Chapter Text
Erestor died screaming, teeth bared and bloody, a sword heavy in his hand as everything he had worked for fell apart in front of his eyes. All of his plans, all of his plots, all of his spite-fueled traps, all of it gone and useless as the blessed heroes came through all his machinations without even a trace of ash or smoke on their clothes.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that Erestor's home had been swallowed up by Lord Ecthelion's greater estates. It wasn't fair that Erestor's father had gone to his knees before King Turgon and had been put to death for his disrespect and disobedience. It wasn't fair that Erestor's mother had flung herself from their tower rather than be taken from her home and be forced into a hut on the edges of society when once she was a noble lady of the highest rank. It wasn't fair that Erestor had to lower his head and become a commoner – no, not even a commoner, a slave – working his way back up to a freed elf and then into a station of power once more. It wasn't fair that Maeglin, that snake in the grass, the smiling liar that gathered elves to him in droves, who with but a glance and a smile could command the hearts and loyalty of anyone he set his sights on.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair and that cruel twist of fate burned in his breast as he was put to death by Lord Glorfindel himself, the smiling and brave warrior that Maeglin desired above all else, even his cousin who Maeglin was betrothed to. It wasn't fair that Erestor's rebellion had been betrayed by Lord Ecthelion's agent, Elemmakil, who turned out to be the Captain of the Dark Guards of Gondolin, those feared assassins and deadly soldiers that could eliminate entire households in one night.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that Erestor had maybe, just perhaps, wanted to offer Elemmakil a courting gesture, even when he knew his rebellion had a slim chance at changing things at best. It wasn't fair that Elemmakil had held Erestor's hand and listened to his grievances, had seemed to understand what fire had driven him to this point. Had made all the right noises at all the right times, making it seem like he saw the corruption Erestor was uncovering, that he could see how despicable the court had become.
Erestor had raged when he saw Elemmakil open the gates to Lord Ecthelion and Lord Glorfindel. The two had cut down Erestor's forces with a wave of their hands, turned that Dark Guard onto them, when Erestor had told Elemmakil again and again that none of Maeglin's movements made sense, that Maeglin was up to something, was planning something, was going to betray them all. That he wanted to bring Maeglin's movements into the light, to show them all what was really going on.
In the end it was Erestor who was betrayed. Why not. Maeglin won yet again, his power too great and strange over Gondolin's noble court and King Turgon as well. Erestor died screaming, pierced with too many arrows to count, the blood bubbling up his throat to spill across his lips as he died. He died staring up at Lord Glorfindel, with Lord Ecthelion at his shoulder, the both of them glancing down at his body before they stepped over his cooling corpse to deal with what was left of Erestor's forces.
Erestor died full of spite and fury...so it was a wonder to wake up hearing the sweet calls of the birds in Gondolin's central city, with the warmth of a new day just breaking over the tall rim of mountains that surrounded them.
For a moment he lay there tasting metal on his tongue and wondered at this strange afterlife. This was nothing like the dreary Halls of Mandos those of Moriquendi blood had been told about. Those that shared the same blood as Erestor and his father, those same elves that had welcomed King Turgon into Beleriand and helped him form a kingdom, had done all the work to expand that kingdom into a stable and central state that balanced all the other kingdoms of Beleriand around it. Those same Moriquendi that when Maeglin became the darling of the court and the apple of Turgon's eye became the scapegoats to all that was ill in Gondolin's fair cities. The scapegoats to all the reasons why things went wrong. The ones to be punished, restricted, forced from their homes and stripped of their titles.
Like Erestor's father. Like Erestor himself.
Erestor felt his hands curl into claws in the sheets. Why? Why was he here? There was no mistaking the sweet scent of the flowers blooming along the Alley of Roses or the Way of Wisteria. Erestor had woken up to this scent in his nose for years as he worked his way back up through the ranks at court, from slave to freed elf to a minor courtier to...
Erestor let out a wretched laugh. It didn't matter now, did it? None of it mattered. Not with Elemmakil a traitor and the Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion sure to know his every move. Why did he come back to this point, to this sweet city that hid a corrupted, rotting core? Why?
For a moment Erestor lay there breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers and let his despair sink into his bones. Then he drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes, pushing himself up to sit at the edge of the bed. A glance around the room told him that he had not gone very far back, perhaps a few years at most. Elemmakil would already be all but his second in command. The forces Erestor led with his old friend Lindir were scattered about the central city, infiltrating every House they could wiggle their way into. Even if Erestor left now so many of his Moriquendi brethren would be implicated if they were found.
Lindir would never leave, for his entire family had been killed by Maeglin's people, the evidence placed to paint them traitors to Turgon, even as Maeglin ate up their House's lands and wealth and distributed it to his cronies. Lindir would fight until the bitter end and Erestor could not leave him to fight on alone. Elemmakil had seen them together too many times, bent close as they whispered their plans for after together, for the hopes they had for this great kingdom in the the revolution they hoped to create. If Erestor left then all his power at court would be wasted and Lindir would be left to Maeglin's tender mercies in the hidden prisons under Gondolin's shining white streets. No. Erestor could not, would not leave.
But then what could he do? How could he change what was to come?
Even as Erestor was rubbing at his face, trying to think through all the ways he could turn the tide of their defeat the door to his room was kicked in and the Dark Guard came pouring through the entrance. Erestor sprang to his feet, seeing Elemmakil in his Captain's uniform step through the door, head held high. Horror stopped up Erestor's throat. What...what was going on?
“Erestor of the House of the Crow you are to taken to the Office of Careful Judgment to be questioned by Lord Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain,” Elemmakil said as those Dark Guards grabbed Erestor's arms and pinned his wrists behind his back.
“What? But I – why –”
“You have been named a traitor to Gondolin,” there was no emotion on Elemmakil's face. No sign of the sly humor Erestor remembered, or the quick smiles, or the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners, nothing. Elemmakil was as blank and terrifying as all the stories had painted those Dark Guards, all the rumors that were spoken in pubs and in dark alleys, with one eye always peering over one's shoulder.
“I...on what grounds...”
“Prince Maeglin has submitted evidence of your treachery,” Elemmakil said. The words made Erestor's head spin. That...that did not make sense.
“There...there must be...some mistake,” Erestor shook his head. If he had come back...he had been so careful. How had Maeglin found out? Had he been informed by Elemmakil? By Elemmakil's lords? How...how...
“Comply or you will be forced,” Elemmakil spoke far too close to him. Erestor flinched back as he saw Elemmakil reach towards his face. He tried to throw himself away from his – his – from the traitor but his movements were cut short by the secure hold the guards had on his arms. Elemmakil's hand hovered in the air for a moment before the Captain of the Dark Guards stepped away. “Drag him out,” he said.
Erestor's feet slid over the cold stone of his floors but there was nothing he could do to stop this. All their plans were going to be laid bare. All Elemmakil had to do was arrest Lindir and so many of the careful strings Erestor had arranged throughout the city would come drifting down as his people tried to stop up the gaps in their network. A sharp kick to his knee had Erestor crying out in a short, sharp sound before he snapped his mouth closed and grit his teeth together. He would not give them the pleasure of seeing him in pain. Whatever tortures Elemmakil and his Dark Guard wished to vent on him he would not break. He would rip his fëa from the world before he betrayed his people, his friends. They would learn nothing but what Elemmakil already knew and hopefully, somehow, Erestor's people would find a way to flee the city in the chaos of his arrest and interrogation.
Hopefully. Hopefully.
Erestor never saw the way Elemmakil paused in the wreckage of Erestor's room, glancing around at the scattered papers on his desk and the way his books were laid on every available surface. Erestor never saw the way Elemmakil paused at the bed, one hand reaching down to press a palm to the still-warm sheets. Erestor also never saw the way Elemmakil took a sheaf of papers from Erestor's desk and tossed them into the fire, watching as they burned completely to ash. Only then did the Dark Guard allow Prince Maeglin's people to have the room, to search it from top to bottom for the evidence Prince Maeglin claimed would be there.
Elemmakil left them to it, not caring at the damage being done behind him. Erestor would never be going back to that small set of rooms in that cramped tower apartment. No. There was another estate Erestor would be going to. They just had to get him there, first.