Súlimëo Quentar: March Stories by Elleth

Safeguarding the Sun

Returning from the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Maeglin finds reasons to craft the Gate of Steel.

(Mentions of war, obsessive thoughts.)

The moment he believed he had come from the War and survived saw Idril emerging between Belthil and Glingal like a sunburst through Nan Elmoth's canopy, and racing down the steps to meet the warriors. She bore flowers in her hair while he still felt rough from battle, even though the army now marching into Gondolin had taken their rest in the Orfalch Echor to wash, tend to the wounded, and clean orc blood off their plate mail. Heroes did not return from grim reality, they returned from noble efforts, and these two, Maeglin knew, rarely intersected, and the people of Gondolin had sheltered here behind the mountains for a reason. It would be cruel enough already to read the lists of the fallen; Gondolin did not need any more reality.

Idril woke him from his dark thoughts with her mere presence and relieved laughter, but when she had greeted her father and came to hug him, her arms slid off his mail, the bulk too much to embrace. He lifted her up with ease, breathing in the scent of flowers that surrounded her and she slung her arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Cousin," she said brightly, but privately and for his ears only, and Maeglin suppressed a shiver, "my prayers have been with you as well, and I thank that Valar that they permitted both of you to return unscathed!"

Maeglin said nothing in reply, but he smiled, and reluctantly set her down. Idril continued to pass down the ranks of captains, greeting each in turn – Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Duilin, and the remaining heads of the Houses. He could nearly see Húrin and Huor stand among them, though both likely dead now, and again the ominous words he had witnessed on the battlefield echoed in his mind. "From you and me a new star shall arise." From whom, if not Idril, who was a sun all in herself?

"Uncle," Maeglin said quietly. "Seeing her so careless has woken the wish in me to guard Idril against all evil that may yet befall, for I fear that ill chance will yet allow enemies into Tumladen unless we take action. Allow me to craft a great gate of steel that will seal the Orfalch Echor beyond the six that already guard it, as final precaution."

For a while. Long enough to detain whatever intruder would seek her. She was his, and he would see to safeguarding her light from other hands that sought to hold her tight.

Chapter End Notes

Written for the following prompts:

N39: Here We Come A-Caroling: If you really hold me tight; Geography of the Silmarillion: Gondolin; Smells: Flower; Weapons and Warfare: Plate Mail