Flame of Gondolin, novella: A Christmas Carol

Winter, 1 TA
Imladris

Elrond was more than a little dubious about the two wolf pups, and he didn’t hesitate in telling his protector so on the first occasion he got, which was the next day when he came to find her over a personal matter. One of the pups decided his shoe was the perfect place to sharpen its teeth on.

"There’s a fairly good reason we don’t keep wolves as pets," he commented, somewhere between amused and annoyed as he shook the indignant little thing off his foot, "they’ll probably chew through the house."

Anárië calmly picked the animal up and took her back to her brother, "They’ll be fine, Elrond; besides, both me and Glorfindel are watching after them. We’ll mix them with the hounds once they’re old enough, and the next litter won’t be fully wolf, then."

He still didn’t look convinced: "They might just decide to eat you for dinner before that happens."

She had to chuckle at the look on his face, closing the door of the wooden bed Glorfindel had contrived for the pups so they would be able to close them in while they were still growing, and rose.

"You wanted to see me for something?"

His head went up and down enthusiastically, and she followed him out into the hallway. The Sun was probably shining somewhere far above the clouds, but right about now, the only thing the Elves in the Hidden Valley got were thick, dense clouds, and a whole lot of snow.

"What is it, then?"

His fidgeting was amusing to watch to someone who had known him all his life, though she supposed that anyone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have seen much of a difference. He did have a reputation to keep, after all.

"Celebrían is leaving for Lothlórien after the Yule celebrations," he finally said, like someone was wringing it out of him. His face held a fairly comical expression.

Anárië was beginning to see light in this tunnel, but still: "Yes? I know this, I will be accompanying her across the Misty Mountains and then returning with a shipment of bows from the Golden Wood. It is not exactly news for me, penneth."

Elrond shifted his weight to his other foot with a sigh: "I know it isn’t, to you. It’s just …"

He trailed off, and Anárië had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep as much of a straight face as possible. The dilemma he currently faced was obviously a tough one, and she had more than a vague feeling about his current predicament.

Finally, she placed a hand on his arm: "Let’s walk a little."

He seemed happy to do so, and she led the way down the first flight of steps she found taking them to the lower levels, and then passing towards the back of the Last Homely House, seeking one of the inner courtyards she knew wouldn’t be as populated right now, as opposed to the main one.

"You are going to miss her," she observed as she ducked under an archway and glanced back at her charge, a faint smile on her lips.

Elrond’s shoulders slumped: "Yes."

He looked so dejected that she took pity on him, and cut their little walk short, turning a sharp left and emerging into one of the private little alcoves that seemed to spring up all over Imladris if you only knew where to look for them.

"I fail to see most of your problem, Elrond; have the smith forge silver rings and be done with it."

He looked at her with an expression mirroring the one a deer might give when meeting a hunter.

Anárië sighed: "In all honesty, Elrond, you’ve been mooning over the princess ever since you’ve first met her. What seems to be the issue now?"

He blinked like an owl: "How – how do you know this?"

She gave him a look: "I may be more or less estranged from my husband, little one, but that doesn’t mean we don’t look after you all the same. He was as good of a spy for me as any. Not to mention Erestor."

Elrond shook his head: "I’m surrounded by mercenaries of information."

She laughed: "No, just people who want to see you happy."

She watched him fondly as he paced through the small space, keeping quiet while he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

"What if she says no?" he finally asked, looking at her as if she had the answer to every question he could pose to her. Then again, she mused, that had usually been the case as he had been growing up.

"That is something you have to face, but I highly doubt it," she replied, "Celebrían likes you just as much as you like her. And don’t ask me how I know; I may be a warrior, but I am a woman still. Some things just happen to fall into my notice."

This brought out a small laugh from him, and she leaned back against a pillar while he continued some private rumination.

"Just ask her, Elrond," she finally said, "there is no harm in asking. Remember what Maglor told you?"

She could see the name sending him into a whirlwind of memories, but most of all the lessons that had been learned there: "There are no stupid questions."

Anárië arched an eyebrow over that revelation: "Well?"

His shoulders sagged again: "I don’t know. I’m just … nervous, I guess."

"Believe me, if you are, she probably is too," she commented, "but if it will make you feel any better, you can speak to Glorfindel about this. He might have some insights to share since I’m fairly sure he went through the same process you are right now."

Elrond clearly had doubts imagining one of his best friends as being nervous: "I don’t think he was like me in this aspect."

She lifted her hands: "Don’t ask me! I never talked to him about it."

The Lord of Imladris smiled ruefully, then reached out and quickly gave her a hug: "Thank you, Anná; it means a lot, to know I can come to you."

She smoothed his collar back into place: "And you know I’ll always be here. But truthfully? I’ll breathe easier once you have a wife to go to, as well."

And she sent him off with a tell-tale blush on his cheeks, while she shook her head and chuckled into her hand for a couple of moments, watching the snow swirling to the ground from her vantage point.

"I WAS nervous, you know."

Glorfindel’s voice startled her and she jumped, turning on the spot, to find her husband leaning against the entrance to the alcove with arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face.

"You need to stop sneaking up on me," she told him, "I might have just sent a knife through you."

"I believe I have some experience with that from you already," he replied, amused.

Anárië rolled her eyes at him, and returned to the topic at hand: "You were saying something about nerves?"

"I was saying that I was nervous about asking you to bind with me. Oh, I was fairly confident you would say yes, after all that time, but it didn’t really help me that much in the end."

She blinked: "I don’t remember you being nervous at all."

He smiled some more: "That’s because I never let it show, Anárië."

She mulled over this piece of information before asking another question: "How could you be so sure? I know Celebrían probably likes Elrond, but even I’m not certain. How could you be about me?"

His blue eyes left her face to look at the falling snow: "Your father told me."

Anárië sat back, watching her husband with an incredulous expression: "I beg your pardon?"

Glorfindel looked back at her: "Your father and I had more than one conversation about you back in the day; suffice to say he told me about your feelings and what he thought about them once."

Taken aback, she nodded, and let the subject drop while she pondered this bit of information.

She had always known her father probably favoured Glorfindel over any other suitor, but this candid admission was a little bit much even for her to chew through.

"In any event," her husband spoke after a while, "it didn’t really help me. Nothing honestly helps until the woman you love agrees to bind with you."

Her attention came back to the matter at hand: "You will speak with Elrond, won’t you?"

"I will endeavour to make him stop dancing around the topic," Glorfindel admitted, "I’m fairly certain Celebrían will be thoroughly disappointed if she has to leave without a ring. Her mother even more so."

Trying to imagine the formidable Artanis as a match-maker made Anárië giggle softly, shaking her head with a smile.

Glorfindel returned the gesture and offered his hand: "Day number three?"

She took his hand and stood, smoothing off some snow from her clothes: "You know, I feel beyond spoiled. This is ridiculous."

"Maybe, but you have to admit it’s fun," he countered as he led the way. Anárië followed him without comment, simply keeping up with his stride and enjoying his company, something she didn’t allow herself often.

It was only after he stopped that she realized they were at the aviary.

"I sincerely hope you didn’t give me pigeons," she commented dryly as he unlatched the door.

Glorfindel gave her a dry look: "Even I don’t have that kind of sense of humour."

She smiled and ducked in after him, following as he led the way through to where hunting birds were kept.

She immediately noticed three new falcons in the group.

"You really are ridiculous," she murmured, stepping forward slightly and gently stroking the birds’ feathers while they nibbled on her fingers.

"Why? You use them as messengers more often than not," came his answer, "and I know for a fact you lost two recently. So these should do rather nicely as replacements."

"They are trained?" Anárië asked, extending one arm and smiling in appreciation as one of the birds hopped off its perch to it.

Glorfindel inclined his head: "Yes; they will carry messages or hunt for you, depending what you need them for. And they have distinct markings on their tails as well, if you look closely."

She did, and found an intriguing pattern of black and silver.

"This way, you’ll be able to tell them apart from the others easily," her husband finished with satisfaction.

Anárië let the falcon back onto its perch and smiled as she turned: "Thank you; you really have thought of everything. They’re magnificent."

His answering smile was warm: "You’re very welcome."

The intensity of his gaze wasn’t something she bore for long, instead ducking back out into the main area of the tower and then heading into fresh air again.

She was just in time to intercept Celebrían who nearly collided with her head-on.

"My lady! What’s the matter?"

The princess, breathless, took a moment to compose herself, while Glorfindel looked around them to see what could have caused her flight.

"Lord Elrond sent me," the princess finally gasped, "It’s – the cubs have escaped!"

Anárië frowned for a moment, then groaned: "Oh, Valar."

"What are they doing?" Glorfindel asked, the sound of his voice indicating he was somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

Celebrían suddenly dissolved into giggles: "They – they’re chasing after Erestor, trying to bite his ankles!"

Anárië tried holding a dignified expression; she tried, valiantly. But when Glorfindel guffawed with laughter, she followed easily, and all three of them took a while to settle down again at the thought of the slightly-arrogant Elf on the run from two little pups.

Eventually, Glorfindel managed to calm himself. Mostly.

"I think we should go and relieve poor Erestor’s ankles. He might never forgive us otherwise."

Celebrían was still giggling as she led the way down the stairs again, and soon enough they could hear the commotion themselves. Rounding a corner they could see it too, and a pretty sight it was: Alana seemed to be hell-bent on Erestor’s left foot, while Akela was going for the right.

Anárië and Glorfindel exchanged a look, before diving into the fray to catch their wayward little charges.

Needless to say, the habit of going after the Chief Counsellor’s ankles remained deeply ingrained in that particular canine bloodline no matter what their masters did to dissuade it.


penneth - young one, little one