecthelion's chiding, by the chains, and by this sodomy - made him burn tight with resentment.

Maeglin gritted his teeth as he felt the other elf-man's flesh resistant to the core. He still had some honour then, twisted and fading though it was; he knew that to force himself utterly would push Glorfindel beyond what he could take. He palmed along Glorfindel's stained back and slicked up more of the dirty grease, using it to lubricate himself. "It is like the chains," Maeglin said. "Do not resist, and the pain is eased."

Glorfindel learned the bitter truth of those words as Maeglin forced his tool inside. Tearing, piercing agony caught him for an instant. He said his Guard's battle-cry to himself, then exhaled deeply, hating himself for softening and relaxing, hating Maeglin for being right. Maeglin dragged his torso up from the floor by the chain harness, until he was half-kneeling upwards again, and the change in posture drove Maeglin's cock deeper inside him.

Now Maeglin grasped some of the chain on each side, and used the harness to pull Glorfindel's body in time with his thrusts. Pressing against the hard chains pained Maeglin as well, but he liked the contrast between the bruising jabs of metal and the deliciously tight channel he took, all pleasure.  He indulged until Glorfindel slackened minutely, used at last to being penetrated - and there was another change as well.

As Maeglin pulled the chains, Glorfindel felt the links passed through his legs stroke against his vulnerable scrotum, and stray oil slid along his own exposed shaft. No-one had ever touched Glorfindel intimately against his will; he had only known love's caresses. But his confused body did not know the difference. With the new sensations added to the long teasing of the chains between his legs, he was roused, though his heart was cold. He thought himself fortunate that Maeglin ignored this. Then the smith's hand came down on his erection, and Maeglin's harsh breathing broke into a laugh.

"Lust makes liars of us all," said Maeglin. "But it is a good thing you find some pleasure in being taken. This trial has its uses, too. Pray to the Valar our foes never bind you like this. They'd use you as I do."

"They? Who?" Glorfindel whispered, resisting Maeglin's meaning.

"Orcs. The were-wargs that walk on two feet. And crude, cruel Mortals, such as should never lay hands on our fair kin. They'd rape you, disgrace you, try and break you. Use you one after the other. They might even spare you other thraldom to keep you as their leman." Glorfindel felt Maeglin's cock swell thicker and harder inside him, the thrusts pulsing again. He sickened and chilled to feel how the cruel ideas roused Maeglin.

"Perhaps you'd like that." Maeglin's hand reached to brush Glorfindel's cock again, and he asked, "Would you prefer the mortals to the others?" His voice was sibilant with lust and malice.

Glorfindel was silent. Maeglin jerked at the chains around his throat. "Answer!"

"I would prefer none," said Glorfindel. Especially not you, he thought.

Maeglin pressed as close as he could with Glorfindel's bound arms between them. He buried his face in Glorfindel's loose hair, laughing, and there was a reckless note to it "Well spoken."  He forced himself as deep as possible inside Glorfindel, pressed thigh to thigh. Glorfindel breathed sharply, opened to the fullest. Before the pain hit, Maeglin leaned forwards and took Glorfindel's cock in his hand, firmly.  "I shall reward you for that," Maeglin said, rolling his grip.

The forceful caress was smooth and swift along Glorfindel's oiled shaft. Pleasure swelled and burned as he groaned, denying the warmed oil, the hand, the hardness filling him. It was too much for thought, it stifled rebellion. Mounted behind him, Maeglin began to move again. It seemed like the thrusts were what sent the shot of orgasm arcing through him, although Maeglin worked him until he cried out, his cock hanging drained, achingly sensitive. 

Glorfindel shook his head as pain and thought returned to him. Was this really as vile as he felt it to be? Doubt fled as Maeglin shoved his chained torso to the floor again and hammered at him from behind, hard and fast, dead silent. 

Maeglin was revelling in the power and heat of it, especially thrilled by his success in coaxing Glorfindel to share his lust. He looked down to feast his eyes on his victim. But the sight of Glorfindel's golden hair cut him to the heart, reminding him of Idril again. The idea of Idril being taken by her crude chosen spouse set him burning, roused, jealous, and hateful. If that was what she wanted, he could show her, he thought, and his mind was turned to evil as he came.

Glorfindel knew relief and humiliation as Maeglin withdrew. Relief that the pain was stopped at last; humiliation at the feel of hot fluids dripping from him, at the throbbing awareness of his nether channel. He tried to lever himself up, and Maeglin cuffed him hard - the first time he had been struck for all the trial. "So, you want to show me how roused you are still? Did I say you could straighten up? Back on the floor." Glorfindel obeyed, not wanting to offend Maeglin anew.

Pressed to the floor, Glorfindel was sensitive to any hint of what Maeglin might do next. He saw Maeglin's boots enter his vision, heard him above rearranging his clothing. One boot's toe tapped for a moment. Glorfindel winced at a touch, then realized Maeglin was undoing the clamps that held the chains. One by one, the clamps jingled into Maeglin's apron pocket. Then he heard words that he had not hoped to hear after Maeglin's taunting and contempt: "The trial is borne." 

Glorfindel sat up within the loosened chains, letting them drape to his half-hard cock- he would not stand and be exposed in front of Maeglin. Maeglin reached for him again and dragged up one of his wrists, rubbing at the chains' marks. Then he released it and spoke calmly. "As you see, there is more than one kind of trial. You are not harmed, not even the lightest bruise. Now that I am done tormenting you, you are still as hale and fine as when you came to me. And I have shown you that such trials are not without their consolations." This fast return to reason made the hour of agony seem unreal, and for the first time in all the torment, Glorfindel shivered.

"Was I too harsh? Was there anything you might not bear?" queried Maeglin.

"No," Glorfindel muttered.

"You are not as grateful as you should be," said Maeglin. "Nonetheless, you may tell our good Ecthelion I accepted your apology, and that I will speak to him soon about new forging for the Guard of the Steel Gate. I will be sure to let Turgon know how accommodating you are." He picked up the tongs he had cast aside before, and his smile was fell. "I may be seeing you here again soon. For you have never served in Anghabar."

Glorfindel's spine straightened as he knelt among the chains, and he snapped, "With good grace, if my lord Tuor says I may be spared. For I have sworn my fealty to him - as one of our princes." By the pained snarl on Maeglin's face, Glorfindel knew his barb had struck home.

Saying nothing, Maeglin threw the tongs aside with a clatter and left, leaving Glorfindel still downed and nude. He turned back for one last look. Possessing the beautiful elf-man had been little consolation. Having Glorfindel had only sharpened his lust for Idril. Neither virtue nor vice, continence nor distraction, could cure his desire, and he was lost in his black plight. Angry and despairing, he slammed the iron gate as he departed.

Still on the floor, Glorfindel felt his body still unwholesomely alive, though his heart was numb. He stood up, surprised at how he staggered, and shook himself free of the tangled chains. For a moment, he rubbed at the stickiness of oil, sweat, and seed-fluid against his skin, then gave up and simply dressed again. He felt stained to his bones. Despite Maeglin's words, he did not feel his success for the Guard redeemed him. In his despise of Maeglin, he had sunk to something he had never done; to a falsehood. He had lied to Maeglin about his fealty to Tuor, knowing it would dismay him.

Glorfindel took up his shield. The feel of it against his arm reassured him. So he had carried it when he had walked along the plaza that morning; he was still that same Glorfindel. On a sudden he knew what he had gained from the dark hour. Holding his shield, he swore a deep oath to himself. Not that he would not be taken and ravished, but that those he loved would not suffer so at the hands of evil. If one elf could be so disgraced and pained within the bounds of what was willing - something he had not thought possible - then to be forced by their evil foemen would be the worst of deaths. It was worth sword, shield, every sacrifice to spare others the degradation he had tasted.

The square of sunlight on the floor grew more bright and sure as the clouds changed, and Glorfindel felt his heart live again. He would amend his lie by making it truth. Glorfindel would give his fealty to Tuor, and count it well done, for even the dank hollow of Anghabar was brighter without Maeglin there.  

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