Gondolin

Dear diary,

After the kinslaying in Menegroth, my family had joined me in Gondolin, but not for long. Nearly three years after that, Gondolin itself was besieged.

Many years have passed since I, my mother and my sister Melethiel have made it to Gondolin after the victorious battle of Dagor Aglareb. Life is simple here, and we live hidden from the sight of every outsider. We were soon sorted into Houses, and now under Lord Glorfindel's banner we are marching. Though Gondolin is free of trouble, I cannot say I am not worried about the rest of my family. I wonder how they are, and if they are alright.

The lavenders poked their pale petals through the arrangement of green herbs, among which they nestled themselves. From their many vantage points around the room, laid over tables, draped over shelves, they spread their light scent throughout the room, welcoming everyone with a peaceful atmosphere as they entered.

~~Oh White fair city, your doom draws near,
Your brave knights have fallen, with sword and spear.
Your white walls darken and great dragons harken.
The bowers are burning, the towers stood tall
The blood is cooling on the wall
From the gardens where many a white bird would soar
 Is now filled with the sound of war
Seven gates have stood for ages, made a mark in fates pages
Oh White fair city, your doom draws near,
Your brave knights have fallen, with sword and spear
The tower have fallen and the city lost,

Our Lord Anglachelm was a mighty lord of the Hidden City of Gondolin of the Seven Fountains, that known as the Stone House, the Secret Place, the beautiful Flower of Tumladen, that Lily-of-the-Valley of the Ancient Realm of Beleriand, and though it is no more, he led a remnant of his people away, before its utter destruction, and helped found the Ancient House of Vanimar.

       Smoke was beginning to drift up through the streets, spreading from the fires on the plain. From where she was on the upper levels, Maltariel could see the glows from vineyards and planted fields burning – plots that had flourished in the sheltered, hidden plain for generations, nurtured and passed on as labours of love, now little more than ashes.

The song was one of some length and it filled the time for much of their ascent towards the mountain’s peaks. She soon noticed that Belegos was still physically worn by the injuries he had and the heavy cart he pushed ahead of him. So Eliriael walked beside Belegos and Vëon’s body, pulling the cart beside her as much as she could, though her strength was too little to lessen Belegos’ burden at all.

Eliriael looked into Belegos’ eyes, and in their depths, she saw a spark of warmth kindled and she knew there was much hope left there. Perhaps her rescuer did not believe in himself or in any bright future, but she knew otherwise. There were no evident signs to assure her, but at times children have been known to see much more of the world and its people than is perceivable by the grown and wise.

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?'