Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

Author: Malinwen
Type: Romance
Fandom: Silmarillion – Alternate Universe – Femme Fatale
Pairing: Glorfindel/OFC, a bunch of others
Rating: R

Warnings:
some sexual innuendo, the Fall of Gondolin

Disclaimer:
I do not own the Silmarillion or any of the characters of J.R.R.Tolkien, but I do hold credit over Anárië as she is my creation entirely. The story was inspired by Taylor Swift's hit-single Love Story but is in no way affiliated with it.

This is part one of a three-part story, covering the final few years of the fair city of Gondolin, said to rival even Tirion in Valinor.

Feedback: always appreciated!

Elvish: will be translated at the end of each chapter, though I promise no perfection.

Also special thanks to the wonderful Eldalie for her comments and help with polishing this story up!

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CHAPTER ONE
Early spring, 509 FA

"Atar?"

Ecthelion looked up, careful to control his weary expression. His daughter Anárië stood at the bottom of the steps that lead to their private chambers, hands clasped in front of her. She reminded him very much of his passed wife Cealea, with her long golden hair and eyes as green as the emeralds Rog worked with.

Right now, those eyes cut right through him.

"There has been another attack, has it not?"

The Lord of the Fountain heaved a sigh and lowered himself onto a settee closest to him, the folds of his long overtunic parting and revealing the riding-stained clothing underneath. It had been a long day.

"You know me too well, yendenya."

Anárië took the last step onto ground floor and crossed the distance to her father, kneeling by him in a pool of pale silk. One hand touched his knee, the other his fingers. He returned the gesture and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Duilin rode out when no word came from his scouting group. He brought only one body home, the rest have been lost."

She trembled, her lower lip quivering slightly.

Orcs were growing ever bolder, trying to find a way through the high passes of the Encircling Mountains. While she could pretend the threat did not exist when she played with little Eärendil, Anárië could not do so when her father returned home in such a state.

Ever since her mother's passing Anárië had taken care of the household for the Lord of the Fountain, unoficially becoming Lady of the house. Her coming off-age begetting day celebrations were just around the corner, but with the latest events upon Tumladen and on Gondolin's borders, she could not welcome the time.

She found her voice: "What of the women? There were healers with the scouts."

The grey eyes of her father clouded further, and Anárië bit her lip lightly, turning her face aside. When Cealea had been lost on the outskirts of Tumladen due to a goblin raid, both husband and daughter had accepted the inevitable; but they also felt deeply for those of their kin who knew the same loss. And this time it appeared to be no different.

"Turgon will call a council soon," Ecthelion's voice floated over her. Anárië looked back into his face, a frown upon her features.

"He is late in doing so if it is about these latest killings."

Ecthelion forced a very bland smile onto his lips.

"Always the harshest judge; you know little of the King's mind, yendenya. Never forget that."

Chagrined, Anárië lowered her head, cheeks flaming, although on the inside she did not regret what she had just said. Turgon listened more to the councils of Salgant, Lord of the Harp, than Tuor his son-in-law, even though it had been the latter with whom the warnings of Ulmo had come.

Those close to Ecthelion knew well who influenced the Harp Lord, however.

While Maeglin was mostly respected and well-loved by those of his House and the House of the Harp, the other High Lords did not find it amusing when he spoke against them all in councils. Having won over Salgant, they did not know who would be next. With things standing as they were, they could not afford any more drawbacks.

"The King worries for his people," her father spoke while she contemplated, his voice sounding from a distance, as her thoughts clouded her mind, "he wants to do something. But as his Lords, we cannot seem to agree and therefore we are not helping him."

"Would it not be best if we just left, as Lord Tuor says?" she asked, looking up.

Their eyes met and held. Both loved Gondolin dearly. Anárië had been born into the city, with its seven levels and seven gates, and the King's tower rising in greeting to the heavens. Ecthelion had seen it built. Leaving it would be hard for both of them, yet if it was the only way …

What the young elleth had learned in the very first stages of her life was that sometimes, it was necessary to make a sacrifice for the good. Her mother had told her as much, while combing through her daughter's golden tresses. Her father sacrificed bit by small bit dayly, for reasons she could not yet understand, though she tried.

If the only sacrifice recquired of her at this moment was leaving Gondolin, Anárië thought she could do it.

Her father, closer to the King in council, doubted that would be the outcome soon.

"I do not think the King will submit to it; Turgon believes, and so do we all to an extent, that the Mountains will protect us, the mists over the hidden ways, and if nothing else the city's position and defences."

She thought on this for a moment.

"And yet you said yourself that Lord Glorfindel – Gondolin's best warrior – doubts the strength of all the Seven Gates together, especially with the North gate to the other side. Our only weakness, since the House of the Mole was given watch over it."

His daughter was a fast learner, and had a good memory.

"Indeed, I did say that. But let it suffice that we believe he is wrong."

She nodded and stood, smoothing her skirt off, fingers brushing across the fabric gently. She would believe – for her father's sake. When she stopped doing so the world as she knew it would come to a bitter end.

"Whatever you will say or do, Atar, I will be by your side. No matter what."

This drew a proper smile from Ecthelion and he watched her leave, passing through the arched doorway into the main portion of the house. He could hear her asking for the midday meal to be prepared sooner. Knowing he could not remain where he was, he stood to climb the stairs before him with a sigh.

Tuor shared Ecthelion's fears and doubts, Anárië noticed when she visitied Bar-en-Roval that afternoon; Idril's smiles seemed very forced, and her husband's face was grave. Ecthelion's daughter did not linger, instead seeking solitude in her father's garden gazebo.

It did not seem unnatural to her that, when an eerie quiet followed after the last raids, Ecthelion and Tuor's worries escalated, and they pressed the King to call a council sooner. Idril confided in Anárië that Tuor was becoming increasingly disilusioned with her father's actions, especially since Turgon seemed so ignorant of the warnings of Ulmo. Something was bound to change soon.

Finally, on a clear spring day, Turgon called his High Lords to the palace council chamber, seating them by the round table. Anárië knew, despite never seeing it, that it had been constructed thus to make all the attendants equal. Ecthelion, who had just been seated, could tell his daughter much – though much more had to remain hidden, especially in times like these.

The King looked upon his Lords gravely: "Here we come today to discuss the continuing question of our city's safety. Duilin?"

The face of Gondolin's first and best scout was grave as he looked at the gathered.

"I bring grave news, my brothers. Despite the apparent calm upon our borders, some of my men have yet to return. We fear them lost. If this continues, we will have no more warriors to watch our outer defences."

Egalmoth's eyes flashed, but he said nothing, resting his fingers against his chin in silent contemplation while the others discussed the matter at hand.

"It is unlikely that we will need more scouts in the future," Maeglin's soft voice drew their attention, "you have said yourself, my lord Duilin, that there have been no raids and no more attempts to breach the outer circle. I say we withdraw further into Tumladen."

"And leave the outer defences unmanned?" Galdor asked, doubtful, "That has not happened before and I fear the outcome should it be so now. Our numbers are dwindling slowly, yes, but if we abandon the posts within the mountain passes, more ill will come to Gondolin than good."

Tuor agreed: "If we do not do something fast, the city will fall eventually. My King, you know the words Lord Ulmo sent with me. I say the time has come to act upon them."

Every pair of eyes turned then to the King, who sat silent and pensive upon his throne. Ecthelion met the gaze of his cousin through marriage, Egalmoth, and those of Glorfindel, Tuor and Galdor. Two parties were forming at this council, and they could all feel it. Which would prevail?

Maeglin spoke again, breaking the silence, "Uncle, surely you will see reason when I say we should not abandon the city you have spent such a long time crafting. It would be utter shame. And if we flee now, we give Melkor what he wants: seeing us defeated."

Tuor kept his face under tight control, but Ecthelion could see his hand itched to do something more than hold the arm of his chair. Imperceptive to all but the Lord of the Wing, he shook his head.

"What do you expect to achieve by remaining here?" Rog spoke up finally, breaking the tension, the heavy mace of his House resting before him on the table. Of all the gathered Elves, his build was thickest, and his arm strongest. "It is obvious we are being circled into a trap. I've seen a pattern forming in the losses of our scouts. Morgoth seeks to tie the last knot; we will know who to thank when the city falls upon our heads."

There was a murmur, but while Salgant flashed Rog a sneer, Maeglin simply sat back with an easy, charming smile upon his face. Beside Ecthelion, Glorfindel's hand formed a fist under the table, though no other outward sign of malcontent was shown, and even this was tempered when Ecthelion lightly nudged him.

"My Lord, something MUST be done," he said, turning away from Glorfindel to look at the King, "and whatever that is, it must happen swiftly. However you decide, time seems to be against us."

This time, it was Penlod who was obviously unhappy with the development.

"You speak as though you know exactly what will happen, Fountain Lord. Pray tell, perhaps you should share your knowledge?"

Ecthelion would have said something, but Egalmoth stirred then, finally, one arm extended in his kinsman's direction to still him.

"The Warden of the Great Gate has no need – or indeed time – for such accusations. If and when he learns something that might save your humble self, my lord Penlod, I'm sure you will be the first to know."

Of all the gathered lords Egalmoth was the eldest, having been born in the same year as Turgon, and it was to him that the King normally turned for advice. Therefore his calm words, spoken in a dry tone, were a heavy blow, making Penlod shrink back into his chair out of fear. He would not risk waking the wrath of the Elf who could shoot a crow in flight a few hundred feet in the air.

Salgant would have come to his friend's aid, but Turgon finally had enough and stood.

"Peace! This is exactly what the Enemy plans – to set us against each other."

They fell silent, and bowed their heads, though Ecthelion met Egalmoth's gaze and thanked him silently for his support. It was better that the level-headed Lord of the Heavenly Arch had spoken in his defence than the hot-tempered Glorfindel, who even now sat simmering beside him.

The King looked at each in turn before speaking.

"All of you have sound reasoning for your part – and in times like this, a King must act for the best of his people.

This therefore I declare: our patrols remain unchanged. We remain in Gondolin. Should something occur, another council shall convene, but until then, leave me! It is tiresome enough to hear your bickering without the added strain of ruling a kingdom."

The Lords acknowledged the verdict with mixed emotions. Tuor exchanged a hopeless glance with his followers, all of them sensing their doom was near at hand. Those who supported Maeglin's cause were slightly more pleased.

Rog was first to leave, hefting the heavy weapon over his shoulder and sweeping through the door, taking no obvious side. Others followed in their own fashion, with Egalmoth promising Ecthelion to stop by his house later.

None of them saw the smile upon Maeglin's face, too engrossed they were in their own thoughts. A soft, beautiful gesture, that hid much malice behind it. A smile of victory.

Ecthelion's steps were heavy as he returned to his abode. Anárië knew the decision had not been made to her father's satisfaction as soon as he returned. She left one of his shirts unmended and joined him. Together, they stood by the large glass doors that lead into the gardens behind the mansion. In silence, they listened to each other's even breathing, the bond between single father and only child strong between them.

"The situation is hopeless," Ecthelion murmured finally. Anárië did not move or speak, the only sign that she heard him the pressure of her pursed lips.

"'Tis a shame that you should come off-age at such a time, yendenya … but we shall make it worth wile all the same."

This time she did look.

"You know you do not have to do this … I would have been content with a small gathering."

Her father's smile was sad.

"After your decision to lay aside your dreams and take your mother's place at my table? My little ray of sunshine, allow me this small indulgence. Let me give you a token of remembrance into your adulthood. It is the least I owe you."

She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, then turned and hid in his embrace like she used to when she'd been younger. Ecthelion held her close, a part of his mind thinking ahead to the celebrations, another worrying over what was to come.

For the year was 509 of the First Age, and although no Elf within the city – save perhaps Maeglin – knew it, it was the year before Gondolin's fall.


Atar - Quenya form of 'father, dad'
Yendenya - Quenya form of 'my daughter'