Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Autumn, 1600 SA

The exhale consisted of the sighting of a group of riders entering Lothlórien from the same direction that Gil-galad had used a decade or so ago.

Anárië and Lachuí were walking across the green grass at the foot of the mallorn trees when they noticed how the Elves of the Wood suddenly started, as if someone had tossed a rock into the river and watched the ripples spread. The Commander stopped and turned to see what the commotion was all about.

"Do you think it is a missive from Lindon?" the elleth asked in a low voice. Since their initial spats, they had become good friends through sheer need and a joint cause.

Their eyes met, and then Lachuí shook his head: "I do not think so; a missive would have been faster if sent by bird. This is something else."

What ‘something else’ meant in his vocabulary, Anárië could not say, and so she bit her bottom lip and waited. Sure enough, tidings came in the form of Galadriel’s handmaiden, who could suddenly be seen hastening towards them.

"My lord, my lady," she gasped once she was close, "the High King requires your presence immediately!"

Lachuí frowned: "The presence of both of us?"

The elleth nodded, and he exchanged another look with Anárië before they both moved in union, picking their pace as they crossed the lawn and aimed for the nearest stairs that would take them higher up among the telain.

"What do you think happened?" she asked as they took two stairs at a time, sometimes three, passing confused Elves who let them by simply out of confusion at their speed.

Lachuí grit his teeth together: "I do not know, but that that King has called me as well as you means he has need of great protection; it cannot be good. Make haste!"

And so they did, quickly climbing up the steps and rushing along a bridge that connected two tree-tops together at this height, finally bounding down onto the main mallorn, where they seemed to have been anticipated, for a sentry was already waiting for them.

"Hail! Lady Anárië is summoned before the High King and the Lady Galadriel; lord Lachuí, king Amroth requires your presence immediately."

This confused them.

"We were told the High King needs us both," Anárië contradicted, her eyes hard.

The sentry lifted his hands: "I know my orders; you are to go to the council chamber, and lord Lachuí must follow me."

She would have said more, but Lachuí placed a hand to her shoulder, and shook his head: "I will meet you again soon; now go to the King!"

She nodded, briefly touching his arm, before hastening in the opposite direction, retracing her steps from the first day of their coming here. Since then, she had grown accustomed to the trees and the life among them, but she did not sleep well so far above the ground. The eerie singing also kept her awake long into the night.

The two sentries that guarded the council chamber had been made aware of her coming, and they did not hinder her passage; one of them simply made a quick motion with his head, and she swore she could see a faint smile on his lips, but they were so immobile that it was hard to say.

The tall elleth stepped down onto the talan, and four Elves turned to her, out of which two were unfamiliar, or so she initially thought.

One held a chest, and he reminded her of lord Rog, with his broad shoulders and strong arms, but otherwise he could have been just another Elf. The other, who was seated, had a regal air about him, but his gray eyes were sad; a scar ran across his left cheek.

There was something in the set of his chin that made Anárië think she had seen him somewhere, but she did not have time for idle thoughts.

"Anná, they found you," Gil-galad spoke, relief obvious in his voice, and she stirred again, walking to his side.

"The Lady’s handmaiden came for us," she explained in a low voice, turning her green eyes back to the two Elves she did not know. The one with the scar was watching her with open interest, especially her eyes.

Anárië turned away to look at Galadriel; as she did, she noticed a slender chain around the Lady’s neck, with a pendant crafted in the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings upon it, holding a large emerald stone. This instinctively made her reach for the mithril pendant Dwain had made her.

The Lady spoke: "Anárië goes with the High King wherever his road takes him; his councils are her own. Anárië, these are Nolondir and the lord Celebrimor of Eregion, son of Curufin the Crafty."

Her head sprang back to the one who had apparently admitted doom upon his own lands, but not because of that; Curufin had been Maglor’s brother. There were traces of that noble lineage in his countenance.

"Nevertheless," said he in a strained voice, "I would not wish to speak of this before her. She is an outsider."

"Much less than you would think," Galadriel intercepted before Gil-galad could, "her father was Ecthelion of Gondolin, who rode and hunted with your father before they crossed the seas into this realm. Her charge was Eärendil of the Heavens, who now lights the way for us, and she lived for a time with your uncle Maglor."

Anárië looked at Galadriel with an unreadable expression, and could make nothing out from the Lady’s, but that she had somehow read her mind, for she had not spoken to the High King about so much of her personal history. Even he looked stunned.

Celebrimor watched her with new interest now: "It is a pity we have never met before then, my lady, for we would have had much to speak about – but now is not the time."

"Annatar has shown his true colours," Ereinion murmured to her so that only she could hear, and the hairs on her hands stood on end, "Celebrimor is hard-pressed now. Remember the trinkets we spoke of when we first came here?"

Imperceptible to anyone but him, she inclined her head, keeping her eyes on Celebrimor, who took up the conversation again where it had been interrupted by her arrival:

"Nineteen were the rings which I forged with my smiths," he explained in a weary voice, "out of those, Annatar himself was involved in the making of sixteen. Even as we began work on the first Rings, we all knew this was different from anything else we had made.

These Rings possess various powers, my friends. Some are more powerful than the others. Some help you gather gold to yourself, others grant you immortal life."

The elleth felt a sense of dread settling over her; was it not enough to learn from the mistake of Fëanor and the Silmarils? Was his grandson making a similar mistake?

"What of the three you have not mentioned?" asked Gil-galad after a moment of silence.

Celeborn turned to Nolondir, the Elf with the plain wooden chest. He placed it onto the table and unlocked the first set of locks which held the contents within. The second set was unlocked by Celebrimor, while the third once more by Nolondir.

"You have taken great precaution with this chest," observed the King, while Anárië wished she could be anywhere else but this talan right now. She had had quite enough experience with objects beyond her power and reach.

Celebrimor’s expression was grim when he replied: "The burden it carries is far too precious to fall into the wrong hands." He carefully undid the locks and pushed the lid back, then turned the chest so its items were displayed.

Inside, gently laid against soft velvet, were what seemed to be three crystal housings. And within each of those lay a beautifully-crafted Ring.

There was no breeze upon the air, but Anárië could have sworn that something stirred around them, and she looked away.

"These Rings I have made with my own hands, and with Nolondir's help," said Celebrimor softly, his finger gently touching the wooden outlay, "they have gone untouched by Annatar's vile hands, and I shall not allow him to have possession over them."

"But – how could he?" asked Gil-galad, "How can he if you should hide the Rings, or destroy them in the fires they were created with?"

Celebrimor’s tired eyes turned to Galadriel, and Anárië felt a tingle run down her spine, the sure sign that something was about to go horribly wrong.

The Lady of the Wood was silent, and then she suddenly took a sharp breath, her eyes widening. They all tensed.

"Yes," came the weary, defeated voice of the Lord of Eregion, "Annatar has made one other Ring, on his own, and in the flames of the East. He has claimed dominion over those that are lesser in strength, which means all, for he has poured much of himself into this one small thing. It was but yestereve that we heard a fell voice in the air, ringing as clearly as your silver bells do here in Lothlórien;

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the Darkness bind them."

A shadow flew across the talan as he said this, and the Elves jumped and shuddered; Anárië gripped the back of Ereinion’s chair for support.

"The Rings are under the command of the one Annatar has made for himself," observed Galadriel into the silence that had fallen between them, "even the three he has had no part in making. You have been betrayed."

Celebrimor nodded, and bowed his head: "Yes; but there might still be some hope." His dark grey eyes suddenly came aflame: "These three are the most powerful of all the nineteen, and pure, devoid of all malice. Perhaps that shall sway the tide in our favour.

But I fear to keep them on my person; Annatar has already demanded I give him all nineteen rings. As long as I am able, I shall refuse him. But these, he shall not get, not unless all the strength of the Eldar should perish, and the world be covered in darkness. Thus I come before the High King, and the wisest of all Elves who have seen the Light, with the request that they take them, and keep them safe."

Silence fell upon the council chamber. Anárië felt as though they were being handed a bridle, and they were voluntarily placing it upon themselves, to be led and governed with its aid. Her chest rose and fell with more force than she would have initially thought, and her eyes did not go to the two foreign Elves. Instead, they focused on the High King.

Gil-galad was silent, looking to the chest, and finally to Galadriel. The Lady did not speak for a long time.

"Only one shall I keep in Lórien," she finally replied softly, "for I fear it is too dangerous for me to keep more. The others should be scattered around Middle Earth."

Anárië wanted to scream in frustration, but she balled her hands into fists, and kept a firm, silent hold on herself, as she looked back to the King.

He seemed to contemplate for a long time, with his head bowed, before suddenly lifting it: "I shall take the other two and keep them safe in Lindon." It felt like a blow to her stomach. Protecting the King was one thing – protecting the King who had on his person two of the items that Annatar sought so desperately? It was folly.

Celebrimor, however, inclined his head, and took out the middle of the three crystals. Anárië was too captivated to look away; he opened it with another key, and the ring within it glimmered into the world. It was made as a delicate brand of white, with a sparkling white diamond captured in the image of a petal.

"This is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, named for the diamond," said he, and presented it to Galadriel, "when I made it, I had the element of water in mind. It shall help you preserve the beauty and immortality of Lothlórien, or at least so I hope."

The Ring was held out; the Lady was still for a moment before she finally took it, and the key that locked the crystal housing. Slowly, her fingers danced across Nenya. A soft humming could be heard, or perhaps it was all in their imagination. Anárië watched as Galadriel slipped the White Ring onto her finger, and immediately, to her eyes, she seemed as if befallen with a great burden.

Celebrimor then turned to Gil-galad and gave to him both of the other two Rings. Anárië leaned ever so slightly away, as if they were a plague she dared not touch.

"This is Vilya, the Ring of Air, and most powerful of all Three," the Master-Smith said, as the High King opened one of the crystals and took the golden brand set with a sapphire stone.

"I strongly advise against you wielding both that and the other Ring. Although your strength is great, two Rings shall wear you more than one," came the caution, and Anárië swallowed thickly, watching her charge as he inspected the Ring.

His eyes met Celebrimor’s, and he nodded: "Worry not, my friend; I shall keep Vilya for a time, before handing it over to another, as well as the third Ring."

The third crystal, which flickered like a flame whenever it caught the shaft of sunlight coming through the opening in the branches, was carefully stored away.

"That is Narya, the Ring of Fire," explained Celebrimor as he closed the wooden chest, "it shall give courage to the one who bears it, and set the flame of bravery into the hearts of those around him as well."

Anárië wanted to contradict him immediately; she felt no courage with the accursed Ring close to her, only dread and devastation.

The grandson of Fëanor returned the chest to Nolondir: "Bear all these rings with caution, and care! And above all, do not allow Annatar to take them. For within these Rings is preserved the power to maintain the Elven-lands. But I fear you are now also connected with Annatar on a level neither of us wants. It is something I cannot help with anymore."

"The doors to our minds are closed," said the High King firmly, as he placed Vilya upon his finger, "and the Rings are kept safe. But you must now return to Ost-en-Edhil, lest Annatar realises, too soon, what has transpired here."

The elleth who was his protector eyed the Ring upon his finger with ill-hidden contempt, and her eyes glanced over to where Galadriel had allowed the sleeve of her robe to cover her right hand now. The number and elements had not gone unnoticed to her – had not Eönwë said that the three Silmarils had been of Air, Water, and Fire?

Celebrimor and Nolondir both bowed, and left the council chamber; they would leave Lothlórien the same day, and hopefully return to their home unnoticed.

The three Elves that remained behind relaxed slightly, though Anárië felt as if someone had harnessed her into a plough and sent her to work the fields.

"Dark days lie ahead of us," said Gil-galad finally, to break the silence. He sat down upon the chair Celebrimor had previously occupied, and place the hand with Vilya upon the table.

Galadriel raised a hand to her brow: "Darker than we know; it is crucial now that strong alliances are formed among the Eldar. I have high hopes that the bonds between Mirkwood and Lórien are already laid." She lowered herself into the other chair.

"One must also be made with Lindon," added Gil-galad as an after-thought, and the Lady nodded. Somehow, Anárië was afraid of what those words might mean.

"Anná," the High King said suddenly, and woke her from her.

"Your Majesty."

"Find Lachuí and tell him we shall be going home soon; it is too dangerous for us to stay here any longer."

She inclined her head, and hastened out of the chamber, feeling relieved that she was finally dismissed. The sentry called something after her, but she did not hear him as she descended the flight of steps down to the lower level.

She could not believe it. She. Could. Not. It was all happening all over again. It was madness, it was – she did not know how to name it. She felt as though she was low on breath and could not inhale properly; stopping on a bridge, Anárië took hold of the rail and leaned heavily against it, focusing simply on breathing.

This could not be happening again.

Closing her eyes, her mind replayed the meeting which had just taken place, and she had to tell herself that it was indeed happening one more time. One threat had been removed, another was rising.

Her hands formed fists, her knuckles whitening, and she took another deep breath.

Lachuí. She needed to find Lachuí.

Regaining some of her composure with that thought, Anárië hastened forward and down again, not really knowing where to search for the commander.

In the end, she did not have to look long. They ran into each other around a corner as she tried going further down, and he was coming up. She would have fallen if his reflexes were not faster, and he caught her.

"Anná! Thank the Valar, I found you!"

She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned: "What?"

"I’ve been looking for you since one of the sentries told me that the two foreign Elves left the council talan."

Her thoughts were in shambles, and she had a hard time following what he was saying.

"Stop, stop Lachuí! Why are you looking for me? I was supposed to find you, by order of the King."

This did in fact stop him, and it was his turn to frown.

"What? Why?"

"We leave Lórien soon," she answered, and then briefly explained the situation, giving enough information so that the commander would understand the urgency, but saying nothing about the Rings.

When she was done, he nodded: "Very well, but we would have had to ride home regardless."

"What?"

"I was called to king Amroth, remember?" he replied, and turned them both so they were descending the stairs together now, "There has been a letter from Lindon this morning."

Anárië sent a small prayer to the Heavens.

"Elrond?"

Lachuí nodded again: "Yes. But nothing good, I fear. Wolves have entered the woods once more, of a bigger kind than we are used to."

The prayer intensified in her mind as her fingers dug into the ellon’s arm: "And?"

He stopped and looked at her. Her heart stuttered.

"They attacked one of the groups returning from the fields."

The news fell upon her like the strike of a hammer, and she swayed, clutching at Lachuí, who helped steady her.

"Wounded?"

"A few," he confirmed, still holding her, "Berien was the one who delivered the news; she was with them."

Anárië’s breath left her in a ‘whush’, her eyes seeking Lachuí’s for any sign. He was composed enough. It was the sole reason why she dared pose her next question.

"Casualties?"

His lips formed a thin line for a moment: "The majority."

Bile rose in her throat as images flashed across her mind, but she shook her head forcibly, her hands holding painfully to the other Elf as she took sharp breaths to steady herself.

"Anyone we know?"

The commander’s eyes turned suddenly cautious, and she knew the next blow would be harder. Anárië pushed her chin up: "Lachuí."

She heard the dryness of his throat when he spoke: "The lady Wilvarin was among them. Berien’s younger sister."

It was bad – very bad. But she did not understand the caution.

"There is something you are not telling me."

Lachuí swallowed thickly: "She carried a token from the King."

Anárië’s mind went blank. She scrambled to think again: "Token?"

The commander nodded, his voice hoarse: "A silver ring."

The world spun; her conversation with Ereinion about the gardens slammed into her with the force of a charging stallion.

"Anná?"

"I think I am going to be ill."

Lachuí dragged her to the side, and pressed her head between her knees. Anárië breathed in and out slowly on his command, his hand running soothing patterns across her back.

Finally, she was able to lift her head again, and the ringing in her ears died out.

"The news will kill him."

"I know," he agreed, and they both stood. The elleth smoothed her hair out of her face.

"Was there anything else in the missive?"

Lachuí nodded: "Yes; Círdan sent a group out of Mithlond. Lord Elrond writes of ‘visitors’, but I could not make out who or what he meant. From his words, I take it they are unlike anyone we have ever encountered before."

She needed things like these to keep her mind off the horrible fact that Gil-galad’s betrothed had been torn apart.

"How many?"

"I do not know, the Shipwright did not say. The Lord expects more news soon."

It was too much information to sort in such little time; Anárië shook her head again to be rid of the dark spots dancing in front of her eyes.

"Ready the horses, Lachuí; we ride tonight."

He eyed her carefully: "What will you do?"

Anárië closed her eyes, taking deep, even breaths; slowly, she felt her back straighten and her shoulders fall square, and she could lift her chin again.

"I will speak to the High King."