She was hauntingly beautiful. Of flaxen hair and sapphire eyes, long
limbed and light hearted.
But she was not his.
Maeglin shrank into the shadows, dark eyes watching, ever watching, the slender figure as it danced merrily across the dewy grass.
The Silverfoot of Gondolin. His cousin. The High Princess. His love.
That was all that should matter. That he loved her. And love her he did, with every inch of his slowly blackening heart. That golden figure danced in his dreams, her lovely voice calling out to him with every movement.
"Maeglin."
The silvery tones even rang through his ears while he was waking. In them he could imagine the rivers of gold sifting through his fingers, a slim, supple waist beneath his hands, skin free from confining silk.
"Maeglin."
How he was tortured. Every day, watching her, safeguarding his precious love.
He often sat beneath the shade of the trees, eyes closed as he imagined the moment in which she would realize her love for him. Petal-pink lips would curve gently into a loving smile, bright blue eyes twinkling beautifully from a painfully exquisite face. She would call out his name, reach out elegant hands to take his own as she presses a kiss to his lips, that golden curtain falling forward to bring him light, to bring him love.
"Maeglin."
Valar, he could feel those fair hands on his shoulders as he thought, their touch so gentle and warm that he felt as if everything would be all right. He knew though, that if he opened his eyes...
He would be staring into a pair of blue eyes whose beauty was unmatched.
His breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the finely wrought features of Idril Celebrindal, his love.
"Maeglin, you are late for the festival."
Her silvery voice was impatient, her mind focused on another as she stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.
But Valar she was beautiful. Her slim frame enclosed in a gown that shone of the stars, a mithril circlet resting gently above those bright eyes he loved so much. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself silent in the face of his princess.
That face shifted into an irritated look. His heart hardened, he knew why she wished to hurry.
"Maeglin, let's go."
It was a command from her heart, one which he could not deny her. And even as his own heart twisted in agony, he blinked away his daze and joined her on the walk to the Hall.
Each step brought him closer to the darkness, the shining gold of her hair the only light in his vision. How he loved her, how he needed this brilliant, beautiful princess that commanded respect and love by simply breathing.
"Tuor."
The name broke his concentration, the curtain of gold slipping from view.
His love, his angel. Was throwing her arms about the broad shoulders of a Mortal, her lips connecting with the chapped ones of the golden haired Man.
Those were his lips, only his to touch. How dare that Man seek to take what was not his.
And he tumbled into darkness.
She could not love him. They were cousins, she said, silvery voice dancing with disdain. She was taunting him as he fell, her brightness joined by the duller yellow of the Mortal. Those satin lips moved with cruel words. You could not have me, Dark One. Now you face yourself.
His heart twisted once more in his chest, his dark eyes narrowing on the twin golden flames that stood in soft silence.
A band of mithril glittered on an elegant finger. A smile curved pink lips.
And he tumbled into darkness.
But she was not his.
Maeglin shrank into the shadows, dark eyes watching, ever watching, the slender figure as it danced merrily across the dewy grass.
The Silverfoot of Gondolin. His cousin. The High Princess. His love.
That was all that should matter. That he loved her. And love her he did, with every inch of his slowly blackening heart. That golden figure danced in his dreams, her lovely voice calling out to him with every movement.
"Maeglin."
The silvery tones even rang through his ears while he was waking. In them he could imagine the rivers of gold sifting through his fingers, a slim, supple waist beneath his hands, skin free from confining silk.
"Maeglin."
How he was tortured. Every day, watching her, safeguarding his precious love.
He often sat beneath the shade of the trees, eyes closed as he imagined the moment in which she would realize her love for him. Petal-pink lips would curve gently into a loving smile, bright blue eyes twinkling beautifully from a painfully exquisite face. She would call out his name, reach out elegant hands to take his own as she presses a kiss to his lips, that golden curtain falling forward to bring him light, to bring him love.
"Maeglin."
Valar, he could feel those fair hands on his shoulders as he thought, their touch so gentle and warm that he felt as if everything would be all right. He knew though, that if he opened his eyes...
He would be staring into a pair of blue eyes whose beauty was unmatched.
His breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the finely wrought features of Idril Celebrindal, his love.
"Maeglin, you are late for the festival."
Her silvery voice was impatient, her mind focused on another as she stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.
But Valar she was beautiful. Her slim frame enclosed in a gown that shone of the stars, a mithril circlet resting gently above those bright eyes he loved so much. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself silent in the face of his princess.
That face shifted into an irritated look. His heart hardened, he knew why she wished to hurry.
"Maeglin, let's go."
It was a command from her heart, one which he could not deny her. And even as his own heart twisted in agony, he blinked away his daze and joined her on the walk to the Hall.
Each step brought him closer to the darkness, the shining gold of her hair the only light in his vision. How he loved her, how he needed this brilliant, beautiful princess that commanded respect and love by simply breathing.
"Tuor."
The name broke his concentration, the curtain of gold slipping from view.
His love, his angel. Was throwing her arms about the broad shoulders of a Mortal, her lips connecting with the chapped ones of the golden haired Man.
Those were his lips, only his to touch. How dare that Man seek to take what was not his.
And he tumbled into darkness.
She could not love him. They were cousins, she said, silvery voice dancing with disdain. She was taunting him as he fell, her brightness joined by the duller yellow of the Mortal. Those satin lips moved with cruel words. You could not have me, Dark One. Now you face yourself.
His heart twisted once more in his chest, his dark eyes narrowing on the twin golden flames that stood in soft silence.
A band of mithril glittered on an elegant finger. A smile curved pink lips.
And he tumbled into darkness.
