Flame of Gondolin, book 2: Miss Independent

CHAPTER EIGHT
Spring, 280 SA

Her limbs felt like lead when she woke, and Anárië groaned, sitting up in bed and resting her face in her hands. Outside, she could see Arien sailing happily, and the calls of construction workers were already loud in the morning stillness.

The city was growing, slowly but surely, with each passing day, and everyone who was within its walls was expected to help; the elleth had spent the majority of the previous couple of days leading horses who drew behind them heavy wagons full of stone and wood. She had seen very little of Elrond during that time, as he was held with other duties.

Today, however, they would be together again, for the High King was riding to the Dwarven establishment of Khazad-dûm.

The great city of the stone-working race had begun its ascent soon after the first Dwarves moved into the region from the Blue Mountains. Their king Durin was famed as wise and just, but also of a quick temper, and Gil-galad was planning on establishing a trade connection and friendly liaison as soon as was physically possible.

Which was why she needed to get herself dressed and out into the open air soon.

Anárië bit her lower lip as her legs complained to her, and told them to be silent. Washing herself quickly, she was dressed and presentable when Elrond came to knock on her door.

"You’re awake," he said with an almost child-like enthusiasm which she hadn’t heard him use since their arrival in Lindon, almost two hundred years ago. She smiled.

"Yes, in a fashion. It took some buckets of cold water, but I am awake now."

The ellon laughed, and reached over to take her hand; he was taller than she was now by some inches, but she still did not need to turn her head up to look at him. Her lineage helped her there.

"I am glad, for the King means to ride as soon as all of our party is assembled, which will apparently be within a quarter of an hour – you have everything?"

Anárië took hold of the belt upon which her father’s sword was buckled, and nodded: "Now I do."

He smiled wider and they left her rooms together, following the many steep stairs down to the main level of the palace and the inner courtyard, where the horses would be waiting for them.

Among others who would ride in this delegation that king Durin had invited to his realm were the commander of Gil-galad’s forces with a group of soldiers for protection, some other nobles she did not yet know, and their spouses.

Anárië made it a point to avoid the commander at all costs, especially once she had her horse; she kept the stallion between herself and the other Elf at all times. Elrond seemed mildly amused by it all.

"I simply do not wish to argue with him today," she grumbled out in response at his silent question about it. It was true, since they did not see eye to eye, especially recently. The elleth thought the commander a bully and an arrogant fool, while she knew he thought her to be a pretender who was hiding behind a sword of noble lineage. She did not wish to argue again over the fact that, being Ecthelion’s sole heir, she would have received the Flame of Gondolin regardless whether the city had fallen or not.

Gil-galad appeared at the top of the stairs with some other Elves, though the ones that drew Anárië’s eyes were two of the ladies that would accompany them; they were both tall and statuesque, though one more so than the other. Their features were similar, and so she deduced that they were sisters. Their hair was dark, but while that of the taller seemed entirely black, the smaller of the pair sported some sort of highlights that made it look as if light caught upon her tresses.

She looked to Elrond for explanation.

"They are the ladies Berien and Wilvarin," he explained in a quiet murmur, barely moving his lips, "their father had been a herald in lord Fingon’s army, and he had been passed down from the lord Fingolfin."

The King came to them then, and they could not continue their discussion, so they bowed in silence.

"A fair morning for riding," said Ereinion, and he and Elrond exchanged a smile, before the High King turned to Anárië: "My lady, I hope you shall not mind the company I brought for you – lady Berien, this is lady Anárië. You might find some interesting topics to share, since I do believe you had kin in Gondolin, where she hails from."

It was no secret that Anárië was an exile of the fair city, so she did not deny it now either, but she did see the eyes of the two ellith spark with sudden interest. Berien had light grey irises, while Wilvarin, the smaller one, had blue ones.

"It will be an honour and a pleasure to answer any questions the ladies might have, Your Majesty," she replied with an inclination of her head, and exchanged a small smile with the other two. Wilvarin shied away a little, but Berien returned the gesture with a wide smile of her own as she was helped into the saddle. Anárië pulled herself up as well, and looked to Elrond, who had already mounted and was holding the King’s horse steady. He nodded, and she turned away to keep her focus on the two ellith.

Their conversation was mostly small talk and general questions until they were far afield from Lindon and making steady progress in the direction of the Misty Mountains which loomed ahead of them in the far distance. That was when Berien first spoke of more than weather and life at court:

"You are close to lord Elrond?"

Anárië turned her head sharply, before telling herself to relax; Berien had not just thrown an axe at her charge, she was simply curious.

So she nodded: "I have been since the day of his birth; I knew his father from a very young age, in Gondolin. I swore to protect him and his brother."

Wilvarin’s eyes showed she wished to ask something, but instead her older sister took charge again: "Brother? It is true, then, what they say about him? That he is Peredhel?"

Half-Elven. Yes, it was as accurate term as any, she thought, though she would have wished that it were not applied so generously.

"Yes; his brother, Elros, chose to become mortal, and travelled to rule the Edain upon the island they were awarded after the War of Wrath. If I know him correctly, he would have turned it all upside down by now, and acquired as many beautiful women to him as possible."

The younger sister’s eyes widened in shock, but Berien threw her head back and laughed, immediately picking up on the joke in Anárië’s words.

"That sounds about right from what we’ve heard, yes."

She smiled brightly, and Anárië smiled back. A prickly feeling to her neck made her turn around, and she just caught sight of the commander’s horse swiftly mingling with the other soldiers, which brought a frown to her features.

"Do not mind him," came Berien’s soft voice, and Anárië looked back at her. She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug: "He is jealous that I can speak and laugh so freely with you, when I so wish to throttle him each time we are together."

Anárië felt her brows rise in understanding, but she did not delve into the subject further, since she gathered that Berien did not wish to speak of it yet.

"The King said you had kin in Gondolin?" she asked instead, carefully picking the path for her horse down a steeper slope they were crossing.

Both the sisters nodded: "A cousin, on our mother’s side. Duilin. I remember him but vaguely, I was only a child when we saw him last, before he rode away with Turgon, and Wilvarin has never met him at all."

She paused in her explanation at the sight of the smile that lit Anárië’s face.

"I take it you knew him well?"

"He was a frequent visitor in my father’s house," Anárië nodded, "his wife and my mother were close friends. I have a bow and a set of arrows of his making, for he was Gondolin’s greatest scout, and his house was devoted to that cause. Lady Tinnuwen – his wife – was stern and as hard as steel, but that, I think, is something to be expected of the sister to the master smith of our city."

Berien’s eyes shone as she leaned forward on her horse: "Are you speaking of lord Rog? You knew him?"

"He tossed me in the air quite frequently when I was a child, and made fun of everyone he could, whenever he could," Anárië confessed sheepishly, "but he was generous and kind, and my father loved him dearly."

More than dearly; Ecthelion and Rog had been close friends, but emotions closed around her and she fell silent. Berien understood, and did not press her with questions. They resumed their conversation after a few quiet moments, with Anárië asking about their relation to the Gondolin lord, and their father’s position in Fingon’s army.

She soon learned that their father had perished during the War of Wrath, like so many others then, and that the sisters had spent quite some time with lord Círdan in Mithlond, where they had first met Gil-galad, and decided to travel with him when he went to establish his own kingdom. Berien would have actually gone with the ships that had sailed to the aid of Sirion, for she was a good archer, if not for Wilvarin. She could not leave her sister unprotected.

"Also, I have just remembered," she said suddenly, on the second day of their journey after they had talked more about Gondolin, and all the people there, "I have something of yours, my lady; it was granted to me by a friend before he left with Círdan."

Anárië arched an eyebrow in confusion: "Oh? And please, call me Anárië, or Anná. The title makes me feel uncomfortable."

Berien smiled: "Only if you do the same for us, then. But yes; I have in my possession a locked chest, plain and wooden, but quite heavy when one tries to move it."

Anárië’s breath caught.

"Egalmoth!"

It was Wilvarin that replied this time: "Yes; lord Egalmoth spent a lot of time with us when we were in Mithlond, after he was rescued from the Havens of Sirion. He returned there some time afterwards and brought the chest with him, but would not part with it until it was made clear that Círdan would have need of him. Because we were going with the High King, and he knew of his connection to Elrond, he hoped we would be able to find you."

Anárië felt like soaring – her possessions! She had completely forgotten about them at first, but as soon as they were more comfortably settled, and she had time to think, she wished she could return and seek out the cavern where the chest had been hidden. She had not thought that her uncle would have taken her this seriously, but she was grateful to him nonetheless.

"And he is with Círdan, you say?" she asked after a moment. Berien nodded, and her heart exulted in the feelings coursing through her. So more than a few had survived! They were simply strewn about.

She told this to Elrond when they stopped for the night again, and he looked as happy as she felt.

"This might mean that there are more," he mused out loud as they brushed the horses down, "which is more than we could have hoped for."

"I know," she agreed. She remembered Maedhros’ words about Egalmoth shooting his bannerman from a retreating ship, and wondered whether her other uncle was with Círdan as well. What had become of Galdor? She needed answers to these questions, but she did not think she would get them soon.

Their journey proved uneventful as they finally drew near to the mountains, and they were met with a group of Dwarven outriders, sitting on stocky ponies with thick fur.

"Well met!" called one of them as they halted their horses, and he kicked his pony closer; his beard was russet in colour, though he seemed to be very young underneath it. His blue eyes twinkled with some hidden mischief.

"I am Dwain, cousin to the King; he has asked me to bid you welcome to his kingdom, and take you to him."

"Hail," greeted Gil-galad, and dismounted to accommodate the Dwarf and show him such gestures were not beneath him. Anárië sensed the approval coming from the other Dwarves behind Dwain.

"Our journey has been long, but not tiresome; I hope you have not been made to wait for us out here."

Dwain’s eyes twinkled even more: "Not at all, Elven-king. We have outposts on this side of the Mountains. But come! King Durin bade me make all haste once you arrived. We have already sent a raven back with news."

They took to their mounts again, and Gil-galad rode side by side with Dwain for the remaining journey, which took them four more hours. Finally, they came to the end of a road they had followed throughout Hollin. It was guarded by Dwarven sentries on either side of a mighty gate that stood open.

"You will have to leave your horses on the upper level here, I fear," Dwain said as he lowered himself to the ground, "they cannot pass over the steps in Khazad-dûm."

The Elves did as they were asked, and took what they had brought with them. Dwain bowed low before the ladies of the group, as if noticing them for the first time.

"Forgive discourtesy! Had we known there would be such fair folk riding to our gates, we would have prepared a welcome feast for our weary guests up here. Alas! We must pass some levels down before you may rest now."

The men seemed amused by this, but the women were pleased with such talk, and assured Dwain that there was nothing remotely wrong about some more walking.

And walk they did, for the Dwarves had not been idle since their arrival; the caverns and halls that opened before them were one more wondrous than the other, and they all looked around them in awe.

Dwain proudly explained different procedures and stones and miracles that had happened in various places as he led them ever onwards, to the light of torches upon the walls, and soon enough crystals that seemed to shine from within.

"It is a secret," he laughed when Elrond asked about them, "a secret you will perhaps learn if the King grants you the honour. For now, be content that your way is lit; when we first came, our only light came from the fire we made with our own hands."

Anárië looked around herself in open wonder; the pillars that rose high above her head where she could not see the roof were carved in the likeness of trees; the floor under their feet was polished and gleamed whenever light touched it; on the upper levels, there was still light through windows that had been cut into the rock to the outside world. Once they passed below, however, those disappeared, but it was no less light.

Temperature rose as they descended, and Anárië stepped faster to meet with Dwain’s pace so she could ask him about it.

The Dwarf smiled: "It is the fires of our forges, which never stop; that, and also the flames for the feast prepared for your arrival."

She was both stunned and touched that the race which they knew so little about would go through so much trouble for them.

"Have you met many of us before?" she asked him after a moment of silence.

He shook his head: "Only stragglers, but our King wishes to remedy that. We are a race of rock and stone, not of farming. We must trade to survive. It is why Durin has agreed to this meeting to begin with."

She smiled: "Your king is very wise."

Dwain smiled back, and it was now his turn to ask a question: "You do not seem like those that we have met before, however; your hair is lighter, and your speech slightly different."

Glorfindel had once told her that she spoke with a slight Vanya accent, possibly acquired through Cealea’s teaching, since her father had been fully Vanya. That this would still be noticeable was almost a miracle.

"My mother and her line are not of the same kindred as the High King Gil-galad," she explained, "I have been told that I look much like her, but act as my father, who was Noldo."

Dwain nodded at that: "That explains it, then. My cousin will be pleased to know many different members of your kindreds."

It was only later that she made the connection with Durin; at the time, she simply felt like she had just gained a friend.

They stopped before what seemed like a wide platform with three walls, and the Elves eyed it with curiosity and slight unease, but Dwain was quite unfazed. He stepped onto it, and beckoned to them: "This will be faster than stairs."

Once they were all gathered beside him, he pulled the front shut with what looked like a net, but seemed to be of some metal or other; then the whole platform suddenly shifted, and moved, lowering them.

Dwain laughed at the Elves’ expressions: "Worry not, it is perfectly safe; we have been using them at our home under the Blue Mountains, and they are no different here!"

That relaxed the group a little, and Berien exchanged a look with Anárië that spoke of amusement, before turning back to placate her sister. Anárië felt like they had dropped forever before the platform finally stopped, and Dwain pulled the gate open. They were welcomed by warm air, the scent of food, and the sight of a vast, lit hall full of Dwarves.

"Welcome, to the Dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm!" Dwain told them, and bowed again.

Gil-galad took the lead, as another Dwarf stepped up to meet them, and led them over to where King Durin sat at the head of a long and well-laden table. He was obviously older than Dwain, but he too had deep-set blue eyes, and a twinkle within them as he stood to greet his guests. Dwain swiftly arranged that they were all seated, Gil-galad and his inner court at the King’s table, and the rest at the many side ones that had been set up. Then the feasting began.

Anárië would never forget the feasts of the Dwarves, the roaring fires upon which they turned the food that was to be set upon the tables, the great barrels of drink they just kept on pouring and consuming, the boisterous laughter that echoed off walls and came back multiplied by ten. Above all else, she would never forget the sound of her own laugh, as Dwain amused them all with numerous stories of himself and the King from their early days. She had not laughed so much in what seemed like an Age.

Dwain remained their guide and companion for the duration of their stay with Durin; Gil-galad and the Dwarven King walked side by side and talked, while the Elves mingled with the Dwarves and learned what they could of a race so foreign to them.

Anárië and Dwain became fast friends during that time, and Elrond was very much amused at how the Dwarf seemed to endlessly wish to get his mentor drunk on the beer his race brewed itself, not that she ever gave him the pleasure. More often than not, it was Dwain who had to be carried away, snoring in drunken stupor, but that never stopped him from coming back the next evening.

The time to part came almost too soon for most Elves, but Gil-galad needed to return to Lindon; he promised that the road to his city would always be open to the Dwarves.

Dwain led them back to the upper levels and the outside world again, and before they left, he pressed a small parcel into Anárië’s hand. His parting was a wink in her direction, and a bow to them all once they were seated on their horses, and then they were off. She only opened the gift when they stopped for the night, carefully unwrapping whatever was inside the rough leather.

It seemed to be a large pendant, made of a metal she could not name; upon it was set a fountain embracing a long, elegant sword. Where the hilt touched the blade, there was the tiniest crystal, just like the ones that lit the way in the Dwarven halls. With it came a slender, strong chain, of apparently the same metal as the pendant.

Anárië felt her throat constrict when she traced the familiar pattern of the fountain’s spray, and her eyes filled with tears even as she smiled. In just a few short days, Dwain had deduced just how much she missed her father, her home, her former life, and he had given her a memento of it.

She carefully shifted her hair and secured the necklace, settling the mithril pendant – for it was mithril, the coveted metal of the Dwarves – against her skin.

She never took it off again.