Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER TWELVE
Late Spring of 510, FA

"Lovers in the long grass, look above them, only they can see where the clouds are going, only to discover dust and sunlight ever make the sky so blue …"

Anárië sang in a clear voice as she walked Gwaiforn by the edge of the Great Lake upon Tumladen. Behind her, Gondolin's banners fluttered high in the morning breeze, and the Tower of the King glimmered like a beacon in the early Sun.

In the distance, a group of riders hastened across the plains, flying no colours, but Anárië knew her father's men when she saw them ride. Lasgow was their leader, probably, as this was the only company Ecthelion had sent out, and it was late returning. She hoped they did not bring ill news.

"Afternoon is hazy, river flowing, all around the sounds moving closer to them, telling them the story told by flora, dreams they never knew …"

Of late, Ecthelion had been worse for wear. He seldom smiled anymore, and never played his flute again, not even if little Eärendil asked it of him. His mind was elsewhere and he ate little. Anárië worried for her father, knowing that the Warden of the Great Gate would transfer his mood to all the others, or at least to Glorfindel and Tuor.

But today was beautiful, one of the last days of Spring as Summer neared once more. Anárië could not stay in the house, and Ecthelion had taken the time to notice her pacing her room in search of various items.

"Going out?"

His voice had made her smile, as it always did. He had graciously offered to go with her, but she had declined. He was needed elsewhere today.

Ecthelion's contrite face was before her as she slowed her walk to cross one of the small streams that fed the lake.

"Forgive me, my sweet. I do not spend as much time with you as I should. I promise I will remedy that before your wedding day."

That was fast approaching; Glorfindel and she had decided against the one year betrothal period. Well, mostly it had been his wish, and she saw no reason to deny him. They would wed on the day of Tarnin Austa, once the songs have been sung. Her heart skipped beats when she thought about that, and she had to check her steps as she slipped suddenly, breaking in her song to catch herself with Gwaiforn's help.

Chuckling and shaking her head, Anárië resumed her singing as she made for a cluster of willows that hung low over the water on the eastern shore. Not many knew of the hidden pool they held beneath their branches, its water cool even on the warmest of days, but Cealea had told her of it once, and Anárië had taken the time to find it.

Pausing again, and thinking where she stopped her song prior to the slip, the elleth sighed and, when she could not remember, began at random,

"Some they know as passion, some as freedom, some they know as love and the way it leaves them, summer snowflake for a season when the sky above is blue …"

Other songs could be heard in bits and pieces as they drifted to her on the wind, for other ellith had decided to go beyond the city walls today. They stayed close to the city's shade of course, with various Elven-lords and warriors as escort, but the mood was high as they picked flowers and sang.

Anárië thought she could see Eärendil and his mother in the distance, but even her Elven-eyes could not be sure of that, because there were so many about. Still, it warmed her heart to know the Princess was enjoying the day as well.

Just a week or so back, Idril and Anárië had had a disturbing encounter with Maeglin again, something she did not wish to think about. The Elf-lord was up to no good, that much was certain; Idril trusted not his merry ways, so against what his nature had been before a recent mining expedition. Anárië trusted him even less, knowing the way he felt about her Princess, and not liking the way he looked at her either.

She frowned, her voice fading into nothing, the only sound being the soft ripples on the Great Lake and Gwaiforn's breathing as she thought about this.

Glorfindel had told her Maeglin wished to force his hand for some reason. She could not see it, for Glorfindel had done nothing to the Mole. Well, apart from being Idril's companion and friend, and a good brother-in-arms to Tuor. Was that enough to earn the Elf's ire? She could not say, but whatever the cause, she had avoided him as much as possible lately.

Gwaiforn snorted and nudged her shoulder lightly, causing her to stumble. Anárië rolled her eyes at the light charger and rubbed his muzzle, while finally entering the willows' shade. It was cool underneath the low-lying branches, and this close to the water a constant breeze blew. Both the horse and the rider enjoyed the respite from the already-burning sun.

Pushing a few branches aside, Anárië led the stallion to the banks of the small off-side pool. A merry stream fed it, while the water then continued its flow into the Great Lake. But the liquid was clear, and the sands gentle, no stones to blemish them.

She took Gwaiforn's saddle and reins off, leaving him to graze under the shadow of the willows, while she slipped her gown off her shoulders. She was alone, and a swim in the morning would keep her fresh through the day. A bath could not compare at all.

Her chemise followed next, and she deftly folded her clothes and placed them on a rock near-by. Later she would dry in the patch of sun shinning through the leaves and dress again, but for now she was content with everything.

The water felt glorious against her skin, and Anárië sighed as her toes dug into the soft sand underneath. At the deepest region of the pond, the water came to her mid-waist, just enough.

Her steps were slow as she made her way to the center, and once she was there she paused, lifting her face to the sun. The breeze played with her hair, lifting small strands of it and brushing over her skin. The warmth of Arien tickled her eyelids, cheeks and nose, and her whole body responded to the caress of promising Summer. While she enjoyed Winter, it was nice to be able to ride out without furs and heavy velvet for once.

A splash behind her made her turn, heart in her throat, but she laughed at her own skittishness. It was only Gwaiforn, who had come to drink from the pond. The horse's dark eyes told her she was being silly: he had been trained to look after his rider. Glorfindel had seen to it. There was nothing for her to fear.

Ducking under the water Anárië left her stallion to his own devices while she enjoyed the cool comfort that the pool brought her. She swam with lazy, strong strokes; Ecthelion and Cealea had often taken their daughter to the minor lakes where she could play. Water was no stranger to her. She lounged back against it, her face tipped up to the sun as she listened to Ulmo's song in the ripples, and Manwë's in the slight wind. They were just whispers, but they brought her comfort enough.

After a while she rose again and waded back to the shore, only to take a comb with her and go to the small waterfall that fell into the pool. Standing under it, the water pricked her skin, but it only made her laugh. Once she retreated from the flow Anárië first ran her fingers through her long hair so as to not tug on it later, before she started combing it. It would be wildly curly if she did not do this, and that was a look she really did not like. While she did not give much to appearances, she certainly did not want to have a scarecrow nest on her head!

She was standing with the water just touching her lower back, rippling, when her skin suddenly prickled as if she was being watched. There was no sound next to the breeze – where was Gwaiforn?

Anárië turned her head with a disconcerningly quick motion, her green eyes aligning first on the rocks where she had left her clothes and saddlebags. Behind that was Gwaiforn's attire.

And behind THAT Glorfindel stood, leaning against one of the willow trees.

He did not wear the colours of his house today, nor, indeed, was there a sign of the Flower anywhere on his clothing. He wore grey and green, seemingly melting against his surroundings. Only his golden hair gave him away, but that did not seem to concern him. His hands were crossed over his chest as he rested against the trunk lazily, muscles outlined against the fabric.

His eyes were as dark as the lushest sapphire stones.

She inhaled sharply, the sound loud even to her own ears, her heart drumming. She didn't even notice that her comb had slipped through her fingers and was now probably resting against the sand by her feet.

He had followed her from the moment Gwaiforn had stepped upon the grass of Tumladen. Gwainar could keep up with the youth easily enough, when asked. Initially, Glorfindel had only wished to see where she was going, as he was needed with a scouting party, but once he deduced her course he had changed his mind, and given command to the captain of his personal guard, Galdegir.

He knew of the pool beneath the willows; it was called dae-brithla in Sindarin, shadow-pearl. Many ellith used it, and many ellyn used the shade of willows to spy on them.

He had not thought Anárië would go there as well, but he'd been pleasantly surprised when she'd set set Gwaiforn to gaze. Of course he was beginning to regret the decision of staying afterwards, because it was hard enough on him without this particular sight.

Glorfindel was usually known for his self-control and the tight leash he kept himself on. But he had found, from the moment he first saw Anárië, that he was losing his grip. She lured him in with her innocence and youth, and despite the sometimes harshness that seemed to surround her, she was, to him, the most beautiful.

Right now, he was trying to decide whether he was to laugh or to remain solemn at the look on her face. It went from surprised to aghast, and finally to what he deduced as fear. Her hands came up to cover herself; of course he was not about to tell her it was far too late for that.

But the fear in her eyes cut deep. Perhaps this had not been the wisest road to take.

"I mean you no harm."

His voice was low, a rich timber that sent a shiver down her spine, not necessarily a frightened one. Anárië was struggling to grasp the situation and master it on her end, but the sight of him lounging against a tree played havoc on her already-jumbled thoughts. She had seen him in dress of state, in part armour and leisurely; she'd never seen him in an outfit like this before. It emphasised the way his body was built, for if he was to encounter foes they should fear him at a glance. Anárië could not help but watch the flow of muscle as he pushed away from the tree and lithely stepped into the sunlight.

Instinct drove her back, to the deepest region of the pond, despite the fact it helped her little; this might be her betrothed, but she was who she was.

He stopped when she moved; one of his hands came up in a gesture of peace.

"Anárië, I truly did not wish to frighten you. I will not harm you. You are to be my wife, it would be a poor start of our union."

She finally found her voice: "Then why are you here?"

His lips quirked slightly around the edges, a smile that was almost there,

"Is it such a sin to follow the woman you love?"

Her heart beat erratically against her ribs, caged. Anárië swallowed past the lump in her throat; he'd never used the word 'love' before, but it definitely had an impact. And it sent another of those treacherous shivers down her spine. Her body was going against the wishes of her mind.

"It is a sin to follow her and not tell her you are following."

This time he smiled, and crossed to the rocks. For half a heartbeat, Anárië feared he would do something rash, but he simply folded himself into a sitting position on a flat stone. Closer to her, but still out of reach and out of water. If she moved back further she went into the shallows again; so she remained still.

"I agree, that is indeed a sin. And yet … do you begrudge me?"

His eyes met hers; the sapphires smoldered. Anárië could almost taste the masculine power concealed behind that cool exterior. She could most definitely see that he was in tight control of himself, and it made her relax just a little.

She shook her head.

Her shoulders were less stiff now, though her hands remained where they were; Glorfindel fixed his eyes on her face. A safer course.

"How did you come past Gwaiforn?"

Her question woke him from his thoughts, and the lazy smile he gave unnerved her, he could see that.

"He might be your horse, my lady, but I taught him everything he knows. When he smelled his sire, he came to us willingly. He grazes with Gwainar now."

She nodded; Glorfindel wondered whether she thought this situation an odd one. Here they were talking about horses, while she stood naked in a pond! She must have guessed some of those thoughts when she looked at him next, because he could read it in her eyes.

"If you are done spying, my lord, I would like to return to my bath … and to my clothes. Without your close proximity, preferably."

He was definitely amused now, and she could see it. She pushed her chin out defiantly, willing him to leave, so she might reassemble the shaking pieces of herself.

"Close proximity … my lady, this is a far cry from it, I assure you."

"It is closer than I prefer."

His lips twitched; Anárië's body tensed at that, an inner voice told her to tread carefully.

"Ah, but it is far less close than what *I* prefer, Anárië."

The water rippled with a splash, and suddenly he was before her, encompassing her whole view and blocking everything else out. Her breathing stopped altogether for a moment as her mind worked to process this new development. The first instinct was to flee, but when she took a step back, his hands were on her skin.

He had held her before, but never like this; he pulled her to him, against his chest, and she feebly pressed her hands there to no avail.

His blood roared by now, with the way she was looking up at him, the way the soft curves of her body molded and shaped themselves against his own. He heard her gasp once one when his hands landed flat on her lower back, pressing her close. Her eyes were wide as she felt what he had wanted her to feel.

"You have doubted long, my love," he murmured, keeping her right where she was despite her small attempts to free herself, "about whether or not I desire you. You seem to doubt the way our fëa call to each other … but have no fear. I desire you, as I have never desired another."

His voice was low, with just a hint of roughness to it as he pressed her to him. Anárië found it difficult to breathe; with each inhale, her bossom pushed against his tunic, straining to be free and yet the way she seemed to fit against him was undeniable. His blue eyes smoldered, almost as if there was fire in them. And she could not deny what he said; it was far too obvious.

She fought to calm her racing heart, to no avail. Her body was betraying her, soundly; all she wished right now was for him to carry her to the bank and do … something.

He could see it in her eyes; the emeralds darkened and deepened, though he could also see she had little control over that. Glorfindel was going to have to be very, very careful here.

And yet he could not help himself; not with her in his arms, her father so far away. Not here.

He lowered his head, crushing his lips to her own, the kiss harder and more desperate than ever before. She yielded to him so easily, her lips parting and allowing his tongue entrance. The muscles in his arms coiled, blood rushing faster through his veins.

The sensations he was experiencing she could feel as well, and they both frightened and thrilled her. Her body seemed to sing to his touch, to the way his hands slipped down her bare skin, brushing the remaining water droplets away. Her fingers curled into the front of his tunic, as she battled with him for dominion in the kiss. Goosebumps crawled over her flesh, but he smoothed them aside with the warmth of his hands, which left fire in their wake.

Glorfindel broke the kiss, though wretch himself free would have been a more acurate description. His breathing was ragged, and so was her own; her eyes were glazed over, and the way her chest moved with each breath made him want more. Much, much more.

She did not understand why he had stopped; Anárië had enjoyed the kiss. She wanted more, though she could not say exactly what it was that she yearned for suddenly. Flames kindled in the area where her stomach should be. She was glad of him holding her, for her knees felt like jelly.

He pressed his forehead to hers and stood very still, only gazing into her eyes. They remained like that until their breathing calmed, their hearts slowed and their skin cooled.

Finally, he moved, his eyes flicking with a sudden light.

"Forgive me, Anárië … this was out of place. If your father knew …"

He cut himself off, looking away. Anárië yearned to comfort him, to tell him it did not matter; she had enjoyed it as much as he. But no words would come.

Instead she could only watch as he tore himself from her, wading out of the pool and blending with the willows. Her arms closed around her again, not to cover herself, but to hold against the sense of loss and loneliness she suddenly felt, and the deep ache in her belly.

It was only when the water turned cold that she realised the shadows were lengthening, and hastened out, grabbing her comb from the bottom. Gwaiforn was where he should be, but of Gwainar there was no sign. All the way back to the city and even up the streets she had the feeling of being followed, but whenever she turned there was no one there. She told Elwen she would pass any meal and closed herself into her room, wishing Tarnin Austa would come sooner.

At least she was sure of one thing now: there was no doubt of Glorfindel's love for her, and the longing she faced was two-sided. He yearned too.

It was not really a comfort, but it would have to do until their wedding day.