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Title: The Return of the King (#2228)
Author: Jillian
Chapters: 2

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: The Shire bounders capture a mysterious Orc. He is sent to Rivendell with Rangers to be investigated, and the truth of his strange fate becomes known. Now complete.
Published: 12 Sep 2005
Updated: 13 Sep 2005
Warnings:
Type: Drama
Characters: Elond, Turgon, Glorfindel


Chapter 1 - Part 1

The Return of the King.

Part 1

“What do you use for brains, young Robin,” his mother scolded Robin Smallburrow, Shiriff. “Tis plain to see whatever this creature is that the bounders brought you that he is half dead from hunger!”

‘Mother, it is an evil creature, an Orc like the ones Masters Merry and Pippin fought in the wars far away. It is large too, for an Orc, and likely very dangerous,” protested Robin.

Mrs. Smallburrow seemed to swell with righteous anger. “I’ll have you know Robin, that while I cook the meals for the Shiriffs prisoners they’ll be well fed, and he’s not dangerous, he’s starved! Plain good sense can see he’s too weak with hunger to be barely able to move!”

Indeed, the Orc, for that is he was, did seem weak and sickly. Mrs. Smallburrow made this as the only assumption a Hobbit-lady could: it must be hunger. So she set to and thought about how to feed this creature. Venison stew, yes, he looked as if he could eat a cauldron full, plus several loaves of new-baked bread. And cheese, yes, a whole wheel. Brambleberry pies as well, she should think! So, off she bustled, to collect all this food, and bully the Shiriffs into helping her feed the creature. The only safe way to do this was to sneak up on him while he was asleep and bind him so he could be fed. This plan was carried out the next day, bright and early.

Several hours later, when Rangers appeared the Orc had been stuffed nearly to death. He was bloated, and begged the Rangers in a strange mix of Sindarin (presumably learned from elvish captives) and Westron to free him from these small dangerous beings and their torture methods. “Kill me,” he begged. And the Rangers looked in awe at the Hobbits, who could break such an old and strong orc as this one in only two days.

‘We’ll collect him tomorrow,” said the Ranger captain who introduced himself as Calmacil at last. “He’s in no fit state to travel, but please, feed him no more, or he won’t live to be taken to Rivendell for questioning as Orcs have delicate stomachs” he lied. “This Orc seems incapable of answering for now, but the elves will have the means to make him do so.” The captain examined the orc again. “Most unusual. He’s so tall for an orc. You did the right thing in sending messages for him to be collected, there is a mystery here!”

Meanwhile, huffing with indignation that good Hobbit fare could be bad for anyone, Mrs Smallburrow took it upon herself to cook a huge meal for the Rangers. Rabbit pie, rhubarb crumble with cream with vegetable soup and fresh bread as starters. Once again, she overfeed the strangers in the Shire, and the poor Rangers, groaning, had to refuse large fourth helping of everything. Thanking Mrs Smallburrow, the Rangers declined a cooked breakfast in the morning opting instead to head off with their captive, instead setting out for Rivendell and Elrond’s advise as soon as the sun rose.

Oddly enough, the big orc gave the Rangers little if any trouble. Of course, he was bound at night, and his hands were never free, but he did as he was told, and in fact seemed to be co-operating! Also, oddly, his appearance seemed to be changing, and his speech too as a young Ranger, Earnuril, reported.

“Most peculiar,” remarked Calmacil, “however, soon we shall be in Rivendell, and although Master Elrond plans to leave soon, he has not left yet, and he has much knowledge of strange things. It’s likely that he will unravel the story behind this odd orc.”

Several days after this, the company of Rangers delivered their captive to the border guards of Rivendell, who agreed that he was he was very large for an Orc, plus he was suspiciously docile. The elven guards took control of the Orc, and the Rangers continued into the valley to the Last Homely House to rest for the night. Little was said to the Master of the House, Elrond of the Orc, for it was known that he was soon to depart for the West with the other Ringbearers, but enough was said that Glorfindel, once a high Lord of Gondolin, decided he would see the creature in the morning.


Chapter 2 - Part 2

The Return of the King.

Part 2

The next day, Glorfindel paid a visit to the old dungeons deep under Rivendell. Not used since the end of the second age, they were nonetheless kept clean and ready for prisoners, something that now, after the Ring war seemed likely. With him went Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s twin sons soon to be left in charge of Rivendell as her masters.

“Have you seen the orc?” asked Glorfindel as the three traversed the stone steeps down, down, into the living rock the Noldor craftsmen had carved.

“Yes, he is huge!” exclaimed Elrohir, and his twin finished, “as tall as you, Glor!”

The golden lord nodded, but kept to himself that the only reason he knew of for an orc to be so tall was one: that the particular orc had once been an elf. Some aspects of the reported behaviour of this orc, docility, attempting to communicate, and his appearance changing supported this. Glorfindel dared to hope that it might be one elf, one seen neither in the Halls of Mandos or found among the survivors. One whom Morgoth would have found a great prize…he shook his head, dispelling such fancies. The orc could be anyone, an unnamed and forgotten first elf for example, yet Glorfindel dared to hope.

And on seeing the orc, the hope flared to possibility! The creature came to the bars of the cage, and tried to speak, to tell Glorfindel, but was defeated by the centuries under the dominion of evil. Yet Glorfindel believed…”I believe I know who you are. I shall return, in the meantime, rest,” and he had to bite his tongue to avoid saying ‘my lord.’

“Who is he, Glor?” The twins, although perfectly capable as warriors, and Glorfindel beloved them able to rule once their father left, still had a distressing tendency to behave like overgrown puppies when excited. Now they skipped along, leading the way to their father’s chambers.

Once there, they sat and waited expectantly for Glorfindel to explain to their father, and Gandalf. With the timing peculiar to wizards, he’d arrived out of the dawn saying there was something he needed to do in Rivendell. Everyone accepted this the wizard’s strange way, and did not question him.

“Elrond, you know the story of Gondolin as well as anyone, for all you were never there,” Glorfindel began without being asked. “What you do not know is that your great grandfather Turgon never went to the Halls of Mandos, nor was he among the survivors. For years I have searched Middle-earth on my journeys, only quite recently giving up a forlorn hope that maybe he was not killed, maybe he was hidden, or” and Glorfindel took a deep breath, “captured by the enemy.”

Elrond didn’t speak, but his grip on the arm of the chair he sat in tightened until his knuckles were white. “Ay, if he were captured, it would mean one thing, and now, now, I believe it true. The Twins looked curious, but neither their father nor Glorfindel paid them any heed. “Please, come and see this orc for yourself,” Glorfindel said quietly.

“I shall come too,” said a deep voice from the shadows in the corner of the room, and Gandalf stepped forth. “For I carry the one thing that might bring him fully back to himself, if it is he.”

Elrond nodded, ‘Arm yourselves,’ he said to his sons and Glorfindel, and all five slipped silently down the rock stairs, dismissing the guards. Soon, Elrond stood tall before the cell containing the strange orc, “I am Elrond, son of Earendil the Mariner,” and even without the power of his Ring, Vilya, now a shadow itself he shone like a Valinorian born prince, “and I command thee, tell me who thou art!”

Glorfindel stood silent, his heart hammering like that fateful day he’d faced a Balrog in battle and died, oh yes, he died, but the refugees of Gondolin won their freedom. ‘What if it isn’t he,’ his thoughts whispered, ‘worse yet, what if it is!’ they mocked. The orc raised his head, and it could be now be seen that once he had been an elf. But he failed in his attempt to speak.

“Evil lingers, and binds his tongue,” stated Gandalf, and took Glamdring and thrust the glittering sword through the cell’s bars to lay it on the floor. The orc stumbled forward and picked up the sword almost lovingly. He raised it, and suddenly his voice rolled like thunder around the cell, “I am Turgon, King of Gondolin!” and he collapsed. Glorfindel began to weep.

For three months Elrond, helped by his sons and Glorfindel tended his great grandfather in the privacy of guest quarters. Towards the end, Turgon began venturing out into the gardens, flinching a little at first in the bright sunshine but soon he relaxed and felt his strength returning even as his appearance became more and more what is should be, until finally he appeared almost what he used to, according to Glorfindel.

“Some of his scars may never altogether fade, I think,’ Glorfindel told Elrond one evening only days before he departed for the Gray Havens. “But worse are his memories of life as an orc, and only thing will see him freed of those.” He gazed steadily at Elrond, “I know you thought to leave Turgon here, and have him follow on after you to the West, but I really believe he needs to go now. Only in the gardens of Lorien will he find the rest and peace he needs to purge the memories from him, and to be able to live, free of the shadow of evil.” Elrond nodded, “you are right, Glorfindel, and I am a fool not to have seen it before. My great grandfather shall accompany me, and find peace, healing and his long lost loved ones.”

So it was Turgon, cloaked and his identity secret from all save Elrond and his cousin Galadriel took ship at the Gray Havens, with his sword Glamdring by his side. All the long journey up the straight road he stood in the prow of the ship, his once black hair now snow white from abuse flowing about him as he kept his eyes fixed on his grandson Earendil’s star.

“He spoke of you to me,” said Elrond as they neared port in Tol Eressea. “My father remembered you well.’ Turgon turned, his face full of sadness, “I wish I could say the same, but even my memories were taken away.” It seemed as though he would weep, but Galadriel laid comforting hands on her cousin’s shoulders. “Be easy, cousin, and look towards shore, and see who awaits you.”

Shaking, Turgon tried to make out faces from the crowd on the dock, and the people who poured up the gangway of the now docked ship. Galadriel and Elrond were being hugged and kissed by silver haired woman who was clearly Celebrian. Turgon stood back and watched the crowd feeling a little lost, then a hand gently took and he turned startled to look into his daughter’s eyes. “Idril!’ he exclaimed and hugged her. She hugged him tightly for a second, then stood back and Turgon’s eyes took in the man standing next to her, a mortal! “Tuor! How?” The mortal chuckled as he too threw dignity aside and hugged his father-in-law. “I have been accounted among the elves; I have the lifespan of an elf now.” To Turgon it all made such perfect sense that he wondered how he had not foreseen it.



Blinking back tears, Turgon walked down the gangplank to the shores of Valinor he left so long before. The sun was brighter then the light of the Two Trees had been, and clearer. It bathed him in brilliance as he spoke, “have you heard what happened to me, dearest daughter?” he asked at last. “Yes, we have, and it’s not your fault father. Come with us, for you have been summoned to the gardens of Lorien, and mother awaits you.” Suddenly, all Turgon’s fears left him. He knew everything would be all right and he would heal in the loving presence of his family.
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