Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER SEVEN
Early Autumn of 509, FA

The day was warm, despite the fact autumn would begin soon and summer was saying farewell. After spending so much time indoors due to storms, Anárië had escaped into her mother's gardens. She'd climbed into the boughs of an old apple tree, settling against a branch, one of her feet dangling over the edge.

It was easy to climb despite the fact that her father thought it impossible in a dress; Anárië giggled whenever she remembered his expression after seeing her among the branches for the first time.

Placing the book against her uplifted leg, Anárië thought back on the long summer months. Months spent riding Gwaiforn and exploring with little Eärendil, pleasant evenings with her father, and Glorfindel's increased presence in her life.

She couldn't believe the turn her life had taken. Only months before, she'd been willing to bet the only chance of happiness she had was if she would train as a swordswoman of the Fountain. Now, even though a part of her still yearned for that, the bigger part was too captured with Glorfindel, and the possibilities this opened.

They had grown closer through the time that passed. She knew him better know, though she did not fool herself into thinking she knew all there was to him. But she understood at least the topmost layer. And for her part, Anárië hoped Glorfindel understood some of her as well.

There was still much she had to learn, to see and to do, but she was confident that she would have Glorfindel by her side throughout most of that. For surely, this what she felt for him was not just a simple infatuation?

Ecthelion had not spoken much to her about bonding, neither had Cealea as she had been taken and killed a long time before her daughter's coming off-age ceremony, but she had told the young elleth enough to allow her at least speculations.

Before the Dawn of Time, when Eru and his Valar had created Arda, each Elf chose their soul mate from the threads intervowing, interloping and flowing freely. And once they were born to the circles of this world, they remained forever in search for that one companion to their heart, their other half.

Anárië did not understand much of that, since her memory was murky, having been quite young when Cealea had spoken of this to her as substitute for a bedtime story, but it was enough to spike her curiosity and have her think.

Obviously, there was more to what she shared with Glorfindel than simple infatuation. He was, after all older, than her, and wiser; he would have known not to toy with her affections. But sometimes they even moved in syncronisation now, or turned right before the other entered a room. There were small gestures that kept telling her that she was missing something, something important.

Whatever it was, for now she still had Glorfindel's company. And she was thankful for that at least.

Soft footsteps on the grass below alerted Anárië to a visitor, and she turned her gaze down from the branches.

Ecthelion was looking up at her with an amused expression.

"I seem to have acquired a new fruit on my tree … would it like to come down and join me?"

She laughed softly, "You are very funny, Atar; I am no fruit. I was reading a book before you came here."

"And you had to climb into a tree? What is wrong with the gazebo, or even the grass?"

She bit back a smile, "Quite the ordinary and well, boring, if you must know. And from here at least, I have a nice view."

The Lord of the Fountain shook his head and motioned for her to come down again, "Come spend some time with your father, yendenya; I feel as though I am not giving you enough time in the day."

Her smile softened and she dropped her book down first before landing on the grass herself in a flourish of her skirt. Grinning and smoothing it out, Anárië flipped the heavy braid of her hair onto her back.

"Here I am, Atar. You wished to speak with me?"

He smiled, "Indeed; leave the book, you might wish to return to it later. Walk with me for now."

Anárië smiled and fell in-step with her father, padding barefoot over the grass.

It was some time before he spoke, and they had ventured deep into the orchards by then.

"Duilin has spoken to me, my sweet; it would seem you have been spending time with his son."

Anárië schooled her features so she would not grimace. Yes, that was true, though she was only doing it on Tuor's request, not of her own volition. While she respected and admired Duinhir, she did not think she could spend a whole day with him.

"I have been, he is a nice companion. I think of him as an older brother, like Idril's son is my younger one."

Ecthelion nodded to himself; that was how he suspected things to stand. Duilin had commented that his son never approached Anárië prior to her allowing it, and it was clear the elleth wished she were with someone else.

"And yet you obviously spend far less time at the house now than before. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

She hesitated, unsure. Her teeth worried against her bottom lip, and Ecthelion wondered, not for the first time, just what the future held for his daughter.

"Would you like to ask me anything?" he changed his question, his tone gentle.

Ever since his wife's death, Ecthelion had tried being both father and mother to his growing child, and yet he now realised that perhaps he had lapsed in some departments, when it was sore time for the drawers to be opened and cleaned. It was the only way she would know what to expect of life after all.

She turned her green eyes to him again, still biting her lower lip lightly.

"How … Atar, what was it like when you first met Ammë?"

The question shouldn't have surprised him really. Anárië knew precious little of either his or Cealea's life prior to Gondolin, and Ecthelion didn't really want to change that. However, sensing that she might perhaps open up to him more if he opened up to her, he decided to tell her at least the romantic aspects of the story.

"Your mother and I both called Tirion our home," he began, continuing their leisurely stroll under the boughs of the orchard trees, "yet we did not move in the same circles at first. You see, I was older than Cealea by a few yen before we met."

Anárië listened with wide eyes, almost seeing the story unfold in her mind.

"I first met her, unintentionally, when she was little more than a young girl, not even in her proper teens yet. She was brought to the hunting festivities by her parents, who had stayed for a time with your distant kin, the Vanyar.

I did not think much about her then; she was, after all, a girl who could not be betrothed yet, much less considered for marriage, and she held no interest for me. It sounds harsh in a way, but such was the time in Valinor. We did not fight, seldom quarreled, but attended various festivals and banquets and tried to find our life mate."

They had reached the large fountain in the middle of the gardens by then; Anárië sat down on it's edge and looked at her father, who remained standing, gazing off into the distance as if reliving the events long-past.

"When next I met your mother, she was just before her coming off-age ceremony. At that time, Turgon had already wedded, and Idril had just been born.

Your mother was lovely, Anárië; you have inherrited most of her looks, but I wish there was less me in you. You remember her, there was none more graceful than her to my eyes."

She remembered. Her father had dotted on Cealea and sometimes they would forget anyone else was around them as they stood with their hands touching or arms wrapped around each other's waists.

"I befriended her then, as she was to attend the hunt with Oromë. We bonded quickly, sharing the same interests, or well many of the same. She invited me to the ceremony that followed a month or so later, and I accepted gladly. There is not much else to say next to the fact that, during Tarnin Austa that summer, she chose me for her warrior."

Anárië felt her lips pulling into a wide smile as she thought about that. Cealea had always been head-strong, despite her generally gentle nature. She had been softly-spoken and would seem timid at times, but her daughter – and her husband – both knew that when she put her mind to something there was no one who could stop her. So it was easy to imagine the young golden-haired elleth picking Ecthelion for her suitor, despite possible disapproval from her parents.

"What did her parents say?"

Ecthelion bit back a smile; of course she would ask that.

"They were … well, they were very welcoming."

The eyes that reminded him so much of Cealea narrowed into slits, and he saw one of her hands dip into the water of the fountain.

"You are not a very good liar, Atar; tell me the truth. The way you say it just now makes me think they disapproved of you."

Anárië blinked when she saw the expression on her father's face become sheepish.

"They DISAPPROVED?"

He laughed at the disbelief colouring her voice and so obvious on her face, shaking his head. His daughter knew precious little about these things. It really was high time they spoke about them.

"Try and imagine this from their perspective, yendenya: my lineage was noble, yes, and I came from a good house. But they had always hoped their daughter would wed a Vanya and thus strengthen what little of that blood she had with her child. And then your mother placed the wreath of summer flowers onto my head, me, who am so obviously Noldo in both look and mind. You, who have known only one people, cannot be blamed if you do not understand. But perhaps you have read through my history books on the matter?"

She was eyeing him in confusion: "On the matter of tribes? I know all that; the Vanyar are supposedly the fairest of our kind, and they did not forsake Valinor. The Teleri are the most musical of the Elves, the less violent. And the Noldor are reputedly bad with anger management."

Ecthelion laughed, placing one boot against the fountain edge and resting his arms on his knee.

"Very good; that is true, yes. And you don't know this, but I was quite typically Noldo when I was younger. Perhaps Egalmoth or Rog can tell you more of those days; I was as hot-headed as any other youth."

Anárië had a hard time believeing her father when he spoke about that. He was always stoic, a proven warrior and a wise counsellor. But then they were all different in the days prior to their first battles … was it so hard to imagine?

To her it was.

"So they did not approve of you, yet you still married her."

Ecthelion nodded, "After a time yes … in a fashion. They never did forgive me entirely, but I was blessed with your mother's love, and she was my life-mate, so they could not object afterwards."

Anárië looked into the water and studied their reflections for a moment, although they morphed into what her imagination perceived to be her parents' wedding.

"Was it beautiful? The ceremony?"

When her father laughed again, she knew there was something more that she hadn't picked up.

"In a way, yes. I did not tell you the full story. I managed to get into a heated quarrel with your grandfather prior to the betrothal. Of course he chucked me out of his house and forbade me from coming close to his daughter again. It was a natural thing to do, something I would probably do to any of your suitors if it came to pass."

His daughter was staring at him with her mouth open. Ecthelion curbed his mirth.

"Cealea did much to tame my temper; I became a better man by marrying her. But I did not do it with a big ceremony and hundreds of guests. She came to me one night, about a month into our separation. She did not leave my side since then, not until her passing."

Anárië wondered whether her mother would have done the same years later; Cealea didn't seem like a person who did rash things. Maybe she'd been different in her youth. More impulsive.

"But … did her parents not want her back? Or well, since they could not …"

"You are asking if they wished to start a feud. Yes, they did. We were summoned before the High King to account for our actions. But Cealea had gained much love from those I call my brothers by then; I had them behind me, without Tuor and Maeglin of course. Finwë could hardly go against his own kin when Turgon spoke up, who was his grandson.

Perhaps it would have gone ill even then, though, if Artanis had not spoken in our defense."

Anárië frowned, "Artanis?"

Ecthelion smiled: "The daughter of Finarfin; she was very beautiful. It is said that the Light of the Two Trees of Valinor lives in her hair and face. But she is also very wise, and her eyes can see a person's most hidden thoughts.

She was much loved and respected in Tirion, and it was her voice that allowed me to walk away with your mother and prevented a feud."

She was in awe; someone so powerful, and her father had known her?

"What happened to Artanis?"

He chuckled: "I thought you wanted to hear about my love story? Oh, very well. Artanis crossed the Sea to Middle Earth, but where she is now, I cannot say."

There was much she could ponder on. It was obvious that the matter of life-mates was not taken lightly by her people, something she had already guessed and instinctively turned to. But how did you know it was your life-mate you were bonding with?

"Atar, how did you know Ammë was the One for you?"

Ecthelion paused, thinking back to the time when he had first realised the depth of his feelings for Cealea. How to put that in words?

"When you meet your life-mate," he began, shifting so that he was seated next to Anárië now, "you will know. There will be no one else more beautiful to you, no one who you will be able to trust like your Chosen One. You shall feel complete in his presence, protected and whole.

Perhaps you do not quite know where you fit in, here in Gondolin now. But once you find the One, that will not be a problem anymore. Nothing else will matter, except him."

She bit her lower lip again and looked into the water. She saw her father looking at her in their reflections, and Anárië wished she could ask him so much more – but something stayed her thoughts.

"Will I feel as though no matter what I do or say with him, it is right?"

Ecthelion hid the small smile that threatened to expose him; he was finally gaining ground.

"Yes; oft times you will also be able to know what he is thinking, or what he will do. You will know your life-mate as good as you know yourself. That is why he will be your other half, as you will be his."

She nodded, lost in thought, her fingers absent-mindedly skimming across the surface of the water.

Ecthelion shifted closer to her and lightly touched her chin, lifting her face again.

"Anárië, I will not force you to tell me anything, just know that I love you and will respect your decision. I have seen, first-hand, what can happen if a parent steps between those who were meant to be. I will not hinder you, or your heart's desire. You need not fear that I shall make the same mistakes as my in-laws."

This brought a smile to her face; Anárië stretched her arms and Ecthelion pulled her to him into an embrace, lightly kissing the top of her head as she snuggled against him.

"Is it safe to say I will be able to meet your elusive life-mate soon, then?"

She started and looked up, wondering if he knew; her father's grey eyes were clear, and slightly mischevious, a sure warning sign.

"I – I believe so. You promise not to be cross with either of us?"

Ecthelion wove an errant strand of her hair back into her braid.

"Of course not. I might grumble and mutter under my breath, but you are just as stubborn as your mother. Coupled with my Noldo blood, that is almost recipe for disaster.

But have no fear, I do not fool myself that I'd be able to dissuade Glorfindel from a very straight, clear path. There is a reason why he volunteered to break Gwaiforn for you."

At the look on his daughter's face, Ecthelion doubled over laughing and, with a final kiss to her brow, stood.

"It is a father's job to know what goes on in his daughter's life. Trust me, Anárië – before I do Glorfindel any harm, he must first hurt you in some way. And I have a feeling he would give his swordarm to prevent that from happening."

He left her there by the fountain, humming a tune to himself as he returned to the house; he would have to inspect the Gate soon enough, but knowing he was right when it came to his daughter brought a smile to Ecthelion's face.


Atar - Quenya, dad
Ammë - Quenya, mum
Artanis - Quenya, noble woman