Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER FOUR
Summer, 541 FA

In after years, when someone spoke of captivity, Anárië would never think of Maglor and the time spent at his abode. For captivity was meant to be taken as within an enclosed space, behind four walls, and possibly chained up, barely fed.

At Maglor’s Gap, this was not the case.

They had arrived weary, but well-cared for, to the fortress Maglor had built to secure the only wide passage into the fields of Beleriand, in a system of forts that the Fëanorions had guarded zealously, but was now decaying. Cavalry was still posted in the ravine, archers on the walls, and for all intents and purposes, this was a military base he brought them to.

But he had been kind; he himself had carried both of the twins to a spacious chamber, careful not to wake them. It was only after the first couple of nights that anyone realised the second bed was irrelevant for the time being; Elrond and Elros always curled together on one, holding hands as they slept, possibly to remind themselves of what they still had instead of what they had lost.

Anárië’s legs had felt like lead when she’d finally been given leave to dismount, and even then she would have fallen regardless because of her tied hands; because she had had to wait for Maglor to return, he had been the one to catch her, and lead her to her room, which was to the side of the boys’.

He had cut her bonds there, and while the blood flowed back in her wrists, the golden-haired elleth had looked at her dark-haired captor.

His face had been unreadable: "Rest, my lady. Tomorrow, we will speak."

That had been years ago, and no conversation had come.

For the next morning, Anárië had found a basin of water and a clean dress, but no sign of anyone else. When she had tested the doors to her chamber, they had opened soundlessly, and no guard had been in sight.

There had just been an elleth.

Of course, it was only after she’d tried to escape the first time that she’d realised the elleth was her guard, for she had been unceremoniously dragged back to her room, with more than a few bruises and bumps from the struggle. She had been followed all through the castle, and even outside, but as soon as she’d angled towards the main gate, her excursion had been cut short.

The elleth, Elénna, had spoken no word, but simply left her to return to her post, and Anárië had not tried to escape again. She came to the conclusion that Maglor, while kind, did not trust her, and that she would always be watched.

Her guard was a striking Elf, and she could not hide even if she wanted to. Her hair was copper-coloured, but less deep than the locks Anárië had spied on Maedhros; it was lighter, and longer, though it did not hinder her movements. She was petite, but strong and sinewy. The most disconcerting feature were her eyes – a brilliant shade of amber gold with flecks of grey that turned to a storm whenever she was angry or upset.

Anárië learned that she was Lady Nerdanel’s cousin, and therefore aunt to the Fëanorions, who respected and teased her in equal measure, though none of them dared challenge her enough to force her hand. For despite her size, she was a warrior and, as Ecthelion’s daughter learned later, a trained assassin, who rode far and wide under Maglor’s command to take out Orc chieftains and those of Melkor’s subjects she could find.

She had been known as the Hand of the King during the time the Fëanorions had believed Maedhros lost, and the second eldest assumed the throne in exile, and this title still clung to her, despite the fact that Maedhros had renounced all claims on it, giving the throne to Fingolfin and his royal line.

Anárië also quickly learned that while Elénna would go with her wherever she went, she was otherwise not too hindered at the Gap. She could go wherever she wished within the fortress, and she could, if she so desired, take a horse to ride out, though the other elleth did not leave her side even then. So, in truth, this was not quite captivity, but still captivity enough.

Elrond and Elros were being treated in the same manner, though at first, things did not go as smoothly as Maglor might have wished.

One morning, Anárië had found the twins’ room empty, and they did not answer her calls. Her frantic search was brought to an end by Elénna, whose patience with the other woman had grown thin.

"Calm yourself! They are with the lord."

But that did very little to calm Anárië’s spirits – what if Maglor wished to harm them when she was not there? What would he do to them? How could they have trusted him enough to go with him alone?

Maglor had been in the middle of teaching the twins how to properly light a fire when a golden-haired beast had toppled him over, sending the two children scattering backwards a little.

"I thought you were supposed to guard her!" he had snapped in Elénna’s direction, but the elleth had seemed generally amused – and did not move from her spot where she lounged easily against a tree.

"I am – but this is the first entertainment I’ve been given since coming to the Gap. Humour me."

Maglor had managed to pin Anárië down, but she had also told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he ever tried separating the twins from her again, she would prevent him from ever having children of his own.

"I do not wish to harm them," his voice had been exasperated, if amused, "what good would that do me, in the end?"

But she was unsatisfied, despite Elrond’s claims that Maglor really wished them no ill, and she demanded that whatever activities the boys would be undergoing, she would be there with them.

In the end, Elénna had solved the problem: "It will not hurt to train her; I will be with her all the time in any case. Unless you wish to give me further amusement as I allow her to attack you every single time you take the boys out for practice."

Maglor had given in; and Anárië soon regretted her own stubbornness, though not because he would drive them all too hard.

It was her past that prevented her from truly enjoying the activities.

For whenever she went to the archery field to work with Maglor there, she remembered the way Glorfindel had helped her, on that day long ago, when he had shown her how to properly aim at her target. Her captor asked no questions at first, but after observing her for a time, the way she drew her arrows back and stood in stance, he could no longer curb his curiosity.

"Who was your teacher, my lady?"

The elleth stopped her motion of notching another arrow; it was a clear, calm day for practice.

"Does it matter?"

Maglor, who was leaning on his own bow lightly, shook his head: "No, not really, I suppose, but I am curious. The way you hold your bow ... it reminds me of someone."

For whatever reason, her heart did a painful lurch inside her chest, though Anárië kept telling herself that he could not know. No one knew. She had spoken about it to none outside her close-knit family, though the wedding ring her husband had given her was yet on her finger.

"I mostly observed my father’s archers," she replied finally, lifting her bow again and carefully pulling the string back, "he did not quite approve of what I wanted, and so I had to be secretive about it. The archers, in turn, learned from lord Duilin and his soldiers at some point, I should think."

She loosed the arrow, and it hit the outside rim of the target. Anárië felt the familiar thrum of irritation run through her.

Maglor chuckled when he saw it, but shook his head without coming closer: "Perhaps you are telling me the truth. But not in full."

A sigh coming from her told him he was right.

"You seem to know I remind you of someone other than lord Duilin then," was all she said on the matter as she went to collect her arrows, "it is your turn to speak."

She did not expect the pain to still be so real, so vivid, as if he had only yesterday fallen from her sight into the chasm within the Encircling mountains as Maglor spoke softly:

"I rode and hunted with Glorfindel for a long time before we left Aman, my lady; I know his technique well. Whether you wish to admit it or not, he helped you with it at least once. The mark of the teacher is hardly ever erased, regardless of personal preferences."

Her back was ramrod straight, and she was silent for a long time.

When she turned, Maglor saw only hard emeralds in place of her eyes.

"Whether he taught me anything or not is irrelevant." Her voice was curiously devoid of any emotion; flat. "He is dead."

She left him there, pondering over what she said, while he watched her climb the stairs into the castle, disappearing through the entrance.

But it had been years since that conversation. Anárië’s archery had not improved to a level where she could definitely count on being able to hit her target at all times, for her patience seemed limited and she did not have enough of it to practice as much as she could, apparently.

Instead, she insisted that Elénna should teach her how to properly wield a sword better.

She had sparred with her uncle Egalmoth at Sirion, but those spats had been infrequent at best, and they had also been very uneven, for the Elf did not wish to harm her during them, at least not intentionally. Also, he believed that she should learn of her own accord, at her own pace, which meant that she was not prepared for when Maglor’s fiery-haired Hand drew out her twin sais and instructed her to defend herself.

Anárië looked at Elénna like she had suddenly lost her mind: "I don’t think I can."

Elénna arched an eyebrow: "You do know how to hold a blade, do you not?"

"I – yes. But I never ... my uncle and I never actually came to any long fights. We sparred from time to time, that is all."

The other elleth snorted, rolling her eyes: "It is true then, that some other male members of our world seem to think the same as those we left behind in the Blessed Realm. That women should only be allowed in healing tents and not on actual battlefields. Some free choice and equality this is for us.

Defend yourself. I wish to see what the famed Egalmoth has taught you."

Anárië would rue the day she first lifted her sword in defence, because Elénna demonstrated, with about two deft slides of her blades, how she would have taken her head off without even becoming winded.

"You must be able to defend yourself if you are to defend the twins," she commanded, returning to her spot, "lift your sword higher. I shall come at you again; slower this time, so you will be able to see."

That helped very little, because what Elénna soon found out was something Egalmoth had also concluded, but never actually mentioned; Anárië did not have the physical strength to be able to wield her father’s sword for any long periods of time. After three strikes, she was drenched with sweat and her hands slipped off the grip more often than not.

This was the main reason why, with Maglor’s agreement, Elénna began a different type of instruction with Anárië, one the boys also became privy to once they grew a little bit more; it was to build their stamina.

Every morning, after the first meal of the day which was shared in the castle’s main hall between every Elf who resided in it, Elénna would take Anárië with her and they would ride into the fields until she could barely sit in the saddle anymore. Then as time progressed slowly, Maglor’s Hand had her charge running alongside the horse for some time, that too until she was about ready to fall onto the ground. And every evening, without question, they would run together.

During these evening runs, Anárië felt the worst, because her body already hurt from previous abuse, and she was nowhere near as refreshed and awake as in the morning hours, which meant that she was always lagging. But Elénna said nothing, and matched her pace to hers as they went. The only times when she wasn’t submitted to that torture was when it rained – but even so she wished she could have run. Instead, she was forced up and down the various sets of stairs inside the castle, and to carrying Elrond or Elros on her back for an hour as she did this.

"You’re faster today Anná," Elros told her one day when they were headed up into the tallest tower to fetch one of the older maps Maglor had stocked there.

Instead of a reply, she simply huffed, sweat trickling down the side of her face while she fought with vertigo, exhaustion, and the fact that her ankle hurt from where she had taken a fall the previous day after miscalculating the distance needed to clear a narrow creek.

"Elrond beat me in making a fire today," continued the boy, almost sullen, but then he brightened, "but I’m faster in brushing my pony, and I do it better."

"You should help each other," she managed, finally reaching the top, and letting out a gust of air from her lungs with a rush, allowing Elros off her back for a moment, "not worry over who was first. Life is not a competition, penneth."

He looked at her with serious grey eyes: "It is more interesting if it is."

Anárië looked at him, startled: "Who told you that?"

Elros shrugged: "Lord Maglor’s brother."

Her breath caught; obviously, there was only one more Fëanorion alive by this point, partly in thanks to the kinslayings they had committed.

He had ridden into the Gap as if he owned it, on a great gray beast of a horse that answered only to him, snarling if anyone got too close; Anárië remembered the tenseness of his shoulders, and the stubborn set of his jaw. Just like in the cave behind the waterfall.

She also remembered that, long ago, while still a girl in her father’s house in Gondolin, when her mother had been alive, she had found old parchments in her father’s study, parchments with portraits drawn upon them, apparently by Ecthelion. He had not wished to speak about the Elves upon them, but Cealea had taken her daughter into her garden, and spoke to her:

"They are the seven sons of Fëanor, my child. The one who first decided he will leave Valinor and come here to seek to reclaim the Silmarils from Melkor. Nerdanel the Wise was his wife, though they were estranged, and she did not follow him here; but she did bear him seven sons. Nelyafinwë, Canafinwë, Turcafinwë, Morifinwë, Curufinwë, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë are their names. They are abroad here, in Middle Earth. Perhaps you shall meet them someday."

Nelyafinwë had graced his brother with a visit then, and while he might have resembled his mother in looks, he was his father in bearing. Anárië would never forget the way his grey eyes had followed all her movements during his stay, and the way his lips seemed to be formed into a perpetual half-smirk.

She knelt before Elros, placing her hands on his shoulders: "Was it Nelyafinwë? Maedhros?"

He frowned at the urgent tone of her voice, and nodded.

Anárië wished she could speak to the first son of Fëanor again; she would have loved nothing more than to snap that arrogant neck.

"Listen to me, child," she said, striving for calmness, and giving Elros a small smile, "lord Maedhros grew up with six brothers. Perhaps they needed to compete against each other to gain their father’s favour; I do not know. But never, never do the same with Elrond, for you are not alike to them. Your father would never have allowed such feelings to grow between you, for they only lead to animosity and anger in the end. Do not listen to anything lord Maedhros tells you, do you understand me?"

Elros nodded, perplexed and slightly frightened, and they went to fetch Maglor’s map so they could descend the stairs again.

That evening, however, she pulled Elénna aside.

"I do not wish to speak ill of your kin," she said softly, and the other elleth eyed her with obvious curiosity, "but some lessons they share with my charges ..."

Before she could finish, Elénna interrupted her: "Do you speak of Nelyafinwë’s last visit?"

Anárië nodded, helpless, anguish written all over her face. The last thing she wanted was to speak badly of Maglor’s brother, but she also did not want him to share any of his knowledge or lessons with Elrond and Elros, unless they were actually pertinent.

Her teacher for the time being sighed: "I knew it would not end well; I told him as much, for I heard what he said to Elros. I take it the boy has spoken to you about it?"

Anárië nodded: "I do not wish them to get the wrong idea. Life is most certainly not a competition, and I want them to love each other!"

"Peace, Anná," Elénna said soothingly, "your boys will never be like mine. Unfortunately, Nelyafinwë’s tongue is too loose for his own good sometimes. I should have shortened it a notch when last he was here; believe me when I tell you that I spoke to him about what he said to the twins. He will not repeat the same mistake twice."

The way she said it made Anárië believe it far more than just with words; Maglor had once explained to the twins that his Hand was the harshest when it came to punishing her own kin.

"I also reminded him of his brother’s mistake," Elénna’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she beckoned for them to join the main group again.

The golden-haired elleth frowned: "What mistake?"

The sadness on Elénna’s face cut her to the bone: "The mistake Turcafinwë’s soldiers made when they left Elwing’s brothers in the woods. Nelyafinwë has never forgotten that."

Too shocked to follow her, Anárië watched as Elénna rejoined Maglor, while her mind tried, in vain, to embrace this horror-tale she had just had explained.

She knew, of course, that the twin brothers of Elwing did not survive the assault on Menegroth, but she had had no idea that something like that was even possible. That one would be so cruel ... they had been but boys. Had they not? Her mind could not place facts together anymore, her thoughts were too jumbled.

She did not wish to speak to anyone that night, and after making sure Elrond and Elros were in their room, she curled into a small ball on her bed and lay there as the night stretched on, thinking about the evil that surrounded her. Was the Oath the Fëanorions swore that cruel, indeed? Was her own Oath any different?

Yes, she thought as the first dawn broke for another summer’s morning, it was. For she had no intention of killing any of her kin, nor in fact, anyone who was not a servant of Morgoth. And she was also not in pursuit of some jewel. Therein lay the difference.

Satisfied, the elleth rose to wash herself and dress for the day, and when Elénna came to find her for their morning ride, she lifted her chin and walked out into the sun’s rays with new determination.