Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER ONE
Winter, 538 FA

In autumn, there were many-coloured leaves everywhere in the dense woods that surrounded the great delta of the river Sirion. If one stood at the farthest point to the West of it, he could but barely see the eastern bank, and the tall tower they had constructed there. To the West were their eyes ever turned – and yet fishermen had better luck to the East. It was for that reason that there was always light atop the eastern tower as autumn drew to a close. The last ships were returning home with their catch for the winter.

Upon the western bank, the colony that had been founded years ago, as the great kingdoms in the heart of Middle Earth fell to the malice of Thangorodrim, was quickly expanding. Survivors fled to the delta from every corner, seeking refuge. Among them were some with alarming news about the Fëanorions; the kinslayers had not yet laid their father's Oath to rest.

This troubled the elders, especially Egalmoth, who had once ridden with Maedhros in Aman. He knew the Oath well, and what it meant to the sons of Fëanor. It was for this reason that he had asked his niece to hasten her swordsmanship. The twins needed a true protector – as did the great jewel hidden and locked among the family heirlooms.

It had been years since the elleth had taken her own Oath to rival that of Fëanor and his sons, and her charges were just growing out of the initial clumsy state of toddlers. They were inquisitive boys, just as their father had been in his youth, and as they grew they reminded Anárië more and more of little Eärendil.

Unfortunately, he was not so little anymore.

Emerald green eyes bore into a pair of blue ones.

"Eärendil, your parents have made their choice. You cannot continue this endless search! You have sons who need their father. Will you abandon them yet again?"

The tall man averted his gaze. He knew well that his old mentor was making a sound point. And yet his mind and his heart were telling him different things.

"Elrond and Elros are old enough to understand," he answered finally.

Anárië threw her hands in the air and walked around the table in the main area of his house, resting her palms against it as she faced him again.

"The twins may understand, but that does not mean they don't miss their father. They are six years old, Eärendil. You cannot ask them to be young adults already."

She wished she could get through to him somehow; all her attempts thus far had been in vain. The elleth tried again: "Tuor and Idril are beyond our reach now, my prince. Do you think I do not grieve them? For all I know they could have perished at sea. That does not mean you will see me sailing across the sea in a ship, searching for them for the rest of my living days! I would not, if I had two young sons as you do."

He could not meet her gaze. Anárië bit her lower lip in silent frustration, wishing he would have been as easily persuaded now as years before in Gondolin.

When Elwing had come to her that morning, saying that her husband was preparing Vingilot for another long journey, she did not know what to think. After his return that spring, she'd thought he had finally given up on his quest, but it did not appear to be so. True, he always sailed with the fishermen because his ship was largest; she did not begrudge him that. What she did not like, however, was how he seemed bent on a course so far away from all he held dear. Anárië wanted to scream her irritation at him. Could he not see that he was needed at home? What madness drove him constantly to sea?

"Eärendil," she said in a calmer voice, waiting until he looked at her before she continued, "When your father left, he made you Lord of the Havens of Sirion. What good does that title do you if you are never here to use it? For all intents and purposes, it is Elwing that leads this colony, not you. She cannot do it alone."

"She has you, does she not?"

The golden-haired elleth felt her eyes narrow against her will, making the man before her blanch lightly. After the Fall of Gondolin, Anárië's patience had grown thin, especially where family matters were concerned.

"I am not her husband."

Eärendil flinched at the unspoken reproach. He knew she was right – he couldn't recall a time while growing up during when she wouldn't have been – but something pulled him to sea again. He could not refuse the call – he wanted to find his parents. And he wanted to let the Valar know of the happenings in Middle Earth.

Morgoth's arm had grown long indeed since the fall of the Elven kingdoms. The kinslayings had helped with that. When Elwing and the remnant of what had once been the people of Doriath had reached the mouth of Sirion to form the colony, they had been a bedraggled lot, with only one valuable item in their midst: Elwing, and the Silmaril her father Dior had worn. The reason for their flight had not been Morgoth and his army but Maedhros, who had led his brothers to fulfil their Oath, thus performing the second of the great Kinslayings. It seemed no one could be trusted anymore.

And Anárië had a bad feeling. Her dreams had become plagued of late, though not with visions she could explain or even name when morning drew her from her bed. It was simply a feeling deep inside her, telling her to be careful.

Something was coming. She could feel it.

"Elwing does not want you to leave again," she said, using her young friend as a last resort, "though she will not say it to your face. I have no such inhibitions as she has – I will tell you frankly, Eärendil, if you leave again I will not give you my blessing."

His eyes met hers again. The gentle elleth Eärendil remembered from his years of early childhood was gone, sharpened against the world's ragged ends. He could still see her, sometimes, when she played with his sons, but whatever was left of the maiden of Gondolin was locked deep within her.

It was only the knowledge that she had lost both father and husband in the same day that stopped him from storming out of their heated debates more often. She was the only remnant of his family left, the last that remained of his old life. Usually, he could not refuse her. This time, however, it was different.

"I must, Anárië. I have no choice. Do not ask me why – I simply must. I will go without your blessing, if that is your decision."

Her heart contracted painfully at those words, and yet she could not bring herself to take her threat back. He was pushing the limits, they both knew it, and neither was willing to back down. Only Glorfindel had been able to rise higher than Anárië in such arguments; Eärendil had not the fallen Lord's strength of will.

The elleth pushed away from the table.

"You are as stubborn as your father was before you – so be it. Do not look for me upon your leave-taking."

Without another word, she swept past him and through the door, leaving him standing alone.

The wind whipped her hair and her dress the moment she was out of shelter. It was another windy, bitter winter this close to the Sea. To someone who had grown up encircled with mountains, it was hardly something to worry about, true, but the waves were high again with the tide coming in, and wild. Anárië's thoughts turned to Elrond and Elros, and she worried for a moment. They could wander on their own at rather inappropriate times, especially when she did not have them in her sight. They truly were scions of their father's line.

Hopefully, they would not also inherit his temper, or if they would, they would also learn how to bow their heads to someone who knew better.

Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair and walked away from the house, following the well-worn path that would lead to the cliffs. While the delta was low and flat, the shores that stretched to either side of it where it met the sea were jagged and treacherous.

They were also calming to her at the moment.

Anárië lifted a low-lying branch out of the way and let it fall once she was on the other side, making her way through the small thicket that lay between her and her goal. Her steps quickened the more she thought about Eärendil and their latest argument.

He had no right to leave again! No right to leave his sons, who kept asking when their father would return. No right to leave his wife, who grew gaunter and hollow-eyed whenever his sails disappeared beyond the horizon.

Her anger made her swat a branch away and almost run out of the trees into the open; a gust of wind embraced her. The waves roared against the rocks bellow, their spray rising and dampening her face.

Anárië closed her eyes and let her head fall back a little, embracing the elements of nature. If she strained her ears hard enough, she thought she could hear the sound of Ulmo's horns in the water; more often than not lately, though, she was sure it was Ossë who commanded the treacherous currents around the colony.

Wind whipped her sleeves and hair back as she stood there, and she opened her eyes again to see the grey nothing before her. She wanted to scream – but no scream would come. She had lost the ability to show her deeper emotions to the world the day her life had fallen apart.

And just like that, what little inner peace she had was shattered further, and Anárië whirled around again with a curse, stalking back the way she came.

She did not need the wind to bring back memories of a past she had no need for. Thinking of what could have been would not feed her or clothe her. Her stomach clenched as she fought the raging tide of emotions sweeping through her, and she placed a hand protectively over it, her fingers curling into the fabric there.

She would never have the chance to bear a child.

The thought made her even angrier, and she snapped a branch off as she went, feeling even worse than before. Hendor saw her from afar and waved, but she did not see his greeting. He, however, could very well see the clouds hovering above her.

"She is in a foul mood again," he commented to his son, who followed his father's eyes.

"Lord Eärendil means to sail tomorrow," he supplied, "I think they might have argued."

Hendor sighed; that would quite possibly be the reason for her foul mood, yes. And it would do no good for anyone to cross paths with her for days now.

"Keep to yourself, and do not speak to her unless she speaks to you," he advised the younger Elf, "she does not need more reason to be upset."

"I do not upset her," the boy exclaimed, insulted. Hendor chuckled.

"Intentionally, no. But the last time you and the twins went off on your own …"

He laughed as the tips of his son's ears went pink, and they resumed their work.

True to the boy's words, Eärendil did indeed wish to set sail the next day, but his leave was delayed because his ship could not be prepared on time. The day after, however, all was ready for them to sail upon the evening tide.

Anárië knew this, but she had left the colony soon after the midday meal, with her bow beside her and her father's sword upon her back. It was more for comfort than for practical reasons; she was still not sure enough in herself to properly wield it. But today she felt like she needed reassurance only her father would have been able to give, and the only thing left from him were scrapes – and his sword. She had the rest, along with precious items she had salvaged from Glorfindel, in a trunk in her bedroom. Out of those, she had adapted the habit of wearing his vambraces every day.

Now she was sitting in the thicket of trees upon the cliffs, aimlessly running a cloth up and down the sword's blade. She knew the intricate markings upon it by heart, as well as those upon the hilt and scabbard.

Her head rested back against the trunk of the tree, the wind howling outside her shelter.

"Atar, I do not know what to do."

Her voice was barely above a whisper; she did not wish for anyone to ever know that she spoke like this. They would think she had lost what little sanity she had left. That, and she did not wish to bring further grief to Egalmoth, who was out with every hunting party he could so he did not sit still and remember. Galdor was the same.

"He is leaving again, Atar, and I could not stop him. He's leaving his family behind."

The sword was silent, as were the trees around her. The only sound was the gentle swish as she cleaned the already-clean blade.

Her palm tingled. The scar she'd made with her blood Oath had healed quickly after Elrond and Elros had been born, but it was no less dangerous, and a constant reminder of what she had done, and sworn to do.

Anárië sighed and paused in her movements.

"I wish you were here, Atar. You would know what to say to keep him with his wife and sons."

The wind rustled by her and scattered the leaves that had not yet disappeared; there was a soft keening sound in the air.

"I know – I should have been firmer. I should have ordered him not to go."

But that would never have worked, and well she knew it. Eärendil was not one to be trifled with anymore, not since coming to manhood. Anárië could not control him now.

The wind seemed to agree with her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that the breeze upon her cheeks were her father's fingers.

"I miss you, Atar. You should've been here with us. With me."

There was no answer, and she expected none. He was at peace now, hopefully with her mother, and they would have no more reason to be parted. Anárië let the sword rest in her lap as she buried her face in her hands.

A horn was blown.

She didn't move from her position, but she knew it well; the double call of the mighty ship Eärendil sailed with. He was leaving. Her heart felt like it was bleeding anew, for the boy she could sometimes still see in his eyes; the boy who had had to grow up too fast, who had lost too much.

It took her a moment, but then she was on her feet, the sword swiftly pushed back into the scabbard, and Anárië broke free of the trees, rushing onto the cliff.

There, out of the delta and moving swiftly with the tide and the wind, was his ship.

Her feet planted firmly on the ground, she now stood as still as a statue, the wind pushing and pulling her hair forward around her face.

She could see movement on the ship, the sailors running to catch as much of the wind as possible, rushing to meet the demands of their captain. The vessel was too far away for her to call out – and did she even want to? She had told Eärendil not to look for her when he left. That she was not there when he set sail was the clearest sign of her malcontent with his venture.

Even as the ship braved the waves and went further out, she knew the answer to her own question.

Yes, she did. And she wanted to hold him one last time, the boy who had become a man too soon. Her cheeks were stained with tears she did not know had fallen. The mists upon the waters were engulfing the ship. He had not looked back.

And then, just before the vessel was lost, there was suddenly a bright, yellow light upon the largest mast; it blinked. Two long, three short, two long. Then there was no more.

He had seen her.

Anárië felt her heart weep as fresh tears fell; Eärendil had seen her, beyond all hope or thought. He had said his goodbye.

She returned to her spot among the trees to collect the rest of her items when she thought she heard something, like a cry. Her movements stopped. The last thing she needed was to be attacked by a wild beast outside the colony. Nobody would hear her calls for help. But when she listened more, trying to discern any sounds above the howling of the wind, all she could hear was a faint, shrill …

Neigh.

The elleth was off through the trees away from the settlement, hastening to make it before utter darkness fell. She did not need to be stranded out in winter time. The neigh returned, louder this time, and Anárië pushed herself harder.

She came out through some trees into a clearing, but there was nothing to be seen. Her moves were slower now, cautious. If it was one of their own horses, it had probably been spooked by the storm that had been promising to thunder over them for days now. Indeed, even as she stood there, lightning cracked across the darkened sky, though on the mainland, not over water. Eärendil and his crew were safe.

Even as this happened, she suddenly saw the shape of a horse at the far end of the clearing.

Anárië released a breath and moved swiftly closer, lifting a hand to calm the beast when its head rose.

That's when she stopped again.

Only one horse, or one line, in particular, had that distinct head-shape, and the arched neck, which were exposed as light flashed again. But it was impossible.

Was it not?

"Gwaiforn?"

Against all odds, the horse snorted, and moved closer to her, blowing its warm breath upon her as if sniffing her out, and then resting its forehead against her shoulder.

Anárië could not believe it. Her horse! He had survived – in a miracle she could not explain, he had found his way out of the burning waste of the city, through the mountains, and down here.

He was older now though; she could see it. Older, and gaunter. The years had not been kind on him.

"Come, my friend," she murmured gently while rubbing his cheek, "I will take you home."

At this he started and drew away, as if he understood, and backed up. The elleth raised her hands, "Shh, Gwaiforn! 'Tis alright, no one will hurt you – Gwaiforn!"

The stallion turned suddenly and dashed among the branches. Unwilling to let go of such a sign of hope, Anárië gave chase – but she did not have to go far. She stumbled over something in the dark, and bumped into Gwaiforn who stood there, immobilised.

As she straightened again, another lightning crack exposed the sight to her.

There was a mare – but she was dead. Anárië could not see in such short time, but she thought she had seen a wound on her neck. The more important thing, however, was the foal beside her. Gwaiforn's offspring. That was what he had been trying to tell her.

Patting his neck gently, the elleth gathered the small animal into her arms and lifted it carefully; it struggled very little, too exhausted and too young. It's father slowly bent his legs, and lowered himself onto the ground beside his fallen mate. Anárië understood – he had come to find her, the elleth he had been trained to protect, and to give her a last gift.

Despite her broken heart, she left him there.

Halfway back to the settlement, she was met by Hendor and some other Elves who Elwing had sent out to find her, carrying torches. They looked in wonder upon the foal she carried, but she answered no questions. That night, she spent awake and beside the animal, feeding it and keeping it warm. In the coming days, the colt – for it was indeed a colt – grew strong enough to follow her around, like a surrogate mother, to the amusement of the twins. Anárië taught them how to brush him down and how to care for him; and she named him Raumonóna, Storm-born.

He was a sign from her father, from the Halls of Mandos, that not all hope was lost.


Atar - Quenya for 'father'