Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER TWO
Early spring, 509 FA

It was late in the afternoon and Arien was beginning her descent to the western sides of the Encircling Mountains. At the Gates, the shifts were taking place among the warriors who had stood guard during the afternoon, and those who would stay until midnight. Galdor met up with Egalmoth on the lower levels, behind his bronze gate.

"Hail brother!" the latter greeted, a friendly smile smoothing his usually stern face, "Have your soldiers traded places then?"

"Of course," the Lord of the Tree replied, clasping his friend's arm, motioning back the way he came, "it all went smoothly enough. I have also told my men to keep a good eye out on the fields, in case any of the missing scouts return."

Egalmoth nodded, and motioned to one of his men for his horse: "Wise decision; and now we must make haste to Ecthelion's house. My cousin has outdone himself with this soirée."

"Indeed?" Galdor asked with gentle curiosity and a playful smile; it was no secret that Ecthelion wished nothing but the best for his daughter.

They made their way past the fourth gate, guiding their horses among the Elves in the street up towards the fifth. They exchanged a glance when they saw who was talking with Salgant, falling silent as they passed to the upper levels.

"It would seem our brother Penlod has finally turned to the other side," was the first comment that fell from Galdor's lips once they were out of hearing range. Egalmoth's face had clouded again at the sight they had just passed, and his grey eyes were unreadable when they met his friend's blue's.

"Do not mention this in front of Ecthelion – not tonight, at least. He might not draw that conclusion even if they arrive to the banquet together. We should not burden him on this day. After the celebrations, there will be enough time for discussions."

Galdor nodded his assent on this immediately, "Of course, my lips are sealed. Besides, from what I hear Ecthelion has enough on his mind right now; Anárië still dreams. She would be happier if she could visit her father and his men more often at the Great Gate, I believe."

Egalmoth shook his head, "It would be equally unwise to bring this up in the house. It is a sore spot for the both of them – him, because he cannot change the situation, her because she has chosen this path willingly."

"I had no intention of speaking to Ecthelion about it tonight, Egalmoth!" the Lord of the Tree cried, just as they finally climbed onto the seventh level, "Tonight we should leave all burdens outside." They left their horses at the stables by the Great Gates and continued on foot, following the road towards the Fountains of the South.

Ecthelion's abode had been constructed in two separate buildings on either side of the street, a wide arch connecting them and casting a shade onto the cobblestones which would ultimately lead to the stables. Behind one section were beautiful gardens which Cealea had had planted, while the other rested against the city walls. A wide terrace overlooked the street towards the Gate, and the evening sun danced on the glassed windows.

"Ho!" cried Galdor all of a sudden as they stepped into the sprinkle of a large fountain in the courtyard, "I would know that golden head anywhere. Glorfindel my friend, you do not by any chance mean to sulk in the shadows tonight, do you?"

The tall Elf-lord turned upon hearing his name and laughed, a sound that came easily to his lips, and clasped arms with the other two Elves.

"I should have known you would thwart my plans, Tree-whisperer! And you, Rainbow Lord, you will give me no respite either?"

"It is not my respite that you should seek," came the stoic reply, but the grey eyes twinkled despite the seriousness of both Egalmoth's voice and face, "when it is Lalaith's most fervent wish to orchestrate your wedding. Nay my friend! I will not stand in the way of my wife. Far safer for me to step aside and let her lead this dance."

"Yes, so you might still come to a warm bed at night," Galdor added with a pointed look that sent Glorfindel off into a roar of laughter, and left Egalmoth shaking his head as they turned to the entrance of the house.

Inside, Ecthelion and Anárië were greeting their guests and directing them into the main living area. The Lord of the house stood tall in blue and silver, the emblem of his line embroidered on the front of his tunic – one of the last Cealea had done for him. His dark hair had been swept back and was held in place by a silver circlet.

Beside him his daughter stood almost as tall as he. She wore an airy white gown with lace added on the trimmings; it wrapped around her slender figure like a lover's touch, a wide girdle around her waist. The simbol of her Father's house was upon the front, and her hair fell past her hips, with flowers peeking out among the braids.

They had just finished speaking with Rog when the path cleared and Turgon entered, with Idril and Tuor following in his wake. The three royals looked splending in simple, but no less regal raiments, their only ornament being a star-crystal on the Lady's brow. The King never wore his crown on such occassions.

Ecthelion and Anárië sank low, greeting their lord and his family appropriately. Once the formality was done, however, Turgon stepped forward and clasped arms with Ecthelion.

"You have outdone yourself, brother; I have not seen such splendour in a while now. Your daughter must be very proud of you."

The elleth in question felt her cheeks become warmer, and she dropped her gaze.

Her father came to her rescue: "I do believe it is the other way around, my lord. No father has ever been as proud of his daughter as I am of mine tonight."

Emerald green eyes looked up again, the 'thank you' written in them so fervently that Tuor and Idril exchanged an indulging smile, while Turgon laughed.

He took Anárië's hand, turning her attention to himself.

"I sense much of Ecthelion in you, my dear; and much also of Cealea. You are by far too modest. Had your mother lived, she would have been proud."

Anárië murmured a courteous reply and bent her knees slightly in thank you.

Idril stepped up then, "Come Father, you are intimidating the poor child. Spare her the intrigues of your politics at least for a year more!"

They all chuckled at this, and Ecthelion exchanged a wry look with Tuor, who simply smiled, and kissed Anárië's hand when he got the chance, murmuring congratulations.

The hostess smiled pleasantly, regaining her composure and her manners, and extended a slender hand towards Turgon: "Thank you, all of you. Please, do step to the main room with me – I believe you would enjoy the pastries our cookes have made for tonight. There is a great variety of them, including apple and cinammon."

Turgon took the offered hand with a dramatic sigh, tucking it neatly into his elbow, "Ah, a culinary taste after mine own heart. And I specifically asked your father not to tell you my favourite. It seems I shall have to punish him."

By now though, Anárië was certain the King enjoyed teasing his subjects whenever he could, so she was not too worried about the punishment.

"Actually, sire, my father had nothing to do with it … a lady must needs trust in her little birds, they inform her of everything. Has your daughter not told you this?"

"No, but I would had I thought of it," Idril murmured behind their backs while Turgon laughed at the retort and let the young elleth lead him away.

Ecthelion turned to a chuckling Tuor.

"I sincerely hope she will not teach Eärendil such replicas," commented the Lord of the Wing non-chalantly. Idril refrained from commenting while the host smiled.

"Your son has a sharp mind, my lord – nothing my daughter says can amend that."

"Hm," was the only reply right before he and Idril stepped aside to make room for others, leaving Ecthelion with the guests that followed.

Coincidently it was Egalmoth, Galdor and Glorfindel.

"I didn't think you would come!" Ecthelion exclaimed, smiling brightly, stepping forth to clasp hands with his brothers-in-arms, "especially since I knew you would be present on the lower-level guard shifts. I thought you would at least arrive at a later time."

"Oh come, Ecthelion!" Egalmoth chidded, taking off his rainbow cloak, "You did not seriously believe it when Galdor wished to excuse himself? He and Glorfindel were taking bets all day yesterday about it."

"Yes, and I won, while we are discussing this," Galdor grinned, while Glorfindel stood by, shaking his head.

"Egalmoth, I shall never share any of my plans with you again, you are far too loose-tongued about them," he said with feigned annoyance.

The Lord of the Heavenly Arch gave an indulgent smile; of all the Gondolin Lords he was the most controlled and reserved. Getting him to break would be similar to trying to bring down the mountain of Taniquentil. Hence, no jokes were spared on that account.

"We've watched your daughter grow over the years," Galdor continued, cutting the friendly brawl short, "why should we miss out on such an important event in both your lives?"

"Speaking of your daughter," Glorfindel interrupted, before Ecthelion said a word, "and you will forgive me for asking, but since I fail to see any fair-hair maidens present – not including our fair Princess Idril – I have to wonder where she is. Last I saw her she was still a child, quite a few heads shorter than yourself, Ecthelion."

"If you will permit me to speak without trying to verbally hit yourselves every spare moment of your life, I might just tell you," the Lord of the Fountain commented wryly, though not without humor, "she has taken the King inside, to the main area. Go right ahead, I shall be joining you shortly."

"You had better – I do not wish to be subject to another evening of Lalaith's meddling," Glorfindel continued, casting a glance in Egalmoth's direction, but the older Elf was already engaged in conversation with one of the other guests.

Galdor smothered a laugh and took his leave of their immediate company to seek his wife out, she had arrived with the others who were waiting for their husbands. Once alone, Ecthelion turned to Glorfindel with an amused smile.

"I take it my cousin is relentless in her quest?"

The Lord of the Golden Flower shrugged, "More or less. But we all know Lalaith – sometimes far more and far better than her own husband. She has found eternal happiness and now wishes for everyone to share in it."

His friend smiled at that, "And that is such a bad thing?"

Glorfindel smirked, "Not if you're already wed and raising a child. To me, however, she is more of a burden than a stray cat meowing on my window in the middle of the night. Trust me, Ecthelion, there is nothing worse than a happily married woman trying to tie the knot for you."

Ecthelion laughed merrily, shaking his head at the comparison. Knowing his cousin as he did, he was certain Lalaith would give Glorfindel a rest if he only said so. But his friend indulged the elleth and allowed her practically anything. Such was the charm of being young in comparison to your husband, and beloved by your people. Lalaith was the joy of Egalmoth's life, and in the lives of their close kin.

They exchanged a final amused glance before Glorfindel finally excused himself and made for the main room, greeting Elves as he went, for he was a well-known visitor in the house and Ecthelion's friend since before the crossing of the Ice. Spying Turgon's red robe close-by, he made a bee-line for him.

Someone nearly collided with him halfway and he automatically reached out to steady the young serving Elf, chuckling at the apologies and shaking his head. It could have been far worse. Resuming his course, he suddenly noticed Lalaith at that end of the room and immediately diverted his steps the other way. In doing so his gaze was captured by the open terrace doors in front of which the tables had been set up.

She was standing just outside the room, leaning lightly against the rail. A light breeze blew, shifting the way the silk lay across her skin, exposing her shoulders. She stood as still as one of the marble sentinels on the Road of Arches; there was a delicate sense of beauty surrounding her, and sadness.

Before he truly realised it Glorfindel was making his way towards her.

Anárië was looking over the rail to the North-West, back towards her father's gate, although she did not really see anything, her gaze and thoughts far away. She had excused herself from the King's company to seek the solace of fresh air before Ecthelion joined his guests and the banquet could formally begin.

She felt caged, although she also wished to please him. It remained as hard as ever though, to play this role she had taken for herself, even after they had all promised her it would pass in time – her mother, her father, Idril.

It just didn't.

She still yearned to be able to hold a sword like her Father, but she had chosen the opposite path willingly. She could not falter now.

She would not.

Sighing and lowering her head, Anárië turned around to return to the room and wait for her father to join them, glancing at two serving ellith who brought trays to the tables. They saw her and curtsied, stepping to the side and clearing the way.

He was coming towards her, breaking away from the main group of guests, his blue eyes as clear as the sapphires she'd often seen Idril wear. His golden hair was pulled out of his face in a similar manner to that of her father, with a circlet upon his brow. While he radiated the same silent authority and command as Ecthelion, however, his build set him well apart from the Fountain lord. His tunic seemed to be embroidered with golden threads, and a rayed sun blazed on the front.

Only one house next to the Heavenly Arch and House of the King took to using gold in their ornament - the Golden Flower.

Glorfindel paused at the entrance to the terrace, leaning against the doorframe lightly with one hand as he brought the other to his heart in greeting.

Anárië dipped into a curtsy, her skirt pooling around her legs as she did so, before straightening again, lifting her eyes to meet his own. He was standing in the way of the setting sun – it set his blue eyes on fire.

He smiled, and she felt her lips curve hesitantly in response.

"My lady," he greeted her politely, dipping his head.

She looked directly into his eyes, something he seldom saw in the daughters of his friends, or others; they seemed much too intimidated by him. He did not sense that with her as she returned his greeting.

Anárië could feel her heartbeat quicken as his eyes assessed her, not as blatantly as she'd seen some others do, but he was clearly taking her in. Oddly enough, she could feel the tell-tale heat in her cheeks which indicated she was blushing, something that had seldom happened before tonight.

He took a step towards her; he was tall, she noticed immediately. Taller even than her father. She was taller than most other ellith, and yet he was taller still. He took up her entire view, filling it with the broad expanse of his shoulders, blocking the doorway.

"Am I right to assume you are mistress of this house, and today's center of attention?"

His voice was deep, smooth like velvet. Anárië nodded slowly, "I am, my lord." Then, remembering her manners, she added: "You have spoken to my father I presume?"

Her articulation reminded him much of Cealea, and the way his own mother would speak, with the lilting tone the Vanyar often used. She would have been hard-pressed to hide her lineage even without the striking golden hair. The little girl he had known and watched play in the gardens was long gone.

"I have, yes, as I entered the house. I believe he shall be joining us shortly."

She offered him another shy smile, nodding, "He should, yes, we must not keep the guests waiting."

At this he smiled and stepped aside, indicating for her to pass back into the main living area. Anárië grasped the skirt of her gown as she took the offered lead, brushing her left shoulder lightly against him when he moved to follow after her.

This made him stop immediately, even as she turned to look at him, the green eyes catching his for another brief moment, before Turgon's voice called to a just-entered Ecthelion.

Shivering slightly, Anárië hastened towards her father, her heart beating hard inside her chest.