FicWad

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

Author’s Notes: As I promised, another chapter before the end of the year! The next one is currently underway; however, I am not certain if I will make it for next week. Thanks again to Rhapsody my ever wonderful beta. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Chapter Fifty-Two: Ósanwe

Twenty and two summers had passed since the terrible battle against Morgoth where the deaths of countless Eldar and Men occurred. Seasons came and went and life continued in Gondolin, but it was not quite the same as it had been before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Happiness and joy still persisted; however, it felt muted due to the uncertainty of the future. Despite being comforted by being under the protection of Turgon, the people of Gondolin could not help but worry that since a High King still lived, Morgoth would not stop until the line of princes was destroyed.

The chill of winter had settled on the land earlier than most years and a terrible storm had raged from above, sending ice and snow down upon the lands of the north. Once the biting winds had settled a little, the people of Gondolin ventured out again into the avenues and markets of their city. Those who had been brought to the hidden city from Fingon’s lands after the Nirnaeth had settled well and Gondolin had grown again. None of the Gondolindhrim had forgotten those lost to them and those who survived felt grateful for the safety of the walls of Gondolin as well as the secret valley in which Turgon had founded the city many years ago.

Glorfindel walked at a leisurely pace with Elrilya bundled in furs at his side, as the brisk breeze floated on the air around them. Together they wandered along the high walkways and walls of the city and pondered in quiet the white blanket of snow that now covered the valley, the mountains, and even the streets. Once the haunting weather had passed, the soldiers had raised the flags and banners of Gondolin again. The pennants snapping against their staffs and the soft murmurs of the people milling below were harsh yet hollow in what seemed an emptiness that hung in the air. For a moment, Glorfindel and Elrilya stopped to gaze at the view but he once he looked down upon her, he knew her thoughts were straying elsewhere by the distant look in her gray eyes.

Following a long mourning of Huor and Húrin, Elrilya had returned to herself and Glorfindel felt gladdened for it; however, he still could feel heaviness in her heart. It was tangible to all that some days it was difficult to overcome the sorrow within them and Glorfindel observed that their friends seemed to busy themselves with other tasks to forget at least a little. Often times he would take Elrilya on rides as they often once did the years before. Fáneraumo had grown and became as great a steed as his sire had been, his youthful exuberance and power reminded them of the joy of their early days in Vinyamar.

Over the last years, Turgon had taken to fortifying the surrounding mountains by making them stronger than ever before with patrols while also ordering several gates along the path through the mountains that led to Gondolin’s valley. He decided thusly after Morgoth had become brazen with his attacks on the lands of the Falas and the destruction of Brithombar and Eglarest. In the autumn, the eagles brought word that the cave-city of Nargothrond had fallen to the Dark Lord as well. Turgon learned that those who managed to escape the downfall of his belated cousin’s realm found a refuge in Cirdan’s new haven, considering themselves fortunate survivors.

Taking a lead from his uncle, Maeglin started a new project. After tirelessly working for a few years and gathering many who worked in the forges and mines into his new following, now called the House of Mole, they built a grand gate of steel as the final passage through the hidden way to Gondolin. Ecthelion became the Warden of the Gate and he had the power to open the way with his touch as Maeglin had woven magic into his creation.

Pushing away the thoughts of the recent years, Glorfindel wrapped his arm around Elrilya’s waist and pulled her closer to him. He did not always intrude on her thoughts through their bond; sometimes there was a need of some privacy; however, he did not want her straying too far. Her eyes matched the cloudy sky and alighted on him, and within seconds, her faraway reflections fled from her gaze as her chill-touched face brightened with a smile. The fur hood framed her pale complexion and Glorfindel leaned in to press a warm kiss to her lips.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, tracing a gloved finger along her cheeks.

“How you always seek to keep me safe from the cold touch of ice,” Elrilya replied and leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. “How you rescued me so long ago and held me close to your warmth as we passed through the far north.”

“When Elenwë fell, too,” he said, remembering his cousin and Turgon’s wife, then he held Elrilya tighter against him. “It all seems so long ago, yet I passed more time in Valinor than I have here.”

“Those days were different,” Elrilya answered. “I was still a youth and unaware of what these lands truly held in my future. I do not think my parents knew it either when they made their choice.”

“I think very few of us fully knew what was to come… even some of us born soon after the Great Journey,” Glorfindel countered gently. “All I knew was that my fate took me away from the white shores. If I had known what awaited me here, I still would have come, as my life would be much emptier without those who have filled it. Sorrows and happiness alike.”

Elrilya’s smile spread and she held Glorfindel with equal strength. For a few minutes they remained so, again staring out across the sea of white snow. A silhouette wrapped in a sable cloak approached and they both turned to see who had arrived.

“Good day, Maeglin, how do you fare?” the fair-haired elf asked.

“I am well,” the sister-son of Turgon replied. “I do not mean to intrude, but I wished to seek your lady’s advice.”

“Very well,” Glorfindel nodded and turned to Elrilya. “Go on ahead, I had meant to find Ecthelion before he is to leave for patrol this evening.”

“I was recently speaking with him and he was on his way out…” Maeglin added and paused for a moment. “To visit Naneth.”

“My thanks. Now I know where I may find him,” Glorfindel replied and kissed Elrilya’s cheek. “I will see you at supper.”

Watching Glorfindel go, Maeglin waited until the elf was out of sight and turned back to Elrilya.

“What is it I may assist you with, Maeglin?” she asked warmly. “Were you not able to find Idril? I know you hold her opinion highly.”

“That is why I sought you out,” the younger elf answered tentatively. “It is a surprise for Idril that I have in mind. If you would…?”

Taking his offered arm, Elrilya followed Maeglin from the cold ramparts to a stairwell that led to the streets. The frosty wind was not as harsh below the walls and Elrilya welcomed the respite.

“How have you been, Maeglin? We have not seen you as of late when we have feasted with your uncle,” Elrilya asked.

“I have been in the forges and mines quite often,” the younger elf replied. “It is where I enjoy my time when I am not on patrol.”

“It has been a while since you completed the gate, what crafts do you have in mind now?” Elrilya queried.

“A few items here or there,” he shrugged. “Here we are…”

They came to a door leading to the workshop that Maeglin kept within the city’s walls and entered into the warmth of the building. Inside on the walls and on displays were various pieces of jewelry, fine armor, ceremonial weapons, extravagant pieces for home décor, and much more. Maeglin led Elrilya into the back room where several fellow smiths were working; masters and apprentices alike. The voices of all bounced around in the room, giving a busy but comforting background of noise. They nodded to Maeglin as he entered but they returned to their projects as quickly as protocol would require. Eventually the two of them came to a back corner into a more secluded area from the rest of the elves. He walked around a wooden worktable so that they were on opposite sides.

“I have three pieces that I made with Idril in mind and I wish to give her one as a gift for her begetting day that will soon be here,” Maeglin said, reaching into a bottom drawer and pulling out a velvet cloth that he spread out on the counter surface. “Yet, I could not make my choice as to which she would love best.”

“They all are so beautiful,” Elrilya said as her breath caught in her throat at the magnificent jewelry her friend’s cousin had placed before her.

One set included a silver choker necklace with a bright ruby placed in the center, which the crafty smith placed within a border of white diamonds, and it came with a pair of earrings of the same design. Another was an amulet with a chain of intertwining thin ropes of silver and a garnet pendent was placed on a bed of an intricate silver casing. The third piece was a small golden crown arrayed with gems of all the colors from a rainbow.

“Thus you see my predicament,” Maeglin smiled, his face betrayed his excitement and enjoyment that Elrilya had been awed by his work. “I had thought the earrings and necklace would be best, but I worried it was too extravagant and that Idril may think it so too. Then, I made the crown that is simpler, as she tends to prefer it, but just as beautiful. Perfect for a princess such as herself and it will blend with her golden hair as if her brow shines with the colors of the sky.”

“And the amulet… that looks familiar to me,” Elrilya commented as soon as she could speak when Maeglin finally took a breath in his excitement.

“You have a good eye, my lady,” Maeglin said, his already pleased mien picking up higher. He took the necklace in hand and came around the table to stand next to Elrilya, then he lowered his voice, yet the intensity was still there. “This I based on a piece my dear Naneth loved and you may have seen her wear it many times over the years. It was made in Valinor and by the hands of Ecthelion, once known as the craftsman Úrunáro, and bought as a gift by my grandsire to give to his daughter. It, too, had been based on another grand design by none other than Fëanor for his beloved Nerdanel.”

“The amethyst necklace,” Elrilya realized and then ran her fingertips over the gemstone and inlaid silver tendrils. “It was her favorite. I never knew Ecthelion made it.”

“He did and now I have made one of my own like the greats who came before me,” Maeglin explained eagerly. “This, of the three, is my favorite to give her; though, if I had my way I would give her all three.”

“Idril may feel overwhelmed if you did,” Elrilya answered, feeling uncertain herself looking upon the masterpieces and at the same time she wondered why he would give a gift similar to one that was made by his mother’s former lover. “I would choose the crown. As you said before, she does prefer simple but beautiful.”

“I agree,” Maeglin nodded and placed the amulet on the cloth again before he walked back to his previous position. “Yet, I feel as if I cannot let my favorite lay away without someone to wear it. I will give her both the crown and necklace.”

“I am certain she will love them,” Elrilya smiled while she watched him retrieve boxes and placed each item in its own carefully.

“Here,” Maeglin reached beneath the table again and handed her another box. “Consider it a token of thanks for assisting me in my quandary.”

Elrilya took the box and opened it to find a golden bracelet and double ring set: all were dazzled with emerald gems.

“Oh, I could not take this… it is too much,” Elrilya said as she closed the lid and tried handing it back.

“I insist,” Maeglin’s mood seemingly turned darker for a moment, yet his eyes were still shining with anticipation. “I would be honored if you would take it.”

Hesitantly, Elrilya took the box back and nodded, “Very well. I appreciate the generous gift.”

“You are very welcome,” Maeglin smiled again.

*

Many knew the way, but few passed down the narrow street except for days reserved for remembrance. Glorfindel found it empty on the cold afternoon and it was dark as well since little light from the overcast day managed to pass down between the tall buildings and walls. The tombs stood quiet and ominous while the white statues lining the path were silent and lifeless as sentries. Loved ones of those who had died in battle or other had encounters with the Dark Lord and his minions were fortunate to have had their relatives’ bodies brought back to be interred. For those who never returned, the stonemasons built memorials and their kin still living maintained them with devotion.

Aredhel’s was no different but she was one of the first to have come to rest in the catacombs. The large mausoleum appeared in the haze in front of Glorfindel and he could see that the door was propped open, the faint light of a torch glowed from within. Silently he entered and noticed Ecthelion’s lone figure in the middle of the room, fully dressed in his armor and cloak to head to patrol as he kneeled beside the stone sarcophagus. The dark-haired elf’s head was bowed in thought or prayer but he turned when Glorfindel came up behind him.

“It has been nigh onto one hundred winters since she left us,” Ecthelion broke the quiet and then reached out a bare hand to touch the cold stones as if he were searching for the warmth Aredhel once emanated. “It still hurts, but not as much as it once had.”

“For all of us, it has and will continue to do so,” Glorfindel replied and kneeled beside him. “She was a wonderful and beautiful friend.”

“Aiya, but to me she was so much more,” Ecthelion sighed. “Maeglin says that even across the void and doom of Mandos, he can distantly feel the love of her for him. They have that bond of blood, of a child and his mother. I cannot share nor have that comfort to know she still is somewhere, even in the Halls of Waiting.”

“Can you not feel that of your kin as well?” Glorfindel asked, knowing distantly there was a calm of those who loved him in Valinor in the back of his mind.

The elf shook his head, “No, everything became so… distant or muted since Aredhel…my Irissë.”

“Do not let this consume you,” Glorfindel said, placing a friendly hand on his companion’s shoulder.

A hollow laugh bounced off the walls of the circular room.

“I can live with it, Glorfindel, and I have come this far already. If I had wished to join her in death, I would have let myself fall on the blackened ground of Anfauglith,” Ecthelion replied and stood up to leave, grabbing the torch. “Perhaps one day we shall see her riding across the green pastures near Tirion again.”

The two elves wandered out into the cobblestone alley together, a strange eerie brightness shining from above. The torch Ecthelion carried was dim against the strength and beauty of the light radiating from the sky reflecting off the snow and white stone walls. The shine was reminiscent of a distant memory of a tree upon Taniquetil.

“It appears Anar has decided to bless us with warmth after all,” Glorfindel smiled as he looked up at the sun pushing through the clouds.

“Good, I dislike being out in the snow on patrol or even simply staying by the gates,” Ecthelion said, kicking a few patches of already melting ice and sludge.

It was quiet for a while as the Ecthelion and Glorfindel walked towards the stables near the city gates. However, something unknown to Glorfindel appeared to amuse Ecthelion and the golden-haired elf eyed his friend strangely as a small smirk played across his face that had been stoic in his sorrow.

“What is it?” Glorfindel prodded his friend.

“I was thinking about Valinor and when I first met Aredhel, the first youthful desire I felt for her,” Ecthelion began and then turned his mirthful face on Glorfindel. “Did she ever tell you that I at first disliked you when you and I met?”

“She did not,” Glorfindel said and stopped in his tracks in the street, forcing Ecthelion to stop and walk back a few paces. “Why would you think thusly of me?”

“We were at that festival and you were dancing with her,” Ecthelion explained. “Ah, I had only met her not so long before, but even then she was in my dreams. I thought perhaps you were a suitor of hers and in my ignorance, I was very jealous of you for having her attentions. Who was I to think I could garner her love?”

“That was certainly not the case,” Glorfindel grumbled. “And I was so welcoming to you that day! Meeting the famous craftsman, Úrunáro, and speaking highly of your work.”

“Fie, Glorfindel,” Ecthelion laughed again, taking his friend’s arm and forcing them to continue on their walk. “It was only a moment’s disappointment until she mentioned you were but close kin of Elenwë.”

“We all were together that day,” Glorfindel reminisced. “Turgon, Elenwë, Fingon, and even Fëanor’s sons, your cousins. Before Morgoth destroyed the Trees… when all of us were happy.”

“Idril and Elrilya as well, but you may not remember that as you had rushed off into the merriment,” Ecthelion sighed. “They were mere children at the time.”

“Hold onto those memories,” Glorfindel smiled. “They are what keep us from becoming lost.”

“I shall remember that,” Ecthelion nodded and they stopped in front of the stables. “This is it; I shall see you in a few weeks time when I return.”

“We can share a supper and laugh about mistakes and the insanity of our youth,” Glorfindel said.

“That we shall. Good day, mellon nín.”

Glossary

Ósanwe – thought

Naneth – mother (Sindarin)

mellon nín – my friend