Just so you are aware, this is something I wrote for Femslash Friday at AO3. There's nothing explicit, seeing as it's pre-slash, but it does involve one of the characters (Maeglin) being genderbent, so if this doesn't float your boat, just warning you now.

I own nothing.

Her cousin was late for dinner. Given the circumstances, the midday meal in the King's Hall was sure to be a subdued affair, but it would be the first meal Maeglin had eaten since arriving in Gondolin, and Turgon wished it, so Idril had been sent to fetch her cousin from the quartering assigned to her. If her pace was lagging a little, Idril would apologize to no one about it.

How could anyone stand aside and say nothing as their own father was executed? Even knowing that he had tried to kill her, how could she just watch?

Idril had attended Eöl's execution that morning, as much as she hadn't wanted to—Idril was the king's daughter, and she whom Eöl had killed had been one of the king's house; it would have been unacceptable not to attend. Herself, Idril did not believe this just. She remembered her aunt's wish, Aredhel asking that he be spared and sent away, even if she had not known then that there was poison in the wound her husband had dealt her; how could Turgon violate his sister's wishes? And Kinslaying was still Kinslaying, whether it be a weapon or a fall from the Caragdûr that took a life; Idril had never agreed with the way her father dealt with intruders.

Idril had watched as Eöl was brought to the Caragdûr. She watched and said nothing—if it was her duty to be present, it was not her place to speak. It was unlikely, anyways, that anything Idril said would have been enough to sway her father at that point. Turgon radiated fury, face pale, jaw set, eyes full of wrath. It wasn't in him to be merciful.

Maybe since she herself had said nothing, it was wrong for Idril to be so amazed that Maeglin had also said nothing. For all she knew, her cousin could simply have been following her lead. But it was still unnerving to watch Maeglin stand there and say nothing, stony-faced. She was silent as her father was brought before the king to receive judgment. Silent as he snarled and cursed her to die the same death as him. Silent as he was pushed over the edge, and was no more. Maeglin did not look at Eöl, keeping her gaze trained firmly on her feet. She did not so much as bat an eye.

How can anyone be so cold?

Idril paused outside of her cousin's bedchamber door, her hand hovering a hairsbreadth from the door. She drew a deep breath and knocked on the wood. "Maeglin?"

There came no response.

Frowning, Idril knocked again. "Maeglin, are you there? Father wants you downstairs for dinner."

Again, Idril was met with silence. I suppose she could have gone somewhere else. Pressing down upon the door handle, she realized that the door was unlocked, and slipped inside.

The room, though large and airy, was largely devoid of any personal touches. There was a cloak of plain green wool tossed over the back of a chair, and the long, thin sword Maeglin had brought with her was propped up against the wall. But on first glance, there was no sign of Maeglin herself.

It took a few moments for Idril to realize that this room was not empty of its inhabitant. Maeglin was sitting in one of the deep windowsills far from the door, knees drawn up to her chest, head bowed low. As Idril cautiously approached Maeglin, she could hear the sound of ragged, labored breathing.

Idril winced as she knelt beside her cousin, unease replaced by pity. She put what she hoped was a comforting hand on Maeglin's shoulder. Not so cold, after all.

Some time later, Idril called for dinner to be brought up to them. She doubted that Maeglin would be up to taking her meals in public for a while yet.

-0-0-0-

Idril's newly-discovered cousin clung to her like a limpet—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that in Maeglin Idril had obtained a second shadow. Whenever Maeglin did not stay holed up in her bedchamber, she sought Idril out, appearing in her bedchamber doorway, or in a hallway Idril was walking down, looking at her with faintly imploring eyes. Maeglin seemed content to follow Idril wherever she went, like a duckling following after its mother. Idril wondered sometimes if, were she to jump off the Caragdûr, Maeglin would follow her down, but then she'd feel her stomach churn and she was sorry for wondering.

This proved to be a blessing. Idril knew that her father would have liked to look after Maeglin during her first few weeks in Gondolin; she knew that her father thought he owed that to his sister's child. But as the king, Turgon had duties that did not give him the amount of free time needed to help his niece acclimate to life in Gondolin. As nissi were not permitted in council meetings, she couldn't remain under his supervision during those meetings. And Maeglin had already shown herself to be highly uncomfortable in the presence of the court, skirting around the edges of the throne room and saying little to anyone who might wish to speak to her.

But Idril rarely had anything more pressing to attend to than her embroidery. In Gondolin, noble ladies were hardly ever allowed to be of us. That's part of what drove Aunt Irissë to leave. At least she could have something worthwhile to do with her time, in looking after her cousin.

Certainly, Maeglin needed to come to know Gondolin. She was of the king's house, and this city was now her home (In the absence of any other, Idril thought with a frown). Turgon's niece would be expected to know Gondolin as well as she knew herself, and better than she had known the place where she was brought up. Ideally, the transition should have been slower, but people would talk. Personally, Idril didn't care what they said, but it would make life more difficult for Maeglin, so Idril shelved any personal objections.

In her second shadow, Idril found also a ghost, and an echo.

Maeglin bore an at times startling resemblance towards Aredhel. She was as tall as her mother had been, if somewhat slighter, and still a rather lanky adolescent to look at. She had many of the same expressions and mannerisms, the same purposeful stride as Aredhel's. On the rare occasion that Maeglin could be persuaded to speak to the merchants in the great markets, she did so with the tone of authority and confidence that Idril had heard her aunt use so many times, even if Maeglin's command of Quenya was not so great as her mother's.

There were some differences, to be sure. Maeglin was rather androgynous in appearance, her face possessing neither a particularly feminine nor particularly masculine appearance. Her hair was straight and fine, her eyes the darkest Idril had ever seen. She favored black and red where Aredhel had favored white and silver (Though Idril noticed that both her aunt and her cousin shared a penchant for green cloaks). Maeglin was also far more self-conscious than Aredhel had been.

There were differences, but the resemblance was undeniable. Idril would look at her cousin sometimes out of the corner of her eye, and Maeglin's gaze would be cast far away towards the mountains, and that look, for how familiar it was to Idril, would fill her with a sense of intense loneliness. It also made her wonder exactly what it was Maeglin looked towards. But she did not ask.

"Why are they all so much alike?"

Idril frowned and turned about when she heard Maeglin ask that question. They were walking through the south region of the city today, as the hot midsummer sunlight beat down upon their backs and shoulders. Maeglin stared about the shops and houses, frowning deeply. "What do you mean?" Idril asked in response.

Maeglin cast her gaze this way and that, and drew closer to Idril before giving her answer; all Idril could suppose was that Maeglin did not wish to be overheard by the other Eldar on the street. "It is something I notice," she murmured, that frown still playing on her thin lips. "As we walk through the city, I see many shops, all offering many different goods. Some offer the same as others, and I would think them competitors.

"Under such circumstances, I would think that competitors offer some difference in their wares. But that is not so. Two shops selling rugs offer rugs in exactly the same fashion. It is the same with shops for glass and clothing and pots, and others." Maeglin stared at Idril with a perplexed look on her face. "I do not understand it."

Idril paused. She did not understand much about business, nor much about crafts. Her interests had always leaned more towards traditionally Vanyarin pastimes (though Idril would admit that she did have some interests that involved creation); she did not understand the Noldor's obsession with crafts. But she did understand what had happened, and she did have an answer for her cousin. She wasn't sure what giving it to Maeglin would accomplish.

Oh well. She'll figure it out for herself sooner or later, even if I don't tell her.

"…Everyone here has stayed in Gondolin for a very long time; as you know, no one is allowed to leave or enter Gondolin except under extraordinary circumstances." Idril grimaced and shrugged helplessly. "After a while, there just gets to be no room for new ideas."

Maeglin gave her a look that gave Idril the impression that she didn't like the sound of that at all, but said nothing.

Idril reached forward and tugged on her cousin's long-fingered hand. Maybe it was because they had been outside so much today, but Idril thought that Maeglin's skin felt somewhat warmer than usual.

"Come on, Maeglin. There's still a great deal to see."

-0-0-0-

It probably should have bothered Idril more, how intently Maeglin watched her while she was at her embroidery. This was becoming quite a habit of hers; some of Idril's friends and the other ladies of Gondolin had, after observing this behavior, commented on it to Idril. During all of the times when Maeglin had sat beside her and watched her while she embroidered, or knitted, or weaved, Idril had never seen her pick up a needle herself. She was beginning to wonder if Maeglin even knew how to sew, or knew how to do anything with cloth.

But as it was, she did not mind at all. There was something oddly pleasing about the way Maeglin followed her progress, watching as Idril put her needle through whatever cloth she was working with at the moment. Idril didn't think she had ever been so closely observed before at her embroidery; even when Galadriel was teaching her how to sew, she'd not had anyone watching with such curiosity.

I suppose if she doesn't know how to sew, this would be a good way to pick up a few things.

Now if only I could figure out how to ask her.

Having finished the piece she'd been working on for the past couple of days, Idril smiled at Maeglin and held it out to her. She had been working on white cloth, stitching the image of trees together out of brown and dark green thread. It was routine enough, but Idril had enough of the Noldo's spirit in her (despite some of her more Vanyarin leanings), that she always felt satisfaction at a task completed. "Well, what do you think?"

Maeglin took the cloth out of her hands as though it was such a delicate piece of fabric that it might disintegrate at any moment, holding it cautiously on her open palms. After staring at it for a moment, she nodded, tilting her head to one side. "Pretty. It resembles Nan Elmoth."

Nan Elmoth. Where Maeglin had been brought up.

Idril barely noticed when her cousin handed the cloth back to her; she was shocked that Maeglin had made the comparison at all. In all the time Maeglin had been here, weeks upon weeks (enough time for her grasp of Quenya to thankfully improve), not once had she ever made any reference to her life before coming to live in Gondolin as the ward of the king.

Turgon had once tried to probe for information, albeit gently. It had been at breakfast in the King's Hall; there weren't that many people there that day, and perhaps he had thought that that would make his niece more open to speaking with him about her childhood. But at the very remark, 'I'm rather curious about Nan Elmoth', Maeglin's reaction had been immediate: her shoulders stiffened and she dropped her fork on the table. She refused to speak, her nostrils flaring, refused to make eye contact except to give Turgon a wide-eyed and yet unreadable stare. Turgon had not asked about Maeglin's upbringing again. In fact, he'd not said much to her at all. He was very tentative with her, as though he was afraid that a wrong word would make her shatter like glass.

"Maeglin…" Idril paused before going on, telling herself to choose her words carefully. "…What was it like?" she asked hesitantly. "Nan Elmoth, I mean."

Maeglin stiffened, and Idril winced, wondering if this was just going to be a rehash of the incident at breakfast a few weeks ago. But after a few moments, Maeglin relaxed, tilting her head slightly downwards so as to make eye contact with Idril. "When I was very young, before I left Nan Elmoth for the first time, I wished to see the stars, and Ithil and Anor. I had heard many stories of them, but I had never seen their light, and I was curious to know."

She never saw the light of the stars before leaving Nan Elmoth? She never saw the light of Rána or Vása? It was all Idril could do not to gape at her cousin. How dense was that forest?!

"I began looking for a tree to climb," Maeglin went on. She leaned back on the window seat they were sitting on, her normally keen eyes glazed over. "It was difficult. Most of the trees in Nan Elmoth have no low-hanging branches; the lowest branches are so high up that I had to be lying on my back to see them. But eventually, after much searching, I found an old tree with many branches, more than close enough to the ground for me to climb.

"I had never climbed a tree before, but it was simple enough to learn. I began to climb, higher and higher. The branches grew slimmer and smaller, and when I looked down, I could no longer see the ground for the branches beneath me."

Maeglin stopped, and Idril gently prompted her, "And did you see that which you had sought?"

"No," Maeglin replied immediately, tossing her head and sighing. "I feared that the branches would give way under my weight, and that I would fall and be killed. And I feared that if I did not return home soon, I would be missed. I was not allowed to wander outside by myself, Idril," she explained when she saw Idril's somewhat perplexed expression.

Idril leaned back in the window seat herself, and gazed pensively at the opposite wall.

Not allowed outside by herself…

Idril wondered, sometimes, about the sort of lives Maeglin and her mother had led in Nan Elmoth.

Truth be told, she wondered more about Aredhel than she did Maeglin. Aredhel had given only a very terse, stilted account of what had become of her over the past eighty years since she left Gondolin, and that account had ended at the point in time when she had first wandered into Nan Elmoth. Idril knew nothing of her aunt's life in that dense forest with her husband and child, except words from Aredhel's lips: I did not leave that place again, until I set out for Gondolin once more.

In all those years, not once had Aredhel set foot outside the eaves of Nan Elmoth. Idril could not for even a moment believe that her aunt would be happy living that way. She had been so restless in Gondolin; why would she ever agree to live in such confinement, behind walls once again?

Idril had no answers for that, just a young nís sitting beside her, staring off into space. Unless Maeglin ever confided anything more in her, that would have to be enough. It would be enough.

(And throughout all this, Idril could not help but notice that Maeglin had not answered her question.)

-0-0-0-

"You think that the king should have spared my father's life."

The late afternoon sunlight glistened on the windowpanes with a strangely watery quality to it. Idril couldn't say why; it hadn't rained recently, and the morning dew had long since evaporated. It lulled her into a relaxed, faintly drowsy state, only allowing Maeglin's sudden remark to startle her more.

Idril shot a sharp look at Maeglin, who was sitting next to her on the latter's bed. Maeglin had the sword she had brought with her from her old home resting diagonally across her knees; faint runes etched onto the black scabbard gleamed when they caught the light. Her eyebrows were drawn up, a look on her face that couldn't quite be called troubled, but did certainly seem unsettled.

"How did you know that?" Idril demanded. She had made her opinion known to no one, and while Idril supposed that she could have given her disapproval away in expression or posture, she did not think that she had. And Maeglin had not been present when Idril had added her voice to Aredhel's, helping to give voice to her aunt's request. There was no reason for Maeglin to know this.

Maeglin opened her mouth as if to respond, but then clamped it shut again, saying nothing and simply staring into Idril's face.

Idril bit back a sigh, nodding to herself. "Maeglin, I… I am not sure how it is with the Sindar, but to the Noldor, to the Exiles, I mean—" for there was little to be said of death in Aman, before the Darkening "—a deathbed request is no small thing. To ignore it is to disrespect the deceased in the extreme. My aunt—your mother—asked that your father's life be spared. It should have been done." Even if she died at his hand.

At this, Maeglin dipped her head, that unsettled look still affixed firmly on her face. "I…" A flash of something bright and sharp darted across her dark eyes; her lips twisted into a grotesque line.

Idril felt her brow knit at the look her cousin wore. "You did not agree?"

Maeglin's eyes snapped to Idril's face. Her grip on the hilt of the sword in her lap tightened until her knuckles were completely white; in the same instant, she schooled her expression into one of cool neutrality. "About what?" Her voice was quiet, and even.

What, indeed.

There was nothing Idril could think to say to that.

A rather… Well, it could not be said to be 'uneasy', this silence, nor even 'tense.' What had fallen between them was a rather heavy silence, hardly the sort of thing that encouraged Idril to break it. She stared about her cousin's bedchamber instead, noting how bare it still seemed, even after all this time. There were a few more personal belongings here now, mostly things Idril had persuaded Maeglin to buy at the markets—a gauzy red scarf, a plain silver bracelet, glass figurines in the shape of a running horse, a cat crouched and ready to pounce, a while bird with its wings outstretched (Maeglin was fascinated with glass; she had apparently never seen any before coming to Gondolin). But the room still felt bare, barely lived in at all.

Maeglin slid off of the bed, still clutching the sword in her hands. She went to the wall, where she propped the sword up against it with the sort of care Idril would have thought more fitting for a fragile vase or a porcelain statue. She stood staring out of the window, and rather suddenly said, "The king was very intent on safety when he built this place, was he not? And on secrecy, too. So many walls."

That transition probably made sense to Maeglin—probably—but to Idril, this seemed as abrupt a change of subject as anything she had ever heard. She followed Maeglin to the window, wincing at the feel of the cold stone on her bare feet and wondering why there were no rugs in this room. Idril looked up into Maeglin's face, trying to discern any hint of what might have brought this on. "Yes, safety and secrecy were great concerns when Gondolin was being built. If the Enemy chooses to break the siege and sends his forces out of Angband, it will be important for us to remain safe. Gondolin is cut off from the outside world, from outside aid; the only way we can stay safe is if the Enemy can't find us."

"And if he does, then you have the mountain walls and an excessive number of gates to keep him out?" Maeglin asked skeptically.

Idril laughed. "Yes, six gates does seem a bit much, doesn't it? I'll never forget the looks on the stonemasons' faces when Father said he wanted a gate sixty feet high and six feet thick made of solid stone." Maeglin's eyebrows shot up. "And the one made of gold…"

"Oh, yes." Maeglin snorted, shaking her head. "Very pretty, that one. Very good for show. Bad for keeping enemies out. The silver one, too."

"What do you mean?" Idril would confess that she didn't know much about metal. She knew that there were some who had grumbled about using metals more commonly employed in jewelry to construct gates meant to defend Gondolin in case of a siege, but their complaints was that these walls seemed gaudy, and it was mostly coming from the jewel-smiths who were disgruntled to watch so much silver and gold that they could have used to make jewelry used to make massive gates instead.

"Gold and silver are very soft metals, very malleable," Maeglin explained, a faint pinkish tinge entering her cheeks. "Gold in particular. I have seen gold hammered so thin that I could see through it; I have hammered gold so thin as that. Those gates are very large, yes, but I fear that if this place ever fell under siege, they would give way. For the last gate, one of steel would be better."

So Maeglin knew a fair bit about metals. Idril would not pursue that now, but it would be interesting to ask her about later. But there was something in her words that struck Idril as wrong. "But how on earth would anyone produce enough steel at once to make it?" Steel was difficult to make in large quantities; Idril knew that. She had listened to enough weapon-smiths arguing with her father about it when he wanted what they considered too much steel weaponry made in too short a period of time.

Maeglin shrugged, lips pursed. "A way could be found."

"I suppose so," Idril agreed, smiling faintly. "Given enough time and skill."

They stared out of the window on the courtyard below, and beyond that, the city. Vása had not fallen low enough in the sky to change its color, but the rooftops had begun to take on a faint golden cast. The city looked as though it had been constructed from gold instead of limestone. But doubtless they would collapse under hail, if so, Idril thought, lip twitching.

Idril decided that she needed to find out if there were any books on metals in the library. If not, they probably needed to be written.

"Idril?"

When Idril looked back at her, she saw a deeply tired look steal over Maeglin's face. "Thank you, Idril," she said quietly.

Idril reached out and squeezed her hand gently. Maeglin wrapped her long fingers around the back of her hand.

-0-0-0-

One day in autumn, Maeglin came to Idril asking if she would come with her when she went out into the Tumladen.

"These trees… They are called 'mellyrn'?"

Someone, Idril was not sure who, but someone in her father's host had brought mellyrn seeds from Aman, and had planted them in the vale of Tumladen. Against all expectations (who knew how plants native to Aman would fare in the soil of Endóre?), the mellyrn had flourished. They dotted the vale, appearing as pillars of silver with gold caps in the early mornings, providing in some cases boundary markers between farmers' fields. There was one that grew close to the base of the mountains, and Idril and Maeglin stood before it now, treading on the drying grass beneath it. Maeglin ran her hand over the massive silver trunk, staring up at the tree in wonder.

Idril nodded, smiling slightly at the expression on her cousin's face. "Yes, that's the name the Sindar have given them; one would be called a mallorn tree. In Aman, we called them malinorni—malinornë, in singular. The leaves have turned gold now, but in spring they'll fall and the new ones will be green on top and silver below. It's quite a sight." Her smile broadened into a reminiscent grin. "I remember climbing in this tree when it was still young and I could reach the branches." And Aredhel would always shout after Idril that Turgon would have their heads if Idril broke the branches of one of their precious mellyrn, but Idril thought better of sharing that piece of information just now. "But this isn't what you wanted to see, was it?" Idril said instead, suspecting that if Maeglin had wanted to see the mellyrn trees, she would have come out here by herself, and asked about them afterwards.

"No," Maeglin agreed, tearing her gaze away from the mallorn with some reluctance. "I wished to go into the hills."

"I can show you a good footpath, then." Idril began to walk towards the foothills, where the grass dropped away and the ground became littered with gravel and loose boulders. "It's a bit steep, but it should be no problem."

As they began to climb the path, Maeglin called out, "You should be careful of your feet! Many of these stones are sharp."

"You be careful!" Idril shot back, laughing. "You've never walked this path before. And my feet—" she grinned and lifted one foot so that Maeglin could see her callused soles and the faint lattice of silvery scars that ran across her skin "—are quite fine."

Maeglin nodded, and Idril thought she saw the ghost of a smile flash briefly over her pale face.

Once she mounted the top of the hill, Idril held out a hand to Maeglin to help her up. When they were both atop the hill, Maeglin began looking over the rock face, her eyes bright with interest. Idril could only follow after her, bemused, brushing stray strands of hair out of her face when the wind blew them to and fro. "What are you looking for?" she asked, watching as Maeglin brushed her fingertips across the rough gray stone.

"A good place to excavate," Maeglin murmured, stopping and marking the expanse of stone with a bit of chalk taken from a pocket in her black dress. "There are hints of where ore might reside that I have been taught to recognize. I think that there may be iron ore here."

Idril narrowed her eyes. "Maeglin… You've been taught how to mine?"

She looked at Idril hesitantly for a few seconds, before nodding. "For many years, my father would take me with him on his trips to Nogrod or Belegost. The Hadhodrim taught me their crafts, such as learning to mine iron and precious metals." Her tone cleared as she went on, "It would be worthwhile to look here, if your people are searching for iron."

There was a problem in this. "You want to mine here yourself?" Idril probed, trying not to feel it as her heart began to sink.

"Yes." The eager note in Maeglin's voice made Idril want to squeeze her eyes shut. "It has been many years since I was able to do so, since…" She paused and frowned darkly. When she spoke again, some of the eagerness had bled out of her voice; Idril did not want to know why that was. "It has been many years. I would appreciate the chance to mine again. I know that I would not be able to do so alone," she added, misinterpreting the look on Idril's face. "There must be miners among your people; I have seen the quarries with which you took the stone to build your city. I would need to speak with them and convince them to help me."

Idril sighed. "Maeglin, I…" She sighed again at the uncomprehending look given to her. "…Here, there are certain things that it is not considered appropriate for nissi to do. Especially daughters of the noble houses. What is considered proper and improper is often decided by fools who have… If you wish to do this, you would face great opposition."

"I was taught to mine by the daughters of the Hadhodrim," Maeglin insisted, frowning stubbornly. It was amazing how different her frown could look, even when the expression was ostensibly the same no matter what the reason for it. "Even if the daughters of the Edhil are not commonly taught such things, surely there must have been at least some. Surely there is some use for iron in the city."

She was certainly not lacking in insistence. Idril could look at Maeglin and see that she would be daunted by no objections. She was glad of that. Very glad. "Alright," Idril said softly. "I'll help you. It would be good to have something worthwhile to do." For both of them.

Maeglin smiled broadly. It was a wolfish smile that showed far too many teeth, small and white with incisors longer and sharper than usual, but at the sight of it, Idril could not help but smile back.

Irissë—Aredhel

Nissi—women (singular: nís)
Ithil—the Sindarin name for the Moon
Anor—the Sindarin name for the Sun
Rána—the Exilic name for the Moon, signifying 'The Wanderer' (Quenya)
Vása—the Exilic name for the Sun, signifying 'The Consumer' (Quenya)
Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)
Malinornë—the Quenya name for the mallorn tree (plural: malinorni) (Quenya)
Hadhodrim—one of the names for the Dwarves (singular: Hadhod) (Sindarin)
Edhil—Elves (singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)