OF EOL AND AREDHEL
Chapter One...
To say their welcome had been a grand affair would have been a little off the mark. It was more. Or so it seemed to Aredhel who had lived in Gondolin since its inception and knew what grand affairs were like in the city. These were mainly festivals that the Gondolindrim would celebrate such as the Birth of Flowers with the coming of Spring, the Gates of Summer at the coming of Summer and at the Gathering Of Fruits at Autumn. A great ceremony also was held once a year at the Gar Ainion (The Place Of The Gods), a square that stood near the palace, where statues of the Vala were carved, vaulting high into the air and casting long shadows over the elves who stood upon the glistening marble floor, commemorating them in celebration. The people of Gondolin would attend these festivities in their multitudes, and so it had been when Aredhel and Maeglin had come.
It all seemed like a dream to Maeglin that began from the moment they had issued from the shadows of the Orfalch Ethor, and passing through the six gates, looked upon the great plain of Tumladen stretching wide before them. They were given horses and had ridden with an escort of riders clad in gleaming mail, bearing tokens of their guard upon their surcoats; the Eagle, the White Tree and the Gold. It felt strange to be in the company of such noble looking elves who were as lords to Maeglin's eyes, and far above the secretive Sindar he had known from home. He looked at his own attire, dour grey of cloth and cloak and wayworn from long travel, and felt a little vulgar in their splendid company. He looked at his mother who rode ahead of him. She had thrown her grey hood back and let loose her raven hair to billow in the winds of her speed, and her voice was high with laughter loud and gay as she conversed freely with those who rode beside her. At least she was happy, thought Maeglin. Aredhel had not been so for a long while, being filled with melancholy for her home and people, and he himself had a burning desire to see this Ondolindë she spoke of with such fervour and praise. And he had every right to come here, no matter what his father's selfish decrees would dictate. The Noldor were as much his people as the Sindar, and he would not be sundered from both peoples as his father ultimately willed, to spend his life living rudely in the dark forests of Nan Elmoth while the blood of a kingly house lay in him.
The rider to the right of Maeglin caught his attention as he veered his grey steed closer to his path. He rode well, sitting proudly in his saddle with reins in one hand and the other rested upon an armoured thigh. A great Eagle was embossed upon his black surcoat and his green cloak trailed behind, flapping in the winds. Taryano was his name and he was a guard of the fourth gate, the Gate of Writhen Iron.
"So you are the son of Lady Irissë," he said when he was near enough for easy speech.
"I am," replied Maeglin with a curious swell of pride.
Taryano smiled and nodded. "It is well indeed that our Lady has returned, and moreso as she comes with the latest seed of the house of Nolofinwe. A great welcome surely awaits you in the city."
Maeglin felt a thrill at his words, and looked to the city that was still far away, a gleaming jewel of white stone that sat atop a black band which rose from a sea of green. He had no idea of what to expect, what he would see, how he would be received, or indeed how he would take it all. Yesterday he had been a simple son of a smith, living in a world of humble means. However, through the tunnel had suddenly opened up a world of light and beauty that he was only beginning to comprehend, and he was to be a prince of this new land. He trembled a little at the thought and turned his eyes back to the road ahead.
About them, the grasses of the plain were strewn with sweet smelling flowers such as star-like Uilos that dotted the landscape in snowy groves, and Maeglin saw many rivulets of flowing silver lay spread upon Tumladen, and with elven sight he could descry waterfalls plunging from the heights of the Echoriath to feed them. And numerous pools lay upon the plain, deep and clear, thickly hedged by tall reeds wherein long-legged birds nested and waded for fish. There also lay pathways criss-crossing the plain, paved with white stone that gleamed in the sunlight, as if some giant of old had drawn an intricate pattern with chalk upon the green canvas. In the distance were elves walking upon these roads; soldiery trekking to far outposts nestled within the folds of the mountains maybe, or city-folk journeying at their leisure.
"Who are they?" asked Maeglin, pointing to a group afar off that was heading north.
Taryano shaded his grey eyes. "They are soldiery such as myself. Guards assigned to our northern outposts that lie hidden in the high passes. And those are some of our best men who are as hardy as they come, for their detail lies in the most lofty and treacherous places about the city, since the Echoriath rise to their greatest height in the cold north."
Indeed it seemed so, for the jagged tops of the mountains seemed to pierce the very sky, and many of their craggy spear-like fingers were wreathed in wisps of high cloud.
"Are there many outposts about the city?" asked Maeglin.
"There are," replied Taryano. "The eyes of the Ondolindrim are watching all about the heights that surround us. Neither elf nor man, beast or creature of Morgoth could enter the ring unheeded."
Maeglin looked about him again but there was doubt in his eyes, for if that were true then there had to be hundreds of hidden outposts. Looking now at the gargantuan fence, he did not think every nook and cranny of its mountainous stone could be espied for such a feat. Taryano however noted his look and smiled. "Perhaps you think the Echoriath cannot be surveyed by elven sight alone, and maybe you would be right. Yet we have other guardians to aid us." He pointed to the etching upon his surcoat.
"The eagles!" exclaimed Maeglin.
"Indeed," Taryano replied. "They have their eyries up there and though you may not see them for they fly high indeed, yet they see all with ease." He looked up to the blue sky. "Ceaseless is their vigilance and we are most thankful for it. And so we honour them, and I as do many are most proud to wear their likeness upon our breast."
So they spoke as they rode across the great plain, and Taryano answered many questions as to what Maeglin saw or explanations of what he should expect. And Taryano asked Maeglin of the world beyond the Echoriath, for few tidings ever came to the people of Gondolin save the King and his counsellors, by the tidings of Thorondor.
"I fear I can tell you little," said Maeglin to Taryano's questioning. "For I have lived a sheltered life, knowing only the dark forests of Nan Elmoth where grow the tallest Mallorn trees in all of Beleriand." He did not wish to speak of Nogrod or Belegost, the dwarf realms he had visited with Eol, for fear of pushing their talk towards explanations about his father.
"Those trees I have seen," said Taryano, "for they grow well in the city."
"I do not doubt it," Maeglin replied. "I deem all that grows fair in the outer lands thrives in this enchanted realm."
Taryano laughed. "A few perhaps but certainly not all," he said. A moment passed and his face became thoughtful. "Nan Elmoth! That is a strange place to dwell, as is the fact that you have not visited any of the realms of the Noldor. I would have thought you to have seen the dwellings of the Feanorrim at least, as the sons of Feanaro are old friends of our Lady."
Maeglin's face darkened as unbidden visions now came to him of Eol's grim face and stern commands that denied him and his mother all contact with any of the Noldor. "My father had no wish for me to meet with them," he said. Yet unease arose in him as he realized his failure to steer clear of talk about his father. For Aredhel had told him not speak of Eol to anyone, at least not before she had time to broach the subject with the King.
But it seemed Taryano misread his words. "It is well that he forbade you to go to them," he said. "For the people of Feanaro are fey, and the shadow lies heavily upon them. Perhaps the wise sense to shun them came upon our Lady at last, begging your pardon." Maeglin did not answer, hoping the questioning would cease, or that they would speak of other things. But Taryano's furrowed brow belied such a hope. "You have spoken of your father," he said. "Yet I wonder much about him as do others. For who is he, and why is he not come with his wife and son?"
Maeglin's heart sank for how would he answer such a question? Even if he were permitted to explain, where would he begin. Yet being forbidden to speak the truth was just as perplexing, for what lie could he give. Should he say his father was dead? Nay, that would not do. For his mother was sure to tell the King the truth and that would be an embarrassing contradiction once all of Gondolin knew. Maeglin grit his teeth in frustration. He and his mother should have planned better but they had not, so excited was Aredhel to return. He glanced at her, riding ahead in deep conversation with Vanëandur, the leader of their escort. What had she told him concerning her husband. Had the matter even come up? He turned to Taryano and forced a weak smile, thinking furiously of what to say.
"My father is an elf of the Sindar," he managed, striving for an expression that did not betray his turmoil. "He did not come with us as he was away from home. Yet he knew of our intent and may follow when he is able."
"I see," said Taryano, looking ahead thoughtfully. They cantered on for a while until Maeglin wondered as to his silence. Soon it was his turn for inquisitiveness.
"What are you thinking," Maeglin asked. "Do you doubt my answer?"
Taryano turned to him in surprise. "Nay, nay, I doubt you not at all. Yet I think now of our Lady as I knew her before."
Maeglin brightened. "Tell me, what was she like?" he plied eagerly.
"Oh no," said Taryano with a smile. "I would not presume to speak so freely of our Lady to the sister-son of the King."
"That will not do," countered Maeglin. "I have answered all you have asked of me and now I bid you do the same."
Taryano looked at him and sighed. "Very well, but know that I mean no offence to your father in what I say."
"Then say on," said Maeglin impatiently.
"Well, the Lady Irissë was proud and fearless," said Taryano, "thinking little of the pastimes of women but rather following the passions of men. For she loved to ride with the hunt upon the plain, or spent time trekking the passes of the mountains with hardy men-folk. Of such were her friends and admirers, and those were many throughout the realm. Great noble lords of the Ondolindrim who were unwed vied for her but to none did she give her favour. And when she sought the Feanorrim we thought she had made her choice to wed maybe one of their great lords with whom she had long been friends. Yet to hear that she is wed to one of the Sindar and dwelt in Nan Elmoth is not what we expected. Your father must be great and noble indeed to have won the heart of Ar-Feiniel."
"My father is no rude elf of the wood," said Maeglin with a hint of offence taken. "He is of the royal line of Doriath, and kinsman to King Thingol. Yet he too chose to leave that fair realm to wander the wilds and settle apart, as did my mother. Perhaps that is what brought them together, an elusive drive within them that few may understand save them alone. A smith he is, yet of a noble kind, and worthy of a princess of the Calaquendi." Maeglin realised he were saying more than he should, but Taryano's words came from a proud mind that would scorn Eol, who for all their estrangement was still his father.
Taryano turned away and bowed his head. "As I said, I mean no offence to your father or the Sindar. I spoke rather from what I knew of Lady Irissë's mood, and not from my own beliefs. For I myself am wed to a Sindarin woman. Aerdis is her name and she is more fair than words can tell and the greatest joy to my heart."
Maeglin looked at him and smiled. "I hear you friend Taryano," he said. "I asked you to speak freely and you did. I am not offended."
Taryano gave a nod and they continued on in silence. They were more than halfway to the city and the plain were now lined and divided by long hedgerows that enclosed vast corn-fields and laden orchards. The smell of citrus was in the air. Now as they came ever nearer to the city, the road seemed to broaden somewhat and about a league away from the base of the hill, the road widened to a duality with a green strip at the centre where was planted a lush green hedgerow of closely spaced shrubs. The highway was kerbed by grey pebbles and at equally spaced intervals rose tall white pillars.
And so they came to the hill of Amon Gwareth itself atop of which was nestled the shining city. It rose as a mountainous mound of rock from what seemed to be a great lake, rising more than a thousand feet into the air. Maeglin stared in wonder. Huge masses of black stone etched with mighty crevices and sheer walls greeted his sight, but the rock was smooth, so smooth it glistened in the rays of the midday sun. Through many shadowy folds and wide ravines could be seen flows of falling water, fed from the heights and rushing down broad stony staircases to the lake below. And crowning the great mound were the walls of the city, shining white and standing two hundred feet tall, to high parapets and towers. No more could Maeglin see and so he looked to the road ahead. They had reached a great bridge that spanned the moat-like waters of the ancient lake to clasp the hill of stone and continue on as a broad path that was cut into the hillside and curved southward as it rose. The company halted as a contingent of guards who stood by the bridge now came forward to meet them.
"Hail, Lady Irissë!" said the foremost of them. His armour was of the same make as Taryano, but his surcoat and cloak were blue, and embossed upon his chest were two trees, one silver and the other gold. "It is good to see your safe return." He halted before Aredhel, looking up at her with a broad smile.
"It is good to return, Rámavoitë," said Aredhel, looking up at the walls of the city, shining high against the clear blue sky. "You do not know how often I yearned for Ondolindë and its people."
"Well yearn no more for the realm, my Lady," Rámavoitë replied. "as you are returned to grace it. And now by your leave I shall lead you over the bridge to where lord Ecthelion awaits. With him you shall trek the final path to the West Gate, where you will find a joyous welcome."
"Then all is well," Aredhel replied. "You may lead when ready."
Rámavoitë then turned to Vanëandur, the leader of their escort. "You and your men may return to the Orfalch Ethor."
Vanëandur nodded and gave his salutations of parting to Aredhel and Maeglin as did the others before turning their horses back towards the west.
"Well, here I must leave you, my lord," said Taryano, coming close beside the prince.
"My lord he said," thought Maeglin with surprise. It was strange to be called that by one so noble and high, guard though he was, but then all the guards of Gondolin seemed above him in courtesy and bearing. Then Maeglin began to somewhat understand the pride of the Noldor, who saw themselves as the glorious Calaquendi who were above the Moriquendi in all manner of ways, be it of culture, of learning or even prowess. Yet one could not blame them after witnessing what they could contrive in Middle-earth. His eyes looked up to the tall white walls again. A jealous hatred had ruled Eol's mood towards the Noldor but he would not emulate his father. He could not, for he was a prince of that proud people. Had not Taryano just called him lord? Maeglin smiled at the thought. "I thank you for your kind company," he said, turning to the guard, "and hope we shall meet again."
"I doubt that," said Taryano with a grin, "for my livelihood is the Gate of Writhen Iron which lies far from the city."
"Yet if you fare hither, I bid you seek for me and we should speak again of Gondolin and her tales." said Maeglin.
"You speak as one of us who are but servants to the realm," said Taryano gravely. "Yet you are of the Royal House whose power rules all here. Others you shall come to know who are worthier of your state. Yet I am glad we have met as you are fair spoken and eager. Therefore I wish you good fortune within our realm." He bowed his head. "Farewell, my lord." With that, he spurred his horse forward, turning back to follow his receding companions.
"I see you have made a friend," said Aredhel, coming beside him upon her white horse.
"I do not know," replied Maeglin as he watched their escort ride away. "We spoke freely all the way here, yet as soon as we halted he called me lord, and seemed to place a distance of obligation between us."
Aredhel smiled. "Indeed," she said. "For he is obligated to serve his prince. Does that bother you?"
Maeglin thought for a moment and sighed, turning to his mother."I do not know," he said. "I had thoughts of what you used to tell me about Gondolin. Vague images and flights of fancy that were based on your words. But now that I am here it seems like a strange dream, for far grander and more beautiful is all that I surmised." He turned to point at the hill of stone and the city that lay atop it. "See now the vision before me! An image of a City of the Valar to my humble eyes. That I should be a lord of such a place..." He faltered, overcome with some emotion, but Aredhel took his hand and kissed it.
"First and foremost, you are my son," she said, holding his hand to her cheek. "Since your blessed birth we have been together, you and I, and over the years I have seen you grow into the man you have become."
"And what have I become?" asked Maeglin, truly needing to know the answer.
"You have become a man worthy of the princedoms of both the Sindar and the Noldor," she replied. "All here can see that with ease, and some have said as much. Therefore do not doubt yourself in the face of Nolodorin wonders, for they were made by your people and not some alien race that is beyond your comprehension. Humble we may have been in Nan Elmoth, yet I will speak no ill of your father, nor of his possessions or wealth. That is not why I loved him. Yet you deserved to know the other side of it. To know your Noldorin kin and revel in the glory appointed to you by way of birth and blood. I will never regret bringing you here against the will of your father. That quarrel lies between me and Eol. However, this is a new beginning for you and I would have you rise up to meet it. Therefore do not be daunted by what or whom you see here, but embrace it all as your inheritance."
Maeglin looked in silence at his mother for a moment. She was right of course. Rude was his life before and of little account was his father in the company of Noldorin kings, yet nevertheless that royal blood was in him. Mighty were the Noldor in Middle-earth, both proud and valiant. He would strive to live up to his peers and not fail his mother or himself. Nor, as an afterthought, would he disgrace his father, whatever that meant.
Maeglin nodded and Aredhel kissed his brow. Then she turned to the guards who had walked a little way ahead. "Rámavoitë!" she cried. "We are ready."
They began forward, walking their horses behind Rámavoitë and four others. The bridge was made of white stone and had six arches spanning the vast moat whose shimmering surface rippled over a dark blue hue of great depth. Tall white columns rose at intervals from the bridge's balustraded edges, atop which blue flags hung. But at the centre of the bridge, the two opposing pillars ended in large white orbs, which would cast a silver light upon the bridge and the deep waters below at night. Approaching the far side of the bridge, Maeglin saw more guards awaiting them, and one who sat upon a chestnut stallion. He was Ecthelion, Warden of the Golden Gate. Maeglin had met him before beneath the Orfalch Ethor, yet though he was the warden, Ecthelion had himself ridden to the city with all haste, so great seemed the tidings of Aredhel's return. Now he awaited them with a broad smile upon his fair and noble face; a lordly figure who was silver clad, and upon his shining helm was set a spike of steel, pointed with a diamond.
"The city awaits you my Lady," he said as he turned his horse forward.
Thereafter the road bore into the side of the hillside, with a rising cliff face to the left and a sheer drop hundreds of feet upon the right. But that side was bordered by slender balustrades, decorated with traceries and garlanded by hanging lamps and smooth orbs. Up the road went as the plain fell away beneath them, so that Maeglin could see Tumladen in all its western vastness, patterned by long hedgerows and dark blue pools. The climbing road ahead turned left and another lofty bridge stood before them, spanning a wide gorge where a great rushing water flowed that spilled from a mighty waterfall that issued from within a yawning dark recess within Amon Gwareth's high shoulders. They passed over and the road turned south westward atop a broad shelf of rock whose cliffs to the left fell away to a rocky tumble of level plateau. Here the road became broad again, almost as wide as the highway far below, and many pillars rose upon either side of it, with large orbs that emitted golden light after dark. The city walls stood before them, grandiose in their vaulting glory, and mighty towers cast their shadow over the threshold of the West Gate whose wall was built of white marble, and the parapet was made of pearl, and in the midst was set an image of Laurelin, the Tree of the Sun, wrought of gold, and the White Tree Telperion, wrought of silver and malachite. The Gate itself was adorned with discs of blue sapphire, set amid devices of blue topaz and moonstone and beryls. Hemming the Gate were two towers of great height, many-windowed, and tapering to a turret of bright steel.
Already a great throng stood there, and it surrounded them as they dismounted and passed under the mighty towers of the West Gate. The airs were filled with cries of "Irissë!" as they walked the climbing road that was the King's Way, which led directly to the very doors of the palace. Friends and acquaintances of old converged upon Aredhel with embraces of joy at her return unlooked for, as word ran like fire through the city. Maeglin walked beside his mother in silence, his eyes roving about his surroundings, full of wonder at the beauty of the city, and awe at the multitudes of elves such as he had never seen, being used only to the few who served Eol in the dark of Nan Elmoth.
Trumpets blew from high walls and tall slender towers, and elves sang in their happiness while children laughed and ran about them in their glee, not knowing the two strangers but full of cheer at the festive mood of their elders. The sun shone bright and glad over the vale and city, brightening the white walls of the fair houses that sat in rows beside the broad road, paved with glistening stones of colourful hues and kerbed with white marble. And green gardens and courts Maeglin espied from afar, where shimmering silver fountains played, and flowers in a cacophony of colour filled the airs with sweetened scents. He heard his name here and there upon the lips of smiling strangers, and saw others pointing his way as they told one another that here was the son of Irissë, and that he looked fair and seemed worthy of the house of Nolofinwe. All this passed before him as they went ever upward, and came finally to the Square of the King that stood before the doors of the palace. There lay green lawns amid marble paths and wide fountains whose waters sprang fifty metres into the air in a glorious waterfall of crystalline loveliness. And many Poplar trees stood there and Oak werein birds of the whiteness of snow twittered and piped in the leafy shade. A great well of vast depth and great purity of water sat beneath their bows and many of the King's Guard stood about it, arrayed in silver armour and white cloaks. Emblazoned upon their leather surcoats were the likenesses of the two trees, Laurelin and Telperion of old. But looking towards the mighty oaken doors of the palace, Maeglin saw that upon either side were two trees, one that bore a blossom of gold and the other of silver. Those trees the people of Gondolin named Glingol and Bansil, and were wrought by the craft of Turgon himself in honour of the Two Trees of Valinor that lit the Blessed Realm before Melkor and Ungoliant withered them. Maeglin gasped at their splendour.
Now Aredhel and Maeglin climbed the white steps that led to the doors and here were met by Turgon himself, robed in white with a belt of gold, and a coronet of garnets, and who could scarce contain his joy and delight at his sister's unexpected return.
"Irissë!" he cried, coming forward with outstretched arms to embrace her. "How come you here beyond all hope?" He kissed her cheek.
"I came as I left," Aredhel replied with a grin. "By foot and by steed."
"Do not jest sister," said Turgon with a fading smile. "You were lost to us...to me. The news came that the darkness of Nan Dungortheb took you. You cannot know of my grief for I did warn you not to go. Yet when I finally assented, unwilling I might add, I told you to seek rather our father and brother in Hithlum. But to choose the road that goes east past the Valley of Dreadful Death! Why Irissë, why?"
"Why not?" came her defiant reply. "Did I not say I would go as seemed good to me beyond your bounds?"
"But the sons of Feanaro?' said Turgon, shaking his head. "I would have denied you had I known of your intent beforehand."
"And that is why I did not tell you," Aredhel replied, broadening her grin.
Turgon sighed but his smile returned as he clasped her shoulders and stood her back, gazing at her in his happiness. "But it is good to see you again, sweet sister," he said.
"It is good to be back, my brother," she replied. "And I have brought another who is glad to look upon the beauty of Ondolinde." She turned her head to the young elf who stood at her side.
Turgon followed her gaze. "And who is this?" he asked.
Aredhel opened her mouth but her son spoke first. "I am Maeglin Lomion, son of Aredhel and Eol. I have come serving as protector to my mother and as kinsman to the king. For I heard many tales of the grandeur of Gondolin, the realm from whence my mother came. And as a son has the right to know the people of his mother as well as his father, I proposed the journey hence, dark though it was, yet worth every peril. For never did I hope to witness such magnificence and beauty of both land and dwelling as I have seen within the Echoriath."
"You have a son!" said Turgon, looking anew at the young man. His face was fair indeed like his mother and his hair was raven dark, flowing in sumptuous waves to his shoulders, and he was tall and lithe. Yet his eyes caught all notice, for they shone piercingly bright, even for one of the Noldor. Then Turgon looked upon Maeglin with liking, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. He then embraced his sister-son and laughed. "Indeed, you are brave and courteous," he said, "and have my thanks for seeing my sister's safe return. I am deeply in your debt." He turned then to Aredhel who looked proudly at Maeglin. "And I would ask for your leave to begin to repay that debt."
Maeglin bowed low. "Between kin there can be no talk of debt-paying, let alone a humble elf to his venerable king."
Turgon laughed at that. "Sharp Glance" you are named but "Sweet Tongue" is nearer the mark I think." He gestured towards the great doors of his palace. "But let us leave the threshold and come into my halls. There we shall sit and speak freely, where your mother shall tell me all that has befallen her since she left her people." With a wave and a great cheer from the crowd below, they turned and entered the palace of the King.
~oOo~Long they sat with Turgon in his chamber as Aredhel told him of her journey; the refusal of Thingol for passage through his realm, the desperate road along the borders of Nan Dungortheb, the horrors of separation and the relief of passing through the turmoil unscathed. She spoke of her year-long sojourn with the people of Celegorm and Curufin and of her coming to Nan Elmoth. Then she spoke of her life in the shadows, speaking ever brightly of Eol and masking all that was grim and hateful of his mood towards the Noldor. Then Maeglin fell silent, who until that point had chimed in here and there on his mother's tale, but now listened with a bowed head. And when Turgon asked why Eol had not come with them, leaving his wife and son to a dark and perilous road, she said he had given them leave to come to Gondolin. He himself had journeyed to the dwarf-lands in the east on an important errand and would follow when he was able. If Turgon had suspected the tale was not full told, he did not show it, so great was his joy at Aredhel's return.
So they had left him and were led to their quarters within the palace. Then Maeglin left Aredhel for a while, being taken by Idril the daughter of Turgon for a tour about the palace. Maeglin was well pleased at this, for he had taken a great liking to Idril upon seeing her standing tall and regal in her beauty beside the throne of her father. Aredhel had remained in her room in the company of Altawen, Eteminiel and Lassecantë, her maidens of old. There they spoke as women do about her doings over the years, and they were soon joined by Eristeth, Russafindë and Ranyanis, who were Aredhel's friends.
"Your son Maeglin is a fine young man," said Russafindë, a red haired lady of dark beauty much like Aredhel, and was closest to her in friendship. "Truly the house of Finwe is in him."
"Indeed!" said Eristeth, a fair haired woman of the Sindar. "However, we know nothing of his father."
The ladies all sat silent, staring expectantly at Aredhel who seemed to fidget, wringing her hands with eyes lowered.
"What are you hiding from us, Irissë?" asked Russafindë, eyeing her closely.
"Nothing," said Aredhel. She paused, unsure of how to proceed. These were her friends of old, women she had known since childhood save Eristeth whom she knew from Vinyamar. They had always spoken freely of all that troubled them, their hopes and desires, their secrets and musings. She could trust them of course, but she felt loathe to tell them of Eol. Yet irregardless they might wean the truth out of her if she lied or did not tell all, for in being dear friends for so long, they could sense an untruth among each other quite easily. Aredhel opened her mouth but no words came.
"Why is it hard to speak of him?" asked Ranyanis, who was the noble wife of Galdor, Lord of the House of the Tree. "You are so mysterious."
Aredhel sighed. "He is of the Sindar," she said in a lowly voice.
"The Sindar!" said Eristeth with pleasant surprise. "Who would have thought you to wed one of my people."
"And why is that difficult to believe?" replied Aredhel sharply, a little offended by the implication. "When have I said I would prefer a Noldo over the Sindar. Have we not dwelt together, your people and mine for many years, joining our peoples in marriage on many an occasion?"
"We have," said Russafindë. "Yet we are still surprised, for of all the men you befriended, those of the Noldor were ever closest to your heart."
"And you have injured many a noble heart too," said Ranyanis with a grin. "Poor lord Ecthelion for instance. Long did he pine after you were lost."
The others laughed as Aredhel blushed and turned away. "You need not jest, Ranyanis," she muttered.
Ranyanis feigned a look of shock. "I do not jest, nor lie," she cried. "Galdor told me as much, for they are good friends and speak even as we do."
"I heard Ecthelion flew over Tumladen like a gale to deliver the news of your return, so eager was he," said Russafindë to more laughter.
"Ladies please!" said Aredhel, and their laughter died upon their lips when they saw how solemn she seemed.
"What is wrong Irissë?" asked Eristeth, laying a gentle hand upon Aredhel's knee.
"There is much that we do not yet understand about this Sindarin Elf," said Russafindë, coming to sit beside her friend and lay her arm over Aredhel's shoulder to comfort her. "Speak to us now," she said softly. "Who is this elf who has you so troubled?"
"And why has he not come with you, my lady?" asked Lassecantë.
"Questions, questions, and yet more questions," said Aredhel as she shrugged away Russafindë's arm, stood and went to the open window that looked over the Square of the King. The hour of dusk had come and the westering sun had passed under the jagged tips of the mountains. The light was ruddy and the shadows lay long and dark upon the city and about the vale. Lights were springing up in towers and houses, over the streets and hanging above gardens and terraces, twinkling in hues of pale silver, shimmering in pools of blue and flaming yellow. There were still many nobles milling about the paths of the Square, or seated in talkative groups by the fountains or gathered upon the green lawn about the well and Aredhel need not have guessed what had them chatter so excitedly. She should have been warmed by her reception, yet the questions...simple questions that came with hard answers. 'My husband is a Sindarin elf', she thought to herself, 'who hates the Noldor and whose son I stole.' Aredhel almost gasped. That was the first time she had thought that way. She had stolen Maeglin! But no, he was her son too and she had as much right to him as Eol. He was at fault for forcing her into such an act by denying her her kin for all those years. But she was a princess of a great realm and no mere daughter of peasantry. She would not be thwarted by any man.
Aredhel sighed. Why then did she feel so wretched. She had beaten Eol and escaped had she not? She turned around to the concerned stares of her friends. She knew she had to tell them something...maybe even the whole truth. Surely as old friends they would understand. She made up her mind and opened her mouth to speak, but just then she heard faint voices coming from outside. Aredhel whirled about and saw a figure talking in haste to the guards of the Square. He wore the Gold Tree upon his breast, and that meant he had come all the way from the Sixth Gate. Aredhel's eyes widened and her heart began to pound with a growing dread. Now the messenger was running towards the palace doors, his golden cloak streaming after him as he passed under her sight. Aredhel clutched the window sill, staring blindly at the growing dark of outdoors. She muttered words she did not hear as she leaned upon the window almost in a faint. Swift arms took hold of her and gently eased her down to sit upon her bed nearby. She could only feel but not see. Only shadows in a grey room with dim candle light. She felt her trembling lips moving, felt the utterances of her voice but could not hear what she was saying. Many shadowy faces appeared before her with lips moving as wordlessly as her own. She could not hear, she could not see, she could not understand. Nay, she would not let herself understand, for she could not face the answer to her fear. But she knew. Yes, deep down she knew what had happened. Then the darkness took her senses and she fainted.
Aredhel's maidens stood by in meek confusion and concern. Some strange fit of anxiety had overcome their Lady and they watched with wide eyes as her three friends sought to comfort and revive her.
"A damp cloth!" cried Russafindë to the staring trio, with Aredhel's head cradled in her lap and Ranyanis loosening the silver belt about her white gown. Eristeth sat nearby, holding Aredhel's hand tightly. Eteminiel dashed away for a dish of cold water while Altawen went for a cloth. Lassecantë went to the window to look out, for something outside had severely affected her Lady. But there was nothing to see save a group of guards at the Square's entrance. It seemed they were pointing to the window as they spoke to each other.
"What do you see?" asked Ranyanis as she joined Lassecantë by the window to peer out.
"There is nothing," said Lassecantë, very much perturbed. "What could have made her so?" she asked softly.
"She kept muttering something under her breath," said Eristeth, rubbing Aredhel's hand with her own.
"He has come," said Russafindë, cupping Aredhel's face in her hands and looking down upon her with worry and unease. "She said Eol has come."
~oOo~Aredhel sat tensely in her chamber, wringing her hands in agitation. She had come to her senses under the anxious gaze of her friends whom after her reassurances of sound health began to ask who Eol was. She did not answer, flustered at first by their use of his name until she understood her mutterings before her swoon. She had dismissed them all after that, saying she needed to rest after long journeying. Russafindë refused until Aredhel told them that Eol was indeed her husband. More questions were asked to which she said all would later be revealed to them. She promised it. However, that did little to appease them and they would not leave until Aredhel ordered them to go, but only with the assurance that none would speak of what had passed in her chamber. She would speak to Turgon as soon as she were able. They had all left her then, with worrisome glances and confused stares.
Now she was alone with her addled thoughts. Maeglin had not returned, obviously oblivious to their plight. How pitiless Fate was to her and her son. To give them joy and relief for a brief day before an ill turn. Eol had come! How he had managed it, she attempted to guess. He must have returned early from his journey to the dwarflands. But why? Some premonition must have prematurely guided him home. Yes that was it. Yet she had given Eol no cause for doubt, knowing how to screen her thought to his subtle mind. Nay, the fault must lie with Maeglin, she thought. They must have had words ere he left, and Eol upon reflection was sure to have noted a misplaced word in their quarrelling. Perhaps it were a wish spoken in frustration, or a threat cried in anger, for Maeglin could ill contain himself when he and his father spoke of his hopes and desires. Long had these things lain between father and son, and a wide gulf of bitterness and mistrust had developed, where once had been love and respect.
Yes, Eol must have embarked upon his journey ill at ease that his foremost command to his wife and son should be thwarted."To remain in Nan Elmoth and never seek the Noldor of any house!" Aredhel frowned and marvelled at how long she had obeyed that rule. She had thought little of it, being enamoured of her new surroundings, and of her husband. She thought of him now; his tall posture that belied his livelihood of constant bowing at the forge. She had loved to tease him of this and that had always brought out his smile. A smile upon a stern and proud face that was even handsome when he let mirth govern his mood. And what of his fair Sindarin hair that was always tied back for forge-work. She had loved to undo his locks and wash them after his labours, and tenderly braid them about his ears and let the rest fall free about his face and shoulders. Then noble and fair he seemed, and with a bright look of those piercing blue eyes and mirth upon his face, he would seem even as one of the lords of the Vanyar.
Her heart murmured at the thought. She had fled from Eol for her son's sake and for her own, but that did not mean she no longer loved him. She had loved Eol wholeheartedly, fiercely even. Such a love did not die nor fade. And even now, she strangely felt a little thrilled by his coming. Perhaps not all was lost. Perhaps the situation were not as dire as she thought. He may yet yield to Turgon and accept the Light for her sake, as she had chosen the Dark for him. But Eol was proud, and his hatred for the Noldor was deep. Nay, he would not yield to being told to remain within the confines of the Echoriath forever. For that was the law she was sure Turgon would seek to proclaim.
Aredhel sighed. Why had Eol followed them, knowing the Doom of Gondolin that would be set upon him. What did he hope to achieve? Yet it was obvious. It all came back to Maeglin. Eol could have let her fly back to the coop, for only a claim of love had he over her. However, to Maeglin he was bonded by blood and that he would never forsake, not for any king or law. But Aredhel had to tell herself yet again that not all was lost. She could still speak with Eol and yet persuade him, plead with him if needs be to abide by the King's will. But again her heart told her he would not yield. Not to her or to anyone. What was to be done? She could not think of a solution, no matter how hard she tried. Therefore she continued to do what she was known for when she was tense and full of disquiet. She sat alone, wringing her hands in agitation.
~oOo~Eol's bonds felt tight, chaffing at his wrists as the binding ropes dug into his skin. He had a maddening urge to scratch at the itch his bonds made, but he could not. It was one more affront that he was forced to bear. They had walked far, Eol and his three captors, and he was wearied from the forced march. Yet he had journeyed far longer before his capture, but that had been on horseback, riding day and night without rest until his horse began to stumble, frothing at the mouth as he was cruelly spurred on within the chase. The horse had finally succumbed to utter weariness within sight of his quarry from afar; two figures picking their way in the shadows among the tumbled hills that lay at the feet of the towering mountains of the Echoriath. Eol had cursed the forlorn animal as it whinnied upon the ground, rolling and heaving its torso in a pitiful effort to rise to its feet. Yet its efforts failed, strong at first yet weakening with every strain until it lay still, braying and wheezing through its flaring nostrils in exhausted defeat. Eol had looked down at the animal with frustrated anger at first. He was so close to his prey, so close that he would have been upon them had his horse's strength upheld. But now they would get away, eluding him within the rocky folds of the land. He had drawn his sword and without hesitation, hewn the horse's head clean off with a single stroke. The horse was dead...his horse was dead. Did it not have a name? Had it not spent many years in his faithful service as his sturdy companion upon many journeys. Eol marvelled that he strove to remember... then it came to him. Daeroch...that was it. A wave of sorrow hit him unexpectantly and he stumbled himself, causing one of his captors to look at him.
"I think we should rest awhile," Nyarindo said to Ohtarion and Rehtano who walked ahead of him and Eol. They halted and turned to him with questioning looks but he gestured to their prisoner. "He stumbles," he explained as he guided Eol's rope that he held and pulled him away from the road to the lush greensward beside and bid him sit down. Eol gave him a dark look but did not refuse the command. His limbs needed the rest.
He sat with his head bowed between his knees and closed his eyes. Then the memories came of his recent past. Apparitions of his wife and son, his family that had once smiled at him, jested with him, loved him... yet now had betrayed him. Their faces mocked his thought with their voices. "Father," he heard the dark haired youth say. "Teach me more." The face contorted and reshaped itself into one more beautiful. "Come my love, let us walk under the stars." The face brightened as it smiled, setting his mind aglow with its beauty. The clear grey eyes, the delicate nose, the shapely mouth, the glorious cascade of midnight hair that waved about the face, hiding it coyly, alluringly, then brushing aside to reveal laughter and joy. Eol opened his parched mouth and was about to call out to her when he felt a nudge upon his arm. He looked up sharply, startled at the touch, but it was Nyarindo who had squatted down beside him. He took out a pack from within the folds of his cloak and produced a loaf of bread from which he broke off a large piece and handed it over. Eol stared at the hand and the bread for a moment, his scowl returned and he had half a mind to refuse the food as he had done all through his captivity. But that would be foolish for he was famished, having last eaten two days before.
"Eat," said Nyarindo, gently nudging Eol's arm again. "You look like you need it."
Eol slowly took the bread and began to eat. It was good...it was very good. Indeed, it was so good Eol would have spat it into the face of the guard had he not been so hungry. Nyarindo studied him for a while, as if trying to fathom some riddle but Eol ignored him until irritation forced him to stare back, granting Nyarindo a withering look as he gazed at him. His gilded armour glinted beneath a leather surcoat embossed with a tree that stood aflame in gold. Tall golden plumes rose from his helmet, and his great cloak was bright yellow. He and his companions were guards of the Golden Gate, and their leader was a proud lord named Ecthelion. That name filled Eol with anger as he thought of the curt and almost hostile treatment Ecthelion had given him. After long interrogation the warden had sent a messenger to the city with "doubtful tidings" as he so put it. Eol had been detained in the mighty gate towers for the night and at the break of dawn, they had begun their trek towards the city. Evidently the "doubtful tidings" had been received as truth and Eol had sneered at the proud lord at their parting. Yet so grim and wrathful had Eol been when they released him that his escort were forced to put bonds upon him again, leading him forth as a prisoner. And Ecthelion refused them horses and was thus revenged upon Eol for his sneering.
Nyarindo sat down and laid aside his long bow, ignoring Eol's black gaze. "So what passed between you and the Lady Irissë," he asked as he broke himself a morsel and ate. "There is surely a tale to be told here. Only yesterday our Lady returned to us after years of absence with an heir to the mighty house of Fingolfin no less."
A tremor of anger passed through Eol at that, and many wild and angry words came to his mind in reply. Yet he held his tongue and rather absorbed the waves of hatred that had shaken him, pushing the black thoughts deep where they would continue to fester until recalled at the right moment. He would not lash out at this lowly guard as he had loftier sights set for the release of his mounting fury.
"The Lady Irissë is your wife and Maeglin is your son, you say," Nyarindo continued, seemingly oblivious to Eol's seething ire. "How came our Lady to wed you, and why such a return, with your wife and son coming first, and you stealthily behind, grim and wayworn as you are?"
"Nyarindo!" called Ohtarion who sat a stones throw away with Rehtano. "Let him eat in peace."
"Can I not be curious as to our guest?" Nyarindo called back. "You must admit there is a strange tale behind all of this."
"Strange tales or no, they are not for your ears or mine. He is kin to the King through marriage. Treat him as such."
"I would if he behaved the part," Nyarindo replied with eyes that roved over Eol's person with doubt, and lingered to stare at his wayworn attire and tied hands. "But this elf is dark and wild, and more like to the Avari than the Sindar methinks. And so I should doubt all the more his claim to the noble hand of our fair Lady. For would she wed such as he by free will? I think not."
"Nyarindo!" cried Rehtano in irritation. "Cease your goading at once."
But Eol returned Nyarindo's aversion with a tight smile. It did not come easy, but he made the grimace as pleasant as he could. "Water," Eol then said to him. Nyarindo pulled out a waterskin and handed it to Eol who took a long swig before handing it back. The guard leaned forward to take it when Eol spat the water he drank in his face. Nyarindo blinked for a startled moment, his face dripping water, spittle and humiliation. Then he launched himself from the ground and grabbing Eol by the collar, dragged him up and shook him violently as he uttered curses in anger. The other two guards were upon them in an instant, breaking them apart with urges to cease their brawling.
"What ails you Nyarindo?" cried Rehtano as he yanked him away. "Such is not the way of the Realm's Guard."
"Neither is it our way to be spat upon without rebuke," Nyarindo cried in reply, shrugging off Rehtano's hold and wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Yet for this evil I hold you to blame," Rehtano said, "and if any deserves a rebuke, it is you."
"Indeed, I second that," said Ohtarion as he let go of Eol. "And as I lead here I now command you to return to the Gate, shamed in your duty. We shall have stern words when I return."
"Command as you will but this dark elf is fey and has no love for our people," said Nyarindo as he picked up his belongings. "However beware that you now bring a black speck to our fair city from which may pool an evil even the mighty realm of Ondolinde may not surmount. Mark me!"
With that, he turned and left them, trudging back westward towards the Orfalch Ethor. Ohtarion and Rehtano stared after him awhile, shaking their heads, then turned to Eol who was silent, and eyeing them darkly.
"My apologies," Ohtarion said to him as he picked up the binding rope. "We walk on from here with no more halts."
As they began forward, Ohtarion was troubled in thought. For all his misconduct, Nyarindo had a point. The elf was fey indeed and a dark cloud hung over him that was unsettling. Whatever may have happened out there beyond the Echoriath had now found an inroad into their secure realm and Othorion had the same wary notion that an ill wind came with this strange elf. Yet by the King's command Eol was bidden to their city. Who was he to question that. He was just a simple guard after all, and far removed from the lofty counsels of the King's Court. "Let the great and wise of Gondolin deal with this portent," he thought. They would make the right decision. At least he hoped they would. He glanced at Eol and his heart sank, for he was smiling at him. But there was no mirth in those glinting eyes. There was no cheer to those sneering lips. What had the Lady Irissë seen in this elf, he wondered. He turned back to look ahead.
The path they were on had skirted the mountains to their right and led eastward towards a great spur that blocked the view forward. But now it rounded the massive outcrop and coming into view was the vast greensward with its many white paved paths and roads, all converging from many corners of the encircling mountains to a single point. That lay far ahead as a white jewel upon a single great rock of smooth shining black stone. That was the city that stood as a memorial to Tirion upon Tuna. That was fairest Ondolinde, the Rock of the Music of Water. That was Gondolin, the Hidden Rock. The vision of his city always brought a warmth to Ohtarion's heart as he thought of its fair people, its indescribable beauty, its unrivalled majesty. "Nay," he thought as his sight shone with the glitter of the white jewel in the sun. "No darkness shall ever overcome such glory." Yet even as he thought this, he was halted by a tug of the rope he held. He turned to Eol and saw that he himself had halted, staring at the vision before him. But what he saw was not an elf overcome by wonder and amazement at the ravishing sight. Nay, what he saw was quite the opposite. He saw an elf looking at his home with burning hatred flaming in his terrible eyes.
"May the Valar protect us," Ohtarion said under his breath. Yet his heart misgave him at that, for had they not disobeyed the Valar and disowned them? His prayer was vain, as the Doom of the Noldor now came back to haunt him in that hour. "The Valar promised to destroy us," came the ill thought. Ohtarion sighed and tugged at the rope, a little harshly.
"On I say," he muttered as he went forward, dragging Eol towards Gondolin and its doom.
Author's Commentary:
Nothing to say except I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
Thanx!