Author’s Note: This story is obviously based upon the works of Tolkien, but with “based” being the key word here. I have fully invoked the rights which come with being a creative author: I have messed with the story line a bit. I’ve taken pieces of history and plastered them into an era thousands of years before they really took place and ditto with some characters though this really becomes noticed later on. There is a reason for this mix-n-match but first.
I’m only borrowing the ideas of Tolkien and have no mind for being sued so please don’t sue me!
And now, I had gained the idea of writing this story while fooling around with ideas with a group of friends, was prompted into continuing one of my ideas into a full story and so here I am. However, with unbridled ideas comes troubles with fitting them together but I have done what I
can. Thank you and please enjoy my writings!
Long ago in Middle-earth, in a place which is now sundered under the sea, there was once a land. A land full of stories, mysteries and adventure. The land of Beleriand was where the
first Elves, Men and Dwarves made their cities living as innocent children of Eru. Throughout the First Age, there were many wondrous monuments constructed and fashioned, but none so great, as any will remember, as the great city of Gondolin. It was constructed by the Noldor, a clan of Elves which came back from the Western most lands of Valinor. Gondolin was fashioned after Tirion, a monumental city in Valinor, a city which few words can justifiably describe. It was
because of this cultured history that Gondolin was able to stand tall and proud in Beleriand, reflecting the very nature of the epicenter of Elvish culture. As a protection device for the Noldor Ulmo, a Valar of Valinor, gave to the Gondolindrim a section of land completely concealed within the confinements of the Encircling Mountains, accessible by two passages only, for the concealment of their kingdom. For centuries the real existence of the city of Gondolin was debated with those who did not live there, as none were able to find it and there were no dealings with the city, except when it sent soldiers forth to war. Even then, none spoke of its existence and the returning soldiers simply disappeared into the land. To many Gondolin was nothing more than a myth. For as a rule, very few were allowed into this hidden city, less were allowed out, and even other Elves were not easily granted admittance. If the secret to Gondolin could escape and reach the ears of Morgoth, complete destruction would be quick and swift and Morgoth’s full tyrant rule of Middle-Earth would be that much closer. It is around this city that this tale begins; before many of the sorrows came, and while there was still much joy and laughter among its
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The sun had just begun to sink behind the snow capped mountains laying in as many directions as the stars themselves. A few shafts of light struggled to stay behind in the sky, and still managed to shine through the spread out branches of the sparse trees, illuminating two lone figures; tall, fair, and both seeming products of the earth itself. They both moved nimbly around each other, as if in a intricate dance, yet they moved comfortably, and wielded their weapons with skill. The taller male Elf was swifter of the two and quickly has his younger female apprentice at sword point.
“That was good Cistailé. Just remember to keep your feet moving, and do not lean in so far when striking. That last thrust you made, it would have been easy for me to knock you on the back and topple you over. You move with your weapon, the two of you are one. Your sword is an extension of your arm, not a stick you are holding to harmlessly slap your opponent on the leg with. Wish to try again?”
“I am tired of this father.” Cistailé sighed and dropped her weary arms beside her, letting the crudely fashioned wooden sword hang listlessly as she sighed. “We have been out here all day practicing and I feel as though we have gotten no where but breaking a good dozen branches. You train me for battle, yet I would not even go with the hunters to partake in their game. Do not get me wrong, your advice I take notice of. That does not rest on ideal ears.”
“That is good! One day I fear you will need to draw upon the skills you have, or have not learnt Cistailé.” At this Cistailé’s father, Felinor raised his unshapely wooden sword and Cistailé did the same, both honoring each other as opponents. The lesson was over and daughter and father turned to go back into the city ere the gates closed for the night.
“Word comes back to me that Liganil has let you take on a foal as your own this year. Not many are given that task so soon.”
“I bet he will chose the most wild, untamable yearling there is, just to prove that I cannot do everything the first time.” Felinor smiled down at his daughter mere inches below him.
“Then you will have to prove him wrong. You are able to calm animals like none other I have yet seen. Linganil would not have the mount he has now, if you did not walk into the sight of his horse.”
“I did more then just look at his horse.” Cistailé’s face began to flush with the color of the sinking sun. It was well known that her skill with horses was more exact then most others, though she was never one to flaunt her talents around; unlike Liganil, tender of the stables. It was he who took the care of all horses as his own, and it was not denied that he did have a way with the horses, for he cared and loved for them almost as much as himself, which was too much more often then not. Though many often went to the stables, only those who showed exceptional skill with the creatures were allowed to actually be a part of the force that worked there, always
under Liganil’s harsh eye.
The two continued walking, though in silence enjoying the beauty around them only as two people who closely understand each other can. Through the thinning trees they could clearly make out the great white walls of Gondolin, painted golden red by the dying sun rising high and
far into the sky before them. Imposing yet welcoming.
“Your mother approaches.”
“Someone comes yes, if it is mother that is yet to be seen.”
“Can you not feel who it is?”
“Pay attention to presence. It is a feeling unmistakable for those closest to you.” Felinor advised.
“Then I will learn how to if there is such an advantage to it.”
“It is not something to learn, but to take note of.” A tall shadowy elf broke through the line of vision far ahead. Silent and moving like a breeze Cistailé’s mother, Tallarin came forth from the city which they now approached. She was tall and lithe, deep brown hair hanging down her back, a startling contrast to her blue eyes. A dark red dress set off the high cheek bones, leaving anyone doubtless of Tallarin’s possessed beauty. Many had said that Cistailé had inherited the best of her mother’s looks and none argued. For it was true. With the only difference of brown eyes for the blue, most of the characteristics were the same. As Tallarin came closer, she spoke out with a voice of a gently flowing river.
“The day is almost gone, night approaches and still you two are outside the walls.”
Tallarin stopped in front of her husband and daughter and smiled at the two of them. “Yet my heart is glad that it is so. Joy breaks like water upon rocks in the world around us, and it is a small comfort that even happiness can hide behind these mountains.”
Tallarin stepped forward and gave a welcoming hug to Cistailé and she returned it.
“Galarian and Aulier are by the stream in the garden. There is still time for you to go to them before they leave I think.”
“I thought Galarian promised to never go there again since he fell out of the tree.”
“Aulier is very persuasive. And no doubt she was the one that made him fall, giving her the advantage of black mail.” said Felinor.
“No doubt.” Cistailé gave a small laugh then hurried away to join her two friends.
Tallarin moved over to Felinor and the two naturally became one side by side walking slowly relishing their time together.
“She looks just like you. She acts like you too.” Felinor told his wife.
“It is your spirit that will live on within her. She has much to live up to and when the time comes, she will arise to the calling.”
“Yes, but how she is forced to come into that calling is what worries me. Still, her spirit is streaked with the same gold that streaks her dark head and it will take much to over come her.”
Felinor turned to Tallarin, full seriousness in his voice. “But to talk about our child is not why you came out is it?”
“No, it is not. The full report to army officials just came this afternoon. Morgoth has begun his diligent search for this hidden kingdom once again. The eagles have seen an increase in spies and searches all over Beleriand. One of these spies has been caught from outside and questioned. It is dead now of coarse. It was one of our messengers returning from Menegroth who caught it. Morgoth knows of the alliances being made between Elves and Men. He is getting
ready for retaliation. “
“Morgoth has been trying for centuries now to find us. Ulmo choose well when he showed Turgon the inside of these mountains. But if what you say is true, what then is King Turgon planning to do? No word of these tidings has reached me.”
Tallarin looked sadly at Felinor. She spoke slowly as if the words were hard to deliver.
“Turgon has just issued a city wide call to arms. On a date in the near future, you are going to be part of a strategic move against the dark powers. Felinor, the fifth battle is going to be fought.”