We stood upon the city walls, looking eagerly to the east for the rising of the sun. Most folk were quietly awaiting the Gates of Summer, though there was a subdued chatter, and merry laughter amongst some of the children. I remember smiling at a nearby group, recalling when I had been that small, and that eager.
Berion nudged me and grinned. 'That was us barely fifty years ago?'
It was true. He and I had been friends from the time we could walk. We had played and laughed and learnt together. We had joined the wardens of the city together...but this was the first time since then we had both been off-duty for the festival.
I grinned back in turn. “No fireworks hidden about your person this year I hope?”
Berion shrugged and looked innocent.”That was only once, Avornor, and it was a...mistake.”
No matter how grown we thought ourselves, we were still taken up in the moment, as happy as those around us.
And we waited, with mounting expectation as the chattering grew into a distant droning sound...a chanting, a stomp of very many feet. Folk began to look to each other with concern.
“Ware to the north!” a voice rang out over the assembled crowds. “To the North!”
As one we turned.
“The sun rises in the north this year?” One of the nearby children asked his father.
“Nay. It does not!” With a swift movement the father took up his son in his arms. Others were doing likewise with their children...unsure of what was happening.
“That is fire and flames” the words were torn from my lips in a dawning sense of horror. “That is great drakes coming over the heights.”
Though I had not had the ill-fortune to encounter those creatures at any time in my life, I knew immediately what they were. My heart turned as chill as ice at that sight.
There was movement as the people hurried to get their children away to safety. An orderly abandoning of the walls by families as the forces of the city took their place. Now we could see the fire-light reflecting off of a vast array of weapons. We could hear the distant chanting, the mumbling curses of orcs uttered in their foul tongue. We could hear the howling of very many wargs.
“Not quite what we hoped for this night, brother” Berion said in his usual understated manner, before heading off himself to take up arms.
~ ~ ~
I was born and raised in Rivendell, yet I have always had a vision of Gondolin as my 'home'. My parents had been amongst the forlorn refugees of that great city. Though they were young when it fell – my father, Avornor, being barely seventy – the memories of it's bliss and beauty were forever etched upon their minds. They told me tales of the days past, the happy days mostly. They spoke of the King, and of his daughter and the Man she came to love and wed. They spoke of the noble Lords and warriors, and of those who guarded the hidden realm until the end. And as I grew to reach well past my own seventieth year, my father would tell me a little of that awful night when almost all was lost. Never has he told me fully what he experienced, but I am old enough now to understand. I do not ask him to explain further. I have never asked my mother.
Now for my own part I never had any desire to do battle. My hands, as my mother's, are skilled in the growing of things, not their ending. Both she and I loved nothing better than to tend our garden, nurturing plants that enticed the eyes with their glory and the nose with their fragrance. Also we grew a wide variety of herbs for the use of our healers. I studied a little in book-lore, and spoke with others well versed in cultivation, but my main instructor was the land itself. I never thought that would change.
But we do change over time, even though it be slowly, and the purpose which once held me fast waned slightly, as I became aware that all was far from well in Eriador and beyond. Nothing could harm us here, in Rivendell I had always believed. Oh, there had been attempts – the Siege of Rivendell itself had been one my parents had lived through with only minor effect. But the defences of this sanctuary held fast then and now. Lord Elrond will not permit them to fail.
And yet.....
There was a day when it occurred to me I should be aiding those who defended the Vale, rather than one who took that defence for granted. Though there were few elith amongst the soldiers, it was not unknown. I watched at times when the Order of the Hammer drilled before the Spire. Though I kept my distance, I tried hard to make note of their every move. Black garbed and dour faced were most of them. Hardened warriors all, who would carry the battle resolutely to wherever it was needed. Though my respect for them was great, it was not for me. Too wiry of frame am I, too short to stand in their ranks.
“Perhaps you would find a place in the Lady Miste's Order?” my mother suggested when she knew of my mind-mood. “It is more suitable than that of Lord Veryacano.”
Perhaps it was. Yet my vision was to act as many had in Gondolin – as my father had. To be a defender of Rivendell was my aim.
And then came the day..the day I had not realised I was waiting for. For Lord Vorongwe, himself a survivor of Gondolin, made summons that the Order of the Fountain be revived. His call went out across the vale for all who were interested, be they experienced or not, to report for due consideration. Not that the would accept anyone, of course. Only those who showed great promise and commitment would be counted in that number.
I was the second one to arrive at the meeting! We each introduced ourselves to the Lord in turn, giving reasons and in some cases references, as to why we would be part of his Order. To my joy, I was accepted. (I suspect because of my father!)
Now nearly a season has passed. It has been a time of training for us all. There is a lot to learn. Unlike the Hammer, who have been together for some time, we must grow fully accustomed to fighting alongside each other. Our numbers slowly increase as new folk approach our lord, some from as far away as Lindon. There is much enthusiasm for his plans.
My garden is still special to me, but it has been somewhat neglected recently, yet I have never felt so purposeful before. This is my path, for now at least. All the more so given our Tur's disturbing dreams and recent happenings to the south.
