Flame of Gondolin, novella: A Christmas Carol

Winter, 1 TA
Imladris

"… was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay; in fields where they lay keeping their sheep, on a cold winter’s night that was so deep …"

Glorfindel paused mid-step through the door to the library, and smiled when he heard the voice of his wife softly singing to herself. She had developed the habit in the last year of the Great Siege, mostly to keep her mind otherwise occupied from the constant thundering of siege weapons, or those were at least his thoughts. In any event, she still kept it up, singing when she was working on something alone.

Anárië was sitting behind one of the high tables in the library, carefully rolling up some spare parchment she hadn’t used up so that she wouldn’t have anybody behind her neck for it. The act of singing had come to her without her truly realizing it.

"… They looked up and saw a star, shining in the East beyond them far; and to the earth it gave great light, and so it continued both day and night …"

Suddenly, her concentration was interrupted when she sensed another’s presence, and her head came up with a sharp motion, one hand already reaching to her side with the speed of a flying arrow.

Glorfindel lifted his hands in surrender.

Her eyes flashed: "AGAIN?"

His smile was apologetic: "I’m sorry, it was never my intention to fall upon you like this; I honestly thought you would have heard me sooner."

And she probably would have, had she not been signing, and her mind on other things besides the obvious fact of her husband looking for her.

Her hands dropped, her fingers returning from where they had reached for the hilt of a dagger that was protruding out of a sheath strapped to her boot. Glorfindel recognized the workmanship of one of the smiths in Gondolin, but the sign upon it was that of the House of the Wing.

"Is that the knife Tuor gave you?" he asked her quietly as he took a seat opposite her in the alcove she had picked.

Her fingers returned to trace the House pattern absent-mindedly: "Yes; I’ve carried it with me ever since."

His thoughts took a turn in a random direction: "Even while Ereinion was entertaining guests in Lindon? At a banquet?"

She lifted her eyes to his face again: "Of course; I always wore boots under the dresses."

The image itself shouldn’t have been funny at all, but for some reason it made him chuckle, and Anárië finished rolling up the last piece of parchment with a snap.

"Need I remind you I was sworn to protect the High King at all times and at all cost?"

"I know, and it’s not that which I’m laughing at," he apologized, "But, if you think about it, it is a little funny, isn’t it? Boots and a knife and a dress."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips were being tugged upwards involuntarily, so she busied herself with replacing the cap on the ink bottle and cleaning the quills she had used.

Glorfindel decided to change the subject: "What have you been doing?"

"Copying some of the maps our scouts have made," she answered him, "I wanted to have them in our rooms, and they would be needed here, too."

His attention turned to the items he could see strewn about the table, and he turned one of the before-mentioned towards him, going through the names he knew and over the ridge of the northern border of Imladris, among others.

"These are very detailed, who were the scouts?"

"Erestor was with the ones heading to the North," she confirmed his inner guesses, "But other than him, I would have to check in the reports to name others for you."

"No need, I was simply curious."

She inclined her head and finished up her work, ready to push away from the table: "Did you have a purpose in coming here, or was it purely for selfish reasons?"

Her eyes danced slightly despite her words, and Glorfindel smiled in return: "I was actually sent to find you by princess Celebrían. She wanted to ask you to join her in her rooms, if you had the time."

Anárië arched an eyebrow over that piece of information, but stood anyway: "In that case, I should probably make haste. I won’t eat in the main hall tonight, by the way; I’ll have them send something up to our rooms."

"I’ll see you there, then," her husband agreed, and they parted ways, though she had the distinct feeling that he had wanted to say something else, but refrained.

Her steps took her through the Last Homely House and the sound of shovels followed. They were still getting rid of the snow which had managed to surprise them and was now icing up behind their dwellings, and in the lower levels. She had been excused of the labour today simply because she had been too exhausted to rejoin the efforts, but tomorrow she knew she would be going back to work.

Knocking on the door to the princess’ rooms, she heard a cheerful ‘Enter’ and slipped through.

Celebrían smiled when she saw her: "I’m so happy you could take the time to come, my lady; I know how busy you are with everything here."

"Please, call me Anárië," the other elleth murmured, "I am but a humble servant to Your Highness."

Celebrían waved a hand and indicated she should sit: "Biggest piece of nonsense I’ve ever heard; I know of your deeds and exploits during the Last Alliance, and I stand in awe with you, I will tell you this honestly. I only wish I could have half your courage."

Anárië shifted in the chair she had been given: "Not all of it came from courage."

Celebrían’s face showed honest compassion: "I know, and I do understand that. My life, and the lives of the other women who remained behind, was spent in prayer while the war lasted."

They both fell silent as they contemplated what they had gone through, each of their own accord and on her side, before the princess shook her head: "But, forgive me, I did not call you here to speak of such things, at least not that I would consciously know about it."

Anárië smiled slightly: "What was it that you wished to speak to me about, then?"

The elleth opposite her flicked away an imaginary speck of dust from one of her sleeves, and she suddenly knew exactly what the situation was all about.

"Is this about Elrond?"

The tell-tale blush on Celebrían’s cheeks was all the answer she needed, and so she smiled, waiting in quiet content.

The princess sighed: "I know this is awkward for you, but … lord Glorfindel assured me you would not mind my questions, and I know you have known the Lord of the Vale the longest …"

"Ever since his birth, yes," Anárië nodded, "so all his life. But tell me, what is it that you wish to know? What troubles you?"

Celebrían nipped at her bottom lip with her teeth, and Anárië held back a sigh, wishing she could give her charge a little nudge – or a not-so-subtle kick – in the right direction.

The princess of Lothlórien finally glanced at the tray on the table between them: "I was simply hoping that you would know …"

She trailed off, hesitating, and Anárië reminded herself that Rímallen, who had originally been meant for Elrond, would have probably shared her own views and thoughts already, but it seemed her sister needed further convincing.

"If I know whether or not he cares for you more than he lets show?"

Celebrían, blushing furiously, couldn’t meet her eyes.

Anárië took pity on her: "My princess, trust your heart in this; it will guide you where you need to go. I do not know every thought the Lord harbours, but I do know he holds you in the highest esteem."

No need to mention he was as nervous as a colt before this personal trial, or that he was obviously dawdling.

The blue eyes lifted to her own were shining with unveiled hope now: "Oh, I truly wish this were so. I dearly, truly wish it."

Anárië heartily agreed with her, seeing the way her emotions were written on her face, expressive like an open book, and smiled, touching her hand: "I’m sure he will speak soon, before you have to leave. Which in this case, will probably take a couple of days more, but as the old saying goes: patience is a virtue."

Celebrían smiled ruefully: "I’ve never really learned how to not be impatient."

With someone as mincing about as Elrond, Anárië thought as she made her way to her own chambers again some time later, it was probably difficult to be even a little patient. She was going to have to do something soon if things didn’t evolve naturally.

Glorfindel had his feet stretched out to the fire, with supper waiting on the table, when she arrived with an exasperated expression on her face.

His amusement spiked immediately: "Allow me to hazard a guess – the situation is still at an impasse."

"I am this close to asking you to push him in the right direction," Anárië replied, showing him the amount with her thumb and forefinger, and it didn’t cover an inch, "Celebrían has been asking me whether I can tell her anything about his feelings."

Glorfindel whistled a low whistle: "That is serious."

"And tiresome," she admitted, lowering herself into her chair with a sigh, "the sooner it gets resolved, the better, in my opinion."

He poured her out a large cup of hot chocolate: "It will resolve itself in due time; trust in the Valar on this. Their design is everywhere."

"I find it hard to believe anyone finds any kind of amusement with Elrond’s current dawdling," the elleth quipped dryly, and Glorfindel had to laugh at that.

"True that, but then, the ways of the Valar are not the ways of the Eldar, after all."

She decided to drop the spiritual aspect of their current conversation, and reached to help herself to some warm soup, dipping salty bread into it and munching on the mouthful with quiet content.

They ate the rest of their meal through in silence, and even the wolf cubs seemed satisfied with the peace, eating their own dinners.

Eventually, Anárië copied her husband’s pose and stretched her long legs out to warm her feet against the flames in the fireplace: "That was a good meal. How far are we with the snow?"

"We progress, but it will still take some time," he answered her, "They are focusing now on the southern side so the stables can get easier access to the main courtyard."

"It will be a long day tomorrow," she mused out loud, shaking her head and sighing, but making no move to relocate herself.

Glorfindel did that momentarily to check on the wolves, and when he came back he was carrying a small box with him.

Anárië perked up when she remembered his little game: "Are there any more of these? Perhaps eight more?"

He laughed, shaking his head: "Just one, but you will find the numbered items inside, I promise you."

She gave him a quick smile and then carefully examined the workmanship on the box itself before attempting to open it; the lid was beautifully carved with a single flower, and she didn’t have to look far to understand the meaning.

"You saved this," she said, caressing the sigil of the Golden Flower with her fingertips as she looked up.

Glorfindel nodded, smiling: "It held a few keepsakes that I managed to grab through the confusion; but I think you will like what’s inside it."

She turned her attention back to the box and lifted the lid carefully. Inside, she saw silk wrappings, and she gently took the small package out, laying the box aside and unravelling the material in her lap.

She gave a small laugh.

"Light cavalry."

Glorfindel relaxed into his seat and watched in satisfaction as his wife spread out the nine cards before her on the table, her fingers dancing across their surface fondly. He had had them made a while back, keeping them close, and each one represented some stage of the games she had played with little Eärendil back in the day.

"I didn’t know you could add to the original display," she commented, drawing him back to the present.

"Not usually, no, but I don’t think there’s one game in the whole of Imladris," he replied, "so I think we’ll have to build it from the start."

She looked back at the cards in front of her, smiling at the basics she could see: "Then this is a very good start."

It was the game of her maidenhood, the game of their home, a past time straight out of a previous life, and her heart swelled slightly as she thought about how much insight her husband had into what she missed, and what she had cherished.

Carefully putting the cards back into the silk and then into the box again, Anárië stood and crossed over to Glorfindel, placing a hand against his shoulder; he hesitated for a moment, then slipped an arm around her waist.

She smiled: "Thank you, Glorfindel. You truly know what will mean most to me. I appreciate every gift you give me."

His smile was warm in return, his hand lightly running in small circles against her back: "That is all the praise I could ever ask for. I’m glad."

She leaned against him lightly, and he tightened his hold on her, both of them content.

***

Note: the song is, obviously, The First Noel, originating from somewhere around the 18th century, though in its current form it was arranged by John Stainer in 1871. The lyrics I chose could easily describe Eärendil.