Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER TEN
Early Spring of 510, FA

It was a mild day, a warm day; the snow had finally melted entirely and new life was beginning to emerge from all around. Tumladen burst into green and red and yellow and all colours inbetween. The walls of Gondolin were covered with flowers again. The birds had returned, and their romances were beginning.

Romances seemed to be springing out all over Gondolin, and if not romances then the consequences of those; the cries of children, so seldom heard in other Elven kingdoms, multiplied, filling the heart of the King with joy. Everything seemed to be given a fresh start.

That day, Ecthelion was riding out, far out onto Tumladen again; Anárië stood beside his horse with him as Lasgow prepared the final details.

"Atar, do not go," she begged him softly, one last time, knowing it was to no avail. Once her father's mind was made up, there was no changing its course.

He smiled reassuringly and gently cupped her cheek.

"I will not be too long, yendenya. I will be back for dinner, I promise."

She lowered her head, and he touched his lips to her golden curls, before turning to mount his horse. The stallion snorted, pawning the cobblestones and shaking its head before his master reigned him in and, with a lifted hand, slowly rode out from under the archway and onto the rode of Fountains.

Anárië waited on the steps until the last rider disappeared, and then she grabbed her skirt and dashed into the house, pushing Elwen aside in her haste. Her slippers left a soft sound as she climbed the stairs and pulled open the doors of the wide terrace overlooking the street, her hands touching the rail as her body came to a stop. A faint breeze blew, picking up her father's standard and unfurling it. Her heart was beating rapidly away, her breathing fast as she watched the column of riders make their way in the direction of the Great Gate.

The first rider turned, and lifted a hand again. She clasped her own over her heart, silently praying, as she did every time he left her like this. She did not sense Elwen's approach, and the handmaiden stayed at the entrance, her heart going out to her young charge.

Anárië stayed on the balcony until she could not see the standards anymore, and then, subdued, she slowly returned inside.

Ever since her mother's demise upon the very fields that her father was riding out to, she lived in perpetual fear that he would fall as well. No assurance Ecthelion made could placate her, though she was graceful enough when she saw him off. And she was always standing over the ramparts, watching, waiting, praying. Only when the flutes sang again did a smile grace her features. Like Cealea before her, Anárië now waited for the return of the man who commanded the City's elite warriors.

"My lady?" Elwen's soft voice woke her from her thoughts, and she realized she had been standing in the hallway.

"It is nothing," she sighed, shaking her head and descending the steps again, aimlessly moving towards her mother's garden again, seeking solace. Elwen wished there was something she could do to comfort her. But it was not her comfort she needed.

The day dragged on slowly, too slow for Anárië then. With her father gone, she had no energy for anything. She did not even want to go and shoot with the bow or practice with the sword. There was no chance of him catching her doing it, but she was too worried to focus properly.

It was only when Arien rose to the highest position on the sky that the elleth stirred again, and only because of a disturbance from the outside.

Glorfindel had waited until just before the noon meal to make his appearance at his friend's house; he knew Ecthelion had ridden out. He had spoken to his brother-in-arms before the group left the city. Because he had taken Gwainar for a ride before-hand, he had the tactful advantage of having to wait for his horse to cool down a bit before leaving for his own lodgings. That, at least, was his excuse, which he told Anárië as soon as Elwen brought her from the gardens.

"Gwainar must cool down?" she asked, her expression unreadable. Glorfindel smiled, inclining his head, his eyes meeting hers. He could sense and see worry etched into her face, worry for her father and the men who rode with him. His heart went out to her.

Preoccupied, he did not at once realize she was smiling at him.

"If you wish to come and visit, all you have to do is come," she said in a gentle voice. There was amusement dancing in those green eyes. It took him a moment, but then he laughed quietly.

She had seen right through him.

"Would you like to join me for the midday meal, my lord?" Ecthelion's daughter asked, and the unspoken invitation was more than noticable. He could feel it.

"If my lady commands," he answered, bowing, and handing Gwainar's reins to one of the stable Elves.

Anárië chose to ignore the smug look that Elf was wearing, and stepped aside to allow Glorfindel free passage. He surprised her by offering his arm; she hesitated only for a moment before taking it, lightly placing her fingers against the fabric of his tunic.

"I have missed you," he said quietly as he pulled her chair out for her. Her eyes told him what she dared not say out loud, since their food was just being brought out. He was satisfied even with that.

It was a simple meal, as extravagance was not something she favoured; this he had learned a while back already. But more than the food presented to him Glorfindel watched the elleth sitting in her father's high chair, keeping light conversation with him.

"I heard you were working on your gardens," she commented lightly while pouring him a glass of apple juice, "Atar told me, a day or so past."

"Only to add a fountain in," he replied with a smile, thanking her for the drink, "your father was kind enough to draw me one according to my liking."

Was it just him or was there a hint of a blush on her cheeks now?

Anárië tried not to think about whether it was for her sake that he was installing a fountain in his otherwise beautiful gardens. She had walked there a couple of times before and she knew there was essentially nothing missing. There had to be a reason why he was doing what he was doing.

She took up the conversation again: "Father always did have an eye for drawing those. It's a pity he doesn't draw more. He used to, when I was little."

His eyes never left her face, she realized, and it made her feel self-conscious, but she tried not to show it, at least not too much.

"He drew quite a lot during our life in Aman," Glorfindel commented, "he is very good. I have some of his sketches still."

This sparked her interest: "They cover your life in the Blessed Realm?"

"They are from the era, yes," he confessed, "I can bring them to you sometime, if you wish to see them."

"I would love that," she admitted with a smile, "I have only those that he made when in Gondolin. Some seem to be memories of different places, different times. But each time I ask, he puts them away. I don't think he likes talking about it."

Glorfindel sighed. So typically Ecthelion.

"Your father misses Aman more than some others, Anárië; it is a difficult topic for all of us, but for him especially."

She gave him a small, sad smile: "I know, Glorfindel. I know."

It was one of the few times that she had actually used his given name to speak to him, and he felt an odd thrill at that. Their eyes met and held; his obervation brought her to a shy silence.

He did not pressure her to speak again, and she did not attempt to. There was no need; he offered her silent comfort, and she took it gratefully, mentally leaning on him for support and strength while her father was gone.

After the meal they slowly walked into the garden.

"I used to spend almost every waking hour here, as a girl," she told him after they shed their shoes and tread barefoot over the new grass, "my mother would sit on the grass or on the edge of the great fountain and sing or read, and I would pick flowers and braid them in her hair."

The vision was peaceful and full of harmony; Glorfindel smiled: "You miss her very much, don't you?"

Anárië smiled sadly, looking down, "Every day. Every moment when I'm alone. I wish she were here to guide me in what I do … I never knew how much I relied on her until she was gone."

Silently, he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. She gave him a small smile of thank you before looking ahead again.

"The trees are almost fully in bloom," she said quietly, making him look around too, "soon, the garden will be full of life again. The circle begins anew."

"It is the way of Yavanna," he agreed gently, giving her hand a squeeze, "as is all that lives and grows."

She did not say anything to that, but leaned low to catch a petal from the fountain they stopped by, holding it in her hand for a moment, before letting it fall again. The leaves of cherry blossoms had caught in her hair as they walked; he saw it as he watched their reflection in the water.

Beauty, his mother told him, lay in the eye of the beholder. He had found that which was most beautiful to him.

"What is your favourite tree?" he asked after they started walking again. He wanted to know everything about her, her secrets, her fears, her hopes. Everything.

She didn't take long to reply: "Apple, and cherry as well. Their fragrance filled my craddle when I was born, my father brought the boughs into my room, variating each night. They are both dear to me."

He already had those in his gardens, although he would probably relocate them slightly.

"And flower?"

Anárië looked at him, wondering at his interest, before chuckling and reaching up to smoothe the petals from his hair.

"White roses," she answered, "they were my mother's favourite. And they are pure."

Those, he would have to plant, but it would not take them long to bloom. Letting her lead him, Glorfindel enjoyed the quiet serenity behind Ecthelion's manse, where noise from the street barely reached it and the walls were too high to look over. It was a little piece of Aman.

Anárië took him to the oldest apple tree in the garden, and lowered herself onto the petal-covered grass. He sat down beside her, leaning his back against the trunk, looking up into the branches, listening to the bees buzzing happily.

The elleth listened too, watching him from under half-closed eyelids as he seemed to drift off into peaceful reverie.

She hadn't know how calming his presence was to her. Well, she had guessed, during Tarnin Austa last year, but never to this extent. She had almost forgotten that her father was riding out across Tumladen. She could pretend that he was just inside the house, while she was talking with Glorfindel.

It took her a moment to realize that he was watching her as well.

A blush rose on her cheeks and she hastily lowered her eyes to her hands, playing with the material of her dress.

His hand was gentle when she felt his fingers under her chin, and she allowed him to lift her face to his. He had shifted closer, searching her eyes as he leaned in. Anárië felt her lips turn upwards slightly in response, just before his brushed across them.

It was the faintest of touches, soft as a butterfly's wing. And yet her pulse raced and colour was on her cheeks when he pulled away to look at her again. Something cool touched her hands. She looked down, knowing what it was, but needing to see all the same.

The two silver rings seemed unnatural against her skin.

"I spoke to your father, before he rode out today," he confessed, still speaking with a soft voice. Neither one of them wished to disturb the peace of nature that currently surrounded them.

"I told him my intentions. He gave his consent and his blessing, so long as you agreed."

She smiled at that; always, her father gave her free choice in these matters. From the very beginning. It was always whether she wanted it or not.

Her eyes met Glorfindel's again.

"I had thought you would ask sooner."

That brought a soft laugh to his lips.

"I would have, but unfortunately I lost a bet with some of my brothers. Lord Rog was rather disinclined to speed the process of forging these two links because of that."

Anárië felt her brows rise at that, although she could not help but laugh herself, very quietly.

"What did you lose?"

Glorfindel pulled a face: "It was hardly something significant, but only later did I realize how cleverly they had played me. Rog owed me a favour, but if I lost the bet, then he could postpone it for as long as he wished."

The elleth chuckled.

"Is he against our match, or simpy likes teasing you?"

"Suffice to say that lord Rog finds it highly amusing when he can vex me," came the reply in a voice that cause a small giggle to escape her, albeit she had been trying hard to keep her cool.

Glorfindel was eyeing her like a large cat.

Anárië had only that for a warning before he suddenly grabbed her, pinning her lightly against the grass, ignoring her shriek and then her feeble attempts to free herself.

"Glorfindel! This is not funny – if I ruin the dress Atar will know …"

"Seeing as he knows I have the silver rings, I doubt a ruined dress will be his top priority," he said smugly. Almost too smug.

She pouted at him.

"Is this the way you treat the woman you would wish to bind to you? Perhaps I should reconsider and choose Duinhir after all. At least HE has some manners!"

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and let her go, sitting up again and taking the rings from where they had slipped from her lap.

"Petulant child."

She glared at him: "I will have you thrown from my father's property."

"Yes, and how will that look I wonder, given we are wearing identical rings?" he mocked her gently. Anárië's frustrations were so easy to tease.

She swung with her hand, but he caught her, pulling her to him, hearing her breath catch.

"Will you allow me to place this ring on your finger, or must I restrain you, woman?"

Her eyes flashed, but then she was suddenly meek again. The rings felt odd against their skin, too cool, but looking down on their left hands and seeing them there, both of them felt like this was something they could not fight.

His hand cupped her cheek, and he kissed her again; this time, Anárië allowed her forehead to rest against his for a time.

"In a year's time, we will wed," he said quietly. She shifted closer to him, turning her face to meet his eyes. Through his hold, his steady strength was obvious.

"Am I still a child to you?" she asked suddenly, not even knowing why she asked that. The underlying question was something else though. Something Glorfindel detected, but did not have time to elaborate upon as Elwen's call reached them from the house. The King required Glorfindel's assistance.

They parted with the question still hanging between them, but he could not answer her, other than gently touch her cheek as she saw him off. He needed time to think.

How could he answer her whether he wanted her or not?


Atar - dad, Quenya