Part I. The Building of Gondolin

Snow-capped mountains spiraling towards the sky, the white tops glimmering in the sunlight whilst they encircled a lush valley of green. In the center of the crater-like area stood a hill, broad and wide with dapples of pale gold and silver flowers. A narrow river flowed through, streaking blue in a sea of green grasses and trees. Hidden crevices dotted the surrounding mountains; tunnels and caves led here and there, some to nowhere.

From the tops of the highest peaks, the view stretched for miles. To the Northwest Hithlum, to the East Dorthonion and Maglor’s Gap, and to the South lay Doriath and Nargothrond. And to the far East, a darkness lay, foreboding and threatening. But in the valley, within the protection of the mountains, none could see in, but all within could see out. It was perfect...

The warmth of sunlight splashing playfully across his face was what woke him from his dream. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Turgon, second son of Fingolfin, sat up in his bed, blinking against the light. He sat in silence, remembering what his mind’s eye had shown him during reverie, wondering if it were real or merely a trick of the mind. He had seen mountains and a deep valley, hidden from all prying eyes. It was the perfect place to delve a kingdom from the eyes of the enemy, to rule in peace and solitude. But did it really exist?

Deciding there was little he could do about the matter at present, Turgon brushed aside the sheets to his kingly bed and went to refresh himself for the day. The sounds of the waking city of Vinyamar could be heard as he dressed and braided his long, dark hair. This was his city, his people who dwelled on the coast of Nevrast. Noldor and Sindar mingled together as they worked and played, attempting to forget their recent and horrid past. There was music and peace; though such prosperity may be short-lived, the citizens continued on day-by-day.

"Ada! Are you awake? 'Tis getting late!"

Turgon allowed himself a small smile at the sound of his daughter’s voice. Little seemed to dampen Idril’s spirits these days, not even the recent death of her mother during the journey over the Helcaraxë. Elenwë... how Turgon missed his loving wife. He had lost her to the unforgiving cold, nearly lost his only child as well. But the Valar had been kind, giving Idril back even as they took his wife. It was a strange blessing to be sure, but Turgon knew better than to question the wills of those higher than he.

"Ada!"

Sighing as he brushed recent memories aside, Turgon donned a pale blue cloak before making for his chamber door. Opening it, the King of Vinyamar was greeted by the sight of his daughter, dressed in a raiment of white, her golden hair unbound and flowing over her shoulders in a golden cascade. She wore an impish smile on her face, one Turgon returned as he watched her place slender hands upon her hips and give him an indignant stare.

"It is about time, Ada!" Idril chided before taking a hold of her father’s arm as they began to make their way down the corridor. Her footsteps were soundless as she wore no shoes, a common habit of Idril's wherever she went. "Were you having pleasant dreams, or just being lazy this morn?"

"My dreams have been... disturbing as of late, iell," Turgon replied as they passed servants, whom bowed to them in respect. The King inclined in head in greeting as he and his daughter rounded a corner. "I do not understand what I am seeing. These dreams feel so real, places that seem to exist but I know not where or if they truly are real."

Idril gazed curiously at her father as he spoke. "Perhaps they are real, Ada," she said thoughtfully after a few moment's hesitation. "Though, if that is so, then there must be a purpose for you to see them. But come, let us not think of such things now." She gave him a brilliant smile as they entered the dining hall to have their morning meal. "You are to leave today, to visit briefly with my uncle, are you not?"

"Aye. Fingon has asked me to come and see Hithlum, to determine if it is worthy of him. Though I do not understand how he can possibly choose to live in a place that is almost perpetually covered with snow. I would have thought the Helcaraxë would have been enough for him."

"No unpleasant memories at the table, if you please, muindor," a voice chided in greeting when the father and daughter pair appeared.

Turgon smiled when he entered the dining hall, accepting the kiss his sister bestowed upon his brow as he sat at his customary place. Aredhel returned his smile, moving around to his right and placing a chaste kiss upon her niece’s cheek. Like Idril, the sister of Turgon was dressed in white, her hair dark and flowing down her back, simple braids keeping wayward strands out of her face. She was the only daughter of Fingolfin, and the youngest with two elder brothers. Aredhel, like Fingon and Turgon, was rather headstrong and opinionated, and she loved her family dearly.

"I would like to accompany you this day, muindor," Aredhel remarked as she claimed her place next to Idril. "But I believe you would wish me to remain here instead?"

"Aye, though I know you miss our brother. I shall send Fingon your regards."

"Please do so. And I shall have a few words with Glorfindel and Ecthelion about keeping you safe on the roads. And our cousin, of course."

"I resent that, sweet Aredhel." Three heads turned to the owner of the voice as Finrod, son of Finarfin, entered the hall. His hair, golden and long, flowed behind him freely as he entered the dining hall and bowed in greeting to his cousins and niece. "We will be perfectly fine on the roads, Aredhel," Finrod said teasingly. "Why, I will be absolutely disappointed if no harm comes to us at all."

"You would be, cousin," Aredhel retorted playfully, smiling as Idril giggled at their banter.

"I am sure they do not need your persuasion in order to perform their duties properly," Turgon remarked mirthfully to his sister. "My captains are more than capable of defending themselves, and me, on the roads."

"The roads are indeed treacherous these days, muindor. Do be careful on the journey to Hithlum."

"Fear not," Finrod said. "We shall endeavor to be alert at all times, and I will make sure your dear brother makes it home safely." His words seemed to appease Aredhel, and Turgon offered his sister and daughter a warm smile before the four set to their breakfast.

The rest of the morning’s conversation remained pleasant; Idril was ever talkative as she related the latest comings and goings of the city, tales she had heard whilst traveling the streets. Turgon abhorred gossip but never bothered to prevent his child from enjoying herself on Idril’s outings to the city. He merely smiled and questioned her on the conversations she involved herself in, keeping his tone light and teasing. Aredhel sat quietly as she listened to the pair, making a remark now and again but it was mostly Finrod who engaged his niece in conversation.

When the meal had concluded, the four rose from their seats and allowed the dining hall to be cleaned. Most of the necessities needed for the King’s forthcoming journey were already prepared and packed, taken care of by the few guards accompanying him. Finrod and Turgon, with Idril and Aredhel at the King’s side, made his way through the city to the stables. Five riderless horses, three stallions and two mares, stood waiting, saddled and ready for the journey.

"My Lord."

Turgon nodded to his captains, the three Elves who had agreed to accompany him on the roads to Hithlum. First was Ecthelion; tall and fair like all Elves, the raven-haired being possessed a mixed heritage. He was largely Noldo in origin, but a part of him was related to the Elves of Alqualondë, the Teleri. A master of both the flute and the sword, Ecthelion was well-loved and respected.

Also in Turgon’s company was Egalmoth. Master of the bow, he was dark-haired and fair of skin. He, like Ecthelion, was loyal and served his King well. But none were more loyal than Glorfindel. Golden-haired he was, perhaps, related to the same royal house as Finrod, though such was uncertain. Much love did the people bear for this Elf, and he loved them in turn.

"My Lord," Ecthelion called again, leading both his steed and that of the King’s. "We await your word for our departure to Hithlum."

Turgon merely smiled and nodded in answer before taking hold of his stallion’s reins. With practiced ease and elven grace, the King of Vinyamar mounted his steed followed shortly by his captains and cousin. "Let us be off then," he commanded, firmly grasping first the hands of his daughter then his sister in silence farewell. With another smile and a last look at his city, Turgon urged his steed to turn and made for the gates, his captains and guards close behind. Finrod as well gave the ladies a smile and a wave of farewell before departing, riding after the party.

"May the Valar protect you on your journey and return you to us safely, muindor," Aredhel whispered as she hugged her niece and watched her brother leave.

~~~~~~~~~~
"My Lord, we should reach Hithlum within the week," Glorfindel said as he knelt next to his King. The small riding party had been on the rode for five days; another five was expected to pass before they entered the realm of the High King Fingolfin and his son, Fingon.

Night had crept over the lands. Rest was needed for both the Elves and their horses. Beneath the stars and within the protection of nearby woods the party camped, a fire roaring in the midst the shelter of some trees. The captains and guards were grateful for the rest, but Turgon seemed troubled.

"My Lord?" Glorfindel repeated, worry crossing his fair features when Turgon did not answer. The King started when the golden-haired Elf placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder, drawing his attention. "My Lord, is all well? You seem troubled this night."

"Forgive me, Glorfindel," Turgon said with a small sigh and a shake of his head. "I am well. 'Tis nothing for you to worry about."

"I beg to differ, my Lord Turgon. Your well-being is extremely important to me, as it is to my fellow captains, your sister and your daughter. Will you not tell me what is troubling you? You appear ill at ease."

The King of Vinyamar gave his dark head another toss as he replied in the negative. "I do not know myself what troubles me so, Glorfindel. I do not feel comfortable in the... situation I find myself in. And I am not speaking of the journey to Hithlum. I have had disrupting dreams as of late. But it is not something you need bother yourself with. I must interpret what I see in my resting hours for myself."

Turgon’s words did not seem to appease the golden captain, but Glorfindel merely nodded his head and offered Turgon his meal for the night. In silence the camp of Elves ate their fill before retiring for the night. Sentries were posted each hour, keeping watch over the party. A chill wind blew the nearer they drew to the snowy mountains of Fingolfin’s realm, but the Elves felt it little. They rested peacefully that night despite the ever-present threat of Morgoth’s darkness. Even Turgon found a bit of respite until his dreams would return.

~~~~~~~~~~
The city gleamed, shining brilliantly in the early morning light and reflecting the glimmer of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. Few were stirring as dawn had just approached, but one amongst the inhabitants watched was Arien rose into the sky in all her glory. A smile tugged at his lips as gray eyes turned from the rising sun to the city streets below. The night watches were just returning as the morning sentries went to attend to their duties; they kept the city safe, and her people well. Peace was at hand, the thought bringing a smile to his face.

"My people," he whispered. "My city... " This was his city, and Turgon’s smile broadened all the more at the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~
With a start, he awoke from his reverie, gasping softly at the images that were still swirling about his mind. Turgon had seen his face, his own self standing in a white city. The circle of mountains he had seen before; they were always present in his dreams. But the city... it was something new. And Turgon had seen himself smiling as he gazed upon the city’s streets.

Was that his city? Where was it? And when? It certainly was not Vinyamar. No, the white city of his dreams was much too fair and beautiful to be the realm at the coast. Vinyamar, though great in its beauty, was nothing like this city.

Passing a hand over his face, Turgon rose from his makeshift bed, carefully not to disturb Finrod who slept at his immediate right. Silently, Turgon stepped away from the still resting Ecthelion and Egalmoth and crept noiselessly past Glorfindel, who was on his watch, to a nearby stream. The King instantly felt the peace of the surrounding area as he allowed the soft sounds of the forest at night to lull him into calmness. Kneeling by the stream, Turgon dipped his hands into the cool water; raising his cupped hands to his face, he sipped the clear liquid, smiling as it slid down his throat, before using what was left to cleanse his face.

"What did I see?" he whispered to himself as he stared at his reflection in the stream. "Just a dream? Or is it more? I wish I knew." Sighing deeply, Turgon closed his eyes to compose himself. When he next opened them, a startling sight greeted him, causing the dark-haired Elf to gasp and stumble back.

A face not his own stared back at him from the water's surface. It was fair, like an Elf’s, the features prominent yet graceful. The hair that framed the face was dark and wavy with wayward locks tenderly caressing the pale skin. Eyes of the deepest blue held strength and cunning in their murky depths, the gaze piercing as the face stared back at Turgon. For long moments the King was speechless as he returned the gaze without wavering. The face was unfamiliar to him, and yet the longer he stared the more he realized who it was he was gazing upon.

"Lord Ulmo," the Elf whispered, his voice soft and barely audible to his own ears. The face in the water smiled and nodded before the image rippled, revealing Turgon’s own face etched in disbelief. Before the King had a moment to collect himself the image shifted again, revealing a road eastward where, in the far distance, snow-capped mountains were seen. There, at the foot of the mountains, was a tunnel formed from a crevice, and at the other side of the dark passageway was a green valley, hidden from all eyes. A voice spoke then, deep and commanding as words came to Turgon’s ears.

"Build the city of your dreams within the Echoriath," the voice said. "Take your people there when it is complete. House them and keep them safe from all prying eyes. This will be your city, Turgon, son of Fingolfin. Keep it well."

As the last words were spoken, the vision of the valley in the mountains died away, replaced once again with Turgon’s own reflection. The Elf drew in a steadying breath as he stared at himself, wondering what it was he had just seen.

"Turgon?"

Finrod’s gentle voice broke the silence that had settled about Turgon; the golden-haired Elf had noticed his cousin was missing when he woke, and had gone searching for him in worry. He stood but a few steps from Turgon, watching closely as the King of Vinyamar stared down at the flowing stream.

"Turgon, cousin, is everything all right?" Worry was etched upon his fair face as he took a step closer to Turgon, kneeling as he waited for a reply.

Slowly, as if Turgon were coming out of a trance, he turned to his friend and cousin, and made his decision. "We turn East in the morning, Finrod," he replied as he rose to his feet.

"We do not make for Hithlum then?" The idea of turning eastward greatly worried Finrod, but he could see that something was greatly disturbing his cousin and kept his remaining questions silent.

"Aye, East we will go. There is something I must see for myself."

With a nod of his head as acknowledgement, Finrod followed Turgon back to the camp. Something had happened whilst the dark-haired Elf was alone. For good or ill, Finrod could not say. But he would follow his cousin’s words, for Turgon knew these lands better than he. In the morning the party would turn eastward, to whatever destination Turgon would lead them to.

~~~~~~~~~~
The land around them was slowly dissipating from that of the woodland to open plains. The Elves of the riding party visibly tensed as they left the shelter of the trees; it was dangerous to travel through lands that did not provide much cover from attacks, especially those unknown to them. But the open lands also made it easier to spot an oncoming ambush.

"My Lord?" Egalmoth called as he rode closer to Turgon. Worry creased his brow, as it did the others. Most of them did not understand what it was that had propelled the King to turn them away from Hithlum to head eastwards into lands unknown. "My Lord, where is it that we go?" Egalmoth ventured to ask.

"I know not," Turgon replied in a quiet voice. "But this is the path that we must follow." Thus said, he urged his horse forward, pulling slightly ahead of the party as he felt an incessant tugging of the heart.

Egalmoth exchanged a concerned look with Glorfindel and Ecthelion, both of whom merely shrugged their shoulders in confusion before instructing the other riders to move forward as they followed their King. Ahead they could see mountains, their peaks crested with snow despite the warmth of the day. Turgon had managed to pull further ahead of them, causing the Elves to push their mounts in order to catch up.

Reaching the foot of the tallest mountain in the chain, Turgon gazed upwards at the white peaks as he dismounted. Leading his faithful stallion, the King of Vinyamar went on foot, gray eyes searching the rock faces before him. A large crevice opened before the Elf; it was wide enough for three mounted riders to enter side-by-side. Cool wind blew through the crevice, indicating there was an opening somewhere unseen.

As he made to enter the dark tunnel, Turgon was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. Turning, the King found Ecthelion standing behind him, a solemn look on the raven-haired Elf’s face as the rest of the party caught up with them.

"I must go in, Ecthelion," Turgon said, his voice quiet yet firm and determined. "I must see what is beyond this darkness."

"’Tis not safe, my Lord," Ecthelion protested. "We do not know what is hidden within. You have led us further East than is to our comfort, for what purpose we know not."

"Such a purpose is hidden to me as well. But I must go in and see if I cannot find what it is I seek."

Ecthelion’s lips were set in a grim line as he regarded his King and friend. He did not register Glorfindel’s approach until the golden-haired Elf spoke from his left.

"My Lord, I must agree with Ecthelion," Glorfindel said. "We do not know what awaits us in the darkness, and I would not have you go alone. If you must go, then allow Ecthelion and I to accompany you. Egalmoth will stay here with the others."

"Listen to them, Turgon," Finrod reasoned, stepping to his cousin’s side. "My realm is to the South, therefore I know these lands less than you. But whether we were in Vinyamar or otherwise, you should not travel alone."

Turgon sighed, nodding as he relented to his captains and cousin. He was impatient to see what lay at the end of the tunnel, but he understood their worry and fears. "Very well then. Egalmoth, you and the others will remain here and guard the horses; Ecthelion and Glorfindel will accompany me."

"I am going with you as well," Finrod insisted, his eyes silently daring Turgon to deny him.

"Very well then, cousin. Egalmoth."

"Aye, my Lord," Egalmoth replied with a nod in understanding. "We will be here, waiting for your return." He watched with apprehension as first Turgon, then Finrod, Glorfindel and Ecthelion entered the tunnel within the crevice and disappeared from sight. "May your search not be in vain this day, my Lord."

~~~~~~~~~~
The tunnel was long, dark and damp. The Elves, with their keen senses, could hear every tumble of rock, trickle of water and any creature that ventured in the hidden crevices. The ground was uneven, but Turgon and his captains kept their footing as they journeyed deeper into the mountain.

"Where are we?" Ecthelion asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, but his words echoed through the still cavern.

"I know not," Glorfindel replied. "I have never heard of such a place, but that is not surprising as we have not been on Middle-earth long. I somehow feel more at ease here than I thought I would."

"That is because we are being guided by friends," Turgon replied. What exactly his words meant he did not know. But the vision of Ulmo he saw in the stream some days ago reassured him that they were safe and danger would not make itself present.

"I hope we are not falling into one of Morgoth's twisted lies," Finrod murmured, his voice dripping with disdain as he uttered the Dark Lord's name.

"I do not think we are," Turgon said. "Come, we are reaching the end of the tunnel." Propelled by his own words and the gentle tugging at his heart, Turgon moved forward as his pace quickened, Finrod not far behind.

Ecthelion and Glorfindel lingered a moment behind their King as they exchanged a confused glance before following after the raven-haired Elf and his cousin. The sounds of nature could be heard the closer they came to the exit. The sound of the wind greeted their ears; to the Elves, after traveling in the darkness for far longer than they would have liked, it was a most welcoming sound. Light, beginning with a mere pinpoint at the edge of their vision, grew in strength. Within the blink of an eye the tunnel was behind them, and before their feet was a most wondrous sight.

"Just as in my dream," Turgon murmured as his awe-filled eyes scanned the lands.

The Elves stood on a cliff, overlooking a valley created within the center of a circle of mountains. The valley was green and wide, dappled with trees and flowers. The mountains were high, snow-capped and reached for the sky, the very tips disappearing into the lowest of the clouds. A stream bubbled merrily through the valley, small compared to some but the waters sparkled in the sunlight. Birds flew overhead, black dots against the bright blue of the sky marred only by the white of the clouds.

"What is this place?" Glorfindel asked in wonder, his azure eyes taking in everything they saw. At his side, Ecthelion also stood mesmerized, his gray-blue eyes glistening.

"My future city," Turgon replied. He turned to his two captains--his two friends--and smiled. "Let us build a city here, together. We’ll hide ourselves from Morgoth’s eyes and make sure the people dwell in peace." His smiled grew when Glorfindel and Ecthelion nodded in acknowledgement of his words before Turgon turned back to the valley stretching below him.

"What will you call this city?" Finrod asked, thinking of his own realm in Nargothrond.

"Gondolin," came the whispered reply. "The Stone Song."

~~~~~~~~~~
And so it begins, the building of the white city, one of the most famous of elven realms. For nearly fifty years the city was delved in secret. Built in the midst of Tumladen and within the protection of the Echoriath. It would be the home of many Elves, Noldor and Sindar, and great in its time.