A/N: I have been requested to do another Silmarillion fic, so I did! Hopefully this hasn't been done too many times before. I owe a lot to Ithilwen for writing "Dark Forge" which got me thinking about this particular story, and also to Glorfindel for invading my muse and making me write about him.
Disclaimer: Edhellion and the kid are mine, the rest ain't. Wish it was... :)
The Fall of Gondolin through the eyes of a child
It's been three days. Three days, and I can still see smoke rising over the city. Where the city used to be, because it isn't there any more. They burnt it.
I've stopped caring about the cold. Now I hardly notice it, I've got other things to worry about, like pain and hunger. My feet hurt from walking, and I haven't eaten anything since last night when we stopped. Edhellion is in charge of rationing our food supplies, but there has been less and less food since we fled the City. Even he knows that we might run out before we get past these mountains.
At present, I am being carried by a tall fair-haired Elf whose name I do not know. Last night my feet were hurting so much that I couldn't walk any more, and he agreed to carry me. He is mostly silent, rarely speaking to me or the others, head bent and concentrating on his path. He seems tireless, his long legs endlessly carrying him forward and up the steep icy mountain path. Many of the others are not doing so well. From my place on his shoulder I look back over the long march of our people winding its way up the mountain. Some are leaning on each other, their feet dragging. Some slip and fall on the slippery ice, and are grabbed by one of the captains who flank our group. Sometimes, they don't catch them in time. Since we came round the last bend in the path this morning, three people have slipped and fallen to their deaths on the rocks below. I will always remember the look on their faces, the moment of dreadful realisation that they are going to die. Some people just sit down, a look of desperation and suffering on their faces. They have given up, leaving themselves to die on the mountain.
A lot of things have been imprinted on my memory over the last few days, but the one that I remember most vividly is my mother's farewell. We were back in the City. It was festival night. Our house was burning, angry red flames licking at the colourful flags my mother put up to celebrate, the clean white stone stained with black soot.
"I am going to find your father." she said, wrapping me in a cloak that was too big for me. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder towards the King's Square. There were terrible screams and the roar of flames from within.
"Go with everyone else. I'll catch you up." she hoisted my baby sister up in the sling at her breast. She bent forward and kissed me on the forehead hurriedly, then with one final cry, "Go!", she fled back into the burning city.
Lost in a stampede of people, I whirled around. In the King's Square I hear a sizzling sound, like fire meeting water. There is a horrible cry, that of a great beast in pain. I hear clashing steel too close for comfort.
"Come with me, child."
A rough hand took hold of my own and pulled me along. So much smoke, and noise, and confusion. We ran.
Looking back over the same people that escaped with me, I find it hard to believe that they are all that is left of the great city. My father once told me, while sharpening his sword at the guard-house, that Gondolin had thousands of inhabitants living within its walls. I tried counting to ease the boredom and hunger, but I only got to two-hundred before we stopped so the stragglers could catch up.
Oh, when are we ever going to get out of these mountains? When I looked at my mother's map of the city, they seemed so small, like little sand-hills I could jump over. I have no clear idea where we are going. Just up, forever up, away from the burning city that was our home.
Something brushes past my cheek. I look up, and notice it's starting to snow. Soon I will be cold again. Good, at least it will distract me from being hungry. A bitter wind is starting to pick up. Somewhere in the march, one of our party's feet give way and she stumbles, but Edhellion, one of the city guards, catches her arm and pulls her back up.
"Almost there now, don't give up yet!" he says, speaking kindly and encouraging her. She shakes her head. She's given up, like so many others.
"As soon as we get around this next cliff, we'll see the forests of Brethil before us!"
I honestly don't believe him. His eyes are too desperate, his smile too forced. I watch as he uses his free arm to support her and together they continue. The snow is starting to fall heavily now, swirling down and making it difficult to see.
Ahead, I hear a few faint voices. Idril is leading a song to keep spirits up. Those who can join in do. Edhellion sings loudly, so those at the back can hear him. The Elf carrying me pushes his golden hair out of his face and starts to hum. He rubs my arm.
"Soon we shall be there, little one." he says kindly. I'm so pleased that someone has spoken to me instead of treating me like a piece of baggage, I don't even rebuke him for calling me "little one". Smiling despite everything, I join in the song. It's one I know well, about the rivers and forests and the stars of Elbereth the Kindler. It helps.
Suddenly, the singing stops as a black shadow falls over the company. We stop and look up. A lone voice cries out in pure terror, then the screams start, just like at the burning of the city.
"A Balrog!" one Elf cries, his face visibly paling. I do not know a name for it, but many others clearly do.
There is a menacing black form on the mountain, blocking out the sun. It makes no sound, but fixes us in its gaze. Its eyes are deep red, as if a fire burns inside it. Slowly it advances, its footprints making snow sizzle and steam and leaving charred rock in its path. I have never seen anything like it, and I hope to never again.
It now stands before our group, blocking the way. It stands terrible and tall before the front of the group, and raises its whip, seemingly made out of fire. I can feel the heat on my face and smell the acrid stink of burning. It cracks its whip threateningly in front of Idril's face. She does not flinch, her face a mask of defiance, but her small son wails and buries his head in her skirt.
"Hold the child for me." It's the voice of my rescuer as he pushes me into Edhellion's arms and draws his sword in a flash of shining metal.
"Be careful, Glorfindel!" Edhellion cries as his friend leaps forward, his voice fearful. The golden-haired Elf stands in front of Idril, his sword raised aloft in a threat to the dark shape. It growls menacingly, raising its whip of fire.
"Get thee gone, spawn of Angband!" he cries. The Balrog makes no reply, but takes a step towards him. Then it lets out a roar that shakes the whole mountain, and at the same moment Glorfindel and the Balrog leap at each other.
Edhellion clutches me tightly as the snow falls ever thicker, his face a mask of fear. We can hardly see what is happening for the blizzard, but the sounds leave us in no doubt. Terrible cries. Clashing steel. Then suddenly, silence.
For a while, no-one moves. The only sound is the howling of the wind.
Two younger Elves, impatient to wait any longer, dash forward into the blizzard. Then, after a little while they come back. The younger one is weeping, leaning on his friend in sorrow. The older one's face is ashen.
"Glorfindel has fallen." he says in a broken voice. There are many gasps of shock, and amazement, and grief. Edhellion shook his head sadly, a tear falling from his eye. He lowers me to the ground, keeping one hand on my shoulder.
The snow was ceasing. Around me, the air was cold and fresh, and the white slopes sparkled brilliantly in the bright sunshine. Most were too consumed in their grief to notice. Many were weeping and holding each other, lamenting the fall of their friend. Some, like Edhellion, were keeping their grief on the inside, their heads bowed in thought.
Presently, Idril stood on the rock where the battle had been fought. A hush fell, as people wanted to hear what she had to say.
"We must not give up hope. Our friend would have wanted us to reach safety. And so we will." She stepped down, and amid their grief, many of the folk of Gondolin smiled. After a while, we started to walk in the sunshine again. Edhellion took my hand, and smiled sadly at me. There was no need for words.
And as Idril said, we did reach safety in the end...
Disclaimer: Edhellion and the kid are mine, the rest ain't. Wish it was... :)
The Fall of Gondolin through the eyes of a child
It's been three days. Three days, and I can still see smoke rising over the city. Where the city used to be, because it isn't there any more. They burnt it.
I've stopped caring about the cold. Now I hardly notice it, I've got other things to worry about, like pain and hunger. My feet hurt from walking, and I haven't eaten anything since last night when we stopped. Edhellion is in charge of rationing our food supplies, but there has been less and less food since we fled the City. Even he knows that we might run out before we get past these mountains.
At present, I am being carried by a tall fair-haired Elf whose name I do not know. Last night my feet were hurting so much that I couldn't walk any more, and he agreed to carry me. He is mostly silent, rarely speaking to me or the others, head bent and concentrating on his path. He seems tireless, his long legs endlessly carrying him forward and up the steep icy mountain path. Many of the others are not doing so well. From my place on his shoulder I look back over the long march of our people winding its way up the mountain. Some are leaning on each other, their feet dragging. Some slip and fall on the slippery ice, and are grabbed by one of the captains who flank our group. Sometimes, they don't catch them in time. Since we came round the last bend in the path this morning, three people have slipped and fallen to their deaths on the rocks below. I will always remember the look on their faces, the moment of dreadful realisation that they are going to die. Some people just sit down, a look of desperation and suffering on their faces. They have given up, leaving themselves to die on the mountain.
A lot of things have been imprinted on my memory over the last few days, but the one that I remember most vividly is my mother's farewell. We were back in the City. It was festival night. Our house was burning, angry red flames licking at the colourful flags my mother put up to celebrate, the clean white stone stained with black soot.
"I am going to find your father." she said, wrapping me in a cloak that was too big for me. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder towards the King's Square. There were terrible screams and the roar of flames from within.
"Go with everyone else. I'll catch you up." she hoisted my baby sister up in the sling at her breast. She bent forward and kissed me on the forehead hurriedly, then with one final cry, "Go!", she fled back into the burning city.
Lost in a stampede of people, I whirled around. In the King's Square I hear a sizzling sound, like fire meeting water. There is a horrible cry, that of a great beast in pain. I hear clashing steel too close for comfort.
"Come with me, child."
A rough hand took hold of my own and pulled me along. So much smoke, and noise, and confusion. We ran.
Looking back over the same people that escaped with me, I find it hard to believe that they are all that is left of the great city. My father once told me, while sharpening his sword at the guard-house, that Gondolin had thousands of inhabitants living within its walls. I tried counting to ease the boredom and hunger, but I only got to two-hundred before we stopped so the stragglers could catch up.
Oh, when are we ever going to get out of these mountains? When I looked at my mother's map of the city, they seemed so small, like little sand-hills I could jump over. I have no clear idea where we are going. Just up, forever up, away from the burning city that was our home.
Something brushes past my cheek. I look up, and notice it's starting to snow. Soon I will be cold again. Good, at least it will distract me from being hungry. A bitter wind is starting to pick up. Somewhere in the march, one of our party's feet give way and she stumbles, but Edhellion, one of the city guards, catches her arm and pulls her back up.
"Almost there now, don't give up yet!" he says, speaking kindly and encouraging her. She shakes her head. She's given up, like so many others.
"As soon as we get around this next cliff, we'll see the forests of Brethil before us!"
I honestly don't believe him. His eyes are too desperate, his smile too forced. I watch as he uses his free arm to support her and together they continue. The snow is starting to fall heavily now, swirling down and making it difficult to see.
Ahead, I hear a few faint voices. Idril is leading a song to keep spirits up. Those who can join in do. Edhellion sings loudly, so those at the back can hear him. The Elf carrying me pushes his golden hair out of his face and starts to hum. He rubs my arm.
"Soon we shall be there, little one." he says kindly. I'm so pleased that someone has spoken to me instead of treating me like a piece of baggage, I don't even rebuke him for calling me "little one". Smiling despite everything, I join in the song. It's one I know well, about the rivers and forests and the stars of Elbereth the Kindler. It helps.
Suddenly, the singing stops as a black shadow falls over the company. We stop and look up. A lone voice cries out in pure terror, then the screams start, just like at the burning of the city.
"A Balrog!" one Elf cries, his face visibly paling. I do not know a name for it, but many others clearly do.
There is a menacing black form on the mountain, blocking out the sun. It makes no sound, but fixes us in its gaze. Its eyes are deep red, as if a fire burns inside it. Slowly it advances, its footprints making snow sizzle and steam and leaving charred rock in its path. I have never seen anything like it, and I hope to never again.
It now stands before our group, blocking the way. It stands terrible and tall before the front of the group, and raises its whip, seemingly made out of fire. I can feel the heat on my face and smell the acrid stink of burning. It cracks its whip threateningly in front of Idril's face. She does not flinch, her face a mask of defiance, but her small son wails and buries his head in her skirt.
"Hold the child for me." It's the voice of my rescuer as he pushes me into Edhellion's arms and draws his sword in a flash of shining metal.
"Be careful, Glorfindel!" Edhellion cries as his friend leaps forward, his voice fearful. The golden-haired Elf stands in front of Idril, his sword raised aloft in a threat to the dark shape. It growls menacingly, raising its whip of fire.
"Get thee gone, spawn of Angband!" he cries. The Balrog makes no reply, but takes a step towards him. Then it lets out a roar that shakes the whole mountain, and at the same moment Glorfindel and the Balrog leap at each other.
Edhellion clutches me tightly as the snow falls ever thicker, his face a mask of fear. We can hardly see what is happening for the blizzard, but the sounds leave us in no doubt. Terrible cries. Clashing steel. Then suddenly, silence.
For a while, no-one moves. The only sound is the howling of the wind.
Two younger Elves, impatient to wait any longer, dash forward into the blizzard. Then, after a little while they come back. The younger one is weeping, leaning on his friend in sorrow. The older one's face is ashen.
"Glorfindel has fallen." he says in a broken voice. There are many gasps of shock, and amazement, and grief. Edhellion shook his head sadly, a tear falling from his eye. He lowers me to the ground, keeping one hand on my shoulder.
The snow was ceasing. Around me, the air was cold and fresh, and the white slopes sparkled brilliantly in the bright sunshine. Most were too consumed in their grief to notice. Many were weeping and holding each other, lamenting the fall of their friend. Some, like Edhellion, were keeping their grief on the inside, their heads bowed in thought.
Presently, Idril stood on the rock where the battle had been fought. A hush fell, as people wanted to hear what she had to say.
"We must not give up hope. Our friend would have wanted us to reach safety. And so we will." She stepped down, and amid their grief, many of the folk of Gondolin smiled. After a while, we started to walk in the sunshine again. Edhellion took my hand, and smiled sadly at me. There was no need for words.
And as Idril said, we did reach safety in the end...