Chapter VII: Not Alone
Idril Celebrindal crossed quickly the Halls of her father's Tower, too worried to spare a glance at the pictorial and architectural wonders gracing the halls. Her bare feet brought her into the Main Hall where the great tapestries that depicted the Two Trees that had brought light to the fair Valinor, born as they had been of the union of Yavanna's songs and Niënna's tears, hung on the walls. No one knew who had woven those pictures but this gift was greatly treasured, for the artist had captured the very essence of Aman and it seemed that Laurelin and Telperion were standing in the middle of the small crowd that rarely departed the Hall, relishing in their memories of the eternal lands.
There, she was greeted by one of her father's Councillors with all the respect and deference due to those of her station. But Turgon's daughter ignored him blatantly, oblivious to his offended expression and she disappeared around a corner, her golden mane capturing the light of Anor that filtered through the high stained-glass windows.
There, far from any prying eyes, she almost indulged in the temptation of running, wishing to reach her regal father as soon as possible, but years spent at court had taught her well what was considered proper for a Lady. And running through the White Tower like the last of the stable boys was far from being considered as a proper thing to do. So instead, she lengthened her stride and grasped in her long-fingered hand the front of her dress to ease her walk, uncaring of the velvet and the silk that billowed around her in a most unbecoming manner; revealing her long white shins to the few who came across her path.
Idril climbed the high stairs that coiled up the centre of the building, never stopping to catch her breath, but silently cursed the Elf who had advised her father to place the throne room at the top of the Tower. Many steps later, she finally reached the Hall of Court and breathed a sigh of relief.
Walking slowly the last few steps that separated her from the great wooden door in front of which two guards were standing watch, she smiled softly at them and quickly undertook to repair the disarray of her dress and of her tresses caused by her race through the palace. Pushing some recalcitrant golden strands behind her leaf-shaped ears, she then opened the heavy panel of the door with a light hand and entered the Court Room; her lithe silhouette sliding through the shadows of the room without being noticed.
Silently closing the door behind her, she stopped once more; her gaze taking in the sight of the small crowd. Knowing her father's displeasure at being interrupted during such meetings, she had no wish of attracting more attention than necessary. Yet, she could not delay the moment of informing him about the recent tragedy that had befallen their House.
Seeking a discreet way to attract her sire's attention, Idril distractedly took note of the presence of the chiefs of the ten noble Houses of the City that supported the House of the King: Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain to whom the Valar had given the fairest voice of the Quendi; Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower gifted with incomparable beauty and courage; Penlod the Tall of the House of the Pillar who ruled also over the House of the Tower of Snow; Duilin the Sharp-eyed of the House of the Swallow; Galdor of the House of the Tree the bravest among all the Gondolindrim.
She knew them all, for together, they had undertaken the journey from the Blessed Lands of Aman to the consecrated landscapes of Arda and none of them had reached the shore unscathed. They had all lost loved ones in that fateful journey and together, they had built a new life out of their tears. These Elves were much more than subalterns to her father; they were the pillars upon which Turgon's rule was standing.
The respect she felt in her heart for those great warriors turned into love as her gray eyes fell on her father who sat proudly on his throne of gold and mithril, his crown shining strongly on his noble brow. A smile lightened Idril's fair features as she observed him answering a question. With the loss of her mother, the bond she shared with her sire had only grown stronger with every day and there was no questioning of the great affection she felt for him.
Shifting her weight to her other foot, she kept her eyes fixed on Turgon's features as she sought eye contact, wishing for his attention. As such, it did not take much longer for the King to acknowledge his beloved daughter's presence. As he took in the sight of his child, he stood with great dignity and motioned her forward with a gesture of his hand; everyone falling silent at the sudden move of their liege.
Walking the central aisle, on each side of which the Lords of the War sat, she felt herself blushing slightly under the compelling gazes. Even if her time in Arda was nothing when compared to the age of these great Elves, Idril Celebrindal was no child and was well aware that in most of the stares fixed on her were holding emotions that went beyond the respect due to the King's daughter.
She was true in her perception. Many of those who beheld Fingolfin's granddaughter did so with love...with the love of a father for his child. These Elves had served Turgon's House for a time so long that speaking of it would have given dizziness to the eldest of the mortal race of Men. They had seen her playing in the great gardens of Aman; they had seen her cry over the loss of a doll or the evanescence of Spring. They had seen her grow from a wild Elfling to a magnificent Elleth who bore her station among Elvenkind with grace and beauty. She was their princess and they had sworn to die before any harm befell her.
But some also saw the uncommon beauty of this Lady who had only inherited her incomparable grace from her mother. For Idril was Turgon's daughter in every way; the same features that could turn from soft like the morning dew to hard like the mountains which hide their city; the same eyes that could dance with mirth or contempt; the same temper that could have brought to confront the will of the Valar if they thought it necessary. And, for the heart of some Elves were no better than those of Men, they saw in her a way to assuage a power they desired above anything else.
Curtsying gracefully in front of her father's throne, the golden-haired Elleth knelt close to him; one slender hand on the King's strong arm, her dress pooling in graceful waves around her lithe frame. Raising sad eyes to meet Turgon's, she mustered her strength to murmur in his ear, as her words meant for her sire alone, "My Lord father, I am afraid I come to you bearer of ill-news. Your cousin's Feä journeyed to Mandos' Halls, leaving in our care her son and a new-born daughter..." Her last words were no more than a whisper, betraying the grief she herself felt at being the one who delivered this news. She noticed then the distant look in her father's eyes and she grasped his arm more strongly, drawing his attention back to her, "My Lord," she continued, urgency making her voice quiver slightly, "her son disappeared when he learned of his mother's fate. He is nowhere to be found..."
She saw how her father's eyes took a thoughtful shade and she averted her gaze, respecting his pain. She had never really known Earina. When Idril had been born, Alcanarmo had already taken her as his wife and the red-haired beauty had not been considered as kin anymore. But she knew that her father had disapproved of the familial decision even if he had acceded to it. Idril was well aware that, now that those children were alone, her father would personally see to their well-being.
However, faced with her father's grieved silence, the fair Elleth whispered softly, trying to bring him back to the reality of more pressing matters, her eyes watering at the thought of the dark-haired child's pain, "The guards I sent through the city did not find trace of him, my Lord." Her voice broke as she was not able anymore to contain the tears that flowed slowly down her rosy cheeks. Sighing in despair, she confessed, "Adar, I am at a loss on what to do..."
Her only answers were a soft squeeze on her pale arm and a tender hand wiping away a tear on her face. Gray eyes met gray eyes in the same sorrow before the King rose in front of his court; his starched robes rustling against the cold marble of the ground. As Turgon stood, all those present did the same and eyes filled with curiosity and worry fixed on the mighty monarch, wondering as to the matter of this unexpected interruption.
"Lords of Gondolin," began Turgon, his voice filled with the authority natural to those of his rank, "let me be the bearer of sad news..." At those words, a low rumble agitated the small gathering and few were those who remained silent in the expectancy of explanation. Yet, the sight of the King's hand rising to ask for attention calmed them. Taking in a deep inhalation of air, Fingolfin's heir continued, "Alcanarmo's wife passed away a few hours ago leaving in Our loving care a son and a daughter."
His lips tightened in suppressed anger when he heard the whispers of relief floating over the crowd. Of course, they had feared a threat to the city. Compared to such a thing, what did the passing of an Elleth mean? But he also met eyes filled with sympathy and emotion for many had known Earina's husband and his terrible fate. Those felt grief over the tragedy that had once more befallen the family.
Raising his head and straightening himself to his full height, he continued, "Driven by his grief, her son disappeared..." He took a single step forward and his imposing shadow fell upon them as he announced, "Lords of war, Our wishes are simple...Find this lost child and bring him to Us."
Turgon walked slowly through the small nursery, his body rocking smoothly as it was often the case with those who held small children in their arms. After long minutes of childish songs and much pacing, the child had finally stopped crying and the only sound was the soft pounding of light Elven feet on the ground.
The King had been left alone with his burden a few moments ago at his request, much to the dismay of the Healer who had not seemed to think him able to take care of the small infant. Sighing, he sat himself slowly in the welcoming chair that rested in a corner of the well-lit room, close to the windows, studying in awed silence the crumpled features of the newborn in his arms. Suddenly, he felt his heart tighten in his chest. Poor little thing... Bereft of his Naneth at the very moment she had opened her eyes in this world; deprived of her father a few months after her conception; the only family she had left was an elusive brother, which grief had overwhelmed and who had disappeared.
"Pen-neth..." the King whispered with barely smothered emotion, his gray eyes taking in the sight of the lightest fluttering of lashes. He then resumed then his balancing motion, "We will take care of you."
He could feel his own sorrow lurking beneath his facade of calm and dignity as he rocked the small Elfling. He had known Earina for her whole life and she had been like a sister to him. He had loved her with the affection of a brother and he had often wondered if, had Alcanarmo not stolen her heart, this love would not have grown into something more passionate between them. Contrary to many of his family, he had never reproached her about her dalliance with the young and beautiful guard. At the very moment he had seen them together, he had known they had belonged with each other...night and day melting to form the most beautiful of dawn. He had known they had been happy and to him, it had been enough. Never had he understood why others persisted in denying them their joy. After Alcanarmo's passing, he had watched over the little family from afar. But now, this distance would be no more. He and Idril were the only family they had and in memory of his bittersweet love for the red-haired beauty, he would watch over her offspring. It was a duty he would perform willingly.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his musings and Turgon straightened himself before allowing the visitor inside. A ray of sun seemed to enter the room in the same moment as the golden visitor that bowed in front of the ruler still holding the sleeping infant.
"My Lord," he greeted softly, unwilling to rouse the child from its light slumber.
"Glorfindel, mellonen," answered the King, his voice low and deep, "have you found him?"
Eyes that fell to the ground, features that took a grim expression and broad shoulders that slumped slightly were the only answers the Monarch of Gondolin needed to understand that the searches had been unfruitful till now.
A deep grief-filled sigh escaped Turgon's lips as he averted his gaze from his long-time friend to stare at the vision of the glowing splendour of the city he had built. He remained thus for several seconds; the presence of the Chief of the House of the Golden Flower a mere shadow in his thoughts. However, the sound of the golden Elf clearing his throat caught his attention back and weary gray eyes met concerned blue ones. The King asked then, his voice just as low as before, "What do you want, Glorfindel?"
The flaxen-haired warrior took a step forward and stood boldly closer to the King he had sworn allegiance to, one hand on his narrow hip, the other pushing back the curtain and revealing further the sight of the city. He explained then, "My Lord, the guards of the Gates saw him leave the city with his horse. The son of Alcanarmo is not to be found in our direct surroundings. Ecthelion and I, we wish to send patrols in direction of the mountains." He paused and waited for the King's decision.
But Turgon only sighed and leaned back against the back of the chair, still rocking the sleeping babe, his eyes unfocused. A long moment passed in heavy silence and Glorfindel could not hep(help) but wonder if the King had forgotten his request. But Turgon opened his eyes again and answered, his voice no more than a worried whisper, "Do whatever you need to. I want him back in the Tower. He should be here, comforted in his grief, taken care of, not lost the Valar know where..."
Glorfindel felt sympathy grow in his heart for the King as he gazed at the grief-stricken face he knew so well. Bowing slightly, he quickly left the room, decided to find the youth before some ill happened.
Vale of Tumladen, End of the Day
Born from the fury of the sky, a low rumble seemed to filled the vast plain of Tumladen; the threatening sound growing and growing until it culminated in an explosion of rare wrath. Straightening himself on his trembling mount's back, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower rose startled eyes to the darkened sky, taken unaware by the intensity of the thunderclap. He sighed then before patting the wet neck of his stallion consolingly.
The storm had come as a surprise as they were following the trail left by Alcanarmo's son and its intensity had taken them aback. Seldom did Manw's anger swoop down thus on the Hidden Rock.
Glorfindel closed his eyes against the violent wind that slammed down great curtains of water in his face, hampering his sight and threatening his balance. Bending his head, he peered down in the direction of the other riders that had stopped a few feet away. In spite of his keen Elven sight, he could only distinguish moving shadows through the storm. His hand still caressed the coat of his mount while he murmured words of comfort as he chose wisely to wait for the tempest to calm slightly before seeking Ecthelion's presence.
When the strength of the rain seemed to lessen, he raised his head once more and urged his horse forward, his gaze fixed on the lithe frame of a rider whom he would have known anywhere. A bitter smile came to his lips as he beheld his lover's face, taking in the sight of the drenched armor and of the dark strands of hair clinging to the fair face and slender neck. Their eyes met as a vivid light striped the sky, seeming to tear apart its dark velvet, and they were both brought back to that long-gone day when Ossë and Uinen's wrath had brought death to many of their friends. That fateful day, they had stood together at the bow of a ship taken from the Teleri. The wind had blown and the waters had struck, very much as it did now. They had watched helplessly, praying to the very gods they had deserted and betrayed, as some of those ill-acquired boats had moaned and cracked before sinking in the dark ocean. This day would be engraved in their mind forever and its memory would never leave them.
"We need to go back, meleth!" screamed the Warden of the Great Gate, one hand covering his eyes, "We have lost his trail and we cannot see anything be..." The rest of his words were drowned in a strong thunderclap and a few seconds later, another thunderbolt lit the surrounding darkness.
During this short time, Glorfindel had a very clear vision of his lover, seeing how his pupils had dilated till his gray orbs seemed to be depthless pools of eternal darkness, staring at those perfectly shaped lips that moved without a sound being heard. Then everything was plunged in shadows again. Needing to make himself heard, Glorfindel approached Ecthelion before screaming back, "We cannot leave him here!" In his mind, he could see the image of those haunted green orbs and could not bring himself to turn his back on the child when he knew Erestor was not so far away.
Ecthelion shook his head, trying to rid himself from the strands that hampered his sight. He understood how his lover felt for he did not wish to leave Alcanarmo's son alone in such a storm anymore than Glorfindel. But he was aware of the helplessness of such a search now that the rain was falling so strongly. The horses were afraid of the thunder and they had lost the youth's trail because of the heavy rain. There was no point in remaining here.
As if to illustrate his thoughts, his own mount reared, frightened by the fall of a heavy branch a few feet away from them. "We cannot remain here," Ecthelion asserted his opinion, anchoring his gray gaze onto his lover's as much as he could given the circumstances. He had made his decision and he would not go back on his words.
He saw Glorfindel shaking his head in refusal. The Warden of the Great Gate knew well the strange flame that lit his lover's eyes. The golden-haired Elf had chosen to keep up the search and nothing Ecthelion could say would change his mind. His lips tightened in a thin line. His lover could be the most stubborn of Elves when he decided to be. There was no possible argument.
Tightening his grip on his reins to prevent his mount from stepping aside, Ecthelion addressed his lover, screaming at the top of his lungs, hoping that Glorfindel would hear his words, "Do as you wish! But the others and I, we go back to the city!"
The only sign that his lover had indeed heard his words was the glare he received. Shaking his head to express his disapproval, Glorfindel made his stallion back off by using his voice before disappearing behind the curtain of rain.
Ecthelion's grasp on the mane of his mount tightened in anger and he approached one of his lieutenants, ordering him to gather all the warriors before they went back to the City. Sitting straight on his stallion's broad back, oblivious to the storm for the first time since it began, he watched in silence as the others' departed, a deep frown marring his fair features. Glancing behind in the direction Glorfindel had disappeared and cursing the golden-haired Elf, Ecthelion finally reached a decision and turned his back to the City, urging his mount forward in the hope to catch up with his lover.
Next: The Flight
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