Chapter Thirty-Six: Melmë
When Lalwendë woke again, they were in the same place – beside the stream, in a small, quiet wood. It was night now, and through the clouds scudding across the sky, she could make out the faint glimmer of the stars.
There were low voices she could hear nearby, but she couldn't quite focus herself enough yet to listen to what they were saying. Her right arm was throbbing, and her head felt light. With an effort, she shifted in place, trying to make herself more comfortable. The voices immediately stopped, and seconds later, Galadriel was crouching next to her.
'Lalwen.'
'Nerwen,' she tried to reply, but her voice was soft and scratchy. She coughed.
'Are you alright?'
'Laurë said – he wouldn't leave me –'
'He's over by the fire,' Galadriel said gently, 'only a few feet away. You've been sleeping for hours.'
'I think… I need food,' Lalwendë whispered.
'Of course. Here – I'll help you sit up, then you can eat something.'
'Wait,' Lalwendë said, grabbing Galadriel's arm, her brows furrowed. 'How are you here? What happened to you?'
Before replying, Galadriel gently put an arm behind her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position, dragging a rolled-up blanket behind her to help prop her up. Then she sat back and sighed.
'I escaped Angband after you were seen,' she said. 'I found my way back to the room with the steam, and managed to climb back up the chimney.'
'Impressive.'
'It was hard,' Galadriel admitted. 'But I made it out. I came back the same way we came in, and found our clothes and our horses. I was – I was thinking of going back to get you, but –'
'I'm glad you didn't,' Lalwendë said immediately. 'When I was on that – on that wall, the only good thought I had was that you weren't there too.'
Galadriel's face crumpled, and for a moment Lalwendë thought she might burst into tears. But then she smoothed away the expression and reached over to brush Lalwendë's hair out of her face. There was silence for a moment.
'So you went back to the lake?' Lalwendë asked.
'No. I came across Fingon and Glorfindel, who had done the same thing we did when they found out why we were gone. I told them what had happened and led them back.'
'They succeeded where we failed.'
'They learned from our fatal mistake; they didn't go inside.'
Lalwendë – gently, for her stiff shoulder – turned to glance behind her at the fire. Glorfindel was sitting cross-legged and utterly still, staring into it. So, he had discovered her gone and come to rescue her. She felt her cheeks flush red and she looked away.
Galadriel shot Lalwendë a piercing look, but kept talking. 'I stayed behind with the horses while Fingon and Glorfindel went to find you. Then we travelled another day with you and Maedhros, both unconscious, until we got here.'
'Maedhros!' Lalwendë gasped, turning around again. 'Where is he? Is he…?'
'He's just there, on the other side of the fire with Fingon,' Galadriel said, pointing. Her voice lowered. 'He… hasn't woken up yet. Fingon hasn't left his side. I don't know if you remember, but Fingon had to… well…'
'Cut of his hand,' Lalwendë said quietly. 'I remember.'
'Well, we are all here now, and all alive,' Galadriel said firmly. 'Thanks to Fingon and Glorfindel, that is.'
They both glanced at Glorfindel again. He hadn't moved, his face utterly unreadable in the red firelight.
'You know, in the few days we travelled together, I could count the number of words he's said to me on one hand,' Galadriel said. 'It will be a marvel if I ever hear a full sentence cross his lips.'
Lalwendë smiled at that; the action felt unfamiliar on her face. 'He's just shy. He does speak, not a lot, but sometimes.'
'Hm. Maybe to you,' Galadriel said, getting to her feet. Lalwendë's smile slid from her face.
'Is that supposed to mean something?'
Galadriel glanced towards the fire, then back to Lalwendë. 'I'll get Glorfindel to bring you some food. Maybe if you talk to him, he'll stop brooding.'
Lalwendë decided not to push the subject for now. She didn't think she had the energy to talk about it anyway; she wasn't particularly hungry, but she felt horribly weak. Her arm was still throbbing painfully in its sling. She shut her eyes –
And for a split second, she was back on the cliff, hanging by a rope, a scream building in her throat –
She snapped her eyes open with a sharp intake of breath. Her left hand was shaking, and she clenched it in her lap. She felt sick, both in her stomach and in her mind.
'Lalwen?'
She looked up and gave a strained smile. 'Hello again.'
He sat down beside her, a slight crease in his brows, and she knew he could see right through her attempt at cheerfulness. She let it drop, and reached up to run her shaking hand over her face.
'How do you feel?' he asked quietly.
'Bad,' she replied, not meeting his eyes.
'I promise you the pain will fade,' Glorfindel said earnestly.
'But the memory won't,' she whispered. He hesitated, then put his hand over her free one. His thumb traced slowly over her wrist, giving her goosebumps – then disappeared as soon as it had appeared. He withdrew his hand and offered her a small roll.
'Galadriel said you wanted to eat.'
She took the roll and tore some off with her teeth. 'Thank you.'
'I also… I found these, this morning, and kept some for you,' Glorfindel said with something akin to nervousness. He carefully unwrapped a brown cloth, inside which was a handful of blackberries. Lalwendë actually smiled this time, taken aback.
'You found piucci!'
Glorfindel's face softened at her surprised delight. 'I wasn't sure they would grow in Middle-earth,' he said. 'But there were bushes by the stream.'
'You could have eaten them yourself.'
'I ate some. These are for you.'
Lalwendë took them without further comment and put one in her mouth, looking away again. This was kind. It wasn't just the actions of a concerned friend of her father, or a compassionate acquaintance. She and Glorfindel had been thrown together a few times by chance, but their interactions had become more and more frequent since the felling of the Trees.
She wondered if he knew what he was doing, or if he simply felt drawn to her – like she undeniably felt drawn to him. Lalwendë bit a chunk out of the bread aggressively, squashing the thought.
If this had happened back home, it would have been fine. Wonderful, even. If she'd started to feel this way about Glorfindel while they were still in Valinor, she might have even pursued it. But they were far, far away from the peace and safety of Aman. They were at war. Now… it couldn't happen now. It mustn't.
Still. The way his thumb had traced over the inside of her wrist, just moments ago… the way he would find words for her, when he rarely spoke in the company of others… the way his midnight blue eyes always seemed to be trained on her…
He was watching her silently while she ate, his intent eyes almost black in the shadows cast by the fire. She looked up at him and smiled lopsidedly, shoving her mutinous thoughts aside.
'What?' she asked.
'Hm?'
'You're looking at me.'
He glanced away, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. 'I'm sorry.'
'I don't mind,' she said quickly. Then she frowned at herself. Leave it, Lalwen.
Glorfindel looked back up. 'Did you… tell your brother you were…'
She shook her head. 'No, Nerwen and I left without telling anyone. Fingolfin… was he angry?'
'He was worried. But I didn't stay for long.'
'So Fingolfin sent you to find me?' Lalwendë asked.
'No. Fingon and I left without saying anything.'
Lalwendë stared down at her left hand. She could leave it be. She could leave the questions unasked, and allow whatever strange game they were playing continue. But she'd never much liked leaving things unsaid.
'Why did you come for me?' she asked quietly, her eyes still fixed on her hand. Glorfindel shifted beside her.
'Because you went to Angband alone, and I thought you might be in danger,' he replied. His voice was even, but she could hear a tone of caution below the surface.
'Did you come to save me, or to save Galadriel?'
There was a beat of silence, and she looked up at him. He was staring at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes slightly widened. 'I came for both of you.'
Lalwendë almost groaned at the futility of the situation. 'Laurë –'
'I haven't said anything to you,' Glorfindel cut her off in a low, hard voice, 'because you are recovering – and what happened to you was terrible – but you are the one who chose to put yourself in danger.'
Lalwendë stared at him, agape. This was the most emotion she'd ever seen from Glorfindel – and it was anger. Directed at her. It was terrifying.
'This isn't Valinor,' he bit out, not waiting for a response. 'The Valar are not here to protect us from Morgoth. Take a risk here, and you will die in horrible ways. Can you not understand that?'
Lalwendë's fingers twitched, and she squared her jaw. 'Do you think I went to Angband for fun?' she said sharply.
'No. I think you went to Angband without pausing to consider the danger or the consequences.'
'Why is it alright for you to come to Angband for me, but not for me to come save Maedhros?' she protested incredulously.
Glorfindel stared at her with fire in his eyes for a split second. Then, without another word, he sprang to his feet and took two swift strides away before whirling to face her again.
'Don't ask me to stop saving you if you're not going to stop trying to get yourself killed,' he growled, and then he disappeared into the darkness.
When she tried to sleep, she had nightmares again.
Glorfindel was gone all the next day; Galadriel didn't say anything to Lalwendë, but she sent her frequent, shrewd looks. Lalwendë barely noticed it, stewing instead in regret and doubt.
Should she have confronted Glorfindel about… whatever it was that was between them? She desperately didn't want to lose him; even if he refused to talk or look at her, she longed for him to come back. Half of her expected never to see him again.
But what if he did come back? The thing that was growing between them couldn't be allowed to continue. Could it?
No, she thought firmly. Morgoth was mere miles away. The Noldor were divided, their numbers diminished, on the brink of civil war – not to mention the actual war in which they were engaged against Morgoth. Fëanor was dead. And on top of all that, there was the curse that Mandos had put upon them all.
You and all that follow you will be slain by blade and torment and grief.
Exhausted, frail and in pain, she allowed herself to imagine that she'd stayed behind in Aman. She wished desperately that she hadn't been captivated by Fëanor's grandiose speeches. She wished she could see her mother again, meet Findis' baby.
She decided that she couldn't consider Glorfindel as anything more than a friend – but even as a friend, she desperately didn't want to lose him. He had somehow found his way into her heart, with his few words and his quiet strength and his unreadable expression.
When – if – he came back, she would apologise, she decided. She would ask his forgiveness for provoking him, and for being reckless, and she would ask that they stay the way they were. Friends.
Lalwendë swallowed back the heavy lump in her throat and stared into the embers as the sun set, lost in her thoughts. When it was finally dark, Fingon came over to stoke the fire.
He glanced back at her while he blew on the flames, reigniting the flames. She didn't meet his gaze. He straightened up and came to sit beside her.
'Galadriel is with Maedhros,' he said, when she stayed silent.
'Good,' she replied absently. 'You need a reprieve.'
'You and Glorfindel –'
'I don't wish to talk about it,' she said quickly, looking up at him. He returned her gaze searchingly, like he was trying to read her eyes and see what about her had changed.
'I don't know him as well as you do,' he said. 'But I think he'll be back.'
Lalwendë pursed her lips. 'Is Maedhros well enough to be moved?' she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
'I don't know,' Fingon said heavily. 'He doesn't seem near death, but…'
'He just needs more time,' Lalwendë said. She reached with her good arm to squeeze his hand. 'Then we can get him to a healer. He'll be fine, melda.'
'Stop comforting me,' Fingon chided her with a wry grin. 'I need to get you to a healer too.'
'I don't know what you mean,' she joked weakly. 'I was up and about all day.'
'You moved once, very slowly, a couple of feet closer to the fire.'
'And it was an accomplishment,' she said sagely. Then she smiled.
'I want to thank you, Fingon,' she said. 'Without you, we'd still be… well. Thank you.'
'You are my family,' he said, looking down. 'And Maedhros is all but my brother. I wouldn't dream of not coming to save you.'
'They'll sing about this,' Lalwendë said. 'Maybe Maglor will make a song about how valiant you were.'
'Then he ought to sing of Glorfindel too,' Fingon said, 'because he was fearless.'
'Fingon!' came Galadriel's voice suddenly. 'He is awake!'
With startling speed, Fingon was on his feet and over by Maedhros' side. Lalwendë returned her gaze to the fire, sighing and adjusting her arm in the sling. Maedhros was going to be fine, she thought firmly. They'd be back with the Noldor in a couple of weeks.
'Lalwendë,' came a quiet voice from the other side of the fire. She looked up quickly. It was Glorfindel, standing half in the firelight and half in shadow. His face was grim, but Lalwendë almost sagged with the relief of seeing him again.
'Laurë,' she said, 'I want to say –'
'I think I should speak first,' he said quietly. She frowned, her eyes fixed on his face. He wasn't meeting her eyes, and his hands were fidgeting behind his back. Was he nervous?
'What is it?' she asked when he didn't go on.
'There is no excuse for the way I spoke to you,' he said. 'I was –' he shook his head, looking like he already rued his decision to come back.
'You were what?' she asked softly.
'I have no talent for putting my thoughts in my words,' he muttered. She had to strain to hear him over the crackling of the fire and the murmurs of the others a little way away. 'But I wanted to say – I was only angry because you were right, and I… became afraid.'
'I was right about what?' Lalwendë asked, staring at him. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
'You were right, I did come to save you,' he said. 'You, not Maedhros or Galadriel. I just – think that you should know. It would be dishonest to keep it from you.'
Lalwendë's heart was doing curious things in her chest. It felt like it was growing and shrinking at once, or maybe that something was filling it up and it was getting too full. It felt frightening, but she didn't want it to stop.
Glorfindel let out a breath. 'I'm going to find more firewood,' he said. He glanced over at the others, then once more at Lalwendë, then he left.
Lalwendë pressed her hand to her heart and squeezed her eyes shut. Everything had just become worse. Or better. She couldn't separate her heart and her head.
'Valar help me,' she whispered.
Not a word was spoken between them for the next two days. On the third, the group decided to start moving so they could get back to the camp at Lake Mithril.
Walking was exhausting, but Lalwendë was in a lot less pain than Maedhros was. Glorfindel and Fingon were all but carrying him, leaving Lalwendë to lean heavily on Galadriel. Galadriel walked silently, leaving Lalwendë to stew in her thoughts.
Lalwendë tried to focus on her dizziness and her throbbing arm, using the pain as a distraction. She didn't want to think about what might have happened if she'd stayed in Aman, or if she'd been a little braver at her brother's wedding, or if she'd read something more into Glorfindel's hand in hers on the march back to Tirion.
If they'd stayed in Valinor, they could have been married. They might have had children. She would have been wonderfully, perfectly happy.
It was impossible, though, and there was no sense in dwelling on the impossible. They were at war now, and it would be inappropriate to – to court someone at such a time. Wouldn't it? Well, even if they were able to see each other, he was hardly the right elf for her.
He barely ever spoke, and never showed emotion. He was so shy it almost seemed crippling. He was – tall, too tall, really, and what was the use of that? She'd never seen him fight, he might be terrible at it. And he cared so little for his own wellbeing that he willingly threw himself into violent seas to rescue his drowning brethren.
Lalwendë stifled a groan and turned to Galadriel, unable to keep quiet about it any longer. 'He said something,' she muttered.
Galadriel nodded. 'I thought so. What was it?'
'He said he came to Angband just to rescue me.'
Galadriel frowned. 'Didn't we know that already?'
'Only me, Nerwen. He said he didn't come for you or Maedhros, he came for me.'
'Ah! I see.'
'It is my fault, I brought it up first.'
'Do you regret it?'
'I don't know. But now it's not unspoken, it's been spoken, and I have to address it.'
'Address it then,' Galadriel said gently. 'Pursue it. He is one of the few elves I know who are worthy of you. He will do great things, I know it. He already has.'
Lalwendë sighed. 'It isn't about how great he is. Besides, we are at war.'
'And he can't tear his eyes away from you.'
Lalwendë looked forward to where Glorfindel and Fingon were supporting Maedhros between them. Moments later, Glorfindel glanced back, and their eyes met. She looked away quickly.
'We're at war, Nerwen. Thousands of us froze to death in the crossing, and Fëanor is dead. Everything has gone horribly wrong, and we're all cursed.'
'War might be the only time left to us,' Galadriel said earnestly. 'Wouldn't you regret it if you lay dying, and you'd not used the time left to you as you could have?'
'I don't think I can agree with you,' Lalwendë said.
'Think about it, at least.'
'I am hard pressed to think of anything else.'
'If it makes you feel any better, so is he,' Galadriel said. Lalwendë glanced up again to see Glorfindel looking back at her once more. Their eyes met for a split second, and this time he was the one to look away.
'Just get me back to Mithrim,' Lalwendë said tightly. 'Then I'll think about it.'
They got back to camp the next afternoon. There was a commotion when they arrived – people rushing over to watch them stumble in, cries for healers, gasps at the sight of Maedhros –
'Lalwen!' she heard, and suddenly Fingolfin was in front of her, breathing hard. 'Valar, what happened?'
He looked pale, she thought tiredly. He looked weary.
'I'm alright,' she said. 'I promise you.'
He swept her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. She winced at the pressure on her right arm, but with her left she hugged him back.
'You have no idea how furious I am going to be with you when I stop being relieved,' he muttered, pulling back to examine her face. He tucked some of her hair behind her ears. 'Please don't do that again, you insufferable idiot.'
'Not any time soon,' she promised, the hint of a smile on her lips. He turned to Galadriel.
'Since you appear wholly uninjured, however, you will not be spared,' he said, his voice turning hard. Galadriel squared her shoulders and turned to face him head-on as he continued. 'What you did was foolish, selfish, and astonishingly naïve. I hope you are ashamed.'
'I am ashamed only that I couldn't save Lalwen myself,' Galadriel said evenly.
Fingolfin narrowed his eyes at her, and there was a long stretch of silence. 'Unbelievable,' he muttered, and pulled her into a hug too.
Lalwendë and Maedhros were seen to by healers, who prescribed a lot of rest after prodding at some kind of pressure point in her shoulder. The pain faded more swiftly after that.
As night fell, Lalwendë found herself once again at the lake's shore, this time alone. She sat cross-legged, the water lapping gently at the sandy soil before her. She wove blades of grass together between her fingertips, sitting in peaceful quiet.
She was reluctant to sleep. Sleep, since her rescue, had brought nightmares instead of rest, and some nights she had woken up screaming, convinced she was back on the precipice. It was debilitating, humiliating.
She stayed there in silence until she heard footsteps behind her. Without turning, she knew who it was.
'You aren't sick of me yet?' she asked. Glorfindel sat down beside her, not replying. They both stared out at the lake, reflecting the silver of the rising moon. Far away on the other side of the lake, where the sons of Fëanor and their followers were camped, fires were being lit.
'Maedhros apologised to Fingolfin,' Glorfindel said quietly, after a long silence.
'For what?'
'For abandoning us to cross the Helcaraxë. He has waived his right to kingship of the Noldor, and given it to Fingolfin, as the oldest living descendent of Finwë.'
'So, we are one people again,' Lalwendë said, then she shook her head. 'I doubt the other sons of Fëanor will agree with that. Maglor might, but not Caranthir. Not Curufin.'
'It doesn't matter. It is done.'
Lalwendë felt no joy at the news; it felt almost insulting, that after losing thousands in the crossing, and after Fëanor's death – after all the pain and loss, they'd simply apologised and reunited. It had all been pointless.
'Any other news?' she asked listlessly. Glorfindel glanced sideways at her.
'Fingolfin has set a watch on Angband from the west, south and east. If anything dares to venture forth, we'll know. And he has sent messengers to the elven kingdoms south of here.'
Fingolfin was putting down roots, Lalwendë realised. They'd made it to Middle-earth and set up a temporary camp, but now he had turned his attention to making it their home. He was preparing to establish kingdoms. She didn't know how he had the energy.
'Are you better for seeing the healers?' Glorfindel asked.
'Much better,' she answered. 'The pain is starting to fade in my arm.'
There was a short silence, and then he spoke again. 'Have you slept?'
She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Are you trying to make me talk?'
Glorfindel shrugged, looking away. 'You've been quiet since we saved you.'
'You've also been avoiding me for half of that time,' she pointed out. He stiffened slightly.
'I haven't been avoiding you.'
'No?'
'I thought that maybe after what I said, you might not want to speak to me,' he confessed.
'Laurë…' I feel the same way. I can't stop thinking about you. I wish we'd stayed in Tirion together. 'I will always want to speak to you.'
He looked almost startled in the pale moonlight. 'Then –'
'Laurë, we can't,' she interrupted quickly. 'I – I've decided I won't. Not now, while we're at war and in so much danger. It isn't right.'
He looked utterly crestfallen, and he didn't bother to hide it. It hurt her more than she'd expected.
'Do you doubt what I feel?' he asked quietly. She got to her feet and shook her head, her heart rising into her throat.
'No, I promise I don't,' she said, taking a few steps away. 'But I've considered – everything, and I've made my decision. Please don't try to change my mind.'
He sprang swiftly to his feet too, and took a step towards her. She backed away quickly, warily, and his eyes softened into resignation.
'Very well,' he said. 'I won't ask anything of you that you won't give.'
Lalwendë felt like crying. 'Thank you.'
'But I – I need to know, is this forever?'
'I won't marry while we're at war,' she replied, not meeting his eyes. 'It's not our way.'
He smiled humourlessly. 'While we're at war… You remember the prophecy that Mandos spoke, don't you?'
'Yes,' she whispered.
'So, it is forever,' he said. 'Knowing this – does your decision still stand?'
'It stands,' she said.
He nodded. 'Then I will respect it,' he said, 'if you will give me one thing in return.'
Lalwendë looked up. 'What is it?'
He walked up to her until he was only a breath away, staring down at her. Lalwendë's heart quickened as his hand came to rest in her hair, cradling the back of her head. She stared at him, her blood thrumming in her veins, hardly able to breathe.
He leaned down and kissed her. It was tender, heartachingly gentle. He was so warm, so close, and it felt like her skin was on fire. She brought her good arm up to sling around his shoulders and pull him closer.
But he pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead on hers, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands ran up and down her back, as though they couldn't decide where to rest. Lalwendë had to make a physical effort not to kiss him again.
'My heart is yours,' he breathed, his nose brushing hers, 'if you didn't know it already. I can't – I don't know how to say it any other way. I'm yours.'
He didn't need to put it into words, she thought. The kiss – it had said everything that needed to be said. It had almost broken her heart. She knew she should go, pull away and be strong, but the feeling of being touched by Glorfindel was intoxicating, and she couldn't tear herself from it. This was going to haunt her, she thought grimly.
He was the one who let go first, stepping back. They stared at each other for a moment, their breath still intermingling. Then he turned and strode away.
When he was out of sight, Lalwendë went back to where she'd been sitting before and slumped to the ground. She started to cry.
The next morning, she heard that Glorfindel had travelled south with Finarfin's son Angrod as an envoy to King Thingol in Doriath. She heard no more from him for a very long time.
Over the next fifty years, the Noldor separated into clans and made homes for themselves in Middle-earth.
The sons of Fëanor went east, some into the mountains, beginning a tumultuous relationship with the dwarves they found there. Galadriel and her brother Finrod made their way south and dwelt for a time in Doriath with Thingol and the Sindar elves.
Turgon wandered for years, leaving his now grown daughter Idril in the care of his brother Fingon. Word came that he had discovered a hidden valley, surrounded on all sides by impenetrable mountains. He decided he would build his city there, in the image of Tirion, his home in Valinor.
Lalwendë stayed by Fingolfin's side, dwelling near Lake Mithrim in Hithlum, and kept herself busy. She began training again, this time with the orcs of Angband in mind as her enemies. Missing Galadriel and many of her family, she spent most of her time with Fingolfin. She didn't allow herself to think about missing Glorfindel.
She didn't know where he'd gone, or if he was still in Doriath. She longed to have a message from him, but she knew she was being unfair. She was the one, after all, who had asked that they stay apart. If physical distance between them was what he needed, she had no right to take it from him.
She regretted her decision profoundly. She wished that he'd let her have more time to think before he was gone. When she'd told him she didn't want to be with him, she'd been freshly out of Angband, traumatised and afraid. If only he hadn't left, she might have had the time to recover, and to change her mind.
But she couldn't blame him for it. He had offered her a decision, and she had chosen. Now she was reaping the benefits, alone.
As the years passed, the nightmares grew fewer – but they never disappeared. Without warning or pattern, some nights she would dream of the cliff and the rope around her wrist. She would wake with her throat raw and painful from screaming. Over the decades, she learned to function with the minimum amount of sleep she could manage.
She spent a lot of time and energy organising their defences with Maedhros and Maglor. She hadn't forgotten what she'd seen in Angband, and was afraid that, although it seemed Morgoth was cowering in his fortress, he could attack anytime.
She was right. One autumn, without warning, orcs poured out of Angband to attack. Fingolfin and Maedhros were ready, and they destroyed the orcs utterly. They called it Dagor Aglareb, and it was Lalwendë's first ever battle. She hated it. It took months to track down every orc and kill it, but they did it. Morgoth retreated back into the darkness.
Fingolfin was fiercely joyful in his victory. He set a siege on Angband and boasted to his followers that Morgoth was powerless to break it. But the Noldor were still unable to breach the walls of the fortress, and Morgoth's spies continued to sneak out through the Iron Mountains in the north.
Lalwendë found herself living a kind of half-life, tired and lonely. Many remarked that she smiled less than she had in the past. Fingolfin, though he could spare little time for her, often watched her with concern.
A hundred years later, Morgoth sent an army down from the north, but the elves drove the orcs into the sea. Later still, he sent out a dragon – but Fingon and his army defeated it, and it fled back into Angband. At this, Morgoth appeared to give up.
Centuries of peace followed. Lalwendë and Fingolfin made a home for themselves and their people. They learned the language of the elves of Middle-earth, Sindarin, and they traded with dwarves and men. Lalwendë chose a room for herself with thick walls, so no one would hear her nightmares.
She learned to love the cold land of Hithlum, and she often went riding alone, sometimes for days at a time, on a horse that Maedhros had gifted her. She tried to convince herself that she was content, if not happy, but she could rarely shake the feeling of misery that followed her, or the feeling that some important part of her was missing. And all too often, she thought of Glorfindel.
Still, she had no idea where he was. Middle-earth was vast, and the kingdoms of the Noldor were still being established. Messages were slow to arrive, and Lalwendë could never bring herself to openly ask about him. Part of her feared he'd been killed in Dagor Aglareb without her knowledge, but another felt he must surely still be alive somewhere.
He might have been in Himring with Maedhros, or Nargothrond with Finrod, or Doriath with Galadriel, or Navrast with Turgon, or even nearby with Fingon. Every time she wished him with her, she had to remind herself that this was what she had wanted. This was the life she had chosen.
At least there was peace in Middle-earth now. The enemy was still there, still alive, but there was peace. She often wondered whether he thought of her, if he had forgotten her – if his heart was still hers. As the centuries passed, she began doubting it more and more.
But the peace couldn't last forever. Morgoth still had the silmarils, and though Fëanor's sons were dwelling quietly in east Beleriand, their oath had not been forgotten.
Note on canon: JRRT didn't put Angband in any maps he drew that I know of, so that's fun.
Note no. 2: I read somewhere (Silmarillion I think?) that the High Elves had a thing against marrying during a time of war. Then I was thinking about how one would define 'time of war', and the fact that we know of several characters who got married during the War of the Jewels... Anyway, it all seems a bit arbitrary, but this chapter is me trying to legitimise that piece of elvish culture while privately thinking 'this is so dumb'.
Anyway, I'm grateful that you have read this far. That makes me so happy! Favourite, follow, or drop a review if you are enjoying, and I'll see you soon for next chapter. S
