Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER FOUR
Late Spring, 509 FA

Sitting in her rooms Anárië thought of the beauty that came with Gondolin. It was not yet the hour of dawn, and yet the tips of the Encircling Mountains that she could see from her window were gleaming snow white against the pink sky. Very soon now, Arien would sail over them and thus greet her people in the hidden vale.

The elleth yanked a comb through her hair and mumbled something indistinct as it got tangled once more at the tips. Finally giving up, she brought it forward and carefully went through it with her fingers, disbanding one knot after the other.

Carefully, she pulled the front strands out of her face and clasped them behind her head with a simple pin, just enough to keep them out of her eyes. Satisfied, she stood and grabbed gloves from a side table while passing out of the room.

Her father was already gone, having ridden to the Great Gate about half an hour past, and was not due to return before the noon meal, for he was to go far out into the field of Tumladen today, escorting the princess Idril and her handmaidens to gather flowers under the shades of the Mountains to the south. They would make girdles and crowns out of them for the coming festival of Tarnin Austa.

Anárië had not been asked to accompany them this year; previously, Idril had always included her but she had said, when the daughter of Ecthelion asked, that there was no need for her to come.

"You should be with Gwaiforn, my dear," the Princess had smiled that enigmatic smile of hers, "and you are bored with idle court gossip. No, do not apologise, for I do not like it much myself, yet as Princess I must abide by it. You, however, do not have to. So take this day of freedom and use it well – there is no knowing when it shall happen next!"

So now Anárië was taking Idril's advice. One of the serving ellith came out towards the stairs when she heard her, carrying a satchel.

"Breakfast ma'am; and we shall keep everything in order until noon."

"Thank you Elwen, I won't be gone too long. But I want to take my horse for a ride. Enjoy the peace and quiet."

She took the satchel and skipped out through a side door, turning a corner and going into the stables. At this hour, no one was up so she had the whole area for herself, which suited her just fine.

Gwaiforn stuck his head out of the stall when he heard her coming, and Anárië smiled brightly.

"Good morning, calwa … will you join me?"

He snorted and nibbled on a piece of carrot she brought him, before she fed him some oats and brushed him down, saddling and bridling him. She'd learned to do that on her own when she'd been a little girl, because she had demanded, shrilly, as far as she could recall, to be independent.

Carefully storing her food into one of the saddle bags the elleth lead Gwaiforn out into the open and brought him to a halt next to one of the smaller fountains. She could mount without leverage – her riding outfit was split so she could sit astride a horse, not side-saddle – but she wanted the horse to drink something first.

Murmuring to him calmly, Anárië pushed a foot into the stirrup, fingers grasping the saddle as she pulled herself up, swinging her leg over him and settling down. The stallion hadn't so much as budged; he'd been trained well.

Pulling her gloves on she took the reins and lead him out of the courtyard, under the arch that supported a closed bridge which connected the two parts of the house, and out onto the main road to the Great Gate. Her father would be long gone by now; he wouldn't linger while he had to scout ahead, the safety of his Princess on his shoulders, so she feared no retribution.

The men opened the gates for her without question, although she was sure she could see some wary looks. This made her hide a smile; no doubt they were afraid of what her father would say. Ecthelion was famous for his temper when it came to his daughter's well-being. But today, Anárië wanted to watch the sun rise while she was sitting by the Great Lake upon Tumladen. It wasn't far, being within a stone-throw of the outer wall, almost in the shade of the city itself.

Gwaiforn huffed and paused momentarily during her meditations, and she realised she needed to focus; taking up the reins again and lightly brushing her heel against his side, Anárië lead him through the open Golden gate. The Lesser gates always opened an hour before sunrise, only the Great Gate remained closed until an hour after Arien had risen.

The stallion's gait was fluid and his hooves beat evenly against the cobbled path, though his ears pricked when a soft call rose.

Anárië heard it too and paused, turning around in the saddle. Someone had called her name. She thought she could see movement above the gate and frowned; had her father left orders to keep her in the city after all?

A form peeled away from the shadows and cantered out through the gate, but her fears melted when the bleak morning twilight caught a faint glimmer on the vambraces. A golden inlay, something only one Lord wore.

The elleth smiled at Glorfindel as he reined in beside her, with an answering smile on his face.

"Good morrow, my lady; you are up early. Riding out?"

She nodded, "I thought to stretch Gwaiforn's legs – and see the sun rise over Tumladen. I would not have strayed far from the walls, only to the Lake."

He sat so sure in the saddle, like he'd been born there; Anárië observed as his stallion bared his teeth, obviously senior to her own, and pranced, but the odd move out didn't disturb his rider at all. Rather, Glorfindel seemed to blend with the horse's movements until they were his own.

"Still, it is a dull ride on one's own – would you mind if I join you?"

Puzzled, she searched his face, but his sapphire eyes betrayed nothing next to the obvious desire to go with her.

"I would have thought you would wish to stay close to home, since my father had ridden out."

Glorfindel laughed, "He has – but Turgon hates being babysat. I have men enough on the gate, as does your father. I can afford a side-trip."

She was still unsure, not out of fear, but out of a sense of duty to her King.

"If it will not cause you trouble …"

He was amused by this. She obviously didn't want him to have to answer to Turgon. But what did one of the King's kin have to account for? He held much liberty, and knew the King would never begrudge him this.

"It will not. Ride with me, my lady."

His tone broke no more argument, and Anárië got the feeling that his word was seldom overruled or undermined. This was a great Lord she would be riding next to; she would have to remind herself that. He was no youngling who didn't know what he wanted, but someone as sure of his course as Arien was of hers.

Silently, she lead Gwaiforn alongside Glorfindel's own steed, and they passed Salgant's gate in silence.

"Ecthelion told me a lot about you," he said after a while, as they neared Rog's iron gate, "he did not mention you were this silent."

Anárië felt heat infuse her cheeks at that – why was her father speaking about her to his Lords? But then, when she thought about it, it did make sense. They were his friends, brothers-in-arms, nearest to kin. To them, she was a beloved niece.

"I am not usually at a loss for words," she said finally. "I do not usually ride with one of the Eleven either."

Ah, so there was the crux of the problem. Glorfindel would have to reprimand Ecthelion for not bringing his daughter into the company of his close friends.

"Well, this one of the Eleven is itching for a good ride."

He could see the way she was eyeing him now – him and his horse. The stallion he rode was larger, bulkier than her own. Slightly heavier, but more experienced. Gwaiforn could take him easily, should he allow it.

As if in answer, the older horse snorted impatiently, swishing his tail so that it smacked against his flanks. Anárië looked at the quivering muscles of the animal and wondered if she was of the right mind to do this.

"We will miss the sunrise if we linger," Glorfindel said, just as they went past the Third Gate, "ride with me!"

And just like that he was off, the great white charger speeding down the cobblestones. It took Anárië only a heartbeat to react, to press her heel against Gwaiforn's flank and loosen the reins. In the next, her horse exploded into a gallop after it's senior, his long legs catching up with the other easily.

The feeling was ecstasic. Every other horse she'd ridden so far had always been slow or clumsy or dainty. This one was built for speed, for charge; his muscles went taut as he pushed forward, his head bent low and his hooves flying across the road. It was different.

It was exciting.

Anárilë laughed when they only had one more Gate to go, the first, wooden construction of the seven levels, and leaned in the saddle as the road curved, helping her stallion as he pawned against the slippery path around the corner. Glorfindel kept track with her easily, his horse heaving deep breaths as they went, the bells on their reins chimming wildly, but not out of harmony.

The wood gate was half-open, but when Galdor saw Glorfindel, he gave a shout, and the object was pulled out of the way just in time for the two riders to pass through. He ran to the other side of the bridge above the gates, grinning.

"Don't let him win, Anárië!"

She heard the call, and it made her laugh again; Gwaiforn seemed to speed up even more as his legs were brushed by the long green grass of the spring that was leaving Tumladen to give way to summer.

Glorfindel leaned low over his own horse.

"Loose the reins!"

She looked at him, her eyes questioning for a moment. Of course Ecthelion had never told her that. But Glorfindel found himself oddly … mellow. His features were pulled into a wide smile.

"Loose the reins completely – let him run!"

He knew the speed that horse could reach – far greater than that of his own stallion, despite the fact Gwainar was Gwaiforn's sire.

Anárië looked ahead, to the shimmering waters of the Great Lake coming closer slowly. Too slow.

She decided to test the advice, the grip of her fingers slackening as the reins slipped free, unfurling to their fullest while she still held them. It was enough.

Gwaiforn sensed the freedom before she was done, and his body heaved as he FLEW across the grass, leaving Gwainar and Glorfindel far behind. Anárië, momentarily taken aback, recovered and laughed, enjoying the feel of the wind that tried to outrun them, but failed. Her golden hair whipped away from her face and she knew she'd lost the hairpin.

They thundered onto the banks of the Lake, and Gwaiforn splashed into the shallows even as his rider tightened and shortened the reins again to slow and stop him; he side-stepped as she manevouered.

There was a laughing call and Glorfindel rode up, grinning from ear to ear. Anárië turned in the saddle to look at him, smiling. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair windswept, but her eyes were shinning, he noticed. Sparkling, even without the sunlight.

Then Arien sailed over and Tumladen was free of shadows as they fled, giving way to colour. Anárië turned to watch with wonder as the world woke before her eyes. Gwaiforn tossed his head from side to side when the sun glimmered and bounced off the water, and he rose to his hind quarters, neighing shrilly into the fresh morning air. His call echoed up into the skies, Gwainar answering it and doubling the voice.

The moment passed when the stallion smacked back into the water, spraying Anárië lightly. She turned him around and they climbed the bank, trotting to where Glorfindel had dismounted.

The golden-haired lord smiled and placed a hand against the younger stallion's neck to pat him, before opening his arms up to help her down. Anárië considered it for a second but then simply swung one leg over the saddle and slipped off unaided, smiling.

Glorfindel simply shrugged, the smile never faltering, "You are definitely your father's daughter. You ride like he did in his youth."

She looked up at him in wonder; Ecthelion rarely spoke about the time in Valinor.

"He tells me little about the days when he was young, so I would not know," she replied finally, sighing softly and turning back to Gwaiforn to reach for the satchel that held her breakfast. Behind her, she could hear Glorfindel handling some sort of material. When she turned, he had unrolled a blanket on the grass.

Her eyebrow arched at that, "The gift of foresight?"

He laughed, a rich sound that seemed to melt right with the light breeze curling the surface of the Great Lake, "Hardly; every good rider and warrior carries a blanket with him. You never know when you might need it."

Anárië gave him credit for that, and joined him by lowering herself down upon it without hesitation.

"I had some food packed for me before I left," she explained when she saw him eyeing the satchel, "I do not intend to return soon; besides, Father shall be away until at least the noon meal. I feel bored in the big house."

"I can imagine that – but you are not bored now, I hope?"

The elleth laughed softly and shook her head, looking at him through long dark lashes, "No, that I am not."

It was the way her lips curved when she smiled, Glorfindel decided, that made her look both vulnerable and mysterious. She was like nothing he'd ever known before. He sensed a shift in the atmosphere as she placed the satchel down neatly; her lips seemed to be quivering.

"At least, I am not bored yet."

For a moment, he was flabbergasted, reeling around that bit of information while trying to figure out what it all meant – that was right before she couldn't contain her mirth anymore and she laughed, exposing her face to his view again, and he saw the mischevious twinkle in those emerald eyes.

He was up for the game immediately.

"You really should not have said that …"

She shrieked, still laughing, as he pounced, like a golden lion; scrambling away from him Anárië jumped to her feet and ran, following the water's edge. She could hear him behind her.

"You'll have to be faster than that, my lord!" she taunted him while she darted out of his reach again, spinning so swiftly in place that none of his own warriors could have been faster. Glorfindel grumbled, his heart thrumming in his chest at the game he hadn't played in a long time.

Behind them, above, the city of Gondolin was welcoming the new day, and a group of riders was crossing the Tumladen; the pair by the lake did not see it.

Anárië changed course again, barely avoiding his hands – she could feel his fingers touch her hair and the edge of her riding skirt as she darted towards the lake. On the peebles, she could gain some monumentum and veer off again.

Her plan went a little off-track when he suddenly closed in on her, his arms wrapping around her waist. She gave a little 'oof', when the air whushed out of her lungs as she was overcome and hauled back against his chest.

Normally, she wouldn't even be doing this with any ellon, much less one of the Eleven High Lords – but she couldn't help herself. There was something about Glorfindel that begged for this.

His chest was warm and solid behind her as they both stood to catch their breaths. Anárië relaxed in his hold, placing her hands on his that were clasped over her stomach.

"Your father said one thing right – you're as predictable as the North wind!"

His voice rumbled close to her ear, and she shivered involuntarily, a delicious ripple that went down her spine and curled her toes in her boots. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the warrior behind her.

Her tremble didn't go unnoticed; Glorfindel could hardly ignore it since he was holding her. His grip slackened slightly but instead of slipping away from him she turned suddenly, surprising him – and herself, judging by the expression on her face. She was trapped in his hold, their faces inches apart.

Anárië felt her breath hitch as she looked up, unblinking, into those blue eyes. They swirled somehow, deepening, darkening. It should have frightened her; this whole thing should have scared her. But how could she be afraid of something that felt so utterly right?

His lips parted; his breath smelled of honey and something else, but she couldn't say what.

"Anárië …"

They nearly jumped out of their skins when Gwainar suddenly neighed; looking out to the west of the Great Lake, they spied a column of riders drawing near. They flew no colours, but the spiked helmets and gleaming armour didn't really leave room for doubt.

Parting, though it seemed as unnatural as holding their breaths, Glorfindel and Anárië waited for Ecthelion and his men, holding their stallions steady.

They did not look at each other.


Calwa - beautiful