They called it Battle of the Sudden Flame, but nothing of it had been sudden, except perhaps its violence. Echoes of it had reached the hidden city of Gondolin and with the heartbreak for the losses came also the doubt.
"How can we stay so silent? Hidden? While our kin out there is dying for us, in our place!"
"And how do you propose to help them, Lord of the Fountain? Would you send men in aid, so that the city would be then exposed?"
"Lord Maeglin, with all due respect, you are young and inexperienced in matters of war. We can devise a way to send…"
"With all due respect, Lord Ecthelion, don't play that card with me. It won't work. Now, our strength lies in our secrecy. What purpose would a hidden city have, if not that of being built for endurance? Time is of essence. We cannot waste our opportunity to resist for as long as we can against the enemy. We cannot win with only honour and valiant deeds."
"And what will we defend, when the enemy will have conquered all kingdoms of the Eldar and enslaved us?" asked Lord Duilin.
"Our purpose is to resist as long as we can, hidden", said the king. The whole room quieted.
"The enemy will look for us, he will worry, he will search and waste efforts in order to find us. His attention will be diverted; we already are a thorn in his side." – The king paused and looked all the lords of the council in their eyes.
"I will be honest with you, my lords. This might be the only time you hear me say it. My… cousin was right. Many years ago, soon after my beloved brother freed him from his torments, the eldest Son of Fëanor had said: 'We will never win against our enemy'. Back then I refused to believe him. 'But', he had continued, 'our strength lies not in victory. It lies in our resistance'. Now, we can interpret 'resistance' in many ways and my cousin – and my brother, for that matter – prefers the show of strength. Valiant deeds, as you called them, Lord of the Mole. Which doesn't rule out the shrewdness. You see, the founding of Gondolin was part of a bigger plan, a bigger tale. And I have faith in that plan. What I asked you all those years ago, as my followers, was to believe in that plan with me. I realise that many of you may not look West with hope. But believe in me, as your guide. Do you trust me as your king?"
All the lords voiced their consensus, bowing their heads and placing their right hand on their hearth.
"Good. The right time for us to go to war will come. This doesn't mean that I won't send whatever aid I can without being discovered. I still owe my allegiance to my father, the High King. Now, tell me, what news from the war?"
For almost a year the debates in the Council followed a similar path. News from the East of Beleriand and from Dorthonion reported of the defeat of the Sons of Feanor and of the deaths of Angrod and Aegnor. Finrod was fleeing and it was clear that Morgoth would have won that war. Turgon yet held his ground and Gondolin didn't fight.
One day the great Lord of the Eagles came to Gondolin, carrying a ruined body.
Many saw the arrival of Thorondor and wondered. The great Eagle landed in sight of the city, upon one peak of the Echoriath and stayed there. Turgon took with him a party – Maeglin, the Lords Penlod and Ecthelion accompanied him – and rode out.
It took Maeglin a while to realise that he was looking at who once had been his childhood hero and his own grandfather. But did the word have a meaning? He had never met him, never talked to him. He wasn't even sure that Fingolfin knew to have a grandson.
For his part, Turgon remained composed. He listened to the tale of Thorondor and thanked him. He ordered for the body to be taken to the city. He would personally see to its cleaning and dressing. He would give his father a proper burial.
The news spread to the city like wildfire but no one dared to sing of the great duel. The people mourned in silence and only the bells sounded as the body was carried through the streets – thankfully covered.
Three days later a cairn was built in the place where Thorondor had first landed.
Maeglin was reading in his chamber when a servant hurriedly told him that the king was looking for him.
It wasn't unusual to be summoned in such a way, but not at such a late hour.
He found the king – his uncle, he had to remind himself – in his private quarters. His daughter Idril was with him and Maeglin hovered at the door, taking in the scene in front of him.
Turgon was seated at his desk, a ragged piece of cloth held tightly in his hands. Idril was kneeled to his side, caressing her father's hands and speaking softly, though Maeglin couldn't hear her words.
She sighed and got up. "Have faith, father. Be strong" she whispered, kissing his temple.
She turned and saw Maeglin. They regarded each other for a moment until both stepped forward.
Maeglin reached out and took her hands in his: "I'm sorry for your loss, princess."
"It is your loss too, cousin." She told him quietly. He smiled and nodded. After a moment of hesitation he hugged her. She didn't resist. She buried her face in his chest and a sob escaped from her lips.
"I'm sorry." She wriggled out of the embrace and Maeglin let her. "I should go, cousin. Good night", her eyes were full of tears, but none was shed.
"Good night, princess"
She closed the door behind her as she left. Maeglin drew near to his uncle, still seated at his desk.
"Uncle?"
Turgon raised his head to look at his nephew. He then looked at the door, where Idril had disappeared a moment before. "She tells me to have hope", he smiled and shook his head.
"She's strong"
"That she is. I have hope because of her", he looked at Maeglin again, "And of you, nephew"
"Me?"
The king spread out the cloth on the desk. "Do you recognize this?"
"It's… King Fingolfin's symbol"
Turgon looked away, his gaze unfocused. "Yes, his symbol."
Silence. Maeglin didn't know what to do, what to say. He was at loss, never having comforted any one. "I'm sorry I never met him", he said finally.
The king sighed. "He would have loved you. He loved all his children and grandchildren. He loved us so much…", his words faded.
Maeglin kneeled beside him and put a tentative hand to his shoulder. Something in his uncle seemed to crumble. He turned to Maeglin; with a hand he cupped his nephew's cheek.
"I'm so sorry, my boy. I'm so deeply sorry", he said.
"What for, uncle?"
Turgon was openly crying now and it terrified Maeglin.
"Don't…don't cry, uncle, please"
"Oh, my sweet child. You look so much like your mother, do you know that? But I let her down, in the end…" he closed his eyes, perhaps to stop the tears.
Maeglin frowned and shook his head: "No, that is not true"
"I let them down too, my father, my brothers. What would they have thought of me, vanishing without a word?" he whispered.
"Uncle, please"
"Did I make the wrong choice, Maeglin? Did I fail?"
Not knowing what else to do, Maeglin hugged his uncle. Please, stop talking. I don't know how to comfort you. I don't know how to deal with this kind of pain. And if you break, how can I ever go on? I need you strong uncle, please. I need you here.
"Shh, uncle. It's all right. You didn't fail", he murmured, his face buried in Turgon's shoulder. He tightened his hold, trying not to cry.
For the fifth prompt relationship/attachment
Happy New Year to every one of you! :D
Now, I wanted to post this here earlier but I had some problems with this site. In any case, enjoy!
(PS: the last two chapters should be posted soon. I'm slightly late, sorry)