By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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A Good Sword

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Buffy grinned.

Technically, she was grounded, but since ‘grounded’ wasn’t really an elven concept, Ada had decided that it meant she had to remain within two days ride of Imladris and have an adult other than her brothers with her at all times when she went beyond the boundaries of Imladris itself. It was hard to say who had been more irritated by these strictures- her mother, who had pointed out that if she was able to go wherever she liked, she wasn’t grounded; or her brothers, who were insulted that they suddenly didn’t count as adult supervision.

The cave where Bilbo and his dwarves had encountered trolls was two days’ ride from Imladris if one rode without stopping- not that Bilbo was able to do such a thing. First off, his little pony could not possibly have kept pace with the horses of the elves, even if he had only Bilbo to carry and not Bilbo’s treasure as well. Second, hobbits needed significantly more food and more sleep than elves. But technically it was two days ride, so Buffy had been able to cajole Glorfindel into playing chaperone and the twins had come along out of curiosity.

It ended up taking them five days to reach the spot keeping a pace that was comfortable for Bilbo, but Buffy didn’t mind. Until now, she had never been west of her father’s house, only east. Everything she saw was new to her, and the possibility of encountering trolls was hardly a deterrent – ‘ensuring Bilbo and Mithrandir have no more trouble with trolls’ was the excuse she’d given her father for why they should accompany the hobbit and the wizard at least as far as the troll cave.

Privately, Buffy suspected her father wasn’t really that fussed about the terms of her punishment, but merely going through the motions to humor her mother. Celebrian had been somewhat mollified by her daughter’s insistence that she didn’t want to go on any more long trips for a while. And Buffy meant it. Really, she’d barely gotten to know Imladris before going haring off to Lothlorien.

But she was curious about the trolls. And more curious to see what else might have been stashed in the troll cave.

The wizard had hinted that there had been other swords in the stash, just not as fancy as the blades of Turgon and Ecthelion. Even if they were perfectly boring, ordinary mannish swords, it seemed like just asking for trouble leaving them lying around. And Buffy was intrigued by how two of the most famous swords of the Gondolin had come to be in a troll cache in Eriador…

Her brothers persuaded Glorfindel to tell them some of the history of the Hidden City on the journey to pass the time. Bilbo had seemed quite interested, so Buffy had let Glorfindel go on as long as he wanted, even though she was bored by the descriptions of buildings and festivals. The gates and layout of the city had been interesting, and she’d been mildly surprised to discover that the King of Gondolin had been her father’s great-grandfather. Buffy would have liked to hear more about the layout and defense of the city, not to mention the battle at the end, but she wasn’t about to demand that Glorfindel tell a tale that ended in his own death.

He has told the tale before, little sister, Elrohir told her silently. Who do you suppose taught us about it?

Buffy frowned.

I don’t think I would like telling about how a demon killed me, even if I came back, she replied dubiously.

Why not? Elladan asked mildly. You’re cheerful enough about the time you drowned.

That was true, but that had been neither as painful or as lasting as what her brothers had told her of Glorfindel’s demise.

He is alive now, and it is not as if he is not used to telling the story, Elladan pointed out. But if you do not wish to ask, there are also books in Ada’s library on the Fall of Gondolin.

And songs- Lindir will happily sing them for you, Elrohir added.

Lindir would no doubt indulge her- the Imladrim were very happy to have her back. She had the impression they felt unfairly deprived by her running off to visit her grandparents so soon after her return. But the books did her no good. She couldn’t read them. She didn’t mention that to her brothers, though. It was embarrassing enough being illiterate without having to remind everyone of it. It was worse that she was making very little headway learning elvish letters.

“Here we are,” Mithrandir announced cheerfully.

They all dismounted, and Bilbo looped the reins of his pony around a tree. The elves had no worries that their horses would bolt, and allowed them their freedom, knowing the animals would not stray far- the horses were smart enough to know that if dangerous creatures were about, near their elven riders was the safest place to be.

The clearing wasn’t far off the road, and as promised, it contained three large, ugly stone statues.

Buffy cocked her head to the side, wondering if these were normal trolls or not, but decided there would be time enough for questions later. She was supposed to be behaving herself, and ‘behaving’ meant not giving non-elves the impression that she was less than knowledgeable about Arda. An elf old enough to travel without her parents would know about trolls.

“Yes, they are quite normal trolls,” Glorfindel said, speaking in Sindarin so Bilbo would not know that Buffy had not seen trolls before either. “Not particularly large or clever specimens, either.”

“And yet trouble enough for the unwary,” Gandalf added with a smile. “Always remember that trolls must be below ground during the daylight hours, or they return to the stone from which they are made. Orcs may journey by day at need, though they like it not, but trolls never.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully.

“Here is our small hoard,” Bilbo called, at work with a small spade which had evidently been secreted nearby for just such a purpose.

Glorfindel and the twins were just as curious as Buffy to see what else the trolls had amassed, and with four elves helping, it did not take long to reveal the cache.

The coins were of no interest to Buffy, though the boys glanced at them, no doubt able to tell where and when they had come from. It was the weapons she wanted to see. Bilbo might have been a novice treasure-hunter at the outset of his adventure, but the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company had known well enough how to preserve the swords that they had not wished to take with them. They had been bundled together, well wrapped in cloth and leather that looked to have been repurposed from the clothing of troll victims.

Most were just as the twins had predicted: very ordinary swords of men. Most were in such poor condition that it was clear why the dwarves had seen no point to taking them. But in between the mannish swords, Buffy found one that even her untrained eye could recognize as elf make.

It was not as flashy as Glamdring. The scabbard was plain, no-nonsense. The jewel-less hilt was more to Buffy’s taste than the sword of Turgon – this was a sword made by someone who knew the real purpose of a sword. To her surprise, when she picked it up, it fit her hand. She was so small for an elf that this was unusual – unless this sword had been made for an elfling. Buffy didn’t know if such things were done, even in Gondolin.

She cautiously unsheathed the sword, and gasped. Because while it wasn’t flashy, it was beautiful. The design of this sword was far more elegant than that of Glamdring. The metal had lost none of its gleam over the years – and it wasn’t just plain steel shining at her. Buffy knew only a little about metal – though she meant to learn more – but she did know you wouldn’t use real gold in the blade of a sword. But however the effect was achieved, the blade she held had golden streaks, and more fascinatingly, streaks of black. Sun and shadow chased each other around the sword.
There were also the more usual flourishes and decorative accents, because elves think swords should be beautiful as well as deadly.

She decided that she approved of whoever made this weapon. She regretted that she couldn’t read, because there are runes wound around the blade, and she was curious to know if the sword had a name.

“Brothers,” she called quietly.

The twins’ look of surprise at her find was quite satisfying.

Elladan glanced at her for permission before taking the sword and examining it critically.

“Does it have a name?” she asked.

Elladan nodded.

“Dancing light,” he replied, as if she had been asking what the name would be in Westron. She does not yet understand any elven tongue but Sindarin, but the Gondolindrim would not have named their swords in Sindarin.

Elrohir joined them, also looking at the sword closely.

“A very fine blade,” he pronounced. “Though it is unsurprising that it was overlooked by the dwarrows. No jewels or fancy workings on the hilt, and hiding among all the plain ones.”

His eye was caught by the stamp near the hilt, the maker’s mark.

“You were not intending to keep this sword, were you?” he asked quietly.

Buffy glared at him. The first sword she’s picked up that wasn’t special made for her but looks and feels like a real sword, not a kid’s sword? And pretty to boot? Of course she was intending to keep it. The only way it could be more hers was if the runes spelled her name.

“Why not?” she asked with a frown.

He showed her the mark as if it would mean anything to her.

“A mole?” she asked, perplexed. “So what? Moles are cute.”

Her brothers faces were matching studies in exasperation.

The Lord of the Mole, little sister, Elrohir prompted her. Maeglin.The traitor of Gondolin? That’s whose mark is on this blade. I do not think you should keep it.

She glared at him. It’s totally not fair trying to have an argument like this in front of Bilbo.

Ask Glorfindel, Elladan suggested at the look on her face. I suspect he will also say you should not. A granddaughter of Turgon carrying a sword made by the one who betrayed him?

She fought a strong urge to roll her eyes, reminding herself that elves don’t do things like that in front of non-elves. At least, grown elves don’t.

She didn’t see why she should care what else Maeglin did- as far as she’s concerned the relevant point is that the guy made a good sword. She doesn’t think he could have made a sword that was more her if he’d tried.

Glorfindel had noticed the tension among the children of Elrond, and walked over with the clear intent of defusing whatever was going on.

He glanced at the sword with an expert eye. Taking it, he gave it a few experimental swings before handing it back to Buffy and gesturing for her to do the same. When she did, clearly finding it balanced to her satisfaction, he smiled.

“It should serve you well, Anariel,” Glorfindel told her.

He cut off her brothers’ incipient protest at her triumphant grin.

“Maeglin did many things in his short life, young ones. It is true he betrayed his city to Morgoth,” he said quietly. “But he made excellent swords.”