Narn e-Dant Gondolin
by Elvellon Ringsbane
Chapter
IX: Escape!
It seemed to Aearlinn that ages came and went as she waited in the dell
beyond the dark tunnel, her heart torn between fear and hope. To keep
the fear at bay, she busied herself in tending the wounded and aiding
in the re-distribution of supplies that had been hastily thrown
together by the refugees even as they fled their homes. Her portion of
healing herbs was nearly spent, and the water and wine skins she bore
were too light. Many weary and wounded had been eased, but so many more
still remained...
Then came a sudden issuing of Elves from the tunnel - no small band
of civilians sent by Idril, but a great host, accompanied by many
warriors. So Gondolin was lost. Anxiously Aearlinn scanned the refugees
as they emerged from the darkness. The last of the fugitives stumbled
out into the hollow, Tuor hindmost supporting Idril. No more came
after.
Aearlinn rose and offered what was left of her water to a warrior
who looked in dire need of refreshment. As he drank, she asked him the
question that tormented her. "Sir - what of the House of the Hammer? I
see none of their livery among you..."
The man looked at her a moment in silence, then laid a gentle if bloody
hand upon her arm. "They sit now in honor in the halls of the gods."
Aearlinn returned his gaze steadily, but her heart was breaking.
"Then all are slain?" The Elf nodded. "Saw you their end?" Again he
nodded. "Tell me."
"They made a great charge from the North Gate into the very heart
of the foe, and in their valour slew many even of the Balrogs. The
front of the enemy was utterly overthrown, but the Elves were
hopelessly surrounded, and none ever fared back to Gondolin. Yet mighty
was that sally, and the memory of it shall endure forever - for the
folk of Rog knew their peril, and willingly they gave their lives to
gain a respite for the others who fought before the gates."
"So he is dead then." Aearlinn's voice sounded cold and emotionless
in her ears. Her eyes fixed unseeing upon the man before her. "I thank
you." Then she turned abruptly away. Numbly she began to gather her few
belongings, knowing that soon the Gondolindrim would set out again. For
though they had escaped the sack of Gondolin, they had not yet eluded
the hand of Morgoth. Many leagues of open plain lay between them and
the foothills of the Encircling Mountains. Dawn was not far off. In the
light of day the enemy might well espy the fugitives, and then all
would be lost. But whither the Eldar would go if once they reached the
mountains, Aearlinn did not know, nor did she care. Silently the tears
flowed down her face.
Silently the Elven warrior followed the departing figure of
Aearlinn with his deep green eyes, the pain in his heart plain to see
upon his face. Alas that it had fallen to him to bear such evil news!
Was there not grief enough already on this dreadful night? Sighing, he
ran his fine, scarred fingers through his golden hair. Though skilled
with weapons, and a brave warrior, his heart was given to life rather
than death. He would fain be singing among the bright trees of
Gondolin, rather than slaying orcs to the music of his club. Yet he
knew that if one fought not for what he loved, it would be lost.
Lost. Despite all the valor of the Gondolindrim, even so was Gondolin!
Yet he did not grieve so much for the broken stones of the white city
of Turgon, but for the trees that had blossomed there. Such abundance
of growing things, so much beauty and life beaten into the dust,
trampled underfoot, drowned in blood...
A fire sprang into his eyes, and he straightened up suddenly, dragging
the tattered sleeve of his tunic across his forehead, attempting vainly
to wipe away some of the blood that painted his face. Suddenly a damp,
clean cloth was thrust gently into his hand. He looked up in wonder at
Aearlinn, who stood silently before him. Her face was deathly pale, and
the tracks of tears were plain to see upon her cheeks, but she wept no
longer.
Taking the cloth gratefully, he cleansed his face. "I thank you."
"Nay," answered Aearlinn. "You are a warrior in need. You risk your
life for all of Gondolin, and I owe you what little aid I can render in
repayment."
He held up his hands in protest. "I but do my duty, as would any man."
"And I but do mine. Yet not all would do as thou hast done..."
"You are strong, lady."
"The weak will die," answered Aearlinn simply. "And I have yet
another duty to perform, in memory of him whom I lost." At that moment
Tuor gave the word to depart.
Aldamir gripped his club and bowed. "May the Valar keep you." Aearlinn
bent her head in return. "And thee." Then she turned and took her place
amidst the other women and wounded in the centre of the column.
The host began to move. Resolutely they climbed the bank of the
hidden hollow and setting their feet upon the deep grass, looked out
across the plain of Tumladen. And lo! A dense mist covered all that
plain like a ghostly shroud. The swirling vapors twisted in the damp
air as if stirred by unseen fingers, and always it seemed they pointed
west...
From the van the voice of Tuor cried: "Ulmo has not deserted us! He
hides the path we must take! Hurry, the sun's light may burn the mists
away!"
Verily, so it was. In darkness had the enemy prevailed, yet the very
shadows now would defy the foe's searching eyes - for a while, for a
while.
On through the night the company sped, meeting no danger, until at
last light began to grow about them and the sun's red disk rose above
the Eastern mountains, turning the drifting fogs to gold. Dawn had come
at last, and it was the first day of summer. Then those mists began to
thin where the Elves traveled, but about the city a dense cloud still
brooded, veiling utterly from sight Amon Gwareth and the smoking ruins
of Gondolin.
And now there came new danger. For even as the fogs began to lift,
a sudden cry was heard from the vanguard and looking ahead Aearlinn
beheld, not far off and nigh to the feet of the mountains, a close knot
of Elves fleeing on foot and pursued by wolfriders. Then Tuor shouted
aloud, for behold! His son Eärendil was with them, and Aearlinn
could
see his small figure borne aloft upon the shoulders of an Elf, and that
child's face shone like a star.
Then called Tuor for fifty tried warriors who still had the
strength to fight, and with the light of battle in his eyes turned and
leapt forward, his warriors at his heels, his ringing voice a trumpet
of hope that rose above the clash of arms: "Dartho, thelyn! Telim!
(Stay, steadfast heroes! We are coming!)"
Aearlinn watched impassively as the warriors threw themselves upon
the Orc band, heedless of danger, hewing asunder warg and goblin alike.
Even so had Magor fought, even so had he died...
Her attention was recalled as a wounded man before her stumbled
suddenly. Thrusting the leathern bag she carried to a young elleth
beside her, Aearlinn half-hauled the Elf to his feet as the company
pressed forward, urged on by the warriors who guarded the column. There
could be no rest yet for the sick in body and in heart.
Raising her head, she saw that Tuor and his band had returned without
loss, bearing Eärendil to safety. A small comfort was it that few
of
Morgoth's riders had survived, and those that had saved themselves by
flight were gravely wounded. News of the escape would remain secret yet
awhile. Yet even if they survived, what future awaited her beyond the
vale of Tumladen, she did not know. Nor did she understand what force
drove her on to strive for life when all she loved had perished.
Now that host came at last to the foothills of the mountains, and
in the grey light of dawn they rested. Silently Aearlinn went among the
wounded, lending aid where she might that all would be stronger when at
last they must assail the mountain pass. Others of the women crept
about the clearing, replenishing as best they could their dwindling
herb supplies, distributing water, and tending wounds. No words did
Aearlinn speak to those who worked beside her, nor did any speak to
her. No words were needed, nor could any convey the depth of grief and
loss that bound all the Gondolindrim together in a fellowship stronger
even than any they had felt when Gondolin still stood unconquered.
With deft fingers Aearlinn tied off a bandage about a warrior's arm,
then rose slowly and moved on. Her face was pale, dusty and streaked
with tears. Yet if Magor could have seen her then, he would have
thought her more beautiful still in her grief and weariness. But he was
gone, and had any spoken now to her of her loveliness she would have
answered that it had died with Gondolin.
At last weariness prevailed upon her to give heed to her own needs, but
first she paused at the spring to fill her water-skins. Satisfied that
she had enough now to last for some time, Aearlinn sank down in the
shadow of one of the trees that grew about the clearing. A young
elfling stood nearby, crying softly, and Aearlinn opened her arms to
him. Coming, the child put his head in her lap and soon tears had given
way to sleep. Gently the elven woman stroked his golden head, but sleep
remained far from her. Soon the Elves would have to move on. They had
made it thus far in safety by the grace of the Valar, but still the
mountains loomed ahead, dark and foreboding to the weary refugees. But
they must cross those cold and pitiless heights if they ever hoped to
come at last to a land of freedom.
