Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien, aside from original characters needed to move the story along. Aranwë presumably had a father; his name is my invention. Translations of Tolkien's languages (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and further notes are found at the end of the story. I've waffled a bit on the Quenya names of the elves in the parts that take place in Aman - I've used those that Tolkien gave us, but we lack Quenya names for Glorfindel and Ecthelion. I've used Voronwë throughout the story, since that is the name used in Unfinished Tales, though properly he would be more likely to use his Sindarin name.
A promise lives within you now [1]
Gondolin, First Age 496
"It is a cruel thing that we must keep you prisoner on this night. Yet I cannot release you until you have gone before the King, and I do not wish to take him from his family the night of Yule," Ecthelion apologized. "I will send a messenger to your kin," he said to the elf. "I doubt not that they are eager to see you and you them."
"Nay," Voronwë sighed. "I have no one who needs be disturbed this night."
The Lord of the Fountain raised his eyebrows, puzzled by this response. He asked no further questions, however, for Voronwë's business was his own, he deemed. "Gannavil!" he called.
The guard entered through the far door. "Híren?" [2]
"Make ready the tower rooms."
When their weary legs carried them to their rooms, Tuor and Voronwë found that Gannavil had forgotten nothing. A hot bath awaited them and clean clothing lay on the bed. Tuor looked at the robes doubtfully. If he had been raised by elves, he was yet a man. He knew that even in his somewhat diminished condition, his broad shoulders would hardly fit under the robes of a slender elf. Yet, when he had taken his turn at the bath, he found the garments a perfect fit. The magic of elves could still astonish him - not only had Gannavil seen that Tuor would need a larger size, but he had somehow procured it within the hour.
Voronwë called to him from the sitting room. "Come, friend, you have not seen such food!"
Tuor found Voronwë unwrapping packets of food from a hamper. "We shall eat well tonight, Tuor," he said, examining the food he had spread on the table.
Tuor looked at the food with an ache in his heart, for Voronwë's words brought him back to a Yule many rounds of the Sun past, to his beloved foster father now lost to him.
Dor-lómin, First Age 477
Annael's sister mixed the last of the grain with maple syrup coaxed from a few less sickly-looking trees in the blighted forest, and the cakes awaited their turn near the fire. On a spit, roasting pheasant had mouths watering in anticipation, and a few potatoes, growing wild in fields once farmed by Tuor's people, had found their way into the coals. Such a feast Annael's folk had not enjoyed since they fled the orc-infested lands by Lake Mithrim. They hid themselves now in the caves of Androth, and Annael did not know whence they would get more food. They must soon move on, his heart warned him, for they had tarried here too long.
"Tonight, at least, we shall eat well, little one," Annael told his foster-son, who was too excited to hold still and soon wriggled out of the elf's arms. The boy somehow managed to be everywhere at once, underfoot and generally a nuisance, with his nose one minute in the cooking pot and the next in the midst of elves draping holly about the cave.
"The boy puts a spell on you, Annael," his sister remarked, setting out the Yule candles in readiness for the imminent setting of Anor.
"I know, and I cannot help it," Annael smiled. "He is old enough, now, that he will remember this Yule, and he should have good memories, for Yule is the holiday of children, mortal or elven." With these words the elf sobered, thinking of Yuletides past, when his wife and daughter yet lived. From the Nirnaeth he had returned to find them taken or killed - he hoped for the latter.
Dark had been Yule that year, for Tilion hid his face, but the Sinda remembered the twilight before Arien's coming, and he needed only the lights of Elbereth to find his way. By starlight had Annael come upon a mortal woman, heavy with child. He took her to his sister's house, and before the sun rose, Rían brought forth a son. Wrapping him tightly in his cloak, Annael took the child out of the house and uncovered his face that he might see the stars, for such was the custom of the Sindar. Brightest of all, in those northern lands, was Gail-en-Forn, bane to Morgoth and a sign of Elbereth's love for the elves. "Yet its light shall pale in comparison to the star that is to come of the little one born this Yule," the elf predicted. The baby looked at the stars in solemn wonder, as if he, too, knew that he had been born to great deeds. [3]
Annael called the boy now to light the candles of Yule. "Red, we light for the passion and fire of Anor, that she be not forgotten on this long night. Life that shall soon stir again is honoured by the green candle. White represents the innocence of children and the hope of elves and men." Annael lit the red candle and his sister lit the green one. Now little Tuor's turn had come, and though he knew it not, no mortal had ever taken part in this holy custom.
Tuor took the lighting-stick from the elf-maid's hand, his eyes wide with the awe of all his four years. The candle flared to life and the elves cheered, anxious to begin the festivities. Their singing and dancing would continue into the night, until Anor rose again. She would burn just a little stronger the morrow, and each day thereafter she would linger a bit longer, bringing promise of spring and some respite from the hard life of Annael's people.
Tuor tried mightily to stay awake, but sleep soon weighed heavy on his eyelids. Annael came to sit by his foster-son. "You grow sleepy, little one. Perhaps you should find your bedroll before you fall into the holly, for it will not make a good bed," he said, pointing to the prickly decoration.
"But I want to see the rise of Anor," Tuor murmured, his head drooping against Annael.
"She will rise many times, and often enough, you shall greet the dawn when you would rather lie abed. Did you enjoy the feast?" Annael queried.
"Oh, yes. The songs were so pretty. I wish it could be Yule every day," the boy said wistfully.
Tuor soon lost his battle with sleep. His head sank to rest in his foster-father's lap, and though Annael grew somewhat stiff with sitting, he did not want to disturb the child. In one hand, Tuor still held a maple sugar candy, no doubt a sticky mess in his little fist. His other arm was wrapped around a gift from Annael, a little stuffed dog that the one-time weaver had made from discarded cloaks and the remnants of a velvet dress his daughter had worn. Into the little dog, Annael had poured the fidelity and courage of the hound; he had stitched it with thoughts of a little boy's wonder and unblemished heart.
Stroking the child's hair, he prayed that life's hardships would not sever the man Tuor would become from the innocence of this boy. "Let him remember the Valar and listen for their guidance, and so defy the Enemy and his cunning tricks of despair."
"Look, Tuor, it is snowing!" Voronwë turned from the window and beckoned to the man.
"You may keep your snow - I have had enough to last me the lifetime of the Firstborn."
"Ah, but you have never seen Gondolin under snow," the elf answered, his sea-grey eyes as bright as a child's. Tuor peered over his shoulder and gasped. Nothing he had seen in the ruins of the North had prepared him for Gondolin's beauty. The Hidden City wore the blanket of snow as a robe fitted to a beautiful lady.
Elemmakil entered the apartment, shaking snow from his cloak. "I brought delicacies from the guards' table, for our fair Idril gives us a fine Yule dinner each year. But I see you have already been given a good meal," he said, sniffing the air.
"Indeed, such food I have not seen since I left Gondolin, my friend," Voronwë answered. "Yet your company we will not find amiss, for I am eager to hear news of the city." He came away from the window and sat down by the fire.
Elemmakil shook his head. "Ai, this city is too much a monument to days such as the Noldor shall not see again. Little of note happens here, though the eagles bring evil tidings from the world outside.
"But tell me, Voronwë, why you told Ecthelion you had no family." The guard looked closely at the elf he had once known well.
Voronwë looked away. "You know the reason for that, Elemmakil." He could not raise his eyes to look at his friend.
Elemmakil, having warmed his hands by the fire, sat down. "And yet it is Yule, and your father has no one else."
"It is an unfortunate thing, if ties of blood cannot put aside old quarrels the night of Yule," Tuor said.
Voronwë flushed. He knew what Huor had done for Gondolin; he knew his own father had survived the Nirnaeth only because the father Tuor had never known had sacrificed his life. Still, no quarrel lay between Aranwë and his son, only love - love so suffocating that he had undertaken Turgon's doomed quest to escape it.
Gondolin, First Age 488
"Go on, Voronwë, it is Yule and I will not be held a tyrant," Enerdhil said, looking into the room where the smith still laboured at his worktable. [4]
Voronwë managed a weak smile. "I am nearly finished with this," he explained, gesturing toward the delicate bracelet.
"Well, do not tarry. I, for one, will not," the master smith winked, and true to his word, was gone.
He had finished the bracelet over an hour ago. A plain piece of work, it would await a more skilled hand to make the etchings specified in the design. Voronwë had trained under Enerdhil, who had in turn learned his craft from Aulë himself, and the more talented hands that worked the details had no complaint of the simple work he spared them. His training could not make him more than competent, however, for he had no passion for smith-work.
Ordinarily, he looked eagerly toward the hour when he might escape the stifling closeness of the forge for the open air and the harp he much preferred. Tonight, however, he managed to find innumerable tasks to delay his leaving; he had little to call him homeward. His father would do his best to make a cheery holiday, but without his mother's soothing presence, their relationship had become so strained that Voronwë found excuses to avoid his home as often as he could.
Liscevë, his grandfather, had not been born to greatness but to a handmaid of Anairë. Liscevë's skill and the generosity of Nolofinwë had allowed him to train as a jewel-smith with Aulë himself. He specialized in the netted jewels with which female elves loved to adorn their hair, and these tressures brought him great fame and the notice of Anaire's brother-daughter. [5]
Liscevë and his wife met an ignominious end in one of the orc-raids that swept Hithlum some sixty years after the first rise of Anor. He had died broken and bitter, tortured by his decision to follow his King rather than remain with the Aulendili. Aranwë their son was but forty years old when he came flying from the hilltops to warn the folk in the valley. He came too late. [6]
Already showing his father's skill, Aranwë found his way from the ruined village to Nevrast. Loss had made him wise. He saw the future of the Noldor in Beleriand: the Doom would take them all. He married an elf of the Falathrim for love, but also in the hope that his own issue would escape the wrath of the Valar.
Sister-daughter to Círdan, the lady gave much of her temperament to her younger son. He preferred the harp to the smithery and found enchantment in stories of the Sea and found his peace in Gondolin's gardens. What Aranwë loved in his wife, he could not understand in his son. He knew what was best for Voronwë, and that gentle elf let his father have his way, if only to keep peace.
Voronwë at last could find no excuse to tarry longer, and came home to rooms fragrant with roasting duck and hot cider.
"A messenger of the King came for you. He intended to await your arrival, but at last took his leave. What made you so late?"
He took the envelope and saw, with a flicker of annoyance, that the seal had been broken. His eyes widened as he read the message.
"You will not go," Aranwë said.
"Adar, we cannot refuse the King!" This was not strictly true. Voronwë knew that he might have asked the King's forbearance on behalf of his father; Aranwë had no one else.
"You know nothing of the world outside Gondolin; you know nothing of the perils of this journey. You had not enough weapons-skill to fight when the King led us into battle. You would be but a liability to those who will seek the Havens."
"I will obey my King," Voronwë said steadily.
The air hung sour between them that Yule. Aranwë was not used to defiance from his son, and his arguments left Voronwë too knotted and ill to enjoy the meal. The more his father pursued the matter, the more he came to see the King's request as a way of escape. The walls of his home, the walls of Gondolin herself, seemed to close in on him and he longed to see the world outside, to be free from his father's smothering love.
Their duties at last complete, the Lords of the Fountain and Golden Flower exchanged their tunics for finery and stepped out into the fresh snow. Children, shouting with excitement in anticipation of the night's festivities, had long been called home; the ice-sculptors, working the frozen fountains, had at last abandoned their work. The bells of vendor carts, filled with sweet things and other holiday wares, had stilled.
Behind the glowing windows of their dwellings, the Gondolindrim basked in the warmth of family and love. Ecthelion gazed at the cheerful ribbons and holly that decorated doors and windows, and thought wistfully of Tirion, whence his heart never wandered far. He had been but a young elf, not long married, when he had chosen adventure over the tedium of life in Aman. In high spirits he had set out, marching under Findecáno's command at the vanguard of Tár Nolofinwë's host. His last words to his wife and daughter had predicted that they should return in glory in less than a year of the withered Trees.
He winced at the memory.
"Are you well, my friend?" Glorfindel inquired.
"It is just my conscience that pains me," Ecthelion answered, knowing the other elf needed no explanation. All had gone awry at Alqualondë, and Ecthelion knew he would not know the warmth of his bride's lips ere he passed through the Houses of Mandos and saw the healing of his stained fëa.
Glorfindel matched his pace to his friend's, lost in his own thoughts. Older than Ecthelion, no boyish zeal for adventure had drawn him hither. He had taken an oath of his own, promising to watch over his much-younger cousin, who had wilfully chosen to follow her Noldorin husband despite her Vanyarin family's objections. [7]
He had failed. Horribly.
"Let us have no more of this melancholy, old friend," Glorfindel exhorted, quickening his pace. "It is Yule, when our hopes are reborn, and Varda shines brightest upon those who most need her mercy and forgiveness."
Helcaraxë, Year of the Tree 1500
Ecthelion wrapped his tattered cloak more tightly around him. He had long ceased to notice the cold, but the ice-laden wind that pelted the skin and formed icicles of eyelashes - such wind he could not endure. Glorfindel trudged beside him with little Itarillë in his arms.
Above them, Rána shone his pale light, a wonder when he first arose, but now a sad reminder of the warm glow of the Two Trees. How beaten and forlorn they all looked! In this endless night, Ecthelion could tell nothing of time, save that much of it had passed since they left Tirion, then a proud and beautiful people. [8]
"We shall return with Melkor in chains before a year of the Trees would have passed," he had promised. He believed it, then, and tried to cheer his wife and young daughter.
The lady looked at him with resignation. She could not share her mate's certainty that Melkor would be so easily overwhelmed. They had argued long over Ecthelion's decision to follow the princes of the Noldor into war, but now the time for argument, for pleading had passed. "May the Valar protect you and bring your safe return," she said only.
Ecthelion bent to kiss his young daughter, and held his wife's hands for a long moment. Then he joined the elite warriors, those who would march with the King's son. Findecáno stood tall and fierce by the banner of his father, his gold-woven braids glinting under the starlight.
Ecthelion put a halt to this train of thought, for the red haze of Alqualondë loomed ahead. Still, he heard again the echo of Námo's doom, and the despair that had entered his soul. He did not fear the retribution of the Valar; he would find relief in the punishment of his sins. But shame - the terrible shame he would bring upon his kin - would not allow him to turn back.
He stumbled, sinking to his knees. How easy it would be, to slip into the cold-sleep. So many had simply given up on this long march, sitting down on the ice, waiting for Mandos to call their fëar. He envied them.
Glorfindel stopped. "Come, friend, you cannot rest here."
Ecthelion shook his head. "I cannot go on."
"We are not far from land now, I deem. March a little longer by me, and we shall soon have new hope." Glorfindel shifted the child under his cloak, freeing his hand. "Come," he repeated, holding out his hand.
Ecthelion took it at last, his icy fingers burning at the warmth. He stood, and began to trudge forth. 'Just a few more steps, then I will sit down. A few steps more,' he thought, marvelling at the effort it took to put one foot before the other. In this way he carried on for some time, staring at his feet, knowing that when they stopped moving, he could find rest. So absorbed was he that he hardly noticed the stir of the host ahead. He nearly ran into Glorfindel, who had stopped. He lifted his head and saw what had halted the Noldor. A glow to the east, like the fires of Losgar, but brighter, rose, growing ever bolder by the minute.
"Land!" someone shouted. A new energy possessed the Exiles; even Ecthelion found his feet less heavy. The light in the east grew ever more bright until a blinding ball of fire came forth from the horizon, bringing with it a thin warmth. The elves at the front of the march blew their trumpets and raised the tattered banner of Nolofinwë as their feet met the firm shore of Beleriand.
"Hope," Ecthelion whispered.
Glorfindel released Itarillë, who wriggled with excitement; she wanted to walk with her father. "Yes, hope returns to us, my friend."
The Tower of Turgon shone like a beacon over the city, every window lit with a host of candles. There, warmth awaited the elf-lords. The King's table would fairly groan under delicacies to tempt every palate, and Turgon would be in his most genial mood. Over all the festivities, brighter than all the Yule lights and even Tilion himself, would shine the light of Gondolin, Idril Celebrindal.
They heard strains of song and merry laughter as they climbed the grand staircase to the King's apartments, for the Lords of the other Houses had already arrived. Glorfindel looked in wonder upon the feast. "We shall never be able to taste every dish, let alone eat all this food!"
"Then we must have Yule every day of the year, until we have finished it all," a voice at his elbow declared.
Glorfindel turned to offer his King's daughter a kiss of greeting. "Ah, you are even more radiant than usual this night," he smiled.
"Idle flattery!" Idril said. She greeted Ecthelion in turn and took their arms as they went to pay respect to her father, who sang a pretty but melancholy song.
"Ammë would have loved Yule," Idril said, smiling at the memory. "She loved the play of colours at the mingling of lights - it was her favourite time of day."
Valmar, Year of the Trees 1495
"Watch over Elenwë," her father charged his sister-son. "Turucáno is a good husband, but I do not trust Fëanáro. The ancient Vanya looked sad. "He was not always so fey - long ago, when he was young, no elf, of the Vanyar or Noldor, shone with such fire. Each day, that elf had some new wonder to show us. Yet, you have heard Varda speak of stars that burn too brightly and collapse, pulling everything near to them into a chasm of blackness. So it is with Fëanáro. He will lead his people to ruin.
"My Elenwë is the most precious gem of my house. Do not let her fall into Fëanáro's chasm."
His words echoed painfully in Glorfindel's mind when the scions of Finwë stood in shocked silence, knowing no words that might ease Turucáno's loss. For a moment, Glorfindel considered turning back. He carried on for the sake of Itarillë; if he had failed his cousin, he would not fail her daughter.
Strangely, this night brought no reproach to the Lord of the Golden Flower. Instead, he joined Idril in happy memory of her mother, for he found himself finally at peace with Elenwë's death. He saw the King look with fondness upon his daughter; indeed, few eyes could stray for long from the elf-maid. In her face, one found the sweetness of a child and the kindness and wisdom of the great lady she had become. Not even Maeglin's dark looks could dampen her delight in the holiday. As Turgon finished his song, she planted a kiss on his forehead.
"It is a pretty song, but shall we not have something more cheerful? For I deem that Yule brings great things to Gondolin this year, and we shall have much delight from arrivals, yet undisclosed, in Yuletides to come."
The scent of roasting fowl wafted from the servants' apartments, but the main rooms offered no sign of Yule. Holidays meant little to the elf-lord, for they were a time for family, and one by one, his had left him. He had seen his eldest child struck down at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and upon reaching the safety of Gondolin, he had learned that his wife, a healer, remained with the wounded. For some years, he had kept thin hope that she would find her way back to him. Likewise had he prayed that his younger son, against his wish, but by order of the King sent to seek the mercy of the Valar, would return to Gondolin. On this night of nights, when Anor's rebirth brought hope to others, he saw no hope at all.
Voronwë disentangled himself from his dreams with difficulty. He brushed a tendril of hair from his cheek and felt wetness there. At once, the living dream came flooding back, and he felt again his father's despair. Guilt wrenched at his heart. 'Ada, it is me. Do not despair so.'
In his darkened rooms, Aranwë steadied himself against the back of a chair. 'Voronwë? My son, whom I thought lost to me?'
'Yet I have returned to you. Ada, I am sorry.'
'Let such matters between us lie. It is Yule, and we begin anew. Sleep now, child. Let your dreams be untroubled.
Tuor stirred; he had sensed the elf's distress. The landscape of his own dreams touched upon a tattered, much-loved toy dog and his foster-father's abiding presence, still palpable though they had parted many years ago. Annael had found succour for himself and his people at the Havens; they would meet again, Tuor felt certain.
A small child drifted into his dreams, his face hidden. Golden haired, the boy had the sturdy frame of a mortal and the graceful leaf-like ears of the Eldar. Men and Elves called the boy 'Gil Estel': Star of Hope.
The clouds had passed, leaving a clear sky, bright with promise. "Look, friend, to the West," Glorfindel said. "Do you not see it? A new star shines upon us."
Ecthelion looked up at the night sky. Elves know the elenath like the face of a loved one, and he certainly would have distinguished this new star. "I think you had too much wine tonight. There is no such star."
"No, not yet. But there will be." Glorfindel clapped him on the back. "Hope rises in Gondolin this night. Hope for all Eru's children."
E mbar lín telithar i estel Edhil a Edain. Hin pedin na le, hîr, uin hin gwanath: law angeveditham, a law athirithon na remmais faen lín, dan o le a o nin eriatha êl eden. [9]
[1] A promise lives within you now'
(ref Fellowship of the Ring Soundtrack, 'May It Be' by Roma Ryan)
[2] Híren
my lord
[3] Gail-en-Forn
the North Star, lit. 'Light of the North'. The name is my invention - Tolkien, as far as I know, never gave us a name for the North Star.
[4] Enerdhil
According to one version, Enerdhil is the smith of Gondolin who made the Elessar. (ref Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' pp 261-2 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
[5] the notice of Anaire's brother-daughter
We do know that Voronwë is related to Círdan, though his exact kinship is my invention. He also refers to himself as 'Voronwë son of Aranwë of the House of Fingolfin', which may indicate only that his family had a historical allegiance to Fingolfin. I've taken it more literally, to mean that he is kin to Fingolfin, in this case, through Anairë. (ref Unfinished Tales, 'Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin' pp 37 and 48 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
[6] Aulendili
Presumably the plural of Aulendil, 'lover of Aulë' (Q), a society of smiths trained by Aulë. The War of the Jewels gives the plural of Eldandil as Eldandili, and one would assume that Aulendil would form its plural in the same manner.
[7] his much-younger cousin
Glorfindel is called a Noldo in The Peoples of Middle-earth, 'Last Writings', but golden hair occurred only among the Vanyar and those of Vanyarin descent. The apparent discrepancy is easily solved: elves primarily identified themselves through their father's clan, even if their mother was of another clan - Galadriel is a perfect example. Thus, Glorfindel might well have had a Vanyarin mother. His relationship to Elenwë is my invention.
[8] Rána
the moon (Q). Although Sindarin Ithil is obviously derived from the same source as Quenya Isil, The Silmarillion specifies that the latter was the name given to the moon by the Vanyar and Rána the name used by the Noldor. (ref 'Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor' p 111 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
[9]E mbar lín telithar i estel Edhil a Edain. Hin pedin na le, hîr, uin hin gwanath: law angeveditham, a law athirithon na remmais faen lín, dan o le a o nin eriatha êl eden.
…Out of your house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. This I say to you, lord, with the eyes of death: though we part here for ever, and I shall not look on your white walls again, from you and from me a new star shall arise. (ref The Silmarillion, 'Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad' p 231 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)