Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Summer, 1150 SA

Berien smacked a fidgeting Anárië lightly on her side: "Hold still! I am this close to actually putting a needle in you!"

"Are you almost finished? I can’t stand it much longer," came the complaint, as the elleth held away her hair so her friend could apply the necessary measurements to the dress they were altering.

Because of Anárië’s new position as the King’s bodyguard and apparent partner, she needed to apply generous changes to her wardrobe, which was not exactly something she exulted in. Even in Gondolin, when she had had every right to wear the richest fabrics, she had always opted for the simpler forms.

Here, it all seemed like a giant fraud.

"I will not be unless you stand still and be silent," came the reply of her friend, who flipped her hair back from her face and resumed her work, trying to pull the skirt closer together since the elleth was taller and slimmer than most, including herself; "I never thought I’d have to alter a dress as much as I am now, but you defy all my expectations – how you even manage to find appropriate clothing for yourself is beyond me! Were all ellith in Gondolin like this?"

By this point, Anárië’s emotions about Gondolin were numb, or more or less so, which meant that she could reply to questions like these without much pain. She shrugged.

"Not that I know, but my mother was like this, I was told; both she and my father were among the taller kind."

"And apparently an under-fed one as well." Berien quipped as she finally placed the last needle in, straightening to inspect her handiwork, "I am by no means wide across the abdomen, but you simply disappear, or if you don’t, I have to work with muscle, which is even worse."

Her friend laughed lightly and turned to look at the back of the dress in the mirror, "Do you think this will be alright for tonight?"

Berien scoffed: "My seamstress made it personally for me when I wore it to the binding ceremony of a friend; it is beyond alright, I assure you."

Anárië opened her mouth to speak again, but Berien placed gentle fingers there and stopped her: "Do not even think about it. I have already told you that the colour suits you better than it ever did me. It is my pleasure to help you with this – but to be perfectly honest with you, I will enjoy it most when I may drag you to my seamstress."

This elicited another wave of laughter and a lot of eye-rolling, before Anárië was able to slip out of the dress and allow Berien to take it in for her, since they had no time to call a proper seamstress. The banquet tonight would be in honour of the delegations that were currently in Lindon, a Dwarven one to renew trading agreements since a new King had been crowned, and one from across the Sea, which both she and Elrond were anxious about. The King had only said that it was someone close to the Mortal King, and whoever it was that sailed from fair Númenor, they wished to speak with him for news of Elros.

For this, however, Anárië needed something else if she wished to appear on the King’s hand that night, and so Berien had taken it upon herself to find something suitable. In the end, she had given up on any products the local seamstresses could provide, and simply dived into her own wardrobe, producing a complicated-looking gown that was long enough to never expose that the shoes its wearer would have would be boots – Anárië needed somewhere to hide her knife, a custom she had not given up since fleeing Gondolin.

So, after who knew how many years, she once again allowed handmaidens to wash her and brush her hair to shine, just like she had at home, though back then she had been so young, innocent. There was nothing remotely innocent about the boots they brought back, polished to a gleam and her knife hidden within them.

They helped her into the dress and laced it up; it was a little tight across the chest all of a sudden, but Anárië suspected that was Berien’s doing, not a mistake. The elleth in question sailed into the room moments afterwards to check on her and help with her hair, looking absolutely splendid in a deep burgundy dress that complimented her skin tone.

"If I pass out tonight from lack of air, I shall hold you personally responsible," the protector told her friend as their eyes met in the mirror, and Berien simply smiled innocently.

"You can hardly blame me for what you’ve been given, Anná."

"I can, since I know the original altering did not include pushing my chest up to my chin."

Berien giggled, and played with strands of golden hair to see how she would style it, looking like the cat that got to the cream first,

"Oh stop it, ‘tis not so bad! And you look ravishing, might I add. A fitting partner for the King tonight."

Anárië groaned and refused to say anything more, allowing the other elleth to brush her hair from her face and pull it back, creating an artful knot at the base of her skull but allowing the majority of it to fall freely. After a few more tugs, she was satisfied, and not a moment too soon; a knock came to the door and Elrond peeked around it.

"Are we almost done? The King is asking for you, Anná."

"I am ready," she replied and stood, smoothing a hand down the front of her skirt, pausing when she met Elrond’s eyes; "Is something wrong?"

The ellon blinked and shook his head a couple of times before finding his voice: "Uh no, no! It is simply ... I am ... unused, to seeing you like this, that’s all."

She looked down at the green dress with purplish highlights and worried her bottom lip, feeling incredibly vulnerable and entirely out of place: "Do you think it is too much?"

"No! No, absolutely not," Elrond assured her, stepping into the room and allowing Berien to exit as he took hold of his old mentor’s hand and placed a kiss to it, "You look beautiful, Anná; I always knew you were, but seeing you tonight – it is nice to be right sometimes."

She felt that she was about to blush, and so rolled her eyes instead, pulling her hand from his and smacking his shoulder, before they left her rooms together to join the King.

Ereinion was speaking to an Elf with long raven hair and a tall frame when they found him; Elrond inclined his head as Anárië bent her knees, before her hand was passed to the King’s, whose eyes looked decidedly amused.

"My astonishing partner for the night – lady Berien did a fine job."

He kissed her hand as she dropped her eyes, and then her attention was given to the newcomer she had never seen before.

Ereinion introduced him: "This is Erestor, he travelled here with the last group of Elves that came to Lindon; his father used to serve mine in the war camps. Erestor, this is lord Elrond, my nephew, and his mentor, lady Anárië of Gondolin."

The newcomer’s eyes lingered on her, and the elleth suspected it was not because of her attire; her green orbs met his calmly, and she noticed that his were actually not black, as first impression suggested, but an interesting shade of deep grey which looked purple in certain light.

Ereinion stopped any further exchange from happening there: "But we are almost too late – come! Tonight is about feasting."

He led Anárië forward and down a flight of steps, while the others arranged themselves behind them.

His voice was low when he spoke: "What do you think of him?"

She knew he was asking her about Erestor. Her reply was thoughtful: "His eyes are a colour not usual for the Noldor, so I suspect there is more there than meets the eye; but other than that, I sense a keen and creative mind, with intelligence. He would serve you well, especially if his father served yours already."

The King nodded, but said no more for the time being as the heralds in front announced their arrival to the banquet hall, and they stepped into the light to be greeted by the court and delegations. Anárië sensed how Ereinion’s fingers tightened on her own, and she applied gentle pressure to give a reassuring squeeze. Even a king could be nervous sometimes.

They descended into the hall, and he steered her in the direction of the Dwarves first. There was a small company of them, approximately fifteen if her eyes were not mistaken, but it was not until she found herself face to face with the group that she realised she knew at least one.

"Thain!"

He was of Durin’s line, of Dwain’s, and Anárië was glad to see a familiar face from the mines. His russet-coloured beard was streaked through with silver, but his blue eyes sparkled as if he knew some jest no one else did, like his forefather’s had.

"My lady, a star shines upon the hour of our meeting."

Ereinion released her hand with amusement as the tall elleth bent to hug her old friend, who she had not seen in a long time.

"I did not know you would accompany this delegation," she chided as she straightened again and he kissed her fingers, "else I would have ridden out to meet you before-hand."

"A guest un-looked for is oft the most welcome," Thain replied with a wink, before turning to the King, "and I see that you have taken good care of her, Your Majesty; the highlights are an artful way to hide her new position from those who do not understand your court."

Ereinion bowed: "An unfortunate, but necessary means, my friend. How I wish I did not have to resort to such, but alas! It is not for me to choose otherwise."

It was Thain’s turn to bow, and Anárië promised to return soon as the King then turned away to greet the delegation from the Isle. Her content practically hummed through her skin at the meeting, and the evening was already looking fair.

The Men of Númenor were tall and grey-eyed, but Anárië’s stomach twisted in disappointment even as her eyes searched through faces greedily; none of them even remotely resembled Elros.

She inclined her head in greeting as Ereinion spoke to them, but did not say anything herself, simply observed, something which did not go unnoticed by the King as they were done and could turn away.

"What do you think of them?"

Her shoulders rose slightly: "They are honourable enough, and mean well; if they can man the coastline with their forts, you should give them leave, I suppose. Do not allow them closer to Lindon, however; we do not need such close proximity."

"Your thoughts are in perfect agreement to mine," he murmured as they mingled with the nobles of his court; soon enough, Anárië found herself close to Thain again, and her pleasure was palpable.

"It is perhaps wrong to be so happy to see you," she explained laughingly as her friend teased her about it, "but I cannot help it – it has been too long since last I beheld the wonders of Khazad-dûm."

Thain chuckled, and bowed, "I will not say ‘hasten back’, for only an Elf knows when they will return. But know that you will always be welcome in our halls; my family would be honoured to have you."

She smiled and bent her knees: "Perhaps you shall have the pleasure soon, but I go wherever the King goes, so I cannot say."

The Dwarf’s eyes sparkled more: "Then I shall entice him to visit us, and bring you with him."

The elleth laughed at that, and she enjoyed some more moments with her Dwarven friend, before she noticed Ereinion moving further away, and so excused herself. She mingled with the gathered and greeted some of them, but one of her eyes was always on the King.

A light touch to her arm made her turn and look straight at Erestor, who smiled apologetically: "Forgive me for this intrusion, but I could not help notice you lacked your partner."

Anárië dismissed his apology with a smile, and turned her head to look after the King, who was standing some Elves to the left from her: "Only for the moment, I assure you; I fear the musicians shall not be happy with my opening dance, for my graceful days are long since gone."

"Not in the daughter of Ecthelion!" he laughed, and she turned her head to look at him curiously; his mention of her father sparked her interest.

Erector smiled: "Yes, I knew your father, or I knew of him; my father was distant kin to Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch, though he did not follow Turgon to Nevrast when coming to these lands."

Her heart skipped a couple of beats at that: "You knew my uncle?"

His expression turned apologetic: "I only met him once, and even then briefly; I suspect I did not know him as well as I could. I was hoping to see him here in Lindon when I arrived, but that does not seem to be the case."

Her lips felt dry, and she shook her head: "No, he – I do not know exactly where he is, for he escaped by ship from the Havens of Sirion, and he was with Círdan the Shipwright for a time, but since then he has concealed himself well from common knowledge."

Erestor nodded, solemn: "I did hear rumours of that, though I confess I believed he would draw closer to the King; perhaps he will surface again soon."

Anárië’s smile was sad: "Hopefully."

They exchanged a look, but then she heard the King calling for her, and she gave an apology before slipping away and joining her liege-lord. It was time for the opening dance. She went through the motions without really noticing them, and when Ereinion applauded the musicians, she woke as if from a dream, and joined him.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly as the dancing continued without them, and she nodded,

"Just some memories, Your Majesty. Nothing more."

How could she explain that the last time she’d danced had been with the Elf who would become her husband? He did not entirely believe her excuse, but she was spared further questioning when Lachuí suddenly appeared in the crowd, making his way towards them.

"My lord, forgive me – but there is something you need to see."

Ereinion frowned at that, and beckoned to Elrond; Anárië quietly slipped away with them. After the banquet hall, the hallways seemed almost chilly, despite the summer evening.

"There seems to be a delegation outside the city walls," the Commander explained as their steps echoed against the floor tiles, "but their banners are unknown to me and so I did not know what to do before I consulted you. There are horses waiting for us in the inner courtyard."

The King looked confused, but when Anárië looked at Elrond, her charge looked troubled. A tingle went down her spine, and she took hold of her skirt to walk faster. As Lachuí said, there were horses waiting for them, and they rode quickly out from the courtyard and down the main road towards the outer wall.

They left the animals below and the elleth lifted her skirt to quickly climb the stairs onto the ramparts after the King; Gil-galad frowned as he looked into the distance. There seemed to be tents there, but the colour of the banners was unknown.

"Have they made any contact?" he asked, looking at Lachuí; the commander shook his head:

"No, not until now – look!"

A group of riders had detached itself, and was trotting across the grass towards the city.

Elrond looked at the King, whose facial expression became stern: "Come, let us see what it is they want."

They descended back to the horses, and Lachuí quickly ordered a small group of warriors to ride with them as the gates were thrown open and their horses picked up their pace.

Anárië and Elrond rode to either side of the King, with Lachuí completing the first line. The group of riders from the other camp was waiting for them now, and the elleth finally noticed that their banners were black, but she could not make out the device.

Gil-galad brought his horse to a halt a leap from the others, and his company fanned out behind him.

"Greetings," he spoke, a hand across his heart, "your faces are unknown to me, but I trust we can remedy that."

"That is my hope as well," the leader of the other company replied in a gentle voice, and Anárië shivered, though she did not quite understand why; Lachuí glanced at her, and replaced the reins in his hands calmly.

The Elf who seemed to lead the newcomers was fair to look upon; very fair, with long silken hair and a countenance that seemed to be chiselled and carved. His eyes were grey and, while they seemed warm at first, on better glance the warmth did not carry further than the surface.

Elrond shifted on his horse uncomfortably; Anárië could sense his unease, and the feeling seemed to spread from him to her, and then on to Lachuí and the soldiers.

"You come upon us at an interesting time," the King resumed, not insensitive about the sentiments behind him, "with the Summer Solstice close at hand and our city in celebration. We had no word that we would be receiving another delegation tonight."

He was friendly, but not entirely open; too much had happened to the Elves to openly receive unknown visitors anymore.

The other bowed his head: "For that, I apologise; it was a momentary decision on my part. I am Annatar. I come from the lands across the river Anduin, as you undoubtedly already know. I seek an alliance with the High King of the Noldor."

The horses shifted underneath their riders, the only outward sign that something was amiss. Anárië glanced at Elrond, who had his hands calmly resting on the saddle before him, but his right thumb kept moving; it was a sure sign of his agitation.

The King seemed to sense more than see that: "I bid you welcome, lord Annatar; I am Gil-galad, and these are my companions. Lindon is our home, but I believe you already know that."

The other inclined his head in welcome, but Anárië disliked him more with each passing moment, not that she understood why.

Some more pleasantries were exchanged, but all of them sensed the atmosphere was tense for some reason they could not explain.

Annatar finally broke the cordialities: "So, son of Fingon, what will it be? Will you escort me into your city tonight or shall we wait?"

At this Elrond shifted and came back to attention; Lachuí’s shoulders tensed and his warriors freed one hand. Anárië glanced sideways to the King, who seemed to be considering it. She thought she could hear Elrond’s silent screams of denial, but her young charge knew how to control himself too well at this point.

Finally, Gil-galad shook his head: "Much as I might want to, I will have to say no; you seem comfortably encamped here and my city is full."

He had understood the silent messages passing from behind him; Elrond relaxed slightly.

Annatar inclined his head, his horse snorting underneath him, "As you wish, Fingonion; perhaps you shall change your mind later."

Anárië highly doubted this would be the case, and Gil-galad did not answer that. The two parties went separate ways, and the Elven horses were happy to pass back into the safety of the city and its walls.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Elrond commented as they rode up to the palace again, "especially of the leader. ‘Annatar’. Gift-giver. What gifts did he bring us? I saw only shadows under his words."

"It is done now," the King replied, dismounting, "and you are right, Elrond – I sensed your warning and the shadows as well. Let us hope we do not have to deal with them again."

Anárië did not seem so sure about it, especially after seeing Elrond’s uncertainty, but Ereinion held his hand out to her again, and they returned to the banquet hall for the rest of the evening, though none of the party seemed comfortable anymore.

Some days later, scouts reported that Celebrimor had admitted Annatar into Eregion, and Ost-en-Edhil.


Fingonion - son of Fingon