FicWad

Disclaimer: I do not own anything but my own characters; everything belongs to Tolkien the genius.

Author’s Notes: I know, I have been bad about updating again. However, I intend to get at least two more chapters out before the end of the year. Thanks again to Rhapsody for being my beta and cheerleader.

Chapter Fifty-One: Unqua Estel

The soft glow of the spring sun lightened the sky in an array of soft purples and pinks as dawn approached. Glorfindel gazed at the beauty of Anar’s arrival through his bedroom window, numb to everything else around him except for the soft breathing coming from the form beneath his long fingers. Gently, he smoothed Elrilya’s hair on her head despite having removed and straightened all her tousled strands during the dark hours of the night long ago. She slept, though not peacefully, upon his chest. Glorfindel could still see the troubled and sad lines on her face that had pervaded her usual calm as of late.

Slumber had not come easily to Glorfindel; though, he took solace that Elrilya managed to find it despite her sorrow. Since the return of Gondolin’s army from the terrible battle with Morgoth, a dark gloom had fallen upon many in the city. The days on the battlefield still haunted Glorfindel’s thoughts and sleep did not chase the dreadful images away; thus, he lay awake most nights staring out the windows until Elrilya’s deep breaths hypnotized him into a trance of silent repose. Tearing his gaze away from the sun’s rays, Glorfindel looked upon Elrilya’s face to search for any disturbed dreams or thoughts within her mind. Her half-lidded, unfocused eyes showed nothing but her face was still tense and her arm held tightly to him.

Many in the city knew of the outcome faraway from them during the battle. Bonds with loved ones and spouses were suddenly pained or cut-off completely. Elrilya had felt much from Glorfindel across their connection; however, he had tried to block from her much of what he encountered. When Glorfindel returned to her, Elrilya first checked to see if harm had come his way. However, despite her quick perusal of his body, it showed no such injury. She wished to be with him, having seen the worried features on his face, but he encouraged her to tend to those who were in need of healers.

Having been among the soldiers and treating them, Elrilya had learned much more about the battle. When she finally returned to their home, the sadness in her eyes told him she knew of the fate that the sons of Hador had met. Elrilya cried, clutching him tightly while Glorfindel held her and his own tears finally began to fall, until she had finally succumbed to rest out of sheer exhaustion. That was when Glorfindel could no longer find his own peace.

Glorfindel kept his days busy to avoid dwelling alone in his mind. With the memory of High King Fingon’s death and the decimation of his army, the Eldar who had followed him and his sire were vulnerable. Turgon sent soldiers, volunteers who freely chose to go, to bring those of Hithlum to Gondolin. This all required haste since Fingon’s house fell, leaving far too many behind, but those who left quickest managed a secure and discreet passage to the hidden city. Turgon had planned Gondolin well and there was plenty of housing for the new arrivals since those who had perished on the plains of Anfauglith had left empty dwellings. Glorfindel had taken to helping make their transitions as easy as possible, no matter what bitter memories it brought.

Elrilya had not spoken of their long spoken desire for children for quite some time. They discussed it before the army of Gondolin mobilized; however, now the pain of profound loss tainted their thoughts. Elrilya still grieved for the two Edain children who had brought so much joy to their household. Glorfindel mourned as well in his own way, but none mentioned Huor and Húrin in name for the last year since the Eldar had waged war with the Dark Lord. The attacks on the Edain of Dor-lómin by the Easterlings scattered the tribes of Men and the Eagles delivered those few tidings as to what happened to the kin of Huor and Húrin.

It had been difficult for all of them to get back into routines. Turgon buried himself in his duties while Idril kept a watchful eye on him with concern that a deeper worry weighed on him now since he attained the title of High King. Ereinion Gil-Galad was too young to take the place of his slain sire and still was under the guardianship of Cirdan in the Havens. Yet, Turgon felt that he could hardly give the Noldor outside of Gondolin hope with his rule by staying in his unknown realm. Idril tried to convince him that the Eldar knew Gondolin was in the wilds of the world and added that the fact Morgoth knew not where they were, brought further optimism that they would succeed.

More than before, Maeglin had taken to working in the forges more often than his wont. The young nephew of the king had won acclaim for his bravery in the battle, but his growing dark moods kept most people at a distance. Ecthelion often kept company with him and even accompanied him in the forges and mines giving the young elf advice from his days long ago in the forges of Valinor. The injury to his shoulder kept Ecthelion from the training fields and sword practice for quite a while until his muscles and tendons had healed because pain had hindered much of his ability to spar. Thus, he was glad to exert his energy through teaching in his old craftsmanship love from his younger years.

“You are lost in thought again,” Elrilya said suddenly, breaking Glorfindel out of his quiet stare at his fingers moving through her hair.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No,” she answered and sighed. “I could no longer sleep.”

“I love you,” Glorfindel said softly and kissed Elrilya’s forehead tenderly.

Sitting up, Elrilya watched him carefully then leaned over Glorfindel’s face, her dark hair making a curtain around them. She placed a gentle kiss to his lips, her blue eyes giving him the response to his words.

“And I love you as well,” she replied, her small fingers dancing along his cheek. “I never forget that.”

“Neither do I,” Glorfindel said, hugging her to him tightly. “The reminder always gives me joy.”

A sad smile spread on Elrilya’s lips and she nuzzled into his neck and hair, not wanting to leave their embrace any time soon.

“You must sleep, melindo,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said, but her gaze told him she barely believed it. “You are fretful in your slumber too, do not try to deny that. It has not been a year for anyone, especially ourselves.”

“It needs to end,” she quietly said. “We cannot remain this way.”

“You speak truthfully, but I fear more is to come soon,” Glorfindel answered. “More shall befall us.”

“We should not speak thusly,” Elrilya said, moving aside for him to see her face. “It is part of why our days are in shadow.”

“I will try for your sake,” Glorfindel said, managing a smile. “Come, let us rise for the day. I shall prepare our meal, your favorite.”

*

Later in the day, Glorfindel wandered through the city to the stables. Elrilya had taken to the healing chambers for her duties and he felt the need to ride beyond the white walls of the city. He hoped that his escape into the surrounding meadows and hills would distract him for a while from the overwhelming thoughts of the previous night and that morning. The walk did not help Glorfindel in his quest to clear his mind since many of Gondolin’s inhabitants appeared to be in a similar apathy as he and Elrilya were, but there was an uncertainty apparent in them.

Váremo followed closely, loping slowly on his long limbs but not falling behind his master too far. He, too, seemed to notice the change in everyone and Glorfindel knew his hound needed a good run in the fields along with him to get away from the memories of old. When Váremo realized where Glorfindel was headed, he barked, his joyful nature returning at knowing the simple pleasure he was about to enjoy. The stalls in the barn were quiet too except for a random snort from one of the horses or a heavy hoof crunching the hay-strewn floor, not to mention Váremo’s excited thump of his tail against the wood columns and walls.

A whinny caught Glorfindel’s interest and he managed a smile when he approached the gate. Once he came closer, a white nose was thrust to the top railing and a thud of legs banging against the wood demanded the elf’s attention. Váremo gave a whine and ran over to the door, almost hopping in anticipation.

“You already know it is I who has arrived?” Glorfindel chuckled and pulled a carrot out of his pocket.

The avid foal, not quite tall enough to peer over the tall gate, crunched off a substantial piece of the carrot and eagerly chewed it. A gray-dappled palfrey, the foal’s mother, grunted in annoyance at him, but perked her ears forward in interest when Glorfindel produced another carrot for her that she gratefully took. The foal nuzzled Glorfindel’s arm for the last piece and the elf lord handed it over to the intense need for attention.

“Fáneraumo, you are much like your sire,” Glorfindel said, feeling his tension disappear as he scratched the young foal’s nose and forehead.

During the Nirnaeth Arnoediad Glorfindel had lost his long beloved stallion and he found the absence of his own steed a great emptiness since he often loved riding out in the mountains and valley. Once in a while Glorfindel would borrow Ecthelion’s horse or another that was of common use to anyone in the city, but it was not the same. However, one of the stablemen and horse breeders informed him that a mare would soon give birth to his stallion’s offspring. Turgon had seen to it that the newborn would be secured for Glorfindel, as it only seemed right to do so. Little Fáneraumo was not ready yet to begin his training, yet he seemed to know already to whom he would belong and bond.

Váremo, still overexcited from his frolicking, stood up against the gate, and held his paws on the top to reach over. His muzzle met with Fáneraumo’s in a friendly rub. Glorfindel had wanted the two to become acquainted since Váremo frequently joined him on rides and it was never too early for the two to know one another.

“I had meant to take a ride, not have a play run for you two,” Glorfindel chastised them good-naturedly.

The pup’s ears drooped visibly, Váremo’s face almost taking a saddened look, and he whined. However, the hound could not fool his master. Váremo’s tail wag was meant to encourage Glorfindel to change his mind as if the hound promised they would be on their best behavior.

“Conversing with the beasts, Glorfindel?” Turgon asked from the end of the hallway.

“They are conspiring against me,” the golden-haired elf replied.

“Mutinous creatures,” Turgon chuckled and leaned over to pet Váremo who had rushed over to greet him. “What is it you are doing here this day?”

“I had hoped to go riding, but it seems these two wish to be let out in the pasture to chase and amuse one another,” Glorfindel explained. “And you? How do you fare?”

“Better than I have been,” Turgon sighed. “I had thought wandering on the trails would be good, too. However, I think the other plan is looking more enticing.”

“Treachery! And my dear friend at that!” Glorfindel mocked them. “Why do I even try?”

“Come, a few of the other fillies and foals are out in the pasture,” Turgon said. “These two will be in good company already.”

Finding a smooth rope nearby, Glorfindel led Fáneraumo out of his stall. Leaving his mother behind who was seemingly content to be on her own for a while munching on her food. The foal tossed his head happily and followed the two elves and hound out of the city and into the pastures of green grass and wildflowers. Once inside the fenced area, Glorfindel let him loose whereupon Fáneraumo and Váremo soon disappeared skipping towards a group of foals and fillies playing accompanied with Váremo’s baying echoing across the valley.

“They will forever be inseparable, I think,” Turgon said, leaning against the wooden fence.

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel said, joining alongside him. “At least someone can find some happiness in this dreary time.”

“Things are never as easy as it seems to them,” Turgon replied. “They do not have the worries we carry with us.”

“Nay, they do not,” Glorfindel sighed, resting his chin on top of his crossed arms on the top rail. He paused before continuing, “Elrilya still mourns for Gondolin’s fallen as well as the city’s Edain sons. I do not know if it is she or I who is taking it harder.”

“She is concerned for you, that much is certain,” the king answered, leveling his gaze on his companion. “Do not forget, she is like a daughter to our family and knows how great the friendship is that we share. Lintariel knows that there are some battles she cannot do alone for your well-being.”

Glorfindel perked a small smile; it had been a long time since he had heard Turgon refer to Elrilya by the childhood nickname – a name that the king had chosen for her – and it brought back many memories of years past.

“All of us have come so far and so much has changed since that day when the Trees fell,” the golden-haired elf finally said. “I know we… I shall overcome this dark time as well.”

The rush of wind suddenly picked up, but the sound of beating wings reached the two elves’ ears along with it. The horses in the pasture neighed in surprise and alarm, thundering across the meadow only to stop a short distance away. Turning and looking up to the sudden shadow that blocked the sun, Glorfindel and Turgon found Thorondor, king of the eagles, settling on a nearby outcropping. His beak raised in the air beckoned them to come.

“Good day, friend” Turgon greeted the large eagle. “How are your days?”

“Not well, fellow king,” the bird answered and flared his feathers out. “This morn I do not come for a discussion, for I bring tidings of your young nephew and allies. I fear that I must make haste to return back soon as The Havens have fallen.”

“Fallen? How? When?” Turgon asked hastily. “What of Ereinion, has he been taken or slain?”

“Nay, he and his fosterer, Lord Cirdan, have taken flight to the Isle of Balar with a fleet that escaped from Eglarest when the Dark Lord’s forces laid siege to the fair city and Brithombar within days of one another,” Thorondor answered gravely. “However, many of the citizens did not sail quickly enough and the lands of the Falas have been laid to waste.”

“This is terrible news that you have brought us,” Turgon said sadly. “At least my kin and some good friends have found their way to safety.”

“They shall be and we will keep watch,” Thorondor answered before taking to the skies again.

Glorfindel, feeling drained and weak, shook his head in disbelief even with the good news that his longtime friend at least had made haste to safety with Fingon’s son. Turgon turned to him with a weighty stare.

“It is not yet over, mellon nîn,” he said. “Morgoth has only started…”

Glossary

Fáneraumo – white storm
Unqua Estel – hollow hope