Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER SIX
The War of Wrath (545-583 FA)

The War of Wrath was the last of the great Wars fought in Beleriand.

Anárië did not know this, and neither did anyone at the Gap, or indeed in Middle Earth, but Eärendil had succeeded where others had failed. He had sailed, with his faithful and beloved Elwing by his side, out of the waters of the world and into the West, landing on the shores of Aman. The Silmaril upon his brow lit the way before him.

He gained access to speak in front of the Valar, whom no mortal man had ever seen before, and he had tipped the scale in the favour of the Free Peoples.

The Valar would help.

Manwë, He who would be High King upon Middle Earth when time was right, rose from his seat upon fair Taniquetil, and when he lifted his arms the winds howled from the mountain-top, screeching a message to his brethren, and the Eldar who were left in Valinor.

Varda was tasked with caring for Eärendil’s weariness; she called for her handmaidens. Nessa left her fields and her glades and danced with battle-shinning eyes. Estë placed Elwing to rest.

Oromë called for Nahar, and the great horse, shinning silver under moonlight, came neighing across the plains, sparks flying golden underneath him. Tulkas rose when the summons came, and the carving he’d been working on fell from his hands; Elves who saw him from afar saw only a bounding shape and shadow as he hastened to the Eldest of them all. Aulë placed down his forging tools and lifted his war hammer.

It was time to bring their errant brother home.

But all that was lost to those who lived in Middle Earth. They did not know about the councils that Manwë held with his brothers and sisters, and the remaining Eldar rulers who had not forsaken Valinor after the Destruction of the Trees.

They did not know that Manwë appointed Eönwë leader of the Host that would depart the West, and that the Vanyar and the Noldor all geared up for battle.

The only outward sign that something was happening were the gathering clouds in the West, where the birds of the skies had filed the horizon and were sailing on swift winds to aid their earthly brothers.

However, none of that was a knowledge to any of the Exiles in Middle Earth. They had their own problems to face before they could turn their eyes to the West and look for any help.

Himring, the only fortress successfully able to withstand any greater onslaught, was overflowing with refugees, for after Dagor Bragollach, the Elves had learned not to trust overly much to their castles of old; they were merely humble dwellings now, and when the sight of the orcs moving across the plains was sure, it became obvious they could not withstand them, as they could not in the past.

While measures were taken to abandon their homes, Anárië spent most of her time keeping a tight leash on both Elrond and Elros, who seemed convinced they could be of some help.

"Do not be ridiculous," she snapped at them at one point, "you are not even grown yet, what could you possibly do that other warriors cannot?"

"Our father survived the Sack of Gondolin!" Elros cried, while he and his brother fought with wooden swords, practicing their skills, "We can help here!"

The elleth tried not to feel like he had punched a hole through her defences; whenever anyone mentioned her home city, the pain felt as fresh as it had when the end came.

"Your father survived the Fall as a seven year old boy, and most of the way he was carried by Hendor, his mother, or myself!" she countered them after she managed to find her voice enough not to choke; "There was nothing remotely brave about that. We had no home, no provisions, no security; not even hope. Our only hope were the hidden mountain passes where so many of our scouts had been waylaid and killed in the past."

The boys stopped, panting, and watched her with wide eyes, interest filling them to the brim.

Anárië put down the shirt she’d been mending; while she’d never been much of a seamstress while growing up, she did understand the importance of having whole, clean clothing when you were at war, and she had offered to help Elénna when the other became overwhelmed with tactics and manoeuvres.

"Fighting in a war is not as glorious as stories make it out to be," she said again, "and you are too young, regardless of anything Maglor might tell you. He will agree with me on this; your mother would never have allowed you within a hundred yards of any fighting, though I have no such luxury!"

"But Anná, will YOU not help?" Elrond asked, and the boys came to sit by her feet.

Their grey eyes looked so thoughtful and earnest that she needed to come up with a very good answer to their question. For it was theirs, of course; the questions never came from one alone. They always came in pairs.

"I will, as much as I can – which is what I’m doing now."

She held the shirt up for them to see, and the stitch she was working into the side where the seam had popped.

"There are many ways to help when battle draws near; my mother used to tell me that, before they all moved to Gondolin and the men fought with Turgon under the banners of his father and older brother, the women set up healing tents behind the battle lines. They cooked and cleaned, and sent healing pouches and food out to the men they loved."

Elros wrinkled his nose at that: "But we aren’t women, and I cannot imagine YOU ever cooking something and sending it to the front."

She smiled: "True, I am not very good at that. It is the reason why I am trying my best to work through these stitches right now, and afterwards I shall help Elénna wherever she needs me. And besides, I must look after you two as well."

The boys grinned at that, and Anárië picked her needle again to resume her work.

"Anná?" Elrond’s voice made her look up again.

"Yes?"

He fidgeted: "You never told us ... well, Maglor spoke of the Fall to us, once. You always flinch in pain when we ask, so we thought it best to speak with someone else about it."

Her stomach had tied itself into knots, but she forced a smile upon her face regardless.

"What did he say that bothers you so?"

Elrond rested his cheek on her knee.

"He said something, about ... I did not understand all of it. About a ‘shadow’ and how one of the bravest warriors went to fight it."

Shadow, and flame.

Anárië’s heart constricted painfully, and her smile was sad when she gently ran her fingers through the boy’s hair; Elros was listening just as attentively, his eyes calculating.

"Maglor spoke the truth; we fled from a Balrog."

Saying the word out loud made it seem all the more real, and she shuddered, despite her best efforts to hide it. But the pain and the grief had yet to diminish; only a score of years had passed, and her memories were still fresh.

"And the warrior?"

It was Elros this time; this topic should not have been so hard to discuss, but Anárië felt that it was even harder than to speak about the demons who had sacked through the fair city she’d once called home.

"That, too, Maglor told you well; he knew him, I suppose, from days far-gone in fair Valinor. Glorfindel was his name, and he was Lord of the Golden Flower."

"That was a house in Gondolin, right? Atar told us so."

She nodded at Elros: "Yes, one of the twelve houses in fact, but it was one of the wealthiest, and fairest. Only the King’s house and the house of lord Egalmoth had more riches."

Not that those had helped them much. The wind moved across the plains outside Himring, bringing with it the sad song of what had once been, of fair turrets rising in the morning sun, a lake far afield among fresh green grass, and a secret interlude under the willows.

"Glorfindel seems to have been a fine warrior," Elrond mused out loud, breaking through her thoughts. Anárië realised she had hardly made any new stitch at all, and hastily remedied that.

"He was; Gondolin’s finest. It was said that Lord Rog of the Hammer of Wrath was the strongest, but Glorfindel relied more on skill than sheer strength; that was the only difference between them."

Without knowing it, her voice had dropped, and gentled; there was a small smile on her face as memories ran rampart through her thoughts. The silent strength and authority, yet the gentleness with which he had slid the ring upon her finger.

"Anná?"

She refocused, and looked at Elros.

"Forgive me; I did not mean to allow my mind to wander so," she apologised, setting the needle again, "did you ask something?"

"I did not – but I said you seem to have known Lord Glorfindel well," came the boy’s solemn observation.

It was a sad understatement, and over-valued, because she had honestly not known Glorfindel as well as she might have. There had been so many promises that should have been kept, torn apart by war and immeasurable hatred.

She sighed softly.

"I knew him well enough; better than many in the city, but not as good as my father, or lord Egalmoth. They had ridden and fought with him long before I got to know him."

Elrond lifted his head from where he had been playing with the sleeve of the shirt she had in work.

"Did you love him?"

Was it fair that a child should be so intuitive? She could not blame him, however, because the question could easily have been posed by anyone else who would have taken the time to observe her.

"Yes," Anárië answered finally, pushing away the ghosts of the past for now, "I loved him; and he loved me. We were wed the day that Gondolin fell."

Her hand instinctively dropped the needle as she touched the golden band upon her finger, the ring that carried with it so many memories, false hopes, and lost dreams.

The boys fell silent then, and she picked the needle again to resume working; outside, one of the women who had gone to the well to fetch water for the kitchens, lifted her voice into song:

"Once, as my heart remembers, all the stars were fallen embers. Once, when night seemed forever, I was with you. Once, in the care of morning, in the air was all belonging, once, when that day was dawning - I was with you."

Elrond and Elros took up their play swords again, but Anárië listened to the song, possibly sung by a widow, and closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. It was as if someone had taken her pain and voiced it.

"How far we are from morning, how far we are, and the stars shining through the darkness, falling in the air … Once, as the night was leaving, into us our dreams were weaving. Once all dreams were worth keeping - I was with you."

"I’ll get you!"

"No you won’t!"

‘Brace the gate, ready your arrows!’

‘Swords! Swords!’

‘Is the city lost?’

"No, Elros, you must lift your sword higher, like this! Like Maglor taught us!"

‘The King gave me command – we follow the Secret Way.’

"Anárië, we need you down in the mess hall."

She opened her eyes with a start, looking at Elénna who was standing in the doorway, watching her curiously.

Outside, the elleth’s voice faded away,

"Once, when our hearts were singing – I was with you ..."

The golden-haired elleth forced herself to focus, and placed the shirt and needle down upon the seat she’d occupied.

"I am coming. Elrond, Elros, stay here, please – do not wander off."

"The guard outside will watch them," Elénna comforted her and nodded in the direction of the Elf outside the door; Anárië gave a weak smile.

"Thank you."

The smaller elleth angled her head to the side a little: "Are you alright?"

No. But she could not say it out loud. It was not real until you said it out loud.

"Of course. Just weary, and wishing this would all be over soon."

Her wish came true; before long, Maedhros was forced to retreat from Himring before the onslaught of the Enemy’s forces, and all who were with him were on the run as well. The days spent in the wilderness were bleak and memory shied away from them in later days.

Elrond and Elros soon realised that the glory everyone sung about was nothing but grime, dirt and hunger on the move, constantly riding through the forests and the plains and the gorges. Anywhere they could go to escape the pursuers, but they never made camp for more than a fortnight; and even then it was usually shorter.

Morgoth had thrown all he had into this final battle, knowing that he would be able to eradicate the scattered and weakened forces of his enemies. The Edain who opposed him were overrun, and they, too, went into hiding. As valiant as the three large Houses were who fought against the oncoming Orcs and other spawn the evil lord sent against them, they did not have the strength to properly oppose him.

And the Eldar?

They were scattered, the banners of the would-be Kings in Exile strewn across the lands like leaves that fall from a tree in autumn. They were a bedraggled lot of hunters and thieves now, only seeking chances for their own survival.

Even if someone had told them of the Host coming to their aid from the West now, they would never have believed him, preferring to silently turn the other cheek, and trudge away into darkness.

Thus it was when the sky broke and rain fell upon the rearguard as Anárië reared her stallion in; Gwaiforn’s offspring snorted and pawned the ground. He had grown in captivity, and she had spent a lot of time training him so that he could be as his father had been before him. Hopefully, she had done a good job.

Steam rose from his flanks as the water pelted them both, but she dared not stop for too long, even to wipe him a little. They had to keep moving.

Up front, she could see the twins between two warriors as they trudged their own horses along the muddy pathway through the forest they had sought shelter in tonight. Little good it would do them in this rain, when they could not start any fires. She wished for something, anything to help them.

It was only after she clicked her tongue to move her horse again that she noticed a silent shadow waiting for her as others passed him by.

She joined Maglor without a word, and he turned his horse so they walked abreast.

"Maedhros is far ahead," he finally said, "and his scouts report the way is clear, for now at least."

She heaved a heavy sigh: "But for how long? We have been riding for days on end now, Maglor; I do not think any of us can take it much longer."

"We must," came the solemn reply, "if we stop, we are lost for sure."

She could not fight with that logic, because she knew he spoke the truth, but it was a bitter one.

They were silent as their horses slowly made their way behind a covered wagon; Anárië’s eyes sought the twins again, and she relaxed a little when she saw them ahead. For the time being, she could not answer any of their questions, and she knew she was being selfish – but she needed the time on her own.

Maglor followed her gaze.

"They are relentless in their quest for knowledge."

Her only answer was a tired smile; the boys grew with each passing day on the road, and they were becoming more and more like their father, but even though they were twins, Anárië could already tell the subtle differences that were sure signs of who was who. Elros seemed to be the physically stronger of the two, while Elrond preferred to use his wits before actually going in for the kill.

They were dearer to her than any other children she might have had of her own right now.

A touch to her shoulder made her look at Maglor again, and he pointed to some low-lying branches that seemed to offer a little shelter; she followed him there and Raumonóna allowed a shudder to run through him as he shook himself. The elleth pushed her hood off and shook her damp hair out.

"This might be the last respite we get before we encounter our foes again," Maglor said softly, watching as she slowly stretched her arms to relieve an ache within them, "we should use it, while we can."

"The only respite I will allow is when we are no longer pursued, and I can sleep through the night without fear of having my throat slit," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders, right after she rolled them and let her head fall back.

Maglor was doing something of the same, and they both watched the seemingly endless column march by in front of them.

"Anárië, it will come to battle," she heard him speak then, "and when it does, it will not be easy. I do not want either you or the twins to be part of it."

She looked at him, trying to read his face or his eyes in the forest dark.

She could not.

Maglor continued: "You were never truly captives; not even when we first brought you to the Gap. And you have shown me that there are other things in this world than meaningless search; other Oaths."

The elleth was silent as he spoke, not knowing precisely what he wished to say.

Finally, he sighed, and his blue eyes were hidden by a veil of sadness.

"We are coming upon a larger stretch of the river we have been following for days now, but one of its smaller sisters runs farther West. I will give you what provisions I can spare. Ride hard, and don’t look back."

The words registered in her mind, but not the meaning; she had been with him for so long that she did not, at first, understand.

"You are letting me go?"

"You, and the boys; I do not wish any harm befalling you during the skirmishes and the upcoming battle. Perhaps, if we meet again, you will look upon me with kinder eyes."

So, as the Host of the West landed upon the shores of Middle Earth, and Eärendil led the birds of the sky against Ancalagon the Black, and the Host of Middle Earth met up with their Western kindred, Anárië and the twins found themselves alone in the wilderness, left by their mentor and protector, who had once been their captor.

But by that point, the whole Beleriand was alive with news of war, and what was happening far up in the North and on the shores, so Anárië knew exactly where they had to go.

Maglor’s rearguard disappeared in the distance when she clicked her tongue, and led the twins further into the wilderness, but towards the West.

They would go to the shore, and hopefully find their new purpose and destination there.


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The song, Fallen Embers, is property of Enya.