The trails of Nan Elmoth by Chiara Cadrich

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The dreams from Gondolin

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The trails of Nan Elmoth

Part 3 – The dreams from Gondolin

.oOo.

The lord of Nan Elmoth had sown the vaults of his dark caverns with brilliant gems. His lady, saved from the horrors of haunted woods, remained hidden there, by pledge of honor and love. In order to please her, rich drapes stretched the walls of the apartments buried beneath the mound of the fallen star. High lanterns, bartered with the dwarrow of Ered Luin, threw shimmers along the galleries, and lit the crystals that blossomed under the vaults.

The nuptial bed was crowned with vaporous silks and bathed in a warm subterranean halo. Lying at his side, Aredhel contemplated Eöl's soothed body. The chest of the twilight elf rose and lowered to the serene rhythm of their satiated complicity. The princess cherished these rare instants of abandonment, which revived the memory of a sovereign freedom, as careless as in the first days of the world. The animal magnetism of her lover dozed for now. His inner chimeras seemed to illuminate his beautiful face, were she could read the distress of a betrayed heart and cruel revenge extorted to existence. Mistrust faded then - only subsided traces of the trials he never told.

Aredhel rarely reached the soul of Nan Elmoth's Lord. Unutterable wounds, hidden throughout the centuries in the secret of his rancor, had armed his mind with unreasoned reluctance. The noble decorum Eöl displayed in front of his guests, so rare, dressed his secret designs and dreams with distant courtesy. His lady, captured as much as seduced, had barely touched this mutilated mind, unconscious of his infirmity to share happiness. Aredhel felt chosen, in the fleeting grace of these moments of eternity, to be the one who would once again have this lame soul fly.

Or at least she wanted to. The slowly gained confidence was often lost in the labyrinth of Eöl's shameful pride. With a tender and careful hand, the princess urged Nan Elmoth's master to overcome his hatred. Aredhel obtained more courteous elusions than real rebuffs. Step by step, she rummaged through his silences, uncertain of the treasures buried in the depths of this soul, or of the mysteries hidden in his caves.

For his part, out of pride rather than indifference, Eöl did not question Aredhel. Although he respected the noble soul and valor of his lady, he held the Noldor responsible for the return of Morgoth in Middle-earth. He would never have lowered himself, to show interest in their usurped kingdoms. Thus the location of Gondolin the hidden city, Turgon's supreme secret, was in no danger at all, all the more as the princess would never reveal it. Aredhel was pleased to believe that it was out of courtesy that her lord avoided approaching the subjects which might sully their agreement.

.oOo.

Eöl talked to her about his hunting, told her about the stars of old, and shared the news that his servants the petty-dwarfs held from their cousins in the blue mountains. But the lady languished.

One day, the master of Nan Elmoth went away in great secrecy, and brought back the lost blade of Gondolin. He did not confess what he had had to face in order to seize it, but he locked himself in his forge for several days. He came out exhausted but smiling, for he had unveiled the secrets of the Noldo weapon. Without a word, he bowed respectfully before Aredhel to give her back the sword, forged anew. The princess accepted the gift with a gracious curtsey. The blade, even more formidable than before, would no longer be inflamed by the ardor of its mistress, but assured her, wherever she might be in Middle-earth, the prompt succor of her husband.

Sometimes they rode together under the stars, when the dark power of Morgoth loomed back northward. They happened to draw the sword together, to exterminate some scouts spiders. Nan Elmoth's Lord was waging a ferocious fight against their hordes. The wars against Morgoth, the fluctuating alliances, the elves’ fortunes seemed to matter much less to him than the dignity of his independence. By cross-checking, Aredhel realized that the twilight elf appreciated the Sindar of Doriath, his neighbors to the south-west, hardly more than the Noldor. Only the Nandor of Ossiriand and the dwarves of the Blue Mountains found favor in his eyes.

A blacksmith, Eöl could not long conceal his interest in the minerals that abounded in the basements of his estate. Besides, doubtless he exaggerated the importance, Aredhel thought, for he imagined, in his paranoia, that all his neighbors envied him. When the twilight elf devoted himself to the forge, his dark thoughts came back tapping him. In the depths of his den, he recalled ancient grievances, as the hammer was fierce on the molten metal.

.oOo.

Eöl rarely broke the isolation imposed on his house. In the absence of the master, Aredhel, fretted idle by the galleries, under the suspicious glances of the needy and silent petty-dwarfs he had succored to make his servants. The forges were forbidden to her - in the depths of his mines, Eöl kept his treasures and the unfathomable secrets of his grip over his enemies spiders.

Temptation sometimes knocked at the edge of Aredhel’s soul, cracking the proud firmness of her engagement. Her curious mind sometimes lacked the charms of a brilliant society. Her loneliness was filled with luminous memories, a fugitive ritornello of her former flirts - her walks at Glorfindel's arm on the shorebreaks of Vinyamar, or the dances with powerful Ecthelion at the balls of crystal fountains in Gondolin. The sumptuous festivals shone in her memory. The lays composed with Salgant, Lord of the harp, came to her mind, evoking the sweetness of a kiss at sunset over the valley of Tumladen.

But the return of the twilight elf, haloed by his glorious hunts and arms loaded with gifts, reinforced the spell that kept her in his dependence. And the master of his nights hatched again the fragile flower of her felicity.

.oOo.

Her eyes plunged into a crystal of limpid rock, Aredhel seemed to wander through the meandering evocations of Elvish dreams. Often she thought she would meet her brother Turgon, imagined they would turn their vows towards each other, thanks to the art of the Noldor, and share their thoughts beyond the leagues of wild lands. For the moment, Aredhel was comforting the King of Gondolin, who was lost in the contemplation of a crystalline statue. The melancholic beauty of the alabaster curves, recalled the warmth of Elenwe his wife, but also the tragic fate of this queen, engulfed in the ice of Helcar when the Noldor had returned in Middle-earth. Tailed by this cruel absence, Turgon had hardened his law, and changed his benevolence into an anxious authority, that his daughter Idril bore with grace, but that his sister Aredhel had refused.

Eöl entered the closet where Aredhel dreamed so often.

- "A King should not govern alone", murmured the Princess to her brother, as to herself.

- "To whom do you speak, my lady?" Eöl asked

Taken from the dream, Aredhel perceived a point of jealousy in this falsely detached tone. She knew better than anyone else the solitude of the twilight elf; So she almost did not lie, smiling tenderly:

- "To you, My lord."

- "Do you ambition to govern Nan Elmoth by my side?"

The haughty face had closed again, lost in doubt. Would he receive this interest as intolerable interference, or as a mark of allegiance to his cause? Aredhel became grave:

-"Would you consent, My lord? Is there in your home a task that calls for the care of your lady, or in your forests, a mission that requires the skill or sagacity of a woman?

Uncomfortable, Eöl hesitated, torn between his sickly mistrust, his posture as a petty-king jealous of his prerogatives, and a gratitude to the Noldo Princess, which he could not explain himself. He clumsily took Aredhel's hand:

- Your presence alleviates my heart... My domain is yours...

His countenance reassured, he added:

- "There is indeed an eminent role vested in you."

.oOo.

Sitting on the soft pelisse of some ferocious beast, a little boy was enthroned in the midst of his army of toys. The automatons rattled and tinkled, some gesticulated or brandished their little axes in large reels. Their broad goat-hair beards betrayed the origin of the small mechanics - the mines of Nogrod in the blue mountains.

But the dwarven toys flapped in vain. The child opened wide eyes, which seemed to drink the slightest detail of the pastel scenes painted by Aredhel.

- "And here is Idril Celebrindal, the beloved daughter of the king. When she dances on the lawns of Tumladen[1], her rapid footsteps draw silver arabesques that delight the whole valley."

Indeed, a young woman with jet hair seemed to skip in a stream, projecting graceful sparkling droplets around her. The little boy breathed a sigh of admiration at the unreal beauty of the young girl - the High-Elvish[2] had the power to give shape and breath to her mother’s memories.

- Look, she dances with Penlod, the Lord of the House of the Tower of Snow. Did you see how tall he is, and how he’s looking at her with shining eyes?

The young girl was laughing out loud, as Penlod, a giant full of vigor, struggled to catch her.

- "When I grow up, I'll marry her!"

- "Idril is your cousin, I doubt the king would allow you to marry her."

The boy shook his dark hair, sketching a grimace that faded for a moment the childish grace of his adorable face.

- "Then I'll be the king, like my daddy! And Penlod, I'll beat him in the race and everything!

Aredhel recognized the imperious desire to subdue the universe, inherited from his father Eöl. She changed the subject - the shining companies of armored elves unfolded their banners. A battalion of swordsmen, dressed in red, advanced with a rhythmic step, carrying a golden shawl adorned with a scarlet heart.

- "Here are the proudest of all, who succeeded in recovering the remains of our High King Fingolfin from the trolls - curse on these evil creatures!

The little elf shuddered and curled up in his mother's arms. The battalion gave place to a company of archers, adorned with white and blue swallow feathers, who kneeled before a grave personage seated on a throne.

- "And who is he?"

- "Here is King Turgon, my brother!"

The dark hair of the elf was girded with a wreath of gold, with mother-of-pearl wings, which recalled his allegiance to the Oceans Lord. At his side hung the sword Glamdring, the prophecy of which predicted very long feats[3]. The light of the stars sparkled in his gray silver eyes. His forehead reflected the sagacity of his thought, but a shade of bitterness at the corners of his lips betrayed the pain of his widowhood.

- "Will you take me to Gondolin, Mama?"

Aredhel tenderly caressed her son's hair, sighing:

- "It would be necessary for your father to agree meeting my family. You know we cannot leave the safety of the caves."

- "When I grow up, I'll protect you, mamma!"

- You certainly will, my sweet boy! But for the moment you remain my little Lomion![4]

.oOo.

Later the Lord of Nan Elmoth, leaving the pungent heat of his forge, joined his lady and his son for dinner. The atmosphere, often heavy when the master returned from the depths, proved more solemn than usual:

- "You certainly do remember, Madam, that the use of the Noldor's language is proscribed on my lands?"

Aredhel shuddered. She only spoke to her son in Quenya when they were alone. It was unpleasant for her to imagine that no secret could escape her husband... She looked at Eöl defiantly, without answering. But the elf continued:

- "I am grateful to you for employing in public the sweet talk of my people. I can certainly admit your affection makes you give a name to our child, in the language of your fathers. But you would have granted me great honor and pleasure, shaping it in my own language. For my part, I will choose the name he will bear as my heir, when I know all his qualities. Because soon will come the time for him, to follow his father for his education..."

- I agreed to submit to your laws by becoming your wife. But just as you have welcomed me, as I am, must you not accept the fruit of our union bears a share of Noldo's inheritance?

A grin of irritation, quickly repressed, passed over the handsome face of the master.

- It's not just about recognizing your aspirations through our child. What consideration could you keep for himself or for me if the will of the king and father were not honored? Do the Noldor princes allow strangers to flout their laws on their own lands?

Aredhel restrained a movement of bitterness. The stranger she now felt must admit the unbearable truth of the argument. Her whole being shouted to revolt, but she chose, by a last habit of respect for her husband, to plead moderation:

- "But he's only six years old! Can we not raise our son in the tradition of both our families?"

- "In order to please you, my lady, I agree to defer the initiation of this son you gave me. But know that here, like in the kingdoms of the exiles Noldor, the will of the king is the force of law. If your husband grants Quenya out of love for you, the King cannot yield as to the education of his heir."

Thus the Elf of the night had granted nothing except a vague gratitude. Relegated as much as raised to the rank of mother at the birth of Lomion, Aredhel had slowly despaired of touching the heart of her husband. Now she was afraid of being forced to give up her son.

.oOo.

NOTES

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[1]The valley where the town of Gondolin is built, surrounded by impassable mountains.

[2] Quenya, the tongue of the Noldor

[3]This prophecy did not guarantee a long life to the king. However, the sword Glamdring took part in many exploits, long after the disappearance of Turgon. It was that very sword Gandalf found among the Treasure of the Trolls, in the adventure that nearly cost Bilbo's life!

[4] Child of Twilight.