Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

Author: Malinwen
Type: Action/Adventure
Fandom: Silmarillion – Alternate Universe – Femme Fatale
Pairing: various
Rating: PG-13

Warnings:
The Second Age in Middle Earth, kinslaying, wandering, angst

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 partly inspired by Kelly Clarkson's hit-single Miss Independent, but is in no way affiliated with it.

This is part two of a six part story, covering a range of years from the end of the colony at Sirion to the forging of the Great Rings.

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!

***

PROLOGUE
Autumn, 532 FA

Anárië placed her feet carefully as she walked over the leafy blanket. The morning was calm, if misty. The wisps rising from the great delta behind her had begun appearing thickly as winter drew near. There was no telling when they would suddenly envelop you and cut you off from all you held dear. Yet she was in no hurry.

That morning, the wind was in the East, and she was on the western bank. This would give her some more time, if only she would not forget to take care of the shifts in the treacherous breeze.

Loathe she had been to leave Elwing, especially this far into her pregnancy, but they needed the meat. The lady of the colony was weakened with her condition, and while she normally avoided anything that ran on four legs, Anárië had persuaded her that a thick rabbit stew would give her some strength back. This was the main reason why she was out so early in the morning, when everyone else was still abed, or waiting for the fishermen to return.

Slowly lowering herself into a crouch, the elleth crumbled some leaves upon her gloved palm, watching as they were carried away, and nodded; this would be a good spot.

Deftly, she set up the trap Galdor had taught her to do, and concealed it, before resuming her course. If she could get something more than just a rabbit, she would be content.

Sniffing the air, something she’d had to learn ever since they’d been forced to abandon their ancient mountain home, she stole among the undergrowth, following a scent she could feel on the breeze. There were deer somewhere in the forest right now. As much as it pained her to, Anárië knew that if she were to kill one and bring it home, Elwing would feel even better.

She saw the herd soon afterwards, and stopped to take the bow from its hold on her back. An arrow was drawn from the quiver and quietly notched. The wind was still in her favour, the animals had not detected her yet. Her shoulders ached from where she had taken the fall yesterday during a mock-duel with Egalmoth, but she clenched her teeth and drew the string back.

For a moment, she felt strong, gentle hands upon her own, and a breath upon her cheek.

"My lady!"

The herd lifted their heads at the sound, and scattered noisily; Anárië cursed and lowered the bow, knowing it was fruitless to shoot after the fleeing animals.

Instead, she turned to see who had interrupted her.

"Lady Anárië!"

Hendor was running towards her, and her heart jumped to her throat. Since Idril had sailed with Tuor, Hendor had taken care of Eärendil's household with some others.

Quickly, she retraced her steps: "Hendor, what happened?"

The Elf was breathing heavily: "'Tis Elwing, m'lady – her pains have started."

Anárië's eyes widened as she resumed her pace, and Hendor turned to go with her.

"When?"

"An hour or so after you left; I came as fast as I could."

She placed a hand upon his shoulder and lengthened her strides.

"And the lord?"

"His ship has not yet been seen; we wished to find you first."

She pursed her lips together and gauged the distance between the settlement and where they were currently.

"Hendor, have you strength left?"

He gave her a look that silenced any doubts she might have harboured.

"Then make haste back to the river – there is a hunting party on the eastern shore. Light the beacon in the tower, and send the signal."

Hendor nodded, "Two long, three short, two long?"

She nodded, and without another word, they both sprang from their walk; the ellon darted away from her towards where the rushing of the river could be heard, and Anárië ran as fast as she was able, back in the direction of the settlement.

Eärendil and she had devised a signal for just this instance, if he were to be at sea when his wife went into labour. The elleth could only hope that his ship was close enough to shore that he would see the beacon through the mist.

Her feet drummed lightly against the ground as she ran, back the way she came, making sure to inhale through her nose. The air was chilly and moist. Hunting would have to wait until later.

Leaves flew from under her boots and she pushed branches aside as she went, jumping over roots and rotting logs, forgetting about the trap she'd set earlier. Elwing needed her. Tuor would never forgive her if she allowed his daughter-in-law to face the pain of first childbirth alone when his son was at sea.

She burst through the foliage and ran into a startled Elf who had just been passing by the more conventional path.

"I'm sorry!" she cried back across her shoulder as she dismantled herself and ran on; Elves were awake and about now, and they gave her startled looks as she breezed by them, making a bee-line towards the largest of the houses.

Outside, she was met by Hendor's young son.

"M'lady! Atar found you."

She needed a moment to catch her breath, and she used it to hand him her bow and arrows.

"Yes; how is she?"

The child turned his head towards the entrance: "In pain."

Anárië ruffled his hair gently and stepped through the door into the bustling house. Immediately, one of the ellith within grabbed her by the arm:

"Thank goodness Hendor found you! Come, the lady asks for you – what happened to your hair?"

Only then did Anárië realise that her mad dash through the trees had probably not ended all that well.

"I ran."

The handmaiden made a snorting sound and quickly plucked leaves out of the golden tresses, and even found a twig in there while they made their way to the master bedroom. Ecthelion's daughter could already hear the mistress of the colony. Her steps became faster again and she slipped through the door just as another handmaiden was exiting.

Elwing was propped high on pillows, her hair a cascading chaos around her; her wild eyes aligned on Anárië.

"Anná! Hendor found you …"

She smiled and quickly took a seat by the raven-haired woman's side, kissing her temple: "He ran fast; I was not far. How is it?"

The young woman grimaced: "Painful. Regularly and fast now. Eärendil -"

"- has been sent for," Anárië cut her off, "I gave orders for the beacon to be lit. He should be here soon."

If he values the skin he wears, she added as an after-thought within her mind, but smiled reassuringly and took Elwing's hand in her own, giving it a squeeze.

Elwing's body shook with the force of her next pain, and Anárië wished she could do more than sit there and encourage her, wiping her face with a damp cloth. The morning drew on, and through the window, she could see the mist had lifted.

Even as she acknowledged that, there was the sound of a horn outside.

Elwing gave a startled cry, but Anárië laughed: "That is uncle Galdor's horn! They have come!"

Galdor had gone with Eärendil and the others upon the fishing excursion, and hearing his horn meant that they had seen the beacon sign, and hastened home.

Sure enough, someone burst through the main door, and moments later, the tall form of the Lord of the Havens framed the doorway to the bedroom. Anárië was struck once more by the likeness he bore to Tuor and Turgon; but his eyes were his mother's. And they were relieved, if slightly frightened.

"Elwing …"

The smile upon the Lady's face lit the room, and Anárië stood to allow Eärendil to sit in her spot, tugging his cloak off as she did so.

"I came as fast as I could, beloved, as soon as we saw that the beacon was lit."

As he spoke, his eyes lifted to where his guardian and mentor stood, their depths filled with thanks. The golden-haired elleth smiled.

"'Tis good to see you know when to make haste, son of Tuor."

He laughed, but Elwing cried out in pain and mirth was cut short. Anárië sent all but one of the other women out and closed the door behind them.

"There my lady, almost time now," said the other elleth and patted Elwing's shoulder gently; the woman didn't seem convinced, and didn't like the cheerfulness of the midwife either.

"You said that when this started!"

Eärendil gave Anárië a startled look; she hid the smile threatening to bloom across her features as the midwife shrugged: "It gets worse before it gets better."

As testimony to that, Elwing suddenly screamed and clawed at her husband's hand. Anárië quickly followed the midwife's instructions, and told Eärendil to be a man and hold his wife while she laboured to deliver their child into the world. He looked about ready to bolt.

They shifted positions so that he was now behind her, holding her against his chest and keeping her as steady as possible; her breathing spiked, the midwife cooed in delight – and all of a sudden, the cry of a baby filled the room.

Anárië had her fingers upon her lips as she watched the miracle before her, the small, wailing bundle in the midwife's hands, the look of exhausted pride on Elwing's face, and the joy and wonder upon Eärendil's.

And then Elwing suddenly tensed, and clutched at her belly again.

"Oh! I think she might have twins," the midwife cried, "were there twins in your family, m'lady?"

Elwing was lost in her pain; it was Eärendil who answered: "She had older brothers, twins. They were killed in the fall of Menegroth."

The elleth nodded, and turned to Anárië, who all of a sudden found herself looking down at the scrunched face of the baby.

"Hold him."

She'd never held a baby before; Eärendil had been crawling when she'd first dared to lift him into her arms. The baby she was currently entrusted with complained loudly for being thrust into the cruel, cold world outside his mother's womb. Upon instinct, Anárië pulled him closer to herself, cradling him gently and trying to keep him warm with her body.

"Shhh, little one," she soothed, and he quieted slightly; she was struck by how beautiful he was. So tiny, so helpless, yet so precious.

It all happened quickly after that – Elwing gave another cry, and then the midwife held the second baby up for her to see.

"Sons, my lady! Two healthy, strong boys."

Elwing slumped back against her husband, and Eärendil craddled her to him, his lips pressed against her temple as tears of joy slipped down his cheeks.

Anárië helped the midwife clean both of the boys, and take the soiled sheets away, and then she was dismissed; Eärendil was towed out just enough so that this could all be achieved without his presence. He was admitted back soon enough, and Anárië gladly placed his firstborn son into his arms. Elwing held the other.

"They are beautiful," she said to her husband, and he smiled in agreement, kissing her gently.

Anárië was just about to make her quiet exit, when all of a sudden two pairs of eyes were upon her, and she froze on the spot.

Elwing looked at her with a plea in her eyes, "Anná – would you …"

She faltered, and fell silent. Eärendil cleared his throat.

"We were wondering if ... you would be inclined to watch over our children."

She frowned: a wet nurse? But Eärendil beat her to the punch: "Like you did with me. It is important – we are not in the safety of Gondolin here. It is important."

And she understood.

"Are you asking an oath of me, son of Tuor?"

His gaze met hers: "I am, if you are willing."

There was a whisper in the room, like a warning; but Anárië was on her knee in front of the bed, in front of her liege-lord and his family, and for a moment, she saw again the small boy she had carried out of the burning mountain kingdom.

She pulled out the knife his father had given her, what seemed like an Age ago. The blade cut through her palm, and it stung; but it was a good pain.

"This I swear, and the Valar are my witness, that I am bound to the House of Eärendil from now until he or one of his own release me, or death take me. My blood is their blood, my life their own. May Mandos find me swiftly should I break my sacred vow."


Atar - Quenya form of 'father, dad'