Flame of Gondolin, novella: A Christmas Carol

Winter, 1 TA
Imladris

All things considered, the day could have gone a lot worse.

Anárië groaned as she finally passed from under the endlessly-falling snow and into one of the large hallways of the Last Homely House. All around her were similar sounds, coming from under hoods and caps.

Earlier that day, just after the morning meal to be exact, one of the sentries up in the high tower had reported that something had been seen, in a sort of a signal, up east. Considering the fact that he couldn’t give them much more than the ‘wink of what looked like flame on metal’, no one really gave it much thought, and it was decided that it couldn’t honestly be any kind of threat, what with the snow falling as it was, and the passes being completely closed.

They had pretty much forgotten all about the warning – for warning it had been, as they would later look back on the situation and reflect – and went about their usual chores. Glorfindel and Erestor helped Elrond with some of the more mundane tasks of a lord, while Anárië had gone to cheer Lachuí up as much as she could at the time being.

None of them were honestly ready for what came next.

The first they heard was a sound like a deep, low roar coming down from up east; the ground shook.

And then a snow-slide hit the Last Homely House with the strength and speed of stampeding Annabon.

They had been incredibly lucky by the fact that the construction itself was stone, which withstood the assault nature threw against it, but the eastern side was completely closed-off and buried under, which had resulted in most of the Elves not on duty anywhere else digging through the banks and trying to free themselves – and the poor House – from this predicament.

Anárië and the team she had been with had just finished for the day, managing to relieve less than what they had hoped for, and she was beyond tired. Exhaustion would be the proper word for her current state of mind and body; shovelling snow was hard work even on a sunny day.

Her boots made squelching sounds as she walked slowly up towards the rooms she shared with her husband, fighting fatigue and wondering if she would even have enough strength to eat anything.

She was waylaid by Elrond himself.

"How are things going, Anná?"

The elleth stifled a yawn and fought with the feeling that if she didn’t hear that question again in her life, it would be too soon: "Slow, but we’ve managed to chip off some from the top. Hopefully the temperatures won’t freeze overnight, otherwise we might just have to live with snow in our backyard until spring."

The Lord of Imladris looked worried: "I’ve ordered the other teams to continue working through the night, by the light of lanterns."

"Hopefully we started well enough for them to continue," she agreed, "Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that the ground floor would be flooded, it would have been easiest to light fires all around the bottom of this catastrophe and have them melt the snow."

Elrond shook his head: "Not a good idea at all, as you yourself have figured already. And the amount of snow is enormous anyway. But, I’m keeping you – go and change, and then join us for the evening meal in my chambers."

Anárië didn’t think she would be very good company tonight, but she gave in: "Very well, I will see you in a quarter of an hour."

He touched her shoulder briefly and turned on his heel to retrace his steps, while the elleth continued her wet trek for a little while longer.

The wolf cubs weren’t in, having been taken by Glorfindel to keep him company and generally to keep them out of mischief; they would have enough work with each other in the snow drift that he had been assigned to.

The rooms were thus empty and only semi-warm, since a serving Elf had probably not been here all afternoon, and the fire had almost died out before she stoked it back to life. Working as quickly as she could, with her numb fingers and generally stiff muscles, Anárië took off her wet clothes and spread them out to dry before towelling herself off and then dressing again, in a couple of layers to ward off a feeling of chill she seemed to be entertaining.

She was just braiding her hair when she heard the door open and Glorfindel’s voice come in through the ante chamber: "Anárië?"

The cubs were his answer, since they had been able to smell her long before, and came to greet her voraciously, followed by the form of her husband, who looked just like she felt.

"Looks like you had as much trouble as we did," she commented after greeting the two pups and straightening out again.

He grimaced: "Don’t even start. I don’t know how I’ll climb back up there tomorrow with everyone else. It’s a nightmare."

"Still better than being caught under it, though," she mused while he spread his own clothes out beside hers.

"That’s true, but it isn’t any less troublesome," came the answer as he wrapped a warm tunic around his torso, sighing, "I take it Elrond invited the both of us to his little dinner party?"

Anárië nodded wearily: "We’ll excuse ourselves early. I can barely stand on my feet as it is."

He took her hand and let his thumb caress her knuckles, then bade the wolves stay where they were and led the way out.

Elrond had assembled most of the Elves who helped him run Imladris on a daily basis for this dinner, along with some old friends, which meant Anárië found herself seated between Lachuí and Erestor, with Berien opposite her beside Glorfindel.

"You two look awful," the latter commented gently among the general discussion that arose about the snowdrift, "Anná, put your hand down before you fall asleep with the spoon halfway to your mouth."

Her friend gave a rueful smile and did as she was told, hiding a yawn behind her other raised hand while trying to listen to Elrond working out a way through their current predicament with Erestor. The Lord himself had not been with the teams, but Erestor had helped out wherever he was needed, though he looked none the worse for wear. Sometimes, she wondered whether he was harnessing some hidden energy stores somewhere no one knew about.

"Anná?"

She blinked and came back to herself, turning her head to look at Lachuí with a bashful expression: "I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?"

Her long-time friend and brother-figure shook his head: "I simply asked whether you wanted some more of this dessert, or whether you’ll be leaving soon. I got the answer to my question, however."

Anárië rubbed the heel of her hand into her eyes: "Forgive me, Lachuí, I didn’t mean to be such a dull dinner companion."

He smiled gently: "You’re fine; trust me, I’ve been chafing at the bit today, wishing I could be out there with you."

The elleth patted his hand silently, then looked across to her husband, who was listening to something Berien was just explaining. Elrond and Erestor were still arguing over methods, while the two princesses of Lórien added commentary here and there where they thought it was prudent.

"No one will notice if you slip away, you know," Lachuí murmured softly, "at least, none of these."

Anárië chuckled: "Trust me, Glorfindel would."

As if on cue, her husband suddenly turned his head, probably upon hearing his name spoken, and their eyes met.

Lachuí choked back a laugh: "Point for you; he seems a veritable bloodhound."

The former Lord of the Golden Flower arched an eyebrow: "I’ve been likened to a lot of beasts, commander, but never a dog before."

"Consider this then: there’s a first time for everything," Lachuí commented back, making both the ellith around them giggle lightly.

Berien smiled: "I think you two should leave, either way; this debate will take some time to finish, and you probably have plans to be up on the snow again early tomorrow."

There was no arguing about that detail, and Glorfindel excused both himself and his wife when he caught Elrond’s eye for a short moment.

"Yes, I’m sorry," the Peredhil apologized, rising and going with them as far as the exit of the West Wing, "I should have let you eat in your own rooms and rest, but your opinion was something I wanted to hear, Glorfindel."

"No harm done," came the answer, "And we will see you tomorrow."

They bid him goodnight, and then Anárië groaned: "Please tell me you spoke to him about Celebrían. The sooner he has a wife to brush out the tangles of war still left in him, the better."

Glorfindel laughed: "I did, but we’ll have to wait and see if the end result will be to our satisfaction."

She grumbled something, trudging along on heavy feet. Both of them were exhausted when they reached their own chambers, and couldn’t even summon enough energy to properly greet the two wolf-pups.

Anárië fell into bed with a sigh: "I need a change. No, that’s not the right word I’m looking for."

Rolling onto her side, she looked at her husband, who had just taken off his shoes: "What’s that word Anárion told us about, when the workers who built the temples on Númenor ceased their jobs for a week or so?"

"A holiday," he answered, lying down, "You’re looking for the word ‘holiday’."

"That’s it," she agreed, "I need a holiday after this. Tossing snow around isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to bring me to Imladris."

Chuckling softly, Glorfindel rolled and smiled at her: "Then how about this: I will give you a week and a day away from everything and everyone else. It will be just the two of us; we’ll even give the cubs to Erestor for safe-keeping."

Anárië eyed him to see whether or not he was joking: "You mean this? With no interruptions, no Erestor trying to get us to help with something, no Elrond who needs you for advice?"

"He comes to you for it more often than to me," Glorfindel pointed out, "But yes, that is essentially it."

"A week and a day," she mused, "I suppose that’s your gift for the eight day?"

His smile was all the answer she needed, and she beamed, suddenly excited: "I really, really like this idea."

"I’m glad," came the answer, along with a prodigious yawn, "But could we discuss details tomorrow morning? I feel like I’m barely awake as it is. I’m walking along the banks of Tumladen lake with one foot already."

Anárië smiled sadly and didn’t say anything else, allowing him to drift off to sleep, following herself soon after. No nightmare assailed her that night, but she did snuggle up to Glorfindel sometime around midnight and slept soundly in his arms until morning, with his cheek resting against her hair and her back tucked against his chest.

***

Annabon - Sindarin name for Oliphaunt