Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER THREE
Winter, 538 FA

The cave behind the waterfall was quiet, aside from the occasional snort coming from the colt. The twins mourned the loss of their mother, their home, and everything else they knew, in silence. They were each other’s only comfort, aside from their protector, who was sitting on a flat rock just beyond the initial reach of light through the waterfall.

Unlike Elrond and Elros, Anárië was not quick to give into mourning. She had done that easily enough during the Fall, but she had had her father and her husband to fall back upon then, before they were lost to her.

She had no one now to rely on, but two younglings to care for, and thus she could not afford the luxury of giving into emotions like that.

In her thoughts, it was not Ecthelion’s voice she heard this time, but Glorfindel’s.

You cannot remain in this state forever – it would be easier if you allowed yourself to mourn.

It would be easier if she could pretend she was not coming up with these imaginary dialogues to help deal with the constant pain in her life, but such was the way of her world.

It will destroy you – this hatred. You were never meant to hate like this.

But what would HE know? He was not here. He could not see the way she had closed herself off from the world, locked her heart from everyone but the two children now sitting a little further back into the cave. For only a child’s love was pure and could not hurt you, at least until you grew up. And then it was all over, and the cycle began anew.

Was this to be her destiny, then? To guard the children of her friends’ children, or grandchildren, until the end of time, or the end of her days? The call of the Sea, of a home she had never seen nor known other than through stories and sons, was alive, but weak. She could not even dream of going there when the Valar did not allow anyone to return. The Exiles would remain just that – exiles. Even their offspring, who had taken no part in the First Kinslaying, and the Oath, and the endless quest; they were all doomed to living here on these shores.

There was a shuffling sound behind her, and she shifted to accommodate the two little bodies as they pressed into her sides. Her arms went around them, trying to give them some warmth, but she herself was shivering lightly from the excursion through the water. Raumonóna’s pelt could only give them so much comfort as he lay down beside them, to huddle closer and keep them as warm as possible.

"I’m scared, Anná," Elrond whispered into her collarbone as he clambered onto her lap. On the other side, Elros did the same.

She soothed them as best as she could: "Shhh. ‘Twill be alright. No one will harm you while I draw breath, I promise. No one can find us here anyway."

It was true, to an extent; unless someone would have been specifically searching for possible tracks, they were safe. She was relying on the fact that Maedhros had gotten the Silmaril somehow and was now well on his way back to his own abode.

Elros shivered and pressed himself closer: "It is so dark."

"Yes, night is falling, little one," Anárië murmured gently, pressing her lips to the top of his head, and smoothing a hand down Elrond’s cheek, "we will wait a little more, and then we will go."

"Where?"

The question came from both of them, and it was good – for she had no answer.

"Somewhere we can be safe."

But where was that? Doriath had fallen, so had Gondolin, and she did not know of any other Elven-realms close-by. There were rumours of a colony farther down along the coast, of Círdan the Shipwright, as they called him, who led the Elves. But they were just rumours. She could not trust them, for too much was at stake.

The colt behind her snorted, and shook his head, and she applied gentle pressure through her back to calm him.

"He is frightened too," Elros pronounced. Chancing a look back at Raumonóna, Anárië shook her head.

"No – just weary."

They were silent for a while after that as the darkness deepened around them. The sound of rushing water was louder now, in the stillness of the night.

Elrond shivered: "Anná? Will you sing something?"

He was trying to be brave, she realized, even while still clutching to her like she were his lifeline. But she sensed the silent agreement between the brothers. Would it be safe to sing, perhaps very quietly? The waterfall was loud enough to silence any other noise. She had not heard the colt calling to her beyond the fall.

"Very well – but gently. We do not wish to call any attention to ourselves."

One of the twins sniffed, and she shushed him: "Shhh, I promised it will be alright, have I not? Trust me."

She paused, before beginning to murmur only slightly above a whisper, a lullaby Elwing had used to sing over the cradle to her infant sons while Eärendil was out at sea, and Anárië sat by to offer what help and comfort she could.

"My heart is like a river, my heart is like these hills - they never change, I never change, and I never will; You called and I came running, you cried and now I'm here, so hold this faith, accept our faith, these are little fears."

She felt the twins calm down as the familiar melody washed over them, settling like a blanket around the little space they bubbled themselves in right now.

"We have enough to guide us, we have enough to last - we're not alone, we never were, you and I aren't lost. Oh hold me very tightly, hold me fast and strong -"

Her voice suddenly dropped, ending mid-sentence. The twins tensed in her hold.

There were lights on the other side of the water.

Raumonóna was the first on his feet, but Anárië was close second and she grabbed his head to calm and silence him before he could cry out; she could sense the way he was shaking.

"Elrond, Elros," she murmured, only a slight movement to her lips; she drew them further back into the cave.

"Hold the colt, and stay quiet!" she instructed them, quickly fingering for her bow in the darkness.

The lights drew closer, and she thought she could make out voices now, but she was unsure. That was when her fingers touched the string, and she let out a muted curse – somehow, she had gotten it wet. The bow was of no use to her now.

The twins had wide eyes behind her, each standing on one side of the colt. Anárië bit her lip, placing the bow back into its hold beside the quiver. Perhaps, if they remained quiet and still, they would not be noticed.

But the Valar did not answer her prayers; there were more lights on the other side now, and splashes that did not coincide with the fall alerted her that they must have noticed the narrow opening behind the falling water.

She spread her arms out and pushed the children and the frightened horse further back.

"Whatever happens, stay behind me," she said quietly, as voices became very audible, coming further in, "I will protect you."

She had no other choice; it felt like the line upon her palm tingled as she slowly reached for her father’s sword. She prayed she would have enough strength and skill to use it.

The blade made hardly any noise as she drew it forth, but it caught the orange light of torches, and the glitter of water droplets, as if rejoicing in the meeting. The flame that had been marked by water.

An Elf suddenly appeared in the pool behind the waterfall. His first reaction was shock – but he mastered himself quickly.

"My lord!"

As he climbed up onto the rocks, Anárië saw the same device upon his breast as had been upon the one Egalmoth had slain in the settlement earlier that day.

Maedhros.

Her sword was loosely held, but the moment this Elf took a step forward, Anárië lifted it.

He stopped.

"Do not come closer."

He did not hide his surprise to hear her speak to him in the same language he had used to address his lord. But he did as she told him, and advanced no further, even if his eyes travelled behind her to the two children.

There was commotion behind him, and soon enough more Elves joined him; all halted at the sight of the elleth with her longsword, and the ones behind her.

"Make way!"

The commanding voice made the Elves before him part, and Anárië felt her courage falter.

Maedhros commanded the attention of any room he entered, and it was no different in this small cave. His build reminded her of Glorfindel, but she did not allow herself to linger on that similarity. Nothing else was similar; his clothing was different, his hair a deep russet red that seemed to further deepen in the shade, his facial expression hard. The cloak he wore dripped at the bottom, but he covered his right arm with it, which she found odd – there were not many Elves that she knew who favoured the left hand.

He, too, stopped when he saw her. Instead of surprise or shock, however, his face took on a mocking expression.

"And what have we here? I was not told warriors hid in underwater caves – even if they were female."

His cold words were alike to throwing dry wood upon flames – she flared up.

"Hold your tongue on matters you do not understand, son of Fëanor!"

Even in poor light the torches provided, she could see his eyes flash.

"Speaking our tongue will not save you from manners so poorly distributed by the Sindar whelps!"

It was Anárië’s turn to flash him an angry glance, mirroring his step forward with her sword still raised: "I would not be so bold as to speak of poor manners, my lord. Have a care how you treat our distant kin."

This, along with the sword he was eyeing covertly, stopped him.

"The Elves of this colony were Sindar of origin."

His use of the past tense made her heart jump out of fear for those she had left behind – but she could not falter now.

"No. Some of them were. Others were of our people."

Her chin pushed out as she said that, seeing the troubled look cross his features, but she said no more on the matter.

Maedhros eyed her for a moment more.

"Brother."

It was then that she was aware of another figure almost as tall as he, but with a presence less dominant, and therefore able to stand in his brother’s shadow. His hair was a rich, dark brown, almost black when the flickering light of torches left him.

Maedhros did not look away from her: "There seems to be a problem standing in my path."

She bristled at that.

"I am a person, not an object or a concept, and I have a name. You will refer to me as one of your kindred, not one of the things in your tent your bed-warmers leave you!"

His eyes flashed more dangerously now, but he stopped when the other brother placed a hand upon his arm.

"Patience, Russandol. Let us not be hasty."

He had a melodic voice, and she suspected he used it often when trying to calm the more hot-headed brother.

His eyes went from her face to the sword she held.

"Look at her again, brother; if her features do not speak to you, her weapon surely must."

Maedhros seemed even fouler of mood by this: "I did not come here to look at maids playing with swords! The Silmaril eluded us, and here are the blood of Lúthien. I will take them as recompense."

Anárië’s knees trembled, even as the other Elves around the brothers reached for their own weapons; she aimed hers towards the eldest brother, her face furious.

"You will take them over my dead body."

Maglor nudged his brother again: "Look, I tell you. Cast aside your prejudice. She is no Sindar. Do you not recognise Orólos’ blood when you see it?"

That stopped both Maedhros and Anárië; him, because he actually paused to acknowledge his brother’s words, her, because she knew that name.

She had only heard it once or twice, but while her mother had still been alive, it had been spoken. It was the name of her maternal grandfather.

Maedhros looked at her face more closely now, and then his eyes dropped to the sword she held.

"Cealea’s daughter."

Anárië held her breath; behind her, Elrond and Elros were quiet, shrinking against Raumonóna and trying to make themselves as small as possible.

Maglor nodded: "Without a doubt. And the sword – he would not have let it fall into the hands of Bauglir’s minions."

She realised they were now speaking of her father; her eyes flitted to the fountain emblem and back to them, unwilling to give up her stance.

Maedhros seemed pensive now, rather than angry: "You, girl, where is Ecthelion? We did not know he escaped the sack of Gondolin."

Pain flashed across her face, as fresh as it had been the moment Glorfindel had embraced her under the roof of Gar Ainion with her father’s sword clasped in his hand.

"He did not."

The news rippled through the gathered Elves like someone had tossed a rock into the waters.

"It is as I’ve feared," Maglor murmured to his brother, "but some of the Exiles were alive today – the Sindar do not know how to build ships like the ones we saw on sea."

At his words, hope flared within her. Some had escaped! She wished, feverishly, that one or both of her uncles had been among them.

She got the answer to one of her prayers as Maedhros snorted: "’Some’? Egalmoth was with them, brother. Besides Duilin, he is the only one who can loose an arrow like that; my herald was tossed off his horse even though the shaft came from a retreating ship."

Her uncle was alive! For now, at least. The elleth fixed her gaze back to the brothers, who were now gauging her with indifferent expressions on her faces.

Maedhros cursed: "I cannot leave her here! And the twins are coming with me, regardless."

She felt her body slowly tense as she lowered it further, ready to pounce; the boys pressed closer to the colt, sensing the change in atmosphere.

It was Maglor who calmed it all again: "Indeed, but in case you have not noticed, she is showing you the pointy end of her sword. You will not take the boys with force."

Her eyes met Maglor’s for a brief moment before she looked back to his older brother.

Maedhros snarled: "And you have a better idea? Those twins will do until I find the Silmaril!"

"Yes, but they are boys, Russandol; look at them. You’re frightening them simply by speaking loudly."

The twins shrank even more as the eyes of the two brothers fell upon them. Anárië shifted her position to shield them from view. If she were to die today, she would die defending them.

Suddenly, Maedhros chuckled: "Feisty, isn’t she? About as much as Cealea when she was younger, definitely like her father when he was about her age."

There was a collective chuckle, and Anárië felt heat rush up her neck and onto her cheeks, even as the older of the two brothers appraised her. She suddenly felt vulnerable, in a different way. An unpleasant way.

Maedhros released her from his gaze and turned away: "Bring them out. We will take them with us."

He disappeared back into the water after that, taking a couple of Elves with him, but Maglor remained behind.

Her sword was still lifted.

He stepped forward, palms open: "We wish you no harm."

She eyed him: "To me, perhaps. But how do I know you will not hurt the children?"

Their eyes met and held, and she stopped him in place.

His voice was calm and gentle: "You cannot. You can only trust me."

She could not yet step down: "Can I?"

Her heart was hammering inside her chest. Unlike his older brother, Maglor kept his eyes on her face.

"Only you know the answer to that question, Ecthelion’s daughter."

He was speaking the truth; she had to give him that. Anárië weighed her options. In any case, she was not coming out of the cave other than their prisoner, but for the time being, it did not seem they wished them any harm.

And besides – where else would they go?

"If you hurt them," she said quietly, slowly lowering her sword, "I swear, by Manwë, I will kill you."

Maglor nodded: "Fair enough."

She sheathed the sword again, and beckoned; Elrond and Elros slowly peeled away from Raumonóna and clamped onto her hands, watching Maglor with wide eyes.

The elleth looked back at him again: "If you’re going to take us, you take us all – even the colt."

Maglor’s lips quivered, as if he was trying to hide a smile: "I would never dream of leaving him behind."

Whether he was mocking her or not, she had no choice – Anárië led the twins towards the water. One of the other Elves handled Raumonóna; Maglor took Elrond. Anárië kept her eyes fixed upon them all the while, until they were out on the bank of the outside pool again, and Elros huddled to her.

Maedhros had already mounted his horse; it was only then that she noticed the odd way he held his right hand.

"I leave them to you," he told his brother, and without another word, he and his warriors rode off into the trees, leaving Maglor behind with his own small force, and the captives.

Anárië was given a horse, but her hands were bound behind her back. "Under other circumstances, you would have been carried off," her captor told her, "but I trust you not to try and escape." She pursed her lips together and said nothing, anxiously eyeing the two Elves who took the twins before them on their saddles.

"It will be alright," she told them as they looked to her, squirming; they quieted. "I promise."

Satisfied that they were secure, Maglor turned his horse about, and they turned their backs on the wood that stank of fire and blood.


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The song is © to Rebecca Lavelle for performance, and the authors of McLeod's Daughters; the title is My Heart Is Like A River.
No, Anárië doesn't actually hear Glorfindel inside her head, and no, she isn't insane. Let's just say she's imagining what he COULD have said, had he been alive and with her.