As the Light Lies on These White Walls by Elleth

Chapter 1

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The descent into the plain was still before them. Idril could feel her father's presence behind her at the top of the steep road, with his hand, calloused from building, heavy on her shoulder. Next to her, Aredhel shifted, trying to see past the outcrop of rock that blocked part of the mountain wall around the valley from view, a though she hoped for a breach there, a window into the open lands beyond the Echoriath. She seemed as uneasy as Idril felt.

"Idril, Íreth, the people are waiting," Turgon's voice said behind them, and indeed looking back as far as the ravine allowed was a throng of people; the first group that had vanished from Vinyamar like birds in autumn flying into safer lands, all of them dressed in whites and blues for camouflage in the winter landscape. She could see necks craning for a sight of Tumladen, for Gondolin equally white and gleaming amid the snow-covered plain, and behind the white mountains a white-clouded sky. She turned to her aunt with a forced smile.

"Father is right, we ought to go on if we mean to reach Gondolin before darkness falls. I imagine it must be swift, with the mountains blocking the sun when she sets."

Aredhel made a disparaging noise low in her throat, and brushed a hand over Idril's curls. "We should have remained at Vinyamar, or at the very least gone to Barad Eithel to dwell there. We could have made our own kingdom on Ard-galen for those who would rather roam than settle."

"There is space enough for your riding, and there is game enough for hunting, if you cannot give that up," Turgon said. "Not this again, Íreth, I beg of you that you do not make me a villain."

"Not a villain, but a jailor nonetheless," Aredhel returned swiftly and sharply; her voice cracked like ice, and Idril shuddered at the well-familiar noise. "You mean well - you mean so well that you do not see at all how others may find their bliss in different ways. Elenwë would agree with me." She crossed her arms, and for that moment seemed as forbidding as the gates behind her, or more so - a wall herself.

Idril shot around to look at her father. Turgon drew in a sharp breath and let it out again in a great, painful sigh that transformed his face, momentarily wizened and scoured deeply by grief. His breath made a great cloud in the frigid air, veiling him before he met his daughter's eyes, and Idril turned to Aredhel instead. It was made no better: Aredhel looked stricken to the heart over her own words; Idril knew that she had loved Elenwë no less and no less fiercely than Turgon had, and she must have woken all old feelings, resentments and losses once again.

"Invoking my mother will do nothing here, other than sowing more contention between the two of you," Idril murmured, no longer looking at anyone - or anything - in particular, other than her boot-clad feet, swollen from the march and aching in the cold, and riddled with scars that chafed against the leather. It took no deliberation at all to sit on a boulder by the road and pull her boots off, bury her toes in the snow as though it were sun-warmed sand, and watch them redden, glad for the shock of ice to clear her mind.

"I will not - I will not have the descent into the city marred by a petty argument, Íreth," Turgon was saying, paying Idril no attention. "We will go no further until you have come to a decision, or apologized, or - Ulmo sent us to this place. I am King here, and you are my sister. I expect you to obey and shall not tolerate insult or strife in Gondolin." He turned to the Lords and their families, who were following close behind the royal house and had begun to grow uneasy; Salgant was fidgeting with a golden tassel that had slipped from underneath his white cloak, and Ecthelion was rubbing a sleeve over the polished surface of the silver shield he bore. "Send messengers to your people; they are to rest and shelter at the gates - build fires for the women and children."

Aredhel made a noise of derision when a chorus of obedience followed his words.

"What shall we say? The people will ask," asked Egalmoth's wife, frowning. Idril knew that Elanna, too, loved freedom, and followed for loyalty and duty more than the sense of security that Turgon was promising in the hidden city.

Idril drew a breath. "Father," she said quickly, before Turgon could speak, and saw his eyes flicker in something akin to resignation to another betrayal. "Say that - that the city is not wholly ready. For Gondolin is not merely her buildings and towers, she is her people as well. And if even the least of them is unhappy or doubtful, then it is not ready, and our coming will be marred - if not now, then in years to come."

A gust of wind rushed around Idril, and for a moment it was all she heard. Her father had fallen silent and was looking at her with astonishment; Aredhel stood with her arms still crossed, but her features had relaxed from the anger they had worn a moment ago.

"And," Idril could hear herself say, reaching for her aunt's hands, "you should go to the people as well. If any would trade hope for freedom, then it should be their right - we have rejected the Valar and their goodwill before, and even Ulmo's kindness now must someday have its bounds. If any would depart - let them. Be their escort to Hithlum, go swiftly and silently, confuse their way so that they shall not find us again or betray us to our discovery if they are taken."

Silence reigned. Idril felt her father's eyes on her, saw his lips open soundlessly. At last he nodded. "My daughter may be forward in her speech, but she is wise. Do as Idril bids."

It was done as Idril had suggested. While the throng of people dispersed in the wider sections of the Orfalch Echor and fires were kindled in the overshadowed ravine as the day slipped onward, Idril sat still by the edge of the valley. Below her was a steep drop, a precipice of hundreds of feet to the valley floor, but if she lifted her eyes a little, she could see Gondolin set amid the plain, and a ray of sunlight piercing from the sky to the west, painting light and shadow onto the white walls. She had almost lost herself in the view when light footsteps over the snow came closer, and Idril looked up to see Aredhel approach, smiling, if still with a strange light in her eyes.

Idril said, "Look at Gondolin, look at how the light lies on the walls - now at sunset, do you not think it might almost be Laurelin's? Do you not think you will be able to live there? We have done so much to make the city sustainable - your foresting, the fountains, the gardens - Father's tower, even Belthil and Glingal - it is as close to Tirion as we could make it. You know that. Do you not also miss home?"

Aredhel knelt beside her and looked down, a soft breath escaping.

"I feared our questions might bring a second Sundering, for all your well-meaning wisdom. But no one else was willing to risk leaving - some would not mind their freedom, or to see the sea again, but it was their loved ones that swayed them to go on. And as they do, I will. I owe it to your mother and the promise we gave one another on the Ice, but that is not all. I will come, and I will stay, at least for a while."

She rose, and offered Idril her hand.

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Chapter End Notes

The title is from Sylvia Plath's Tulips.