Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER NINE
Autumn, 600 SA

The lid of the large chest slid back as she looked into it, and reached in with a small sigh. Her fingers gently touched the material of a greyish dress, a dress that was slowly becoming even more tattered than it had originally been. It was Time that was eating at it now. There were some items of jewellery as well, but her fingers next reached for an ornate, light-coloured scabbard, and the heavy sword within it.

She was careful as she fingered it, touching the markings upon the leather and running her fingers over them again and again.

These, just as the ones on her own sword, she knew well.

Anárië brought Glorfindel’s sword out of its hold slowly, being careful not to bring any harm to either sheath or blade, and laid it upon her bed, kneeling beside it. It was time to clean and sharpen it again.

She did not know why she did this; with the Flame of Gondolin, that could be understood, for she was its bearer now. But Glorfindel’s sword had always been too long and too heavy for her to wield, and so it was simply a dead weight. But she could not find it in herself to give it away, or perhaps have it melted to be re-forged.

Instead, she took the cloth she always used with it, and began the peaceful ritual of cleaning the already-shining blade.

Outside her window, Arien was just beginning to set sail, and the city was slowly waking from its slumber.

Lindon, which had begun as a simple, small settlement of the Exiles that had remained behind with Gil Galad after the War of Wrath was over, had spread out during the years that followed as more and more Elves came to join them. There were many who had not participated in the battles but came out of hiding when it was known that there was a King again upon the throne, and that he was just.

She would never forget her first view of the city, as small as it had been then. Now that she did not have to participate in building it anymore, she could remember.

Elrond and she had ridden long with the company of Gil-galad, most of the time up front with the King himself; for Eönwë had spoken of Elrond’s gift to him, and it was enough to spark an interest. Also, he was the grandson of Turgon, who had been Fingon’s brother, and that made him kin to the King.

Anárië was there because of her role as protector and mentor, and although she felt sometimes like she did not belong, she sensed that Elrond needed her, now more than ever, for he, too, was unsure of himself, and for the first time sundered from his twin brother, who had always been the outspoken and braver of the pair.

They had finally ridden up a small hill when Gil-galad had called a halt, just below the top, and turned his horse back.

"I want you to remember this," he told those in his guard, and Anárië would never forget how he looked in the morning sun: tall, handsome, his hair shinning almost auburn with the light upon it, and his blue eyes excited; "For this will be our home, and I want you to love it as much as I do."

Then he had led the way up, and she recalled how Arien had sailed higher in that moment, and its light had touched the foundation of what would at some point be a wall.

And beyond that had stood the beginning of the city.

At the time, there had not been much of it, true, but the elleth could still remember the wonder at how light bounced off the white walls, and a tower that rose above all the rest. It had been built not far from the sea, and so gulls soared around it, singing their endless song. The ravine around it had been green and lush and open, perfect for growing crops and for seeing anyone coming at them from afar. The river that flowed through it and down towards the Sea sang a merry tune.

This was to be their new home.

"My lords, my lady," Gil Galad’s voice echoed in her thoughts, "welcome to Lindon."

Since then, the wall had grown until it encased the whole city, and that itself had spread with the new number of Elves coming in. It had grown in size and the whiteness of its houses shone from afar.

The one which shone the most was the King’s palace, which he had built in reminiscence of Tirion upon a slight rise of land, with many turrets and levels. It was big enough to hold not only his household, but also the barracks, and some other families he was close to.

Elrond had been given a set of rooms within it, and naturally, so had Anárië. It was uncommon, even for the Eldar, to have female protectors, even if there were some in Ereinion’s army, but not on high positions and certainly not as protectors of the King’s nephew – for, technically, that was what Elrond was.

The elleth had sensed a mixture of feelings as soon as the King had made it known that she would be staying with them as well, coming especially from the ranks of soldiers he had spoken to.

In Gondolin, her father and most of the other men she had known had been sort of amused with her wish to become a warrior instead of a healer or simply lady of the house; in the settlement beside Sirion, such scruples were cast aside out of the sheer need for protection, and everyone who could wield a sword or work with a bow was welcome.

Here, in Lindon, there was no need to play pretend; Ereinion had a growing army of able soldiers, the best of which he had enlisted in his personal guard.

Her place suddenly became unstable.

If Elénna had been with her, Anárië was sure she would have silenced any murmurs and unsatisfactory glances as soon as they’d come, but she had lost contact with the elleth after parting with Maglor, and had not found her in the war-camp after the battles for the North. She had simply disappeared into thin air.

It was probably for the best; the time had finally come to set her own worth and make sure no one would ever doubt her again. If only her father could see her now.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Anárië turned her head a little: "Enter."

Elrond slipped through the crack, and sighed once it was closed behind him again, running a hand through his hair.

He was so alike to Eärendil that it almost hurt, and yet, as if a trick upon the eyes after he had declared himself to be Firstborn, the features of his mother Elwing, and through her of his foremother Lúthien, became ever more prominent upon his face. Anárië wondered whether the same sort of change would be upon Elros as well, except perhaps in the sense that he would carry more of their father in him.

She smiled at her charge and looked back to what she was doing: "Long day?"

"You have no idea."

Her smile remained in place as he walked further into the room and lowered himself into a chair, stretching his long legs out. Anárië knew that Ereinion wanted Elrond close-by to teach him all he knew about running the kingdom and governing the people, for the King went unwed, and for the time being Elrond was the heir apparent.

She also knew that, right now, there was a delegation of Dwarves out of the mines of Khazad-dûm in the city, and that Ereinion was treating with them.

"How go negotiations?" she asked in an innocent voice, not taking her eyes off the blade she was still cleaning.

Elrond’s groan from the side was enough.

"Do not ask; I am convinced this is my worst personal plague. There is no single reason why the Dwarven King should not be content with what we’ve offered him thus far, and yet still he hesitates."

From personal experience, having travelled with Elrond and Ereinion to the great Dwarven realm that was growing under the mountains, Anárië thought she knew how difficult it would be to negotiate with such a race. They were rock-dwellers, with little love for growing things on their own, and yet they were needed to the King, at least until he could have his own miners. But for that, they needed to be taught by the masters, and only the Dwarves could do that.

Elrond continued his rant – he was an Elf of little words among others, but when he was alone with the elleth, she could hardly stop him: "Ereinion is convinced this is the right path to take, but I am uncertain. How can it be right when we are haggling like merchants?"

Anárië smiled and stood, straightening her back and listening to the small popping noises it made. Her legs welcomed the respite as well.

"I cannot say, Elrond, but the truth is that we need them, for we cannot learn some of what they know without dealing with them. And truly, they are not so bad a lot. At most, they simply wish fair trade."

He ‘hmphed’, but made no other sound, instead kicking his shoes off from his feet and letting them drop where they were, leaning his head back.

The elleth went by him with an amused expression, and lightly brushed her fingers across his forehead: "Courage, penneth. You are not the one dealing with the majority of negotiations, the King is, and I am convinced he does not whine half as much as you do."

Elrond cracked one eye open and glared at her before she retreated to clean the cloth.

"Besides, their time in Lindon is almost at an end; they will be leaving soon."

"Not too soon," he countered, before standing and following after her, watching how she poured water over the cloth and worked her fingers into it to free it of any dust and grime.

His expression softened: "Why do you keep doing this? Would it not be easier if you gave the sword to someone else?" He always worried about her, worried about how she clung to the past, when there was no future there.

She paused for only a moment before resuming her work; it was not so painful anymore, but it was still not something she liked talking about.

"If I do, I have nothing more of him left; nothing substantial, at least."

"You have your wedding ring," Elrond pointed out, "and the cloak of celandines, and his vambraces. Which, I notice, you are not wearing anymore."

Anárië sighed, and rinsed the cloth off, before placing it before the window to dry in the sunlight.

"They do not look kindly upon those here as they did in your home; I’d rather not ruffle any feathers."

To this, he arched an eyebrow: "This from someone who has known nothing but flight and fight ever since her city fell? Anná, none of the soldiers in this city match you in determination; you could easily surpass them in skill if you wished."

She walked by him: "Perhaps, but that does not mean they would wish it. It is not the same as it was at Sirion, Elrond; here, women are expected to wait upon men, even though there are some who fight for the King. But I do not wish to be one of them; they will never rise in rank, and they will never really see the battlefield, should it come to it. I can protect you much better from within the actual palace than the barracks." Her words were similar to Elénna’s from long ago.

Her charge sighed, and shook his head: "Perhaps that is so, but I would feel much better if I could see you wear them again. They bring me comfort, and something familiar in this place."

She knew he was playing a mind-trick upon her, for she could never really deny him anything. Elrond was trying to make a point, and he was doing it the only way he knew how – in guilt-tripping her to do as he wished.

So a few days later, she was dressed in leggings and a long tunic slit at the sides, belted – and Glorfindel’s vambraces were on her arms, the intricate golden inlay sending jumping light whenever the sun rays touched it.

Elrond smiled when she opened the door and joined him: "This look suits you."

She gave a nervous laugh: "It also makes me feel vastly out of place! If I suddenly disappear into a hole, do not look for me, I beg you."

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing his lips to her cheek as they made their way down the hall. Elrond was free until the midday meal, and they had decided to walk down to the marketplace together.

The streets were crowded, and the marketplace was already packed when they got there, but it was thriving with life, and both she and Elrond enjoyed the sight. He pointed out one of the stalls where children were able to find wooden toys, and she chuckled when she saw a puppet on strings bouncing up and down in the wind.

Her only warning that something was amiss was a tingling sensation up the back of her neck.

"Only warriors wear vambraces."

Both she and Elrond turned on the spot, the purple upon his attire flashing in the Sun as he did so, a visible sign of his connection to the King.

The Elf before them, however, was wearing deep blue with golden, the colours of the barracks. It did not help that he also happened to be wearing an eight-rayed star upon the broach of his cloak.

Anárië and Lachuí did not get along. He was the commanding officer in Ereinion’s forces she so avoided, and he did not take lightly to the idea that women wished to fight. He did acknowledge that they were equal to men, but in his opinion that did not mean that they should expose themselves to danger. The fact that Anárië protected Elrond was not lost on him.

The King’s nephew narrowed his eyes: "Commander, I did not know it was forbidden to wear vambraces in memory of a fallen comrade. If you will excuse us -"

He had his arm between the other Elf and Anárië, no longer amused with this ongoing silent feud, but the elleth was sick and tired of Lachuí and his jibes. She pushed against Elrond.

"No, penneth, it is alright; let him speak. It is a free land, after all."

Lachuí’s hazel eyes betrayed none of the emotions he felt. The only outward sign of his current disposition was a slight smirk upon his lips.

Anárië stepped forward and stood directly in front of the commander; because she was taller than the majority of ellith, she stood of almost the same height as the other Elf. Her emerald green eyes were hard.

"I do not know if you have not noticed, but I am Elrond’s mentor and protector, and have been ever since the day he was born. I cannot protect him by wearing a skirt."

Lachuí did not move: "You cannot protect him simply by wearing vambraces either. To do it, you would have to join me in the barracks."

One other thing she despised about him was his arrogance and belief that she had no idea which end of the sword to stick into his gut.

Some other Elves had stopped to witness the exchange. Elrond stood to the side worriedly, half-prepared to jump between them. Anárië was grateful to him, but this was her own fight.

"You are a conceited fool, and more arrogant than you know!" she snapped in Lachuí’s direction, making him frown; "Do you think that I survived this long simply by singing and dancing?"

She could sense that her temper was very close to snapping, but she did not care; her hands flew out, and she caught the commander by surprise when she pushed him backwards.

"You are a self-centred bastard, Lachuí; leave me be."

He smoothed down the front of his tunic: "Impressive, if ineffective."

She snorted; Elrond was shaking his head to the side, in the circle that had formed around them. Lachuí suddenly unpinned the brooch that held his cloak, and handed the item of clothing to the other Elf who was with him. Vaguely, Anárië wondered whether this meant that she was in big trouble, but she was too annoyed to care right now. There was not enough Vanya blood within her to calm her now.

So, instead of backing down, she stood opposite him with her hands placed on her hips.

Lachuí unbuckled the sword he always carried with him, and stood now weaponless before her. He made a mocking ‘come here’ gesture with one hand: "Come then; show me how good of a protector you are."

Elrond caught her by the arm: "Anná, ‘tis not worth it – let us leave."

She shook him off: "No, it is very much worth it. Stay out this."

Lachuí smirked more when she stepped up, lifting her arms as she did so.

"Come then, Commander; your words precede you. Let us see if you mean them."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, right before he lashed out; the move was meant to disorient and hopefully push his opponent back. But the only thing he achieved was that Anárië went straight at him, pushing his arm aside and jumping to the left.

They circled one another, and he noticed how her knees bent, and her body waited for the next spring; assessing, Lachuí had to admit that he had not expected even this much of a fight from her.

He went in again, and this time got a hit to her shoulder, but as much as it had to hurt her, she stayed silent and suddenly bent out of the way, kicking out with her leg. He was hard-pressed to jump over it, and she used the momentum to explode into his chest, slamming her shoulder into it and sending him backwards.

He stumbled, and she regained her footing, staying where she was. The crowd around them had grown now, and he could see that many actually seemed impressed. So was he, but he was not about to show it.

The elleth stayed in her spot, waiting for him, her expression unreadable.

Lachuí stopped fumbling and went into a full frontal attack, forcing her into a defensive state, chasing her around the make-shift ring, but she was quick, and oh so sure on her feet, dancing just out of his grasp so he couldn’t pin her. He was landing blows on her, but she did not back away, and gave as good as she got; he could feel a bruise forming along his jaw where she’d clipped him, among others. Maglor and Elénna had taught her enough in that aspect.

He finally managed to get a better hold of her, dragging her back against him.

"Stop!" he snapped, but Anárië was having none of it; she suddenly snarled and stomped on his foot, simultaneously ramming her elbow into his abdomen and slipping from him again. But he was fast, regardless of what she did, and he caught her by the same elbow; she turned and her foot caught his, sending them both to the ground. A shout went up into the air, because he was heavier and stronger than her in this position simply from physical advantage.

They stopped rolling with him on top, and he brought his arm down; Anárië crossed her vambraces before her, and he slammed his fist upon them. This made him yelp in frustration since his hands were unprotected, and she used this to bring her legs up from underneath him to push him away, sending him rolling into the dirt.

They sprang apart and would have gone after each other like snarling dogs again.

"Enough!"

The voice caused them both to still their movements, and they turned to its source: beside Elrond was a dusty-white mare, and the King upon it. His face was unreadable.

"Commander, I do not ask my warriors to create riots upon the marketplace."

Lachuí had the good sense to straighten and bow his head, chagrined, even as his friend handed him back his cloak.

Anárië was breathing heavily, and she hurt all over, but she pushed her chin up and met Gil-galad’s eyes fearlessly, if not entirely without worry.

The King angled his head, and looked at Elrond: "You have a temperamental protector, nephew."

She still did not lower her eyes or her head; it was not in her to bow low. Her lineage was as noble as his, if not royal. In her mind’s eye, all she’d done was protect her honour.

Gil-galad clicked his tongue at his horse: "Commander, see to it that she reports to the barracks tomorrow morning; I believe you could benefit from her presence there. If nothing else, she will curb your temper. But she will not serve with the others."

She met Lachuí’s eyes, but he inclined his head in silent agreement; the King slowly rode away through the dispersing crowd, and the commander looked back at her.

"At dawn, report to me."

He turned on his heel and pushed through the Elves on his side, while Elrond came and gently took hold of her arm again.

"Come, it is over, and you need a bath."

She was still breathless when she nodded, and allowed him to lead her away. It was only after they had left the marketplace behind that she saw he was smiling.

"I’m glad I can amuse you," she snapped, her aches getting the better of her.

Instead of irritating him, she made him laugh: "Far from it! I feel privileged to have you with me. You should have seen the fight from my eyes, Anná – no one has been able to surprise Lachuí like you just did since the Wars of Beleriand. You have earned some of his respect, if nothing else."

Finally, it dawned on her what she had achieved, and she had to grin widely with him.

When Fëanor’s grandson Celebrimor crossed the mountains and founded his colony in Eregion, Anárië was actively training along with the King’s army, and she and Lachuí had sorted out their differences. Mostly.


elleth - female Elf
penneth - young one