Flame of Gondolin, novella: A Christmas Carol

Winter, 1 TA
Imladris

They were finally making head-way with the snow, which was a small blessing. But the weather had stopped throwing large amounts of it down into the valley, which enabled the workers to finish what they’d started, although for the most part, it looked as though the back courtyards of the Last Homely House would have to wait until the thawing process began.

Still, it was a far better sight that met the eye than the one at the beginning, and Anárië paused, leaning against her shovel while she lifted her face up to the feeling of the Sun, who walked high above the clouds, but still graced them with her presence.

She inhaled deeply, and rolled her shoulders, feeling that the end of this mission couldn’t come too soon; the last thing she needed was to be completely stiff when she escorted the Lórien Elves back across the Misty Mountains.

"Enjoying the view?"

Her husband’s voice brought only one eye to open a crack from her vantage point, otherwise Anárië remained as she was: "No, but I wish I had that excuse."

He chuckled and leaned against his own shovel beside her, looking at the space they’d managed to clear that day already. They would be relieved momentarily by another team, and that meant some relaxation at last.

"I went to check on the two little ones briefly," Glorfindel spoke next, "I think we need to take them out after we’re done here."

Anárië stifled a groan: "I’ve been thinking the same thing, only if Alana tries attacking me again, I’m going to send her your way. I can’t handle her today."

Glorfindel rubbed the back of his neck: "Neither can I, to be honest, but I’m hoping she will take pity on two broken Elves."

His wife snorted: "Of course she will. Has she ever done so in the short time she’s been with us?"

She had a point, and Glorfindel chuckled again, lifting his face just as she was doing even as the gong rang out, which called the current team to a stop and into the warmth of the House again, and sent a fresh one out into the snow.

"Come," he said, "It’s time we found something to eat, and maybe we have some mulled wine somewhere."

At that, Anárië perked up: "I don’t think I’ve had that yet this season. But it would feel good today, I’ll admit as much."

Glorfindel smiled: "Then we will go and harass Erestor for some; I think I remember him having a special kind of fondness for the beverage … and very fine recipes of his own."

The elleth laughed at that and handed her shovel over happily, following after her husband and sighing in content once she was out of the cold and in the inner hallways of their home. The Last Homely House was bustling with activity, and she wouldn’t change her location for the world anymore. She was falling in love with the valley, perhaps because she had been born and reared in a hidden kingdom prior to situating herself in Lindon.

She knew Glorfindel felt the same way; he revelled in the prospect of living together with all his friends again, as close to him as family members, and she understood that thirst. For the exiles of Gondolin, or any kind of haven which had fallen, keeping close contact with those still remaining and living with them was something they all strived for. The perpetual fear that you could end up alone was always present in the corners of their minds.

Because the weather had been dry that day, they didn’t have to change their clothes before going on the hunt for their friend.

Erestor was just closing a book when they found him.

"To what do I owe this honour?" he asked, smiling from ear to ear, but then given that he knew exactly what went on in the premises of Imladris, he probably knew at least the gist of why they were here.

"Mulled wine," Glorfindel answered, returning the grin, "As we recall, you have a special talent for it."

"And we are in dire need," Anárië supplied, smiling herself, "We’ve been in the snow all morning."

Erestor laughed: "One would think it was the worst torture imaginable! But lucky for you, I’ve actually been down to the kitchens today already, with a special order."

Anárië’s eyes sparkled: "Is it of a drinkable variety?"

Her friend grinned broadly and stood: "Let’s go and you’ll find out."

They followed after him, in friendly banter, enjoying in the feeling of freedom and the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to go back out into the snow until tomorrow.

As predicted, the kitchens were busy when they arrived, but as soon as they stepped into the low hall, Anárië lifted her nose slightly: "I smell cinnamon."

Erestor exchanged an amused look with Glorfindel, then led the way over to where a couple of large cauldrons were simmering over an open flame.

"Three cups," the dark-haired Elf asked of one of the cooks, and once they received them, he poured out the steaming drink and handed them over. Both Anárië and Glorfindel wrapped their hands around the warm items carefully, but with reverence, and blew on the aromatic liquid to be able to sip it slowly.

"You two look like someone has just handed you some sort of award," Erestor commented with a chuckle as he watched them huddle close to the cauldrons and sip the mulled wine slowly.

"You would be too, if you’d been out with us today," Glorfindel countered, "There was no snow falling on our heads, but the cold is worse than it was yesterday, more felt."

Anárië shuddered lightly: "And the floors are icy when we do manage to free them. It is tiring work."

Erestor sympathized with them: "I understand, and I really do hope we can clear enough of it soon so no one else need worry about it for this season."

They fell silent at that pleasant thought, and once they finished with the wine, both Anárië and Glorfindel excused themselves, saying they had a couple of cubs who needed stretching their legs.

Erestor backed off at that piece of information: "I’ll be in the West Wing if anyone looks for me."

They watched him take off with all possible haste, and Anárië laughed in amusement: "I think he’s worried about his ankles."

"Wouldn’t you be too?" her husband asked her, then shook his head as she giggled, and made his way back out of the kitchens with her beside him.

Alana and Akela were both beside themselves when they saw their masters.

"I always get such a bad feeling when we come back inside," the elleth commented once they were out romping through the snow, and the Elves followed at a more sedate pace, "They always look so starved for attention."

"They probably fear we won’t come back, like their mother didn’t," Glorfindel ventured an opinion, "or they simply don’t think at all and are just happy to see us whenever we appear. Who knows?"

She shook her head and watched as Akela attacked a large icicle, while his sister kept her distance until the opportune moment when she latched on and started a tug-o-war.

Something landed on her nose, and Anárië looked up in dismay.

Glorfindel followed her gaze and grimaced: "So much for a break in the weather."

With a whistle to the wolves, they made their way back to the Last Homely House, and passed the grumbling teams with shrugs and sympathetic glances.

"It’s going to be a nightmare again," Anárië commented.

Glorfindel agreed with her in silence, simply shaking his head while giving the two wolves their meal and then working the fire to a brighter flame again.

"How much wood do we have left?" she asked him as she came over to warm her hands against the heat.

"I’ll have to check later, but I think I’ll be heading out with the wood-cutters tomorrow again," came the answer, "I know the kitchens are running low already."

Anárië hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with an extremely long winter, especially since she understood well that a house such as this, made primarily of stone, needed fire to keep it warm during the cold nights.

"Just be careful," she said softly, "we have that dinner tomorrow with Elrond, and I actually want to attend it without you all wrapped up in bandages."

Glolrfindel smiled: "I’ll be fine; wood won’t bring me down, believe me."

"Ice already did once this season," she reminded him in a dry voice, shaking her head, "Just don’t be too zealous."

He agreed to that much, at least, then straightened out after having rolled Alana over a couple of times on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

Anárië watched him fondly: "They both adore you."

"I give them food; they’re smart to like me," he replied with a grin, then followed her with his eyes as she went to take a brush and untangle her long hair.

"What day is it today?"

He knew what she was asking, and rolled his eyes in good humour: "Eleven, if you must know, but something tells me you’re counting."

She looked over her shoulder with a smile of her own and an amused sparkle in her eyes: "Well, considering the fact that I have a feeling you’ll be needed elsewhere this afternoon, you might as well give me the gift now, don’t you think?"

Glorfindel groaned: "I almost forgot; Elrond."

"I pity you," his wife added in an after-thought, but he wasn’t fooled for a moment.

"No you don’t, you’re just glad it’s me and not you."

Anárië tried to hide her expression, but failed, and simply grinned: "One of us has to catch a break somewhere."

Her husband laughed, shaking his head as he stepped over to his wardrobe, opening it and pulling out one of the drawers.

She frowned: "Please tell me you’re not giving me eleven scarves."

Glorfindel snorted: "Of course not, but hiding presents from you takes ingenuity."

The elleth burst out laughing, but said nothing more since he produced a flat box at that moment and came around the bed to where she was sitting. Anárië rose, forgetting about the brush and the wild mane her hair always became when exposed to any kind of liquid, and peered at it curiously.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see," Glorfindel suggested, holding it out for her to take.

She did so, smoothing a hand over the lid, her fingers following the pattern of a star engraved into the top.

"This one has eight rays," she observed in a muted voice.

"Yes; it came out of Lindon."

The star of the High King. Anárië’s fingers trembled lightly, but she forced herself to forget the pain and focus on what was in front of her.

Carefully, she slipped her fingers to the front and lifted the lid.

At first glance, words deserted her; the gold inside, carefully laid against a cushion of blue velvet, caught the light of flames and glowed almost orange, flickering. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at.

It was a necklace. The chain she could see was so delicate that she had a feeling it would slip through her fingers like water. The gold turned into shapes as it travelled to the centre, and she caught her breath, turning the box a bit so that she could see better.

She would have recognized celandine blossoms anywhere.

"I never did give you a wedding present," her husband’s voice came to her ear, soft and gentle, "I thought the gardens I had planted for you would have sufficed, but after our flight … I had to find something else."

"When did you have this made?" she asked, breathless.

Glorfindel shifted so that he could look into the box as well: "When I was chasing you in Lindon."

The centre of each blossom flashed with the light of flames, and Anárië looked closer.

"Are those … ?"

"The ten surrounding ones have crystals," he confirmed, "And the centre -"

"A sapphire," she finished for him, her fingers touching the large stone, cut to perfection and laid carefully among the folds of a blossom that needed only the breath of wind to become alive.

"Glorfindel …"

His hands came to rest on her shoulders: "It is a gift. A gift I should have given you long ago, as a token of respect, and my devotion."

Her throat closed off while he carefully lifted the necklace: "May I?"

Anárië turned, slowly reaching to push her hair aside, undoing the clasp of the medallion she always wore around her neck and putting it down onto the dressing table.

The gold was cool against her skin, an unfamiliar feeling since the medallion carried the warmth of her body with it; the blossoms came to rest in a wide arc going up to her collarbones, the centre-stone lying heavy and low when she touched it.

Glorfindel’s fingers were warm against the nape of her neck: "I don’t know if you noticed, but the clasp is silver."

In all the splendour of gold, she really hadn’t, but something in his voice caught her attention, and she turned around again.

His lips were curved in a slight smile as he took her in, although she knew that such a necklace called for more sophisticated attire than the tunic and leggings she was currently standing in; but he seemed content.

"It suits you more than I ever hoped it would."

Her cheeks felt warm, and she swallowed: "The clasp?"

Her attention was faltering as his fingertips danced along the length of the necklace, just brushing along her skin, like flames licking along a path already-prepared for them.

Finally, Glorfindel lifted his eyes to hers again: "I had our rings melted and re-forged."

Anárië felt like her heart finally did come to a sudden and complete stop. For a long moment, she could only look at him, mute and deaf to everything else.

"Is this the way you treat the woman you would wish to bind with you? Perhaps I should reconsider and choose Duinhir after all. At least HE has some manners! I will have you thrown from my father's property!"

"Yes, and how will that look I wonder, given we are wearing identical rings? Will you allow me to place this ring on your finger, or must I restrain you, woman?"

Glorfindel’s smile was very, very gentle as he reached up to cup her cheek with his hand: "I never had the chance to throw them into the forges after the ceremony."

She struggled: "But how – you passed away …"

"And the rings were one of the few items returned to me."

The clasp seemed to brand her in a certain way, and the ring on her right hand responded in kind. Anárië felt the meaning of the gift with each beat of her heart, even as her eyes welled with tears.

"Oh, Glorfindel," she murmured, reaching for him as he pulled her close, allowing his lips to kiss her tears away, before burying her face into the crook of his neck, holding on for what seemed like dear life. And for the first time in a long time, she felt again the steady strength that flowed through him, the assurance that he was there for her, that he would protect her. It was a feeling she had thought lost, and her heart bled with the knowledge that it was always there, waiting just around the corner.

"Thank you."