Beneath Starlit Skies

15

Gondolin.

Why does that name sound familiar? Celeriel wonders. Where have I heard that name before?

So close - she's on the cusp of recollection.

"Ada," she tugs on his sleeve.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me more about Gondolin?"

Mairon pauses, his eyes thoughtful as he considers his answer.

"Not much is known about the city itself asides that it exists." He tells her eventually. "Gondolin is a well-kept secret - presumably built by King Turgon to escape the watchful gaze of Morgoth. Few know its exact location."

"Do you?"

"No," Mairon shakes his head, "but there are ways to find it."

"Then why hasn't it been found by the e-enemy?"

"Because he isn't truly desperate to find it - not like us - and that makes all the difference." He sighs, furrowing his brow. "If anything, I will find it simply because I must."

He looks and sounds desperate.

Celeriel isn't used to seeing Mairon this way - seeing him so stressed. It worries her.

She wants to be more useful. She wants to help.

"Why Gondolin?" She asks. "Why not elsewhere?"

"Because he cannot destroy what he cannot find."

"But Gondolin is no exception," the words spill out of her lips without thought, "Gondolin will fall - its location betrayed by Maeglin, the king's nephew."

"How do you know that?" Mairon asks sharply, eyes widening in alarm.

How did she know that?

She wracks her mind for the source of her knowledge, but the memory eludes her.

"I..." Celeriel swallows, frowning, "I don't know."

Mairon grips her shoulders firmly, though his grip remains gentle, and stares at her with a stern expression.

"Do you often have visions, Celeriel?" He asks, kneeling. "Do you have thoughts and dreams of the future? Of things you don't fully understand?"

"Well, yes," she hesitates, "but also not quite."

"Celeriel?"

"It... it is difficult to explain." She whispers. "Sometimes, I get these feelings and thoughts, but they feel more like half-forgotten memories than visions."

"You saw the fall of Gondolin as a memory?"

"No, I - that's not it either." She bites her lip in frustration, tasting blood. "It wasn't so personal as that. I - it - there's a sort of detachment. Like I've read about it in passing. I can... I think I — well, maybe... it can be prevented, perhaps."

She knows her words don't make sense. She can't expect Mairon to make sense of it either - not when she doesn't understand it herself.

"Sorry." She whispers.

"Do not apologize." Mairon tells her. "You've made no mistakes."

"Haven't I?" The words slip out before she can stop them. "I feel like I've done everything wrong. I should remember more, but I can't - and I fear that people will suffer because of it. I'm not strong enough to make a difference. My knowledge is useless if I can't remember when I need to, and I feel—-"

I feel useless too.

What's the use of prophetic knowledge if it cannot be used or accessed when needed? She feels like she should be doing more - like she should be capable of more - but she hasn't the strength. Mairon wouldn't understand. Her plight is full of irreplicable circumstances.

If only I had the strength of a thousand, and the ability to change this world for the better.

Celeriel isn't an elven king, nor is she a hero of great renown. How could she try to change the world? She feels so small compared to everything that surrounds her. Who would listen? Who would believe her? Maybe if she were Luthien they would. Maybe if she were known and respected like Elrond would be.

"I want to be stronger." Celeriel says. "I want to learn how to fight, and have the courage to stand against M-Morgoth—-"

"No," says Mairon with darkening eyes, "you will never face Morgoth. I will not allow it. I would sooner die then let him set his eyes on you."

Point.

"M-maybe not Morgoth," she swallows, "but I do need the knowledge to defend myself. I want—"

"You want power." Mairon interjects with a troubled expression. "You think having more power will give you what you need."

He would rather that Celeriel never encounter a situation requiring the power she speaks of. He should be powerful enough, he must be powerful enough, for the both of them.

"Well, no," she says, "not exactly? Power is too bothersome to attain, and wanting power in that sense is dangerous. But... doesn't strength decide who dictates the future?"

It's not like Morgoth will be defeated by the power of love. Thinking that way is just silly - naive at best - even Celeriel knows that much. Whoever defeats Morgoth will be very powerful.

She just needs to speak with the right people at the right time.

Someone strong enough to fight against Morgoth, she thinks with a sigh, someone strong enough to withstand Sauron, too. Someone like—-

She glances at Mairon.

—-Fingolfin?

Except he's dead.

Who isn't dead?

Celeriel can count only a handful of living elves who could probably maybe hurt Morgoth in battle.

Glorfindel, maybe?

And if not, then she would have to become stronger.

"I don't need to be the strongest." She decides. "I just need to be strong enough."

Strong enough to protect Mairon from Morgoth and the Dark Lord that comes after.

"It wasn't strength that dictated my future." Mairon says meaningfully, giving her a strange look. "My future changed completely - and it wasn't power that changed it. Speaking from experience, I know that strength isn't everything. It can't ... "

Right. I have to become as strong as Glorfindel - at least! Then, I could probably take a balrog. Or die trying. Dying while trying shouldn't be too difficult. That would probably give Mairon more than enough time to run away.

...

What's a balrog?

"...do you understand, Celeriel?"

"Yes, ada." She says with an obedient nod.

Mairon narrows his eyes.

Celeriel smiles all doe-eyed and innocent-like.

She didn't hear a word I said. He realizes despairingly.