Chapter Text
Turgon is long in the Halls of Mandos - longer than his sister, longer than his nephew, long enough that, he learns, Fingon threatened to lay siege to the Halls if there were no news of him. ("I was joking," his brother claimed, but his eyes had been serious when he spoke of it.)
No one seems to notice the cloak of shame that trails behind Turgon wherever he goes. Are they so relieved to see him at last that they can forget? Turgon forgets nothing.
Turgon commands nothing. He lives in his father's dwelling, has no lands and no arms and no purpose. His wife has grown apart from him; they dance and speak as though newly courting, and do not sleep together as spouses. One day, he prays, they will again.
Some few Lords of Gondolin come to find him, one and two at a time. Egalmoth and Duilin; Ecthelion and Penlod; Glorfindel smiling alone. Galdor, once, from Tol Eressea. No word of reprimand is spoken against him, not even by Tuor or Turgon's own daughter, who of anyone should have the right.
Turgon realizes, with horror, that to the Gondolindrim, he is still their king. The refugees followed Tuor to the land of willows and they followed the refugee queen of Doriath in Sirion, but in their hearts, they are his.
He throws himself into the sea, overcome, and it is Ulmo who catches him, the wisest of the Valar who brings him back to air, clothing encrusted with salt. It is Ulmo who tells him that others may forgive him whether he will or no, and it is not for Turgon himself to deny them. Elenwe meets him at the shore, terrified, and Turgon stumbles at her feet and begs her sufferance. She demands instead his oath, and he gives it: he will not dare such monstrosity again.
He doesn't. The horror ebbs, but does not disappear. How can it? Elenwe suggests that he set down the last affairs of Gondolin, hear them for himself and make its truth known. It is something to do. It is something he has to do.
Those Lords who had come to him earlier seem pleased to be asked. Galdor sends reams of paper, but does not come in person. Turgon reads his missive alone, flinching: Galdor's clever, bright mind casts no blame, but the shadows are easy enough to find. Of them all, half-feral Galdor survived the battle, survived the flight from Tumladen, survived even the massacre of Sirion - another crime of Turgon's kindred, the one that killed Egalmoth - and even the mighty War of Wrath. Rog sends no reports, but a single message: he will be no man's liegeman again; he will neither lead nor follow. Turgon is relieved - here, finally, the blame no one else will cast! - until Ecthelion tells him, apologetic, that it is Rog's own perceived failures that drive his words. Turgon sends only two words in reply: I understand. It is truer than Rog knows.
He speaks with dry-eyed Maeglin, Aredhel at her son's elbow. Turgon asks that Maeglin's true fate be made known and no blame be held against him; it is accepted as rede and set forth in announcements. Of the House of the Mole, Turgon says they cannot be punished for believing what their lord told them. He will not repeat the mistakes of Fingolfin and the Doom of the Noldor.
Turgon has no word from Salgant. Maeglin tells him that the lists from the Halls claim him to be living, though no one could tell him where. Turgon thinks of what Penlod's son wrote, and wonders if it would not be best to leave Salgant to his misery. He thinks of the relief he felt when he thought Rog condemned him, though, and he thinks of the hurt in the back of his nephew's gaze when he speaks of his friend. Turgon tells Maeglin where Salgant is likely to be found. Salgant had never been friendly with Aredhel, nor with Fingon, or indeed any of Turgon's kin - they would not know of the tiny fishing village, too small for most maps.
Salgant comes before him on his knees like a criminal, and speaks as a penitent would. His will failed him, but who is Turgon to condemn that? The Lords of Gondolin, when they confer about Salgant's fate, do not seem to see anything amiss with vigorously contesting Salgant's culpability or lack thereof before Turgon. He marks those who speak harshly - Duilin names Salgant a coward, Penlod says that he broke his oaths and deserted his post; Turgon remembers being told that Duilin almost came to blows with Maeglin when they first met after the Halls. Ecthelion is quieter than his usual wont; fearless Glorfindel does not seem to understand what came into Salgant's heart. Egalmoth speaks only to compliment Glaeron's handling of the eastern way in Salgant's stead. Tuor insists that Salgant did no more and no less disobedience than he himself, and Maeglin claims that there is more to Salgant's story than is being told. He recounts observations from their journey, and the fears of Salgant's own family.
That rings truest to Turgon. He has seen Salgant shamed, he has seen him angry, he has seen him wounded. Never before has he refused to meet Turgon's eyes.
"Find out," he tells Maeglin, the first words he has spoken in this council. "It won't be easy." Turgon forces a smile. "Thirty years should be enough, I think. As for the rest..." He looks at Duilin, at Penlod, at the rest of the council. "You must make yourselves content with the truth: Gondolin is dead. There is nothing of it to inherit. There are no Lords. There is no kingship. I could not punish Salgant even were I minded to."
Turgon rises, silencing them, and goes to give Salgant the condemnation he craves.