A/N: This is a kind of weird, poetic little fic that I wrote in under an hour in a sudden fit of inspiration. Just by virtue of being finished I guess it deserves to be posted.

Maeglin Lomíon loves Idril Celebrindal, his cousin, the golden-haired silver-footed princess of the Gondolindrim, in silence and shadows and despair.

In the first difficult months after his parents' death Idril, knowing the pain of losing a parent, comforted Maeglin, and as she brought light into the the private darkness he felt in bright Gondolin he came to see her as his light, the one thing whose possession would make his existence not only bearable but perfect.

But she will not be possessed by him – cannot, she says, though he thinks she could if she wanted to – so he retreats from her light to the shadows. The dark tunnels of the mines, the gloom of the forge, the silver-dark shadows of Turgon's white palace are his realm whence he watches and wants her as she turns away from him in uneasiness, the only one who can see the darkness inside him even though she herself is made of light.

Also made of light, if perhaps a less brilliant kind because she was born here in Gondolin rather than in the blessed realm, is the only daughter of Duilin, chief of the House of Swallow. Among her strong-armed brothers she is lithe and slight and all things that are sweet and quiet. She serves Idril as a lady-in-waiting and following her mistress' example and her own gentle heart she, too, is kind to Maeglin when he is new to Gondolin and lost among his grief and the new people and customs. She guides him and helps him, and without any encouragement she loves him.

This daughter of Duilin is one of the rare silver-haired Noldor, her tresses a light of the moon to Idril's sunny hair. And like the moon is outshone by the sun when they appear in the sky together, Maeglin never notices her beauty, having eyes for Idril only.

The silver-haired maiden never speaks of her love to the one she loves, nor does she show it beyond a subtle yearning in her eyes, for she believes that true love will always be seen by one who returns it. As years go by she slowly accepts that hers will not returned, and she grieves as silently as she has loved, and still faithfully serves her princess. For Idril is her dearest friend, and to hate her only because she is loved by the one whom the quiet maiden loves would be another heartbreak.

Though prince Maeglin never notices the beauty and worth of Duilin's daughter, others do, among them one whose heart stays constant through long years. A knight of the House of Swallow, he was born in the same year as his lord's last child and only daughter, and even as a little boy he devoted himself to her. He would give her anything that she asked of him, but she never asks, and what he offers she gently declines.

Bold from youth, he first speaks to her of his love at the end of the year when they both reach their majority, asking her for even a chance to court her, worthless as he is, only a lowly servant to her lordly father. She pulls him up when he kneels before her and tells him that her heart is not given to anyone but, she believes, it is still too young to turn to any other heart.

Twice more he asks her. The second time is when as many years have passed again as before the first. She tells him then that her heart is as free as it was, not his or anyone else's, but perhaps they can slowly start spending some together so that she can learn if she could love him. She gives him this chance because she has always been fond of him, even if it has been as a friend. But before they have time to meet more than once, Aredhel returns to Gondolin with her son and the knight's chance is soon lost.

The third time he asks the silver-haired lady to consider becoming his is after he has seen that she is pale and unhappy since realising that her love for Maeglin is hopeless. Both selfishly and selflessly the knight tells her that perhaps she can find some little happiness with him even if she can never give him all of her heart, that he would love her with all of his nonetheless and try to make her happy.

This time her rejection of him is only a shake of her gleaming curls and an apology, and then she flees from him and he does not follow though his heart goes with her.

There is only one female bowyer in the city of Gondolin, a tall graceful woman who can bend a bow and shoot an arrow as well as fashion the weapon and the ammunition with her strong skillful hands. She is also one of the people of Duilin, the master archer of the city, and for him and his knights she makes many bows both lethal and beautiful.

One of the knights, an open-faced youth with a warm smile and roaring laugh, always has a friendly word for the bowyer, or a merry one that makes her laugh. But he never notices that her heart is in her laughter and in her eyes when he comes to purchase arrows or have his bow mended, for in spite of his exuberance he loves the quiet silver-haired lady who rarely comes visit her father's people from the palace where she serves the princess and who never comes to see him.

This the bowyer knows this, for the knight has never learnt to hide his lovelorn looks at his lord's daughter and all of the House of the Swallow are aware of his desperate devotion. The bowyer hides hers, being prouder and believing that she must learn to let go of her love before it becomes forlorn as well. But she never quite manages it.

The bowyer has a neighbour, a rich merchant who himself prefers a spear to a bow when he goes hunting but nevertheless finds plenty of reasons to visit the workshop next door. For he would buy a hundred useless bows just to get to gaze at the bowcrafter's enchanting eyes and her slender, dexterous fingers that haunt his dreams...

And so it goes ever on, year after year, an ever-continuing chain of sorrow in fair Gondolin, a city closer to the bliss of Aman than any other place on war-torn Middle-Earth yet not protected from the ache of broken hearts.

At the beginning, at the centre of it, is Idril, for Idril loves all, every one of her father's people, easy in her affections and happy to lend her attention to even the poorest, plainest little elfling who would tug at her hand, and Idril loves none, for to none is her whole heart given.

Until a strong-shouldered, flaxen-haired mortal man in elven armour comes to her father's court and looks at her with awe and admiration in his serious eyes, and from the first look Idril gives back at him Maeglin, now a proud and secretive lord of the city, knows that the little hope has foolishly retained is now turned to ash.

But instead of turning his eyes away from her, to the daughter of Duilin or to anyone else, he still gazes at Idril and after Idril, with no less lust than before but more hatred, and Idril's new bliss brings no happiness to any of those others in Gondolin who suffer the lack of love.