A few moments in Gondolin by Quente  

In the still hours before dawn, Voronwë stood in the Courtyard of the Fountain in front of Turgon's great citadel. The crowd of stone buildings around him felt familiar -- Vinyamar, at the height of its bustling glory, felt much the same. But there was something missing.

It was the sea, of course. The King had builded mighty fountains and placed graceful rills to add the sound of water to their fair city, but none of these had the great susurrus that haunted Voronwë's rest. And, he knew, Tuor missed the sea too.

And that was why Voronwë's pack held within it some climbing gear, secreted away from curious eyes. He knew that he would see the sea again: at some point in his Valar-spared life, he'd find the shore (perhaps just after the Noldor had vanquished Morgoth and the Fëanoreans had regained their precious prize). But of Tuor he was far less certain. Would he live long enough for victory?

(And what then? Would they be parted forever upon Tuor's death, after the war was won?)

It did not do to contemplate. No, it was time for action, and that action was -- climbing. Voronwë shouldered the pack at his feet and set off toward the east, where the highest of the mountains held certain aeries. He would ascend to that dawn light and speak alone to the ones who dwelt there, and see if in their compassion they would tender him some aid.

Voronwë felt the strangest certainty that Tuor would see the sea again. And maybe -- just maybe -- this would be the way.

~

Turgon knew that Egalmoth was putting about the story that they'd built Gondolin as a life-raft, to preserve what remained of the people of Fingolfin until the time came that they would return to Valinor, forgiven and (somehow) victorious. He did not bother to correct Egalmoth's assumptions.

During the day, it was what Turgon told himself too, after all. He kept himself at an even pace, never too busy, never too still. He walked about his city and took time to enjoy every new vista carven out of the thick granite and basalt.

He labored in the forges, the fields, and the heights to build the city closer and closer to the one in his vision. And in the evenings, he broke his fast with his daughter, delighting in unfolding of her knowledge and strength with each year of peace and safety he had given her.

But at night, when the fires of the watchtowers lit the dark stones red, Turgon leaned out over his balcony and let fall his tears.  

Gondolin was not a city for the living: it was a city for his dead. Every day he spent building it more and more beautiful, striving for the perfect memorial of an Eldar life lost.

Turgon strove, and strove, but he had yet to build a thing so fair that it matched her peerless smile.

But, being also practical, Turgon knew that he would never give up trying until the very bedrock of Beleriand shook beneath him.

"Let this, my own tower, fall upon me if I should fail," Turgon whispered into the night. And sighing, he returned to his chamber, and a few hours of stolen rest.

~

The room was not particularly hidden, but it was not a well-traversed part of the Last Homely House, either. Arwen paused outside of the door and drew a kerchief down over her nose -- sometimes these store rooms held enough dust to infect even a part-Maiar's nostrils.

But once inside, and once she'd waved away the clouds of dust that rose and resettled around her footsteps like mist, Arwen found it.

She'd read about it in a book in her father's library, Idril's journal kept during the long trek of the Gondolindrim down to the fens of Sirion. The journal described one of the treasures Idril had taken with her from Valinor, a mirror that enabled people to see through time and place. It showed the past, sometimes. Or if one was weary and in need of hope, it would show just a glimpse of the future.

Arwen uncovered the mirror and gazed upon it. Around the edge was an inscription, "To my beloved granddaughter to ease her spirits."

And then she took a breath and looked within.

The world inside the glass was rosy with dawn. A lady stood on a balcony, gazing out over a land that Arwen had never seen. The lady turned her dark head and smiled toward the glass -- ahh, Arwen recognized her. She was Great-great-great grandmother Anairë, who held just a trace of Elrond about her nose and brows.

Arwen touched the glass and wondered whether she would ever see the landscape glimpsed beyond that balcony, or meet the great lady smiling at her. (And something else warned her to look well, because in her heart, she knew the answer.)

~

Winter was bitter enough, and the snow deep enough, that Idril turned her thoughts to a new project: a better hypocaust.

She was deep in calculations for a version of flooring that would spread heat more evenly than the current flagstones of the king's citadel. That morning, she'd gone to beg her father to let her delve as far and deeply as cousin Maeglin had, but her ambitions had been gently crushed.

"I would not lose you, my daughter, to uncertain tunnels in the far places of our land."

The unspoken words were that he'd trust Maeglin to such places, and it made Idril feel conflicted. Was it her femininity that caused her father these qualms, his careful distance from Maeglin for whatever reason, or perhaps her similarity in features to her mother Elenwë?

Idril suspected that when Turgon spoke so, he was speaking to his own ghosts and not to her at all. There was no reasoning with him when he was in this state, so Idril lowered her head in assent and returned to formulate a different alloy.

There was a promising mine south of the city, for example, where she might find copper to mingle with the concrete for the first layer of conductivity...

But before she'd gotten much farther than deciding upon quantities, there was a knock on her chamber door.

"You'll want to come and see this, my lady." Giloth said, sounded breathless. "At the seventh gate, a Man has passed who they say looks just like young Huor! It is as we've hoped on a long winter's eve -- Huor, returned to us!"

Huor! "But he was slain, father said, in the great battle."

"Perhaps his kin, then," Giloth said. "Come quickly!"

And Idril, feeling the strangest prickling of something greater at work, went.

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