How quickly can the quiet and silvery peace of an evening awaiting the dawn turn to fire and blood.
Long had I known that my lord Tuor was often counseled to caution by Idril, his wife and the daughter of our liege lord and king. Still, I do not think that anything could have prepared those of us who guarded his house for the sheer horror that Morgoth unleashed upon our fair city that day. By the time the riders came to sound the alarm, it was clearly too late and we all knew it.
I remember the wails and screams of terror from the citizenry and their children as the mountain snows seemed to turn red like blood. My brothers and sisters in the arms of our House of the Wing stood nearest to those of the King's House, my lord father included. I will never forget how he looked when his eyes found mine as we prepared to defend the city.
Long had the devastation of losing his oldest son, my younger brother, to the devastation of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad lingered within the both of us, yet, I do not think he had ever truly tried to recover in his heart. He had often wept tears long after I had run out of mine.
But as that horrible redness, like blood, seemed to engulf the skies completely, I saw a sort of steely calmness, borne clearly of some strange foresight, in Alcarónë, my lord father, that made my heart turn to ice. Whatever will he had still possessed, he never planned on using it for himself. When I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but an acceptance of his own doom.
And then our king called us all to a council. To defend the city or to abandon it? There were those who said yea and those who say nay. Maeglin the traitor, unfortunately, had the loudest tongue. My lord, Tuor, could bear it no more and he gathered us to his side to leave only to be beset upon by the foulest of beasts that had assaulted the streets. My position at his side afforded me the ability to defend his back as he fought to cut a path through.
"Fealassë!" he called to me over the din of clashing metal and the dying screams of both orcs and elves. "Fealassë! Where now is my wife? Where is my son?!"
"Your son was sleeping soundly in your noble house, my lord!" I called out to him in return. "There our princess will also be!"
Thus, we fought our way to the house Tuor shared with his family - the house we had long watched over - where his fair son, Eärendil - our beloved Ardamírë - began to grow in all the sweet tenderness of childhood. But, when we arrived after many delays, it was as a knife to our guts to see those of the House of the Mole there already.
We all knew our lord to be fierce in combat. But never had we seen the rage that consumed him upon the sight of the traitor holding Itarillë by her hair as he tried to cast Ardamírë down to the depths below. Long had we known that Maeglin coveted our princess. Never had we thought he would stoop so low!
We fought the traitor's bondservants until they lied dead, were cast over the ramparts, or ran in their own cowardice. In the midst of the ensuing struggle it did my heart pride to see little Ardamírë sink his teeth into that cur to escape the knife meant to harm him. In the blink of an eye our lord tore into him and then flung him down to the depths below to his deserved death. I did not cheer or rejoice over his fate. I kept my bitterness to myself.
The battle in the city was far from over. Leaving his wife and child in the care of Voronwë and a few of our number, we entered the fray once again, aiding others where we could and felling many foes, though it seemed to do little good. I understood then that this defense of fair Gondolin would come to naught. We were now only fighting to keep what citizenry we could alive.
Many were the horrors that my eyes witnessed and everywhere I looked I saw death. And even as we rejoined with those of other houses in the Square of Turgon's Palace as night began to fall, still more were lost under the onslaught of shadow and flame.
My father stood with others of the King's Guard as our liege lord fell into despair and regret. Even as those about us entreated Turgon to lead us onwards, my father stood at his side next to Lord Galdor, arrayed in the white, gold, and red standards of the house of the King, exhibiting that same eerie calm that chilled me to the bone. As my lord Tuor tried to beseech the King to hold out hope, I stepped closer to my father, though I could not find the words to speak to him.
He merely shook his head to me and I could feel the weight of one of his large hands as it came to rest upon the metal of my pauldron upon my shoulder. His other hand removed my winged helm and came to rest upon the blood-stained skin of my cheek.
"Narwarónë," he called me, by the name he himself had given me. "My red dawn, my only daughter, my eldest." Oh, how my heart sank into the pit of my stomach then. Though his words were tender his face was all but expressionless. He had almost nothing left to give. Had he had anything left to give in the first place after the death of my brother? "For the honor of our house and the lessons I have taught you, do not falter in your duty. You must see to it that your lord escapes in safety. You must see that his son comes to no harm."
The sounds of despair echoed all about us as our king implored us to give our fealty to my lord Tuor and climbed to the highest point of the white tower. Alcarónë placed my helm back into my hands and stepped away from me to attend to our despairing liege lord. But, I couldn't help but to reach out, wanting to touch him one last time. He turned sharply, and slapped my hand away from him, though there was no real anger to it.
"Do your duty!"
And that was the last I ever saw of him. Tuor rallied what remained of the citizenry and soldiers and set to our escape. I stood to his side as we cut our way through and the remnants of the House of the Golden Flower along with their lord held the rear guard. And when my lord was reunited with his lady, and his dearest friend again - for fair Itarillë had sent her son with many of her people and those Tuor had left to her away to make their escape through a secret tunnel- we all saw the white tower fall. I knew then that my father was gone along with King Turgon. But our flight was not over. The was no room for me to mourn. Onwards we pressed, incurring more causalities.
Even after we had passed through the gates and made for safer paths, we lost many more still, including the mighty Glorfindel. Our strength seemed to be spent entirely when the cairn was raised up over his body after it had been brought out from the abyss.
Still, onwards we pressed. Nigh upon a year we wandered as harried refugees until we, at last, came upon a place filled with beautiful willows. Here we tended to our hurts and rested a long while to regain the remnants of our strength.
Here is where I finally shed tears for the loss of my father and the bitterness of being the last of the three of us that made the journey across the ice all those years ago.
