Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER NINE
Late Winter of 509, FA

When Idril had came to visit one late December afternoon with her personal seamstress, Anárië hadn't really given it much thought. But when she overheard her father talking with the Princess about the new gown being produced for her, her curiosity piked.

It wasn't until the day she was to try on the finished dress that Ecthelion really broached the subject to her.

"Glorfindel of the Golden Flower has asked permission to court you, my dear; I have given my consent on the matter so long as you agree with it.

I want you to be happy, my little ray of sunshine. Your happiness is what matters, nothing else."

The finished product the seamstress brought out was a striking mixture of ivory samite and light velvet; it wrapped around Anárië's form closely, almost constricting, the heavy sleeves a change from the airy designs she usually wore. It made her stand straighter and walk slower.

It was a dress for an elleth ready to be wed.

"Atar, it is … I cannot describe it. I have never worn anything as grand as this before."

"You have never asked for it, yet I highly doubt you would have been allowed to pass had Cealea been alive; I fear I have been lapse in this department, yendenya. Lady Idril has graciously agreed to help on the matter."

She had given her father a shaky smile, and a kiss to the cheek in thank you.

On the day when she was to wear the dress in public, Anárië found a tub prepared for her and the maids scrubbed her until her skin felt chafed raw. Her hair was washed as well, and combed until it fell down her back in soft ringlets. It was pinned and caught in a diamond-encrusted hair-net. A brooch fashioned as an eight-rayed star with a fountain in the middle completed the look.

She'd never felt more self-conscious as when Ecthelion and she arrived at the King's personal lodgings, flanking the royal palace. Her father looked splending in a robe reminiscent of those Turgon wore, but he had been wearing similar attires longer, and it was not so much of a surprise. Anárië became even more nervous when Glorfindel stepped forward to meet them in the courtyard. He too was clad in a pure white robe, a golden circlet on his brow, his custom vambraces on his arms.

Ecthelion greeted his friend amiably and they exchanged pleasantries, before the Lord of the Fountain stepped aside, holding his daughter's hand out and, while Anárië's heart stuttered erratically, Glorfindel took it with a bow.

Her father went ahead while she looked up into Glorfindel's face to find her peace of mind. The Lord of the Golden Flower was smiling softly, and his eyes were very gentle.

"You spoke with my father."

"I have; we agreed this has been a long time coming. Are you angry because I did not speak with you first?"

She thought for a moment, then finally shook her head, "No, not really. I guess I have been waiting for it to happen."

His smile broadened, and she returned the gesture timidly, before they finally turned and entered Turgon's house together. Anárië was aware that many eyes fell upon them, on the way Glorfindel tucked her hand in the crook of his arm almost possessively – not that she really minded. When she turned her green eyes to look at him, the sapphire blue of his was happy.

They were all gathered tonight, to celebrate the turn of a new year, all high-born members of the Houses, while the rest who could not fit in these halls were celebrating in their homes.

Lalaith caught her eye; Egalmoth's wife looked smugly pleased when she saw who was leading Anárië to their group, and she winked at her, making her blush. Egalmoth, noticing his wife's distraction, followed her gaze and his lips broke into a calm smile.

"I see congratulations will soon be in order," he said once they drew near, "we have all been wondering when this will come about … and where Ecthelion has hidden his daughter tonight."

They laughed, and Anárië turned her flushed face into Glorfindel's shoulder self-consciously.

"Has anyone seen Turgon yet?" Eälasaid, Penlod's wife asked, sensing her despair. Anárië threw a thankful glance her way, while Glorfindel chuckled low in his throat.

"I believe they have just arrived to greet us," Galdor replied as his chocolate-haired wife Caleniel turned her head in the direction of the main inner entrance.

Turgon appeared, Maeglin by his side while Tuor and Idril followed right behind them.

The gathered fell into greeting, men bowing and women curtsying deeply to the royal family, as Turgon lifted his arms to raise them all.

"Friends! Kin! Tonight, we celebrate the coming of a new Dawn, a new year that will hopefully bring with it a bountiful harvest, spring rains and summer sun.

Tonight, we lament for those that were and are no longer with us, and rejoice for those that we may still look upon.

Let us therefore sing to our Lady, Star-kindler, to gaze mercifully upon us despite what grievances we have caused her in the past."

And he spread his arms as if to embrace them all, looking up into the artfully-decorated ceiling that deciped the midnight stars, he lead the way into song, his daughter Idril following in his wake.

They all sang then, their voices mingling in cadence as they asked for Varda to grant their prayers and forgive their wrongs, that they might someday be permitted to return into the West.

Once the song and thus formal beginning of the night's ceremony finished, wine and mead were brought out in plenty, and the King mingled with his people. For the Elves rejoyced, above all, in gatherings such as these in Elder Days. Tumladen lay at peace, the scouts had reported nothing for a long time now, and they knew no fear or shadow.

Ecthelion did not linger by his daughter's side; he went to speak with Tuor and they could be seen standing beside one of the high pillars, deep in conversation. But Anárië did not have time to miss him, for all of a sudden she felt Glorfindel's arm tense under her touch, the muscles cording.

She turned her face up to look at him and saw he was glaring at something. Following his gaze, she was surprised to find Maeglin making his way to them.

He bowed once he reached them; Anárië curtsied, but Glorfindel's head inclination was the only sign of acknowledgement.

"There will be some dancing afterwards – I come to ask for the favour of your lady."

Anárië was puzzled; to her, it was common knowledge that Maeglin held bitter resentment towards Tuor for marrying his cousin Idril, someone he himself loved. The Princess had told her as much. Why was he suddenly expressing a desire to dance with her?

"You are late in transferring your attentions, Mole," Glorfindel replied. Anárië had never heard such coldness in his voice, "the lady is spoken for."

Maeglin's smile was close to a sneer for a moment, but he checked himself well enough, "Ah, pardon, my Lord Flower. I did not mean ill to you or yours. I only asked for the pleasure of your lady's company for one dance."

"Then might I suggest you ask her yourself," the golden-haired Elf-lord replied icily, "she needs no one's permission to make her own decisions."

Anárië instinctively shrank into Glorfindel's side when Maeglin's black eyes landed on her. There was too much of his father in him; very little of the lady Aredhel, his mother. And yet, to decline would not be courteous.

So she nodded stiffly, "I shall dance the second dance with you, my lord."

Maeglin bowed again and took his leave. Glorfindel was already turned in such a way to shield her from his very presence; Anárië looked up into his face again, seeing the tense set of his jaw.

"I would much rather you did not dance with him, not tonight, not ever."

His voice was low, but no longer cold. Anárië shifted closer to him on instinct, placing a hand over the sun emblem on his heart. He covered it with his palm.

"He will not harm me; he would not dare. My father would tear him to pieces; and Maeglin is a much lesser warrior than you."

She had great confidence in him, he realised. A smile ghosted across his lips.

"Perhaps that is so; and you have given your word. It cannot be undone. But that is the only dance you will grant him. I like him not, and he does not find me amiable, it is no secret. He will do what he can to force my hand."

Anárië nodded in agreement – she had no desire to be in Maeglin's company longer than propriety demanded. When Glorfindel shifted again she saw Idril looking in their direction, and once their eyes met she beckoned with her hand.

"Pray excuse me – I must speak with the Princess."

Glorfindel released her, "I will be waiting."

The shift in the way he treated her would take some getting used to; Anárië felt her cheeks colour again as she smiled and walked away, moving towards Idril.

The Princess took her hand when she was close enough, placing it to her elbow.

"Walk with me for a moment, my dear – my husband is busy entertaining your father it would seem, and mine own sire is speaking with Lord Rog."

They took to walking on the outer perimeter of the hall. This close to Idril, Anárië could see the princess was wearing hair jewels, glimmering in the light and against her golden hair.

"I saw my cousin speaking with you and Glorfindel. The latter did not look amused."

She looked into Idril's eyes; they were grave.

"Anárië, it is not upon me to tell you who to keep company, but as a friend I advise you to steer away from Maeglin. A shadow lies over his heart; I have perceived it the moment he laid eyes on me when my aunt, his lady mother, brought him to Gondolin. There is something there that does not sleep. You would do well to ignore him."

"I have promised to dance with him," Anárië confessed, "just one dance. I could not refuse someone of the royal family."

Idril nodded, "Verily, you could not. But do not allow him to put you into compromising situations that will question your manners or your integrity. Stay close to Glorfindel, your father, or even myself and my husband. Maeglin rarely does something without purpose."

Anárië wished, by now, that she could find a way out of the agreement, but just as she was about to speak a dark shadow moved in the corner of her eye. Beside her, Idril drew herself to her full height, and turned the younger elleth so that she was partly behind her.

Maeglin smiled at them both sweetly.

"Cousin, my lady."

"Cousin," Idril greeted him politely, but with the same polite distance she might use to speak with a foreign visitor. It did not go unnoticed, but Maeglin did not linger; he simply bowed and left again.

Anárië was released from Idril's side as the princess went in search of Tuor, while she returned to Glorfindel, who was speaking with Egaith and Duinhir. He smiled when he saw her draw near, and extended a hand, while the other two politely made room for her.

Duinhir, thankfully, harboured no hard feelings towards either her or Glorfindel, and so talk resumed quickly enough, to the satisfaction of all. Elves moved among the gathered with trays, and the guests delighted in the treats Turgon's cooks had prepared for the night.

Glorfindel danced with Anárië in the opening dance, but as she had promised, the second dance belonged to Maeglin. Ecthelion, as she noticed when she curtsied, had moved closer to Glorfindel, and directly to her right, Tuor and Idril were dancing, their faces unreadable.

"Your protectors close the net around me," Maeglin commented as she passed him. Anárië disliked the sound of his voice: it was too sweet. Sickly so.

"I do not need protectors," she replied with a bland smile, "although I am flattered to hear you think so."

They were silent for a few turns.

"I have never seen you in Glorfindel's company on such occassions … is this a permanent change?"

Anárië met his eyes evenly, her own hardening: "It does not concern you, but for what it's worth, I will one day become the Lady of the Golden Flower."

This news seemed to shock him; thankfully the dance ended soon after, and she could excuse herself. Glorfindel was waiting for her on the edge of the dance floor, and once her hand was in his, Anárië sighed and relaxed, smiling at him.

"I did not know you thought it prudent to dance with Maeglin," Ecthelion commented. His daughter shrugged lightly.

"There was no harm done. He sensed that four, at least, were against him. He told me as much."

Her father nodded, then turned when Idril and Tuor joined them, and Glorfindel used the space of a heartbeat when the princess asked Ecthelion a question to slip aside, leading Anárië away.

"Where are you taking me?" she laughed softly as they passed through a side door, "the celebrations are far from over!"

"They are not, but I am in need of fresh air," he replied, smiling as they stepped into the crisp night. Anárië breathed deeply, allowing Glorfindel to tug her after him, and hand in hand they walked slowly towards the large fountain in the King's square.

They stopped under Glingal and Belthil, the two trees of gold and silver Turgon had made in memory of the Two Trees of Valinor. Glorfindel turned to her.

"I saw you exchanged words with Maeglin," he said, and Anárië nodded.

"We did not speak much, other than about those who he noticed as my 'protectors'."

Glorfindel's lips quivered, "He thinks you need protection from him?"

Anárië was slightly annoyed at that, "I told him I do not; and indeed, I do not think he can do me any harm. In any case, I will erase that smile off his face somehow."

The Elf-lord beside her chuckled softly and shook his head.

"I seem to be tempting fate with this – do you intend to threaten me as well?"

She smiled up at him, "No, not really. And I did not threaten Maeglin – I merely stated fact."

He arched an eyebrow, "Oh?"

Anárië could feel her cheeks grow hot again and she shifted, looking down.

"He was wondering about us … about why we are suddenly so close. I told him I am to be your wife."

For a heartbeat, the only noise around them was the tinkling fall of water, muting the sound of merriment from inside. Then Glorfindel's hand was under her chin and he lifted her face to meet her eyes again.

"A bold statement, my lady … I did not ask it of you yet."

Anárië's heart skipped a beat. She was sure he could hear it.

"Were you going to?"

Glorfindel's expression turned infinitely tender, "Yes."

Her throat went dry, but she forced her quivering lips into a smile as she stepped closer to him, "Then you have your answer."

She placed her hands on his chest even as one of his settled on her lower back, and the other cupped her face. He filled her vision again, her world, as he leaned close, and she could smell honey and something else on his breath, mixed with wine. His lips were soft against her own when they touched, and Anárië's eyes closed as she gave in to her other senses; the feel of his heartbeat under her palms, the warmth of his hand through the layers of her clothes.

The kiss was sweet; when she pulled away he did not object, but drew her against his front as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. She felt his lips touch her hair.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that, but after a while Glorfindel moved and took her hand again, leading her back to the feast. For the remaining part of the night she did not leave his side, and he did not let her out of his sight. And when the time came to part, he kissed her again.

Anárië could not honestly say how she made it home and to her own bed. When she fell asleep, she dreamed of a fair house with many turrets, and a laughing Elf-lord with hair like ripe gold and eyes as clear sapphires.


Yendenya - my daughter, Quenya
Atar - dad, Quenya