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Chapter Text

He clenched his jaw and kept digging, trying to ignore the blood slowly trickling down his back. He barely felt the burning pain of the wounds anymore. Being whipped had become part of his daily routine. Rog's hammer collided with the stone again, breaking a huge chunk loose. They didn't care if he was wounded. He had to keep working.

His hands ached. His whole body ached. He had to keep working. They would whip him again, if he didn´t. Maybe they would even if he did. Shapes danced in front of his eyes, as if to mock him. He was tired. He had to keep working. His shaking hands lifted the hammer once more and let it crash against the hard surface of the wall. His stomach growled hungrily.

He tried to ignore it. They wouldn't feed him. Not until nightfall. Not if they weren't satisfied with his work. The hammer hit the wall again. Today was a bad day. He didn't find much. Even the iron that usually was plentiful in Angband's mountains, was spares at best.

He slowly wiped the sweat of his forehead. His long, shaggy hair was completely wet. His sloppy braid began to come undone. With stiff, shaking fingers he fixed it again, picked his hammer back up and let it crash against the mountain wall. Dust flew up. Slowly Rog lowered his hammer and walked into the narrow tunnel, that had opened in front of him on shaky legs.

“Ey, what are you doing in here, Bosnauk.” The voice on his left came so sudden, that Rog flinched. “Ey, Bosnauk, I asked something. You aren´t supposed to be here.”, the orc repeated her request harshly. The noldo turned to her on shaky legs. He knew her. Kathotar was the guard, who would always sneak him and some other slaves water. “I beat the wall down. It was an accident. I... I will leave. Must keep working.”, he mumbled.

Kathotar's rough hand closed around his tired arm. “You´re bleeding, Bosnauk. Stay.”, she commanded. He didn´t know why she called him Bosnauk. It was black speech, but not a word he had ever picked up in the mines. Kathotar was the only one, who called him that.

Hesitant, Rog stayed in the tunnel. Kathotar was the closest thing to a friend he had down here. Of course, the orc wasn't the perfect friend. She was harsh and unforgiving, like everything down here. But she cared, and that was all that mattered. It wasn't like Rog would leave this pit anyhow. He would never have nice friends again. Friends that listened. Friends he could hug when times got bad. And he had accepted that.

In the pits of Angband, hope had no use.

Why should he hope to ever leave this hell again if he didn't even remember his own name? They had called him Rog, Demon, because he had killed a guard, attacking a young dwarven girl one day, with his bare hands. Now it was the only name he recalled ever having. He didn't know how to leave, and he didn't know where to go. It was better to accept his fate.

“Sit.”, Kathotar commanded. Her voice stayed harsh. Nothing in the mines was soft, gentle or happy. Rog had accepted that. He would never experience it again. At some point he would forget what it was, like he had forgotten his name. He sat down. His back ached, as he leaned it against the hard stone wall.

“This is a rebel tunnel.”, the orc explained, eying the hole in the wall warily, “The ones in the darkest lord's service, that want to get rid of him, dug them and use them. They hide us und protect us. The darkest lord can´t see us in here. You can´t leave this tunnel, knowing, that it exists. If the dark one finds the tunnel, he floods it with liquid fire. He kills us all. No hope for overthrowing him. You´ll have to disappear, Bosnauk.”

Rog nodded. So, he would die. Kathotar, his only friend, if he could call her that, would kill him so he wouldn´t talk. He accepted it. It was probably better, then to keep slaving away in the mines. “Alright. Please make it quick.”, he answered.

Kathotar threw her head back and laughed roughly. “Na, I´m not going to kill you. You must disappear from the mines. I´ll smuggle you out. The tunnels lead into the sewage system. It flows underground till it goes into a swamp that then goes into the elven river. I think Sirion is what you pointy-ears call it. It's disgusting, of course, I mean, it´s sewage, but hey, you're desperate. I'll give you a wooden tub, one of those things we collect minerals in. You can sit in it. That's probably better than swimming the whole way. I doubt that you would survive swimming the whole way. Do you even know how to swim?”

Kathotar scratched her reddish hair, that thinly spread over her edged scull. Rog nodded. He imprecisely remembered some motions that his mother had taught him a long time ago. That was for swimming, he was sure of it. Maybe he would manage to keep himself over the surface, should he fall out of the tub. “I know how to.”, he answered, leaving his doubts on whether he could, unspoken.

“Good.”, Kathotar said, “follow me. Be quiet.” He did. After countless years in the mines following orders had become easy. He did not ask any questions. He kept his eyes on the uneven floor. He didn't want to tip and fall in the dark tunnels. He doubted he would find the exit if they got separated.

Now and again, he could see other orcs or men and on occasion even dwarves scurrying through the tunnels. They never talked to them, but they stared. There were no other elves down here.

Weak, flickering torches lit the tunnels. They didn't do a very good job of keeping the darkness at bay. The tall orc-woman and the noldo, following her, took turn after turn, tunnel after tunnel, and after what felt like hours of walking Rog had lost every orientation of where he was. How did Kathotar manage to find her way around the rebel ways? He din´t know and he was too tired to question it.

His feet were bleeding and hurt. He was tired. It probably was time for dinner by now. His stomach growled. The smell in the tunnels got worse. It smelled like something had died down here. Rog felt sick.

“We are here.”

After walking all this way in silence Kathotar's words startled him. He took two shaky steps forward till he stood next to her. Now he could see it: In front of them a brown, stinking river flew lazily through the caves. Now and then something that most terrifyingly looked like body parts broke through the surface only to sink again.

The she-orc pulled a wooden tub towards the water. It was sloppily made, and Rog thought to himself that he would have scolded the apprentices in the workshops in Valinor for such poor craftsmanship. Even as a smith he could see that this woodwork was not fit to be a boat.

“It is small and weak. It won't be able to hold both of us.”, he said slowly. Kathotar laughed again. It sounded wrong, in a place like this. “I´m not going with you, Bosnauk. I´ll stay behind. Maybe I´ll send others out. If you make it, keep your eyes out for them. I´ll tell them to look for Rog.”, she barked. Rog tilted his head. “So, you do know my name.”, he noticed.

The orc laughed again. “Of course I do. Did you ever doubt that?” Rog flicked his braid over his shoulder. “You never call me by it. You call me Bosnauk. I have spent years in Angband, but I still don`t know, what it means.”

“Friend.”, Kathotar answered, “It means friend.”

And even though Rog thought he would never do that again; he took a step forward and hugged her. Her muscles and armour were hard under his skin. It felt like hugging a rock. “You are my friend too. I shall miss you.”, he whispered. Quietly laughing, the large orc pushed him away. “Wolfshit. In a few years you won´t even know my name anymore. Give it a few more and you'll forget I exist.”, she hissed. Her voice was raspy and something that might have been tears glittered in her eyes. “I won´t. Never.”, he answered sternly.

“Leave now.”, was Kathotar's only answer, as she pushed him into the wonky tub. “Goodby, Bosnauk. Save travels, die free!”, she shouted, as she threw her cloak at him and kicked the tub into the smelly river. “Goodby Bosnauk.”, he called after her, as he began to float away. Kathotar stood at the black shore and waved, until the darkness swallowed him.

Chapter Text

Rog awoke in when a splash of cold water hit him. Kathotar's cloak covered his face and blocked the light out. It still smelled of ash and sweat. Panicked he sat up. Was he sinking? Was his boat going down? Was he drowning? Hectic he ripped the cloak of. The light of the sun immediately blinded him. He blinked a few times, till his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

Clouds covered the sky. It was raining. For some moments he just stared up to the sky. Then he started laughing. His voice sounded weird. He hadn´t laughed in a long time. The sweet rainwater washed the dust of the mines off him. It was a wonderful feeling. He hadn´t felt clean in years.

Rog pressed the cloak to his chest, as tears started to flow down his cheeks. He was free. Really free! He had escaped! He had left Angband behind, and even though he floated through a smelly swamp in a shaky wooden tub, he was free. He cried till no more tars could flow, until he fell back to sleep.

The next time Rog awoke, his tub had gotten stuck in some reed at the side of a river. The rain had stopped falling and even the dark grey orcish cloak had dried off. The sun was shining in the sky. The noldo tried to stand up to see more of the river he was now in. The tub started to sway and shake and before he could sit back down it started to sink.

He grabbed the cloak, before the water could claim it and wrapped it around his bare upper body. The water wasn´t very deep, but the reed cut his hand and feet, as he crawled onto the shore. The pain was nothing compared to the mines. He didn't care.

Tall grey mountains could be seen in the distance. As he surely didn't want to stay in the plane, where he could easily be found again by orcs, he started to walk towards them. In Angband he had learned to push himself way beyond exhaustion and so he didn´t allow his aching body a break until he had reached their outskirts. There, in the shadow of the mountains, the air suddenly smelled wonderfully fresh, like it hadn´t since Rog left Valinor, years ago, when he still had had a name. This was a good place. He wrapped himself in his friends cloak again and fell asleep.

He was awoken by screaming Eagles and the commanding sound of a voice. Immediately, he was back on his feet, ready to fight. They must have found him! The wards from the dungeons. Now they would drag him back into the darkness! A darkness he would never leave. A place where the light wouldn't find him. But he would fight! He wouldn´t come without resistence.

“You! Who are you? What are you doing here?”, the voice wanted to know. Behind a rock, several Elvish warriors emerged. They were clad in colourful shining armour. Gems adorned their shields and helmets. All in all, they were so bright that it was almost painful to look at them. Rog squinted at the soldiers. “Rog. My name is Rog.”, he mumbled. He hadn´t used Quenya in a long time and it felt wrong on his tounge.

The first of the warriors, obviously their leader, arched an eyebrow. “Rog? Your name is Rog? Demon?”, he asked, his voice full of doubt. Rog nodded. “I once had another name a long time ago. I lost it in the mines of Morgoths fortress. I do not remember. In Angband they called me Rog and it is the only name I recall. It is an honour to bare it, for it was given to me out of respect and not fear or hatred. I keep it.”, he answered.

The warrior didn't seem convinced. “The light of the trees shines in your eyes. Where are you from, stranger?”, he asked. “I came over the ice with Nerwen, my friend. We were learning under Aule the smith together. I think I lived in Tirion, though my memories of this time are fuzzy.”, he said slowly.

The soldier's eyebrows shot upwards. “Is that so? Well, in this case there won't be a problem when you meet the king. You probably already know him. Follow me.”, he commanded as he turned around and began to march towards some bushes. His men followed him. Rog wrapped Kathotar's cloak tighter around himself and joined them warily. He really hoped that he didn't just walk into the next prison.

Chapter Text

Salgant was sitting on his balcony and playing a cheery tune on his harp. The sun was shining, and a happy breeze let his silver hair dance around him. It was a beautiful day in the white city. Walls and windows glittered brightly in the joyful light of the sun. It was the perfect day for a song. Salgant was in a wonderful mood. Here in Gondolin, the world was perfect today and every day.

It was just in the moment as Salgant's fingers quickened their pace over the harp's golden strings, when a messenger breathlessly stumbled onto his balcony. The older elf gave him a friendly smile. “Hello there, my boy. What matter makes you hurry so much? Is everything alright? I sure hope there isn't any trouble with the new market law I helped king Turgon with.”

He chuckled, as he handed the young ellon a handkerchief from his pocket, so the poor boy could wipe the sweat of his face. There surely couldn't be any reason to run this fast in Gondolin. The city was completely safe. Under no circumstance would such a hurry ever be necessary. The boy shook his head, and his dark brown curls flew around his youthful face.

“No, my Lord.”, he replied breathlessly, “The king wishes to gather all his lords for council. A new elf has arrived. Apparently well, my friends in the guard told me he escaped from, you know, the fortress, the dark foe´s fortress.” The young messenger shivered and looked around warily, as if he expected the blackened enemies horrifying face to be peeking over the edges of the mountains. “Beleglor, my friend, says the poor ellon was covered in scars and bruises when they found him. He says, the new one only wore some form of torn skirt and an ugly cloak that he really, really didn't want to give away.”

Salgant´s eyes went wide in terror. Forgotten was the cheery mood he had been in before. Forgotten was the harp that still stood next to him. A captive of Angband had been found this close to the city? That could not be a good sign. “A prisoner of Angband? Is your friend really sure?”, the lord of the harp inquired.

He got an eager nod as an answer. With quite some trouble Salgant swallowed his fear and tucked his silvery hair back in place. A few strands got caught on his sweaty palms, and he wiped them off on his fancy, sky blue robes. He forced himself to smile at the young messenger. No need to uselessly worry the youth.

“Well, if that is so I should really get going, shouldn´t I.”, he spoke with faked cheeriness, as he hastily slipped into a pair of sandals. “Do you wish to accompany me to the stables?” Much to Sagant's relief, the boy shook his head. “No, my lord, maybe another time, but now I must go and inform Lord Glorfindel down on the training grounds.”, he answered crestfallen. The Lord only nodded. “Of course, my boy. Then I guess you should make haste as well.”

As soon as the young one was gone, the worry reappeared on Salgant's face. Hastily, he rushed into the stables and mounted his horse. Hopefully the messenger had just misunderstood his warrior friend. Maybe the new elf wasn't really a prisoner of Angband. Maybe the dark foe still had no idea about the hidden city's whereabouts. Salgant bit his lip as he rode through Gondolin. Never had the road to the king's halls felt so long.

The square of the palace was swarming with servants. Some of the other lords were already there and nervously talked, huddled together in small groups. Ecthelion of the fountain stood next to Galdor of the tree and the lady Aredhel, the king's sister. The young Princess Idril spoke excitedly to Penlod of the tower of snow and the pillar and Duilin of the swallow. Salgant dismounted his horse and handed the reins to a stable boy with shaking hands.

Quickly he made his way over to the princess, who waved at him with a wide grin. At least the young lady of the city didn't seem to share his worries. “Good day my lady, my lords.”, he greeted with a short nod to each of them and wiped his wet hands on his robe again. “Greetings lord Salgant!”, Idril piped. “So ...”, he hesitated for a short moment, but then asked anyway, “The messenger told me an escaped prisoner of Morgoth was found in front of the tunnel. That can´t be true, can it?”

“Oh yes, it is. From what I gathered, at least. You see, our new guest doesn't talk much. Only with much reluctance, he allowed our healers to clean him and tend to his wounds. He was wary of the food, and he wouldn't let go of the cloak that he had with him. An ugly thing that cloak is. All grey and brown and rough looking. And it smells of ash and death. My mind shudders to imagine what place he has that thing from.”, the princess explained in a hushed voice. The other lords took the information in with worry.

“What if he's a spy?”, Duilin proposed. Penlod nodded, seemingly thinking about the possibility. “It is entirely possible that that cloak is some sort of dark magic artefact. Maybe it helps to transmit information directly to Morgoth. It would not be the first time that one of the dark enemy's prisoners turned their back on their rescuers. He surely is under some kind of spell. I heard that it is impossible to stop being the foes thrall. That they are all under some dark curse. I would not let him keep that cloak!”, the youngest lord of the white city expalined with wide eyes. “That is a possibility we have to take into consideration.”, Penlod replied in his usual calm way.

All of a sudden, Sagant felt a wave of anger, almost rage crash over his fear, washing it away. Why did his fellow lords have to assume the worst of the poor stranger from the very beginning? They didn't even know him yet. They hadn't even met him yet! And surely Turgons skilled healers would have noticed such a curse! No, the prisoner certainly was no threat. He was just some poor ellon who had been in the worst place imaginable. If there was any threat, it would have been orcs that followed him.

“Or maybe he's just cold. Imprisonment in such a horrible place must take its toll. He is wounded and probably tired. Or maybe he just doesn't want to give up what little he has. If we force him to give up his most prized possession, he will never trust us! We can't even imagine how much that cloak must have been worth in those cold, dark mines.”, Salgant suggested angrily. A memory that he had tried to suppress appeared in his mind. He could almost feel the cold of the horrid, grinding ice again. He hadn't taken his cloak off for months after that. After the ice had claimed his sister and the battle after his brother. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He was safe in Gondolin. Safe!

When the trumpets announced the king's arrival Salgant flinched. Hastily he wiped his hands again and looked up to the staircase, where Turgon stood, as tall and proud as usual. But it was the elf standing one step behind the kings back, that caught the lord of the harps eye. He had the light of the trees in his eyes, that otherwise looked empty, as they flickered around the square, as if to look for a way to escape. Gray streaks ran through his jet-black hair and his back was hunched over. Barly healed cuts ran through his face and he seemed out of place in the fancy robes, Turgon had given him, without doubt. In his hands he clutched a dirty looking piece of cloth, as if his live depended on it. So that was the cloak Idril, and the messenger had talked about.

Turgon looked at each of his lords, then he raised his hands to the sky and announced: “My dear lords and ladies of Gondolin please welcome Rog in our beautiful city. He is one of the Noldor, like most of us, and was a close friend of my dear cousin Galadriel, who now resides in the great woods. His way to safety was long and full of hardships, but now he is here. Until he has recovered and is able choose himself, Rog will be joining one of your houses. Who of you fine lords will take our new friend under their wing?”

Silence filled the square. Duilin looked to the floor. Penlod pressed his lips together. Salgant's eyes wandered over to Glorfindel, who stood next to Ecthelion. Both seemed to share the worries, the lord of the swallow had expressed. “Anyone? It will only be for a short while.”, Turgon demanded again. With shaking legs Salgant stepped forward, before he could even comprehend what he was doing. They couldn't just let the poor ellon down like that! “Rog would be most welcome in the house of the harp.”, Salgant heard his own melodic voice say, and he himself was surprised, that it didn´t shake at all.

The former prisoners head snapped around and those empty eyes looked straight at Salgant. Only that they were not empty this time.

Chapter Text

Slowly Rog walked down the stairs. He was limping, so Salgant stretched his arms out to him. Maybe it would help the other elf to feel more welcome if he offered him a shoulder to lean on, or a hug. Rog rejected both of these options and stopped in his tracks right before Salgant. He looked at him with raised eyebrows and a slightly bowed head, as if to ask what Salgant's plan was. He didn't speak.

“Hello and welcome to Gondolin, my friend. My name is Salgant, the Lord of the harp. With great pleasure do I welcome you into my house, even if it is only for a short time. Do you wish to ride?”, the lord of the harp asked carefully. Rog hesitated, then shook his head. “All right my friend, would you please follow me? I will lead you to my house”, Salgant offered. The other ellon nodded and they started walking.

While they strolled through the white city, Salgant showed Rog around, leading him over the Place of the Fountain, pointing out the different statues and plants on the sides of the Road of Pomps and showing him all his favorite food stalls on the lesser market. Salgant even bought the other elf a bag of fried, sugared apple slices, which he always liked to snack on. Rog took the treat and sniffed it suspiciously. “It’s alright. They taste good”, Salgant explained with a wide smile and bought himself a bag as well.

Rog watched with narrowed eyes as the lord of the harp took a bite of one of the apple slices and then immediately started to shove a whole hand full of them into his mouth. “Wait, wait, my friend you have to eat them slowly, or you might get a tummy ache!”, Salgant chuckled. “I’m hungry”, Rog muttered in a raspy voice. It was the first time he had spoken in the lord of the harp’s presence and Salgant had almost expected him to be mute. His jaw dropped.

“Well, well if that’s the case, my friend, I will buy you proper food. Come on, they have meat skewers just over there and this young elleth sells freshly pressed juices. You just have to try the pear one! Oh, and over here they sell filled noodles! It’s pockets of noodle dough filled with meat, herbs and spinach! A Sindarin specialty. What do you want to try?”, the silver haired lord asked excitedly. Rog looked a bit overwhelmed, so Salgant just bought one of each food.

By the time they reached the main house of the harp, Rog had already devoured the entire skewer and moved on to the filled noodles. The poor ellon had to be starved! Salgant had to make sure he got enough to eat. Nobody in his house should ever have to feel hunger! “Here we are, my friend. The house of the harp. Make yourself comfortable. I will show you your guest room now. If you need anything, just ask the staff or come to me directly.”, he explained, as he led Rog up a staircase and unlocked a silver door for him.

The injured elf peeked into the room wearily. Maybe he was scared that Salgant could lock him in? The lord of the harp entered the room first and indeed Rog did follow. “This is where you can sleep. The bath is behind the door with the harp painting. And you can store your things in the closet over there… You will soon find some clothes in it, I will send someone to the market and let them pick something nice for you out.”, Salgant said cheerful and handed his visitor the little harp shaped room key. Hesitantly his eyes fell onto the strange, admittedly quite smelly cloak in the elf’s other hand.

“About your cloak. Should I have it washed?”, he asked with a gentle smile. Immediately Rog pressed the dark cloth closer to his chest. “I will keep it”, he growled. Salgant nodded quickly, admittedly quite scared. “Of course you can keep it. My staff would return it, after it is cleaned. I can see that it is of great importance to you”, he tried to calm the other elf down. “It must not be damaged. I need it. I am must not forget where I got it from”, Rog whispered, slowly handing the cloak over to Salgant. “Oh? Where did you get it from, my friend. Is the place you left not a place one wishes to forget?”, the lord of the harp could not restrain his curiosity.

Suddenly Rog looked directly into Salgant’s eyes, as if he wished to capture the silver haired elf’s full attention. “It was a parting gift, given to me by… a friend.”, he said sternly. Salgant’s jaw dropped. “You… you had a friend in that place? Where is he?” Suddenly Rog looked away again and his jaw clenched, as if he held back tears. “She... Kathotar, she is still there. She could not leave. She... she got me out, but the tub wasn’t big enough. She remains there. I have to remember her... if I forget, like I forget Valinor... I could not forgive myself for that.”, he sobbed.

Salgant simply took a step forward and pulled the shivering body of his guest into a warm hug. “It’s all right. I will help you to remember her. If you wish I could paint her, I do like to paint. Penlod is quite good at it too and king Turgon and the little princess can sketch quite well. Maybe I will even write a heroes song about her. You won’t forget... Kathotar.”, he whispered and rubbed gentle circles over Rog’s back. The escaped prisoner’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of the harp lord’s shoulders hard. “Yes, please paint her. Please, before her face fades!”, Rog rasped.

“All right, my friend. How about I give your cloak to one of the washers and then we go onto the balcony and I paint your friend, hm?”, the silver haired elf suggested, petting his guest’s arm. Rog nodded and followed Salgant out of the room, not without locking the door two times.

It turned out Kathotar was an orc. Salgant had not even considered, that she might be, but he tried not to judge Rog for it. If the creature, that slowly came to life on his canvas, really had helped Rog to escape, she maybe truly deserved his friendship. In his thoughts Salgant wondered, if orcs even knew what friendship was. As if he had read his mind, Rog suddenly said: “She used to call me Bosnauk. I always thought she just didn’t know my name, but it turns out, it just means ‘friend’, in orcish. She called me her friend.” “That is nice of her. She doesn’t seem to be like the orcs I met”, Salgant said with a concentrated look on his face, as he covered the dark gray head on the canvas with red hair.

“Yes, she was rough, everything there was, but she was good. I hope she escapes too, someday. She tries to overthrow the dark one, you know. She and a few others. Wait, there was a scar on her neck. Right there.”, Rog pointed out. Salgant added the scar. The orcs orange and yellowish eyes stared up to him, as if to challenge him to ask, how she would have survived a cut in her throat. He did not ask. “How did her ears look?”, Salgant inquire instead. “They did not poke out of her hair, I think they were cut. She hid them. Sometimes I wondered if she used to mine too. She surely had enough scars for it”, Rog muttered.

Salgant tried not to show how shocked he was. He just stared at the painting and kept adding brush strokes, until Rog was content with how it looked. “And now we leave it to dry. Should we go to dinner? This whole crazy day made me terribly hungry!”, the fair elf suggested. Rig gave him a curt nod and followed.

Chapter Text

Rog woke up in a soft bed and to the sound of beautiful music. Someone was singing and a harp was playing. The smell of sweet, fresh food hung in the air. Rog slowly climbed out of the bed and placed his feet onto the soft carpet in front of it. He felt better rested then he had been in the entire life present in his memories. The clean, cool air felt pleasent against his naked body. Slowly he walked over to the closet and grabbed the robe Turgon had given him. It was weird to have nice clothes again.

It was also weird to live with Salgant. He was the embodiment of everything Rog had thought he had lost forever. He was friendly, soft and he had bought Rog food. He gave so freely, without worrying if he would still have enough. Nobody in Angband, not even Kathotar, would have treated him like that. Salgant was so wonderful, that it was hard to believe that his friendliness was genuine. But he seemed to have no ill intentions so far. Maybe he hoped to get something from Rog in return. But what? He didn’t have anything. Apart from his skills maybe...

Well, he would think about that later. Rog walked over to the door with the harp painting; there were a lot of harp paintings in the house, and opened it suspiciously. He would not really get his own bath, would he? Rog dropped his robe in shock. The bathroom was gigantic. He did not remember seeing anything like this before. A tub, big enough for ten elves filled an entire corner of the room. It was carved from white marble with golden lodes running through it. A golden tap led into the tab. A fluffy, white rug with a golden harp woven into it covered the floor. Two white basins hung on the wall and the toilet even had an intricately carved lid.

For longer than he would have liked to admit Rog simply stood there and stared. Then, very slowly he picked the robe back up and placed it onto the rug. His Fingers, scar covered, bruised and blood caked slid over the white marble and he carefully twisted the tap. Warm, steaming water began running from the golden pipe. Rog couldn't believe his eyes. Warm water, straight from the tap! How was that even possible? He slowly placed his feed into the tub and slid into the water. It felt heavenly. A long moan left his mouth, as he sank into the water, till it covered everything but his face. The water around him became red, as it melted the scabs of his skin.

He closed his eyes and let the warmth engulf him. After soaking for a while, Rog slowly pushed himself up, trying to ignore the raging pain in his back. Maybe he would even have soap here! He looked at the wide rim of the tub, were a collection of small bottles sat on a tray. Rog hesitated for a moment, then he picked one of the bottles up, uncorked it und sniffed it with suspicion. In Angband they had once scrubbed one of the other slaves down with vinegar as a punishment and one could never know. For all Rog knew the lord of the harp was just testing him for his king, to see if he was clever enough for the work, they wanted him to do. But the contents of the bottle smelled of lavender, not of vinegar. He picked up one bottle after the other and smelled each of them. One smelled of honey, one of roses, one of pinewood, one of some fruit he had forgotten and one of cedar. But a bar of soap he could not find. Maybe he hadn’t been given soap after all. Another hint to him actually being a prisoner.

A knock on the door to his room pulled Rog from these unpleasant thoughts. The harp and the singing he had been hearing had stopped, now that he payed attention to sounds. “Hello? Rog, my friend, are you awake already? I brought you a bite to eat”, lord Salgant’s voice called from the hallway. Rog could barely hear him through the two closed doors. But he knew better then to ignore a Lord. Rog swiftly left the tub and wrapped a towl around his waist, then he rushed to open the door for his host. It was most likely better to not leave him waiting. What if the elf with the silver hair got angry? As fast as possible, Rog unlocked the door and opened it. Outside, in the hallway stood lord Salgant, a bright smile on his face and a tray full of food in his hands. “I am here, my Lord”, Rog said and tried to sound as obedient as possible.

The lord of the harp’s blue eyes traveled over Rog’s wet body and a bright blush appeared on his round cheeks. How could a person look so... soft? “Ehm, were you bathing, my friend?”, lord Salgant asked, quickly tearing his gaze away. “I was, my Lord. I was just searching for the soap, when you called”, Rog answered, stepping aside, to allow lord Salgant to enter. The lord of the harp carried the breakfast tray into Rog’s room and placed it onto the table. “Do you wish to continue your bath, while I set the table for us?”, lord Salgant asked with a smile, glancing at Rog’s chest once more. Rog immediately shook his head. The idea of the other elf pouring him his drink without him watching was not acceptable. “No thank you, lord Salgant”, Rog answered cautiously and ready to duck, should the elf with the fair hair be enraged. But lord Salgant did not lash out. Instead, he simply smiled at Rog and asked: “You said you had trouble picking a soap. Shall I help you with that?”

Rog pondered the offer, then he nodded. It would most likely not be very clever to refuse the lord again. “All right, shall we go into the bathroom?”, the lord of the harp inquired, wiping his hands on the purple cloth of his robe. Rog nodded and led the way. At least following orders stayed predictable. He unwrapped the towel and placed it next to the tub, then he climbed back into the water. Behind him, lord Salgant made a high-pitched noise. “S- So what scent do you like?”, the lord of the harp asked, his melodic voice sounding choked. Rog shrugged. He really did not care: Why should he. “Not vinegar”, he simply answered. “How about... apple?”, the lord of the harp asked. Rog nodded. So that was the fruit. Apple.

Lord Salgant picked up the bottle. Rog watched him carefully, though he said nothing. What did the oil have to do with to do with soap? “Should I apply it to your hair?”, the lord asked. “What about the soap?”, Rog asked. “This is the soap, my friend. But if you wish to apply it yourself, I can wait outside”, lord Salgant explained with a chuckle. Rog pondered on the offer. On the one hand the idea of someone touching him was horrid, on the other hand someone being alone with his food was even worse. “You can do it”, Rog answered, biting his lip. Salgant’s hands were gentle, as he applied the soap. Rog kept his eyes open the entire time anyway. No way he would give up the little control he had.

Chapter Text

As soon as Salgant stood behind Rog, and the noldo could no longer see him, he buried his face in his hands. What had he done, asking Rog if he should wash his hair? And why did Rog have to get naked in front of him. He had expected him to sit on the rim of the tub not to just lay down in the completely bubble free, red, but clear water... naked! And why was he so handsome and muscular?! Well, Salgant guessed one would have to be, after mining in a horrid place like Angband. Surely poor Rog hadn't been allowed to take many breaks.

Carefully Salgant poured some of the apple soap onto Rog’s wet hair and began rubbing it into his scalp as carefully as possible. In the tub the other elf went stiff. His scarred fingers dug into the marble rim. “Are you all right, my friend? Am I hurting you?”, Salgant asked, but Rog stayed silent. Not even the eerily red water moved. “Your hair is quite damaged. I could cut it later if you wish. Or I could have a servant do it, if you would be more comfortable with that?”, the lord of the harp tried again. Rog’s knuckles went white, from gripping the marble so hard and his breath quickened. Slagant recognized the panic attack immediately. After the ice he had suffered many himself. “Or we could wait a bit, when it comes to cutting your hair, until you have seen some of the hairstyles worn in the city right now”, he offered. Instantly Rog calmed down and nodded.

“Can you please hold your head under the tap, so I can rinse your hair out now?”, Salgant asked with a smile. Rog moved stiffly under the tap, his hands barely leaving the rim of the tub. Maybe he couldn’t swim and feared the water. “Are you sacred of drowning? We can drain the water if you wish”, Salgant suggested. Rog jerkily shook his head. Suddenly a horribel thought crossed Salgant’s mind. He remembered the day before, when Rog hadn’t dared to enter his room before the lord of the harp. What if he didn’t fear drowning, but being drowned? What if he thought Salgant would just push his head under the water any second now. “I do not wish to harm you, my friend”, Salgant said, stroking his guests hair and took care to be extra careful while rinsing the soap from Rog’s black and gray strands.

“This one is for your body”, Salgant said then, while placing a bottle with a woody scent next to Rog's cramping hands. He was trying to hold back his blush, as he was turning to leave. “Wait. Please stay here, my lord”, Rog begged. Salgant blinked. He could feel his face burning. “W-what?”, he choked out. “I wish for you to stay”, Rog repeated. “But... but you are bathing. In the nude, no less. Don’t you want any privacy?”, Salgant stammered. Rog hesitated. “No, I wish for you to stay. Do not go back into the living room, please. We didn’t have any privacy... you know... there either. The orcs watched when they allowed us to bathe, which was rare. You may watch if you wish, it won’t upset me”, Rog simply said. Salgant sat on the toilet, not really knowing what to say. Maybe having company while bathing was a strange comfort for the noldo, like the orc’s cloak had been.

So, the lord of the harp just sat there, while trying not to stare at the other elf. It was weird. “Do my scars upset you, lord Salgant? You do not have to watch me. You can just look another way, if you wish”, Rog mumbled. Salgant nodded. “No, no, my friend. I am not upset by your body. You look quite handsome. No, this is just... unfamiliar to me. Most people in Gondolin are very... well they like to cover their bodies”, Salgant stammered, staring at the wall, as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Rog said nothing and continued to wash himself. Salgant’s mouth was dry. This was so scandalous, like something out of a filthy novel. Rog still didn’t seem to care. “This is not... strange for you at all?”, the lord of the harp asked again, sneaking another peek at the tall, black-haired elf. One of those gray streaks of hair clung to his scarred back und muscular backside. Quickly Salgant looked away again.

“No, my lord. The orcs used to pleasure themselves watching us. At some point you either fade or start ignoring it. This here is very tame”, Rog said, rinsing his muscular chest off. Salgant swallowed drily. “I am sorry to hear that”, he mumbled. Rog did not react. When he was finished, he simply stepped out of the tub, in all his naked glory. Salgant covered his eyes with his hands. He felt so invasive, sitting here. “I am dressed, lord Salgant”, Rog suddenly said. Salgant lowered his hands. Indeed, Rog was dressed in the robe he had worn the day before. His hair was tied into a messy braid. “You... aren’t wearing any under garments under that, are you?”, Salgant asked, unable to hide his blush. “Any what?”

Salgant had the feeling he would faint soon. “I’ll order you some. Let’s eat while we wait for one of the servants brings them, shall we?”, he asked and shuffled out of the bathroom. Rog followed him quickly. While having breakfast, Salgant, who was known as a lover of all kinds of good food, barely managed to eat a bite. The picture of the naked elf, even if he hadn’t looked at him for long, was burned into the insides of Salgant’s eyes. He could not look at the other without blushing. Never in his life had he expected to find himself in a situation like this. Rog on the other hand seemed to have very different problems. He only picked out foods, Salgant had already tasted, and he rubbed his cup out with his robe before drinking anything. Had he asked the lord of the harp to stay with him for this reason? To make sure Salgant didn’t temper with his food? The poor elf. Salgant would have to make sure he felt save as soon as possible.