So Tuor remained in Gondolin and swore his service to King Turgon. He was bound now to live out the rest of his life in the city, or until Turgon released him from service. It was not a decision he would regret, though occasionally dreams of the sea or curiosity about his own race haunted him. He kept the sea longing at bay by studying all that he could about ships and maps of the waters with Voronwë. He decided to put his past and all thoughts of his race behind him as best as he could by blending in with the Golodrim. He dressed in their fashion, cropped his beard, spoke their tongue flawlessly, and engaged in all their festivities. The Golodrim quickly embraced him as one of their own. He had celebrity status among the common folk. Some even thought that he was holy and begged to touch his cloak to receive Ulmo's blessing. The Lords of Gondolin were more sober but eager to see how he would contribute and had confidence he could bring only good things with his presence.
As for Turgon, Tuor had always admired him since first he heard his name. Turgon was charismatic and amicable. He loved his city and his people were content. He dealt justice carefully and rewarded his subjects often. He was generous and good natured. He was also fair to look upon and a competent warrior. He was everything one could want in a leader, or so Tuor believed. Turgon treated him as though he were an Elf-prince and not a former human slave in exile. He insisted that Tuor become a member of his council to represent the other free races and Ulmo's will, though Tuor could no more interpret that than he could the will of the other free folk of the world. Fortunately for him, Annael had groomed him for leadership. His foster father had dreamed that Tuor would be king of the House of Hador. He could not have imagined that Tuor would wind up far from his kin and home and become an adviser to one of the last great kings of the Eldar. The education served him well, and since he absorbed himself in the culture of Gondolin and listened well to others and weighed all matters and opinions, he found that he had a talent for politics, even eloquence in speech. He quickly proved himself to the rest of the council and Turgon became even more impressed than he already was with Tuor and rose ever higher in his favor.
When Tuor was not debating and deliberating or studying the mariner's life with Voronwë, he took up the harp and the role of the minstrel. Whenever a storm came upon the city in which rain poured so frequently and heavily it seemed the very ocean had come to flood the beauteous city, he became inspired to write ballads. They were songs of his sea longing, songs of the bitterness of Man, songs of the vagabond, and even songs of Ulmo. These songs were often cryptic and vague but compelling. He suspected they might have even come from the deity himself but he never understood their message. The words and melodies came of their own accord. He had a melodious voice that was calm and soothing to most ears and sang in Quenya, which was a sing song language in itself. It began as a mere hobby at first, but when others began to hear the music coming out of his window they requested more. The word spread then that Doriath had its minstrel in Daeron, Nargothrond had Maglor, and Gondolin had Tuor. All Eldar set a high store upon voices and music, but the Golodrim especially had a passion for it.
When asked why he chose a harp as his instrument, Tuor answered that the instrument was the most beautiful and made the sweetest sounds and that the strings reminded him of the hair of a woman. What woman he spoke of he would not say and no one could guess. That was because it was no woman, but an elf maiden. Tuor secretly loved Turgon's daughter though he knew he was a fool for it. He wondered that his heart longed for the Princess and not a common Elf-maid, for all the ladies of Gondolin were beautiful. He supposed he noticed Idril because of her quiet dignity, her eyes that seemed to see beyond the flesh and bone and discover the true character and spirit of those around her, and her low but lovely voice. He also loved her hair, the golden hair that only the Vanyar possessed.
Idril had fallen for Tuor the moment she saw him cloaked in the mantle of Ulmo. He was tall and handsome. He also had a head of gold of a different shade than her own but no less lustrous. She had a strange affection for the beard upon his chin when first he arrived and was a little sad that he kept himself as smooth as the rest of the Elves. He was muscular due to his wary life with Annael and his back breaking labor as a thrall and had proven himself a capable warrior with axes. She was impressed with his voice and the manner in which he used it. She would listen and watch his music from her window as he played at the market and even began attending councils again simply to witness his success.
She tried to deny and then ignore her feelings. She told herself what she felt was simply infatuation, not love, and it would fade once Tuor settled in the city. To prove it to herself, she began to walk about the gardens, knowing Tuor often passed through them so that they saw each other daily. Perhaps if she satisfied her curiosity, she would feel nothing for him. She felt a thrill every time she saw him, as did he for her.
For several weeks they exchanged glances as they passed by one another, neither daring to say more than a formal greeting and farewell. Little by little, the thrill instead of fading and feeling apathy as Idril had hoped deepened from nervous tension to comfortable affection. She began to ask him questions and he would continue conversations. They considered one another friends and desired more. Idril feared the consequences of pursuing Tuor. She thought of the fate of Lúthien and Beren with dread. Though her father Turgon seemed to love Tuor, she had no way of knowing if he would react just as King Thingol had when he discovered his beloved daughter was secretly meeting a mortal. She also worried about Maeglin. She sensed that her kinsman was still engrossed with her in his own twisted way but harbored nothing but hatred for Tuor son of Huor.
For perhaps the first time since her brief reunion with Aredhel, Idril was happy. She sought out Tuor's company more often and even in public. It became obvious to all that her face brightened the moment she saw him.
Maeglin was the first to notice and became insanely jealous. He made subtle attempts to gain her attention.
The morning of one of the great festivals of the year, Maeglin tried to satisfy his urge yet again with a chambermaid. Many of his female servants grew to desire him eventually. They were low born enough that he could purchase their silence as well. Even if they spoke of what he did to them, their word counted for nothing against his. The Eldar kept their secrets and had their flaws same as Men. They were simply rarer and long went unaccounted for.
"Stop it, Maeglin! You are squeezing my wrists too hard!" the maid whined.
"Stop calling me Maeglin and I will consider it!" he growled.
He became rougher. She let out a cry of pain, but he seemed deaf to it. He gripped her tighter, right upon a pressure point.
"Master, stop!" the maid sobbed.
He groaned. 'Master' was not the name he had been looking for. He had a feeling that even if the girl said it, it would have only infuriated him more.
"I am paying you triple wages for this. Play along or be silent!"
He bit her, too hard. She began to weep, but he seemed to relish even her tears.
"You are hurting me!"
"Good! I love hurting you."
"Do not pull my hair!" she said venomously.
At the sound of defiance in her voice, it grew worse.
"Stop!" the maid was shouting now. "You asked me to pretend I did not want it but I am no longer pretending!"
"You have already been paid and you will get more after. And do not lie. You wanted this."
"I wanted you, but I did not want THIS!"
"Did you really think there would be no price? That you would have your need satisfied and take coin for pleasure? That would have been cheating me."
He finished with her. She feared that she had been torn and was bleeding. Maeglin fetched two goblets of wine. The first he poured out onto her. She cried out in fresh pain.
"Quiet!" Maeglin said. "It will clean it and speed the healing. Now drink this one."
"What is it?" the girl said suspiciously.
"More wine only mixed with herbs to kill the pain. You see, I can be brutal, but I am no monster."
"There would be no need for such things if you were only gentler!" the girl sobbed but drank what was given.
Maeglin tossed her a cloak and a small purse of coin.
"Get out."
She gladly left. Maeglin put on his own robe and began to drink. He knew his relief was only temporary. This maid would dismiss herself within the week. There may be murmurs at court for a while, but nothing to tarnish his reputation. He would have to start searching for another maid with Idril's features, or as close as he could come. Few in Gondolin had been born with the golden sheen of the Vanyar. Most Golodrim had a gold that was more like pale silver or dirty blonde. And it was hard to match the eyes as well. Idril's were gray and haunting. He told himself it was because he knew the girls were never quite a match and that was why he was such a sadist. If Idril were in his bed he would treat her more gently.
She was there at the festival wearing flowing white robes, a silver circlet about her brow and a silver girdle about her waist. As usual, she came with Engner as her escort and had no suitors. She chatted with the other lords and ladies and also to any servants when they brought her wine and choice edibles. She was well loved by both classes and engaged herself with ease socially when she wanted to. But she preferred standing in the shadows in solitude. If she was not drawn into conversation there was a look in her eyes of gentle appraisal, quiet observation, and, as only Maeglin could see, a touch of sadness and loneliness.
He dressed in his sporting scarlet and ebony robes beneath which he wore boiled leather leggings, rings, and stylish boots. He boasted and told jokes and greeted lords like old friends. Their ladies would gaze at him and blush. He had a girl on his arm and drank heavily but managed to keep his head. The court admired him. But the servants feared him. Especially some of the serving girls that had once served in his household.
After Maeglin had danced with his girl and made a show of his intentions, he inevitably approached Idril. She kept her eyes low to try to hide her annoyance. She did not want to dance, and never with Maeglin. But she was too kind hearted to refuse and it was a formality that was expected. Furthermore, Maeglin knew that she feared him. He knew almost all her thoughts no matter how guarded she seemed. He knew her body language, the subtle expressions in her face and eyes. He could even reach into her mind when she was not careful.
"Dance with me, coz?" he held out his hand.
She gave him an icy glare, "What of your companion?" She nodded to the girl that was talking with other suitors.
"Are you jealous that she is receiving my affections?"
"You would like that," she said dryly. "Do you wish to make her jealous? I have ever found the prolonged and fickle art of courtship distasteful and I do not engage in it as vigorously as you, coz. I have never known a lover of any kind, but I do know that there are better ways to keep a maiden in your arms."
"You have not known anyone still, coz? You should know that you could have any lord or pot boy in the realm if you only cared for it."
"I care for it. Perhaps that is why I do not take the pot boy into my bed."
"Well said. But what of the lordlings? Why not gold headed Glorfindel or dark headed Ecthelion? They were suitors of my mother once."
"I know."
He could tell she was not interested in this sordid subject. The mortal, Tuor, had arrived with his friend Voronwë dogging his steps. Her eyes followed him though he quietly greeted the folk of the hall and was too shy to look long at her.
"It is said that mortals lack control and finesse as lovers," Maeglin said with disgust. "They cannot control when they breed. Mark my words, Idril; we would be overrun with them if there were women here at court too."
Idril began to turn away from him, no longer willing to hear such hateful speculations and hoping to avoid a dance. Maeglin was surprised. Usually she was less openly resistant.
"Where are you going?" he snatched her arm. "I will not take no for an answer."
She recoiled a little, only a little, at his touch. To others it seemed he merely startled her and those around them laughed. Already some were gathering to watch them.
"Coz," she painted a smile on her face, "how can I say no? You did not even wait for my answer."
"Forgive me," it was a dismissive apology.
He waited for the next ballad to begin. As they waited, he pulled her so that they were partially hidden behind a massive pillar giving him the desired privacy he wanted even in a crowded hall. She sighed, clearly frustrated and wishing the dance was over before it had even begun.
"You look beautiful," he whispered.
"You say that every time," she was not flattered.
"It is true every time."
He clasped one of her slender hands and began tracing each finger as he raked the rest of her body with his eyes. He could feel her shudder at his intimate touch.
"Stop that!" she said so low he almost did not hear.
"Does it tickle?" he teased.
"I do not like it."
He placed her hand upon his chest and began to kiss the fingers of the other.
"What makes you think I like that any better?" she hissed.
"Why are you so incredibly moody tonight?" he retorted. "Perhaps this is why you have not known anyone yet."
The next song began and he clasped her close. His hands swept down her body so that they would be at the proper place, her waist. His hand crossed lightly over her breast for no more than a tenth of a second. It was a bold move but easily dismissed as an honest accident. No one saw, but Idril had noticed. Her eyes flashed with anger when he touched her there and she let in a sharp intake of breath that could have been arousal but was mostly fear. Maeglin took pleasure in her subtle reaction but did not show it. His hands rubbed the small of her back and his eyes never left her.
She tried to pretend his touch was not affecting her at all. Then as they swept behind the pillar, he stole kisses upon her brow, then her cheek, and then he bit her ear. He had never been so bold or aggressive.
"Maeglin!" she rasped through clenched teeth.
"It is a trick I learned through all my useless courting. Useless to you more like. What did you think of it? My companion is like you. She has not known a male either. All others I have had before were experienced. I thought to test it out on you, coz, before I risked it upon her. I do not want her to think I am some beast. It is supposed to be playful. Some maidens enjoy it. Did it frighten you or did it excite you? Would it excite you if you cared for such things?"
"What does it matter?" Idril snapped. "You will be with a new maiden next time! You always tire of your girls! My advice is wasted upon you! Never do that again!"
He sneered and when their dance came to an end and all were watching Maeglin said, "A kiss, coz?"
She gave him a sisterly kiss on the lips. After that dance, she wished she could slap him instead. Again, the look of lust he gave her afterward went entirely unnoticed. She was trembling by the end of it and felt cold and clammy all over. She was still trembling when she turned about and almost bumped into Tuor. By chance he had happened to be at her side.
"Is it chill in here?" he asked.
"What?"
"Well, you are shaking."
"I am?"
Tuor's brow furrowed as he struggled to respond. She did not mean to make him feel insecure or to belittle him. She was simply amazed that of all the people in the hall, he was the only one that noticed her sickened state. He was observant, but he could not possibly guess what caused it. To her, it was more than anyone else had ever done. She smiled.
"Aye, I am shaking. There must be a draft in here," she said with a glance at Maeglin.
"Did your kinsman step on your toes?" Tuor noted her glance as well.
"He did more than that."
"Who knew the prince was such a clumsy dancer? Hard to imagine, I must say."
"It is not that he is clumsy," Idril shook her head. "He knows very well what he does."
"He is credited for being one of the better dancers," Tuor was confused.
Idril felt Maeglin's gaze from across the room and his hatred for the poor mortal and his twisted desire for her.
"Would you like to dance, Tuor?" she said suddenly.
He was visibly caught off guard. "Princess?"
"Would you dance with me?" she repeated slowly.
There was fear but unmistakable joy in his eyes, "How can I possibly refuse you, Princess?"
It gave her a thrill every time he called her 'princess'. No one ever called her by that title but him. And even though it was just that, a formal title, he said it with such tenderness. She loved it more than she cared to admit to herself. She took his hand but he hesitated.
"What is it?"
"It is simply that I have never..."
"Danced?" she giggled.
"Well, I have, but not with a woman," he murmured.
"Or an elf-maid?"
Idril's voice took on a very playful and taunting tone. It was both foreign to her and natural. It puzzled her, but she did not want to check it. Tuor found it slightly intimidating but also irresistible.
"Neither," he sighed. "Elf-maid or woman. There is no distinction in my mind."
"I have never danced with a Man either. The idea is tempting, though. Let me teach you."
She took his hands and guided them about her waist. Tuor was like a statue at first. With each throbbing heart beat and step though, he relaxed. He was beginning to enjoy this. Idril could not help herself. She looked upon him adoringly and squeezed his shoulders gently. Maeglin watched with disapproval from the shadows. But Voronwë and Engner whispered to each other. A deal was struck and they shook hands with wide grins on their faces.
Maeglin found what little power he had over his beloved cousin slipping. He gave Idril gifts and supported her at court but was sabotaged elsewhere. For example, he used to seek her out at festivals and demand dances. She could not refuse him, and no others dared get in his way. At least they used to. It was one of the few occasions in which he had an excuse to be close to her and to touch her. It gave him the small crumbs he needed to warm his bed at night and ease his dangerous desire. Now he found himself suddenly bombarded by the other guests when he tried to make his move. He would get wrapped up in their insipid conversations and there was a gauntlet of new friends about Idril so that he could not reach her. Tuor was allowed through and now he danced with her instead. Maeglin noted it was usually Engner that stopped him first and Voronwë was guarding Idril and guiding Tuor to her. They were no doubt playing match maker. That was no surprise. Engner had always been very close to Idril and to his mother, but never to Maeglin. Voronwë was indebted to Tuor and for all intents and purposes considered him a brother after what they had been through together.
What alarmed Maeglin was that there were others. Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Elemmakil, even the King himself became the obstacles. Minor lords would ask him to dance with their lovely daughters. Out of courtesy, he could not say no. Then they would hang on his arm. Some of them he had had before and spurned. Servants bothered him with trivial questions, offered him food and drink, or found some other way to try to distract him. He knew now that he had enemies in Gondolin. He made a note of every person that moved to stop him and especially those that supported Tuor. Their actions confirmed his previous suspicions and fed his growing paranoia. He began to fill his own house with spies and to tighten his grip upon what followers he had. He did all he could to win over other lords at court, seeking out the ambitious, the weak minded and the cowardly.
He offered coin and promised favors to the former, amazed that waving a bag of gold or mithril could be so effective in buying loyalty. He expected such behavior form Dwarves, not high born Elves. He used threats and blackmail to the later of the list, using his spies to obtain secrets and personal information. He soon had a compiled list of all the lurid affairs past or present at court, examples of theft or corruption. There was a small list of such infractions, but again Maeglin was appalled. He would not expect such from spoiled sons of nobles. He took full advantage of those transgressors that he did find. Because he was a good judge of hearts, he could sense fear so that a few subtle threats in private worked wonders as well. He reminded the weak that he was nephew of King Turgon and was most likely to inherit the throne. When he was king, he would remember his allies and his enemies and reward or punish them accordingly.
Salagant was the chief of his followers. He was ambitious, greedy, and cowardly all rolled into one. It was to him Maeglin most often gave his dirtiest tasks such as spying and quietly stealing coin and goods to hoard away in Maeglin's vault. He also kept around him an entourage of young Elves that were no better than thugs, the spoiled sons of minor but rich lords. Others felt they had been slighted somehow by Tuor and the other lords, or they were apprentices of Maeglin's. He had taken half a dozen boys from childhood and mentored them in the arts of combat, mining and metal working. As a result, they admired him, were fiercely loyal, and had adopted not only the abilities he taught but his mannerisms. They were all part of his House, the House of the Mole.
It was easy, therefore, for Maeglin to track Tuor and Idril's budding romance. Three years went by and he watched and waited like a spider spinning his webs and expanding his private army. He was kind to Idril and avoided touching her or making her uncomfortable. He was jealous of Tuor's golden hair. He was jealous of his green eyes which so many found intriguing. He was jealous of his voice. Maeglin had many talents of his own, but he could not carry a tune. His mother Aredhel had preferred hunting and sang with no more than an average voice and was seldom happy enough to burst into joyful song or too full of sorrow to sing even the most melancholy ones. His father never kept a single minstrel and called them 'pansies and weak fools'. Only maidens had a right to sing and that was only to soothe their babes or catch a husband. Maeglin was jealous that Turgon was so taken by the mortal. It annoyed him that the people of Gondolin were treating Tuor much as they had treated Maeglin when he first became a citizen of the city even though the mortal had done less than half of what he had done to earn such love and respect.
Maeglin was by birth not only one of the Golodrim, but their prince. Tuor was nothing. Maeglin had defended the Noldor upon the battlefield, built the Steel Gate, and helped revolutionize weapons and armor within the first short years. But now it seemed that the people had grown disenchanted with Turgon's nephew. He had once seemed enigmatic and unique. He had been raised, by their standards, in the barbarian wild by an evil father and a beautiful but reckless mother. He had spent much of that time being educated by the Dwarf folk and they speculated upon what dark arts the Dark Elf had passed on to his son. After his accomplishments, he became reclusive and bitter. The reason why was a favorite topic among gossipers. They suspected it was because with such a long peace his gate was merely a decoration and his weapons and armor were worn just for show and so were unappreciated. Some wondered if he and his uncle the King were fighting. Others spoke of his failed romances and whispers of his insatiable appetite and bizarre requests of his lovers and his household spread. If he caught anyone engaging in such talk he would furiously deny them and sought to slander and discredit the other party.
Maeglin, it seemed, was slowly losing control of his vices. He had spent centuries repressing his anger, jealously, lusts, and bitter disappointments and spent what energy he had left putting on pretenses so he could fool the populace. More frequently, he lashed out upon people starting with his servants. He kept a small house and trusted none of them. He warned the cooks and chambermaids often to do their duties and never disturb his privacy. He refused to speak of personal issues. If they proved lazy or incompetent, he began to punish them. The punishments began congenially enough, but gradually they became more severe. Some of his staff left to work elsewhere, stating only that they had become uneasy and tired of menial work. Maeglin had much more bodyguards than he did servants anyhow and these he paid good coin to obey him unquestionably. Sometimes he demanded odd things. He required a guard with him to the forge, to escort him through the streets, to go beyond the walls to mine, to festivities. The only place they did not go was his privy chamber and within the forge itself. He refused to allow anyone to spy upon his secrets. He worked in the forge for days without sleeping or eating only to destroy his work and begin again. What he was working on, or what he was attempting to discover or do, no one could say.
A curious apprentice boy once made the mistake of peeking into Maeglin's forge and whispered to his friends about it. Of course, one small whisper caused wild rumors. The boy claimed he had seen strange devices. There were weapons of all sorts upon the walls. There were traps with iron springs, cages with strategically placed spikes, chairs made for restraint, and other things he did not recognize and could not possibly guess their purpose. All of these, no doubt, were intended for use against Orcs. What the boy noted most, however, was a pair of chains tucked away in a corner. They could not have been intended for Orcs, for they had been made with the finest material and were elaborately ornate. One did not decorate chains for a despised Orc. The chains were made of precious mithril, a delicate yet hard metal. It was also beautiful and well-polished with gems encrusted into the links. He tried to get closer to study them, but Maeglin caught him. He threw the boy out of the forge, cursing and shouting. The boy's apprenticeship ended that day. Maeglin had declared that if the child were his own, he would have given the little spy a bloody hide.
Besides developing a less than cordial attitude toward his subjects and apprentices, Maeglin also developed a cold hatred for his ex-lovers and they for him. There was one particular maiden that complained to all that would listen that Maeglin had not only broken her heart, but abused her. She had wanted to avoid the prince altogether as he already had an infamous reputation among the ladies. He accosted her anyway with 'violent passion that burned as ferociously and as destructively as a flame' she described in her own words. He was obsessive and controlling. He was demanding and went into a rage when she refused him. And when she was finally willing to return his love, he took her first fruits and was suddenly done with her. When she arrived to call upon him he was always gone to mine ores or was deep in his forge and could not be disturbed. She discovered that he must have been burning her letters because he said he never read them and they were never returned to her. He ignored her if they met in public. Most disturbingly, she claimed he had struck her and warned her to never approach him again or speak of what had happened between them. There was no evidence of the abuse. The girl was merely a servant in some minor lord's house. She was pretty but prone to bad dreams and unable to recall her memory at times. Maeglin denied he had ever touched her in anger or in passion and most dismissed her.
Except Engner. He interviewed the girl and spoke with her father and her companions. Her father admitted the prince had seemed interested in courting his daughter but when the father finally gave him permission the prince was already courting someone of higher born stock. Meanwhile his daughter said nothing for years and Engner was sure the father was too afraid to condemn the nephew of the king. If something had happened, Maeglin had carried it out very secretly and very quickly. What alarmed Engner was that the girl looked as though she could have been Idril's little sister. She was barely more than a child. Her eyes were a watery gray and her hair resembled pale silver rather than gold, but her features were strikingly similar. Whenever he tried to interview Maeglin's household asking about the girl or Maeglin's doings in general, all he got was upturned noses, scared looks, and cold warnings to mind his own matters.
Maeglin took special care to hide his secrets and oddities as much as he could. The one thing he could not contain, however, was his hatred for Tuor. He would give him cold glances in passing, opposed his views and proposals at council, and even insulted him to his face. During a heated debate before the rest of the counselors, Idril, and Turgon himself, Maeglin called him a 'base-born ex-thrall' and a string of other things. There was a silence after that. Everyone was aghast. Then Turgon became furious at his nephew for the first time, and when on rare occasion the King did become angry, all trembled at the force in his voice.
"Sister-son!" he bellowed. "Curb your temper and your tongue, shed your ignorance, and leave this chamber at once! I will speak with you privately later!"
Maeglin was surprised at his own outburst and visibly disturbed by his uncle's reaction. He left the chamber stiffly, his face red.
"Tuor, you must forgive him," the king apologized for his kin.
"It is nothing," Tuor replied. "Prince Maeglin is simply not one to lose an argument, especially not to one such as me. After all, I have been here a little less than three years it seems presumptuous of me to contradict him."
The rest of the court chose to remain silent on the issue and continued the meeting as though nothing had happened, though they looked uneasily at Maeglin's empty seat. More than one of them had been verbally attacked before, but no so viciously. Maeglin's style had always been to listen carefully, not to interrupt. Then he usually deconstructed his rival's argument aggressively. Never did he resort to name calling. They were also nervous that there was tension between the king and his presumed heir. Idril's pallor was gray, and Tuor was more worried for her than himself. She was angry and growing angrier by the second. Tuor could only be surprised and confused. He barely knew Maeglin and could only suppose the prince hated him because he was human. He could think of nothing that he had ever done to deserve such venom.
After the session, Turgon summoned Maeglin. They were both hesitant to speak.
"I apologize, Uncle," Maeglin started preemptively. "My actions were inexcusable. It will not happen again."
"I truly hope so!" Turgon snapped. "Why did you allow yourself to lose control? You said some very harsh words. If Tuor were a lesser man, he would have struck out at you somehow."
"I wonder if he is not a 'lesser' man, Uncle. I am annoyed that he is even allowed to embroil himself in our politics, such as they are, and I lost patience with him this time. I am also concerned about his growing influence upon you. He is still a stranger in my eyes and he cannot possibly have our people's interest at heart. He is not one of them!"
"His heart is pure and he has the favor of Ulmo. You must not be so quick to dismiss him, Maeglin. I beg you to make of him an ally, not an enemy."
"I prefer to remain neutral. I do not trust him."
Turgon sighed, "I must say that for the first time, you disappoint me, sister-son. Perhaps if you get to know Tuor, you will change your mind. Think on it. In the meantime, you shall apologize to him and to the council for your outburst!"
"That sounds fitting," Maeglin said softly, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.
He apologized formally, but after the assembly, Idril accompanied Tuor. She was angry as only her family members could make her. She was absolutely livid. She rarely expressed such anger, and Tuor was shocked. He had never seen the Princess in such a state, had not seen very much emotion from her at all. He was surprised she was allowing him to witness it. Surprised and nervous. It was the King and the Prince she spoke of, her father and her cousin, but they were also the liege lord and his potential heir. It was one thing if she spoke of personal matters and quite another when she spoke pure politics. It was confusing and dangerous when she mixed the two of them. It was even more dangerous for Tuor.
"I cannot believe Maeglin said such malicious things concerning you and that my father did so little to rebuke him!" she began venting before he could stop her. "Such a deed would never be tolerated from anyone else! It is not the first time Maeglin has shown distaste for Men, but in this case, he attacked you as an individual."
"My lady, the prince spoke in a blind rage because he passionately disagreed with me. He had a moment of careless prejudice, but he has apologized. No harm was done," Tuor tried to defend the rest of the Royal Family desperately.
Idril's frown deepened, "My father forced that apology upon him. I have no doubt of that. I know Maeglin. He was using every fiber of his being to control his hatred. He has done you wrong, but in his mind, you will ever be the transgressor."
"I am willing to give the prince time to change his views about me. He really seems to get under your skin."
"That he does," Tuor had no idea. "And he has had time. He has only become worse. He treated your father and uncle with nothing more than suspicion. If he had had his way, the brothers would have never been allowed to leave Gondolin. He is convinced that Huor at least broke his oath with you. How else could you have found your way here? He must have told you exactly where you would need to go to find the Hidden City, as well as how to find the mantle of Ulmo. You conveniently discovered Voronwë and used him to gain the trust of the people in case the mantle itself did not. If you had been alone, the Wardens may have slain you upon sight and realized what they had done too late."
"My father was dead before I was even born and my mother soon after!" Tuor defended himself now, becoming angry too. "I heard of Turgon through Annael, and it was years of wandering aimlessly before I stumbled upon Arminas and Gelmir. It was they that gave me the bread crumbs that led me to Nevrast. Even then it was Ulmo that guided me, first in his own person, and then through Voronwë. He revealed nothing, even when it seemed likely we would freeze to death upon the road. I wish that my father had lived to entrust such secrets to me. My childhood would have been much happier. I might have never left the house of my fathers. We would have driven the Easterling horde and kept our lands. My people would not be miserable, broken slaves selling their daughters to spare themselves. Turgon, Gondolin, and Ulmo would have been names from a tale never mentioned again..." Tuor trailed off, suddenly very bitter and overwhelmed at the loss of what could have been.
He tried so very hard to forget everything before he came to Gondolin, even his true nature. One cannot forget a life half lived or injustice, however. The burden of it and the pain suffered showed upon his face a moment, and Idril pitied him.
"You have lost more than most everyone in this city, Tuor," she said. "Even me. Is it so with all humans?"
"I do not know," Tuor genuinely did not. "I spent little time with my own kind. To them I was simply Strawhead. To me, they were either sheep or wolves. I was determined to be neither."
"Do you hate them? Your own kind, that is? You do not deny what you are, yet you do not seem to embrace it either."
Tuor gazed at her a moment, considering her question carefully. Then he laughed. "I wanted to believe I was an Elf when I was a child. Annael never told me who or what I really was until age twelve. Until then I fancied I was his own son perhaps with a human woman. I knew in my heart I was not truly an Elf. But it is possible to mix the races. The tale of Beren and Lúthien inspired many such couplings. Some of the wandering folk came upon villages of Men and lived among them and took wives or husbands. Several Half-Elves were born. One of Annael's own men wed a mortal and left his kin for her, forsaking his immortal life. I was not one of those. Annael revealed I was human after all. I was a Prince of such humans. My father was a great lord and warrior. I would take his place and redeem my people. For a short time, I was not so sorely disappointed."
"And what of now?"
"I realized while I was a slave that my father was truly dead along with his House. The people that once loved and served him spoke of him only as a memory. I never knew real kindness from them, save in a precious few. Sometimes I wish that I had been Annael's son."
"Tuor," Idril said gravely. "You should not say that. Huor was admired even by great Elf-kings. He was no less of worth or substance than your foster-father. Your people are not dead, and your House lives on through you. The people of Hador are lost and confused. But time changes much. The Easterlings will breed themselves out. They are foreigners in a foreign land and cannot hope to keep it for more than a generation or two of Men. Ulmo chose you in part because you were human."
"I still do not understand why. Perhaps I never will."
Idril sighed, "I should have spoken out against Maeglin immediately. I wish my father could see his faults and all that he hides from him."
"Have you spoken to King Turgon about your feelings?"
Idril actually laughed at that, "He does not care what I think or feel."
"He is your father and he loves you."
"Tuor, you are naive."
"No, you can see it in his eyes. He loves you. Ask anyone. And Maeglin loves you too. Perhaps if you did speak to him more often, you would believe me. Add your voice to the council too and you will discover your voice is stronger than you think."
"Perhaps I will. And I will let Maeglin know how I feel as well. Right now."
She turned about to do just that. She confronted her kinsman, still enraged. Maeglin was surprised. She had never done such a thing before, and they were alone in the room save for Salagant, but he was one of his well-known lackeys so they might as well have been alone.
"I cannot believe how you have treated Tuor!" Idril began on a tirade. "How many times have I asked you to give him a chance? You hate him so unreasonably. He has even defended your actions!"
"I have heard this speech from our Uncle, coz. Much as I love to hear your voice, you need not waste your time or your breath."
"My father blinds himself to anything unpleasant!" Idril snapped. "He may have scolded you like a little child, but nothing more. Despite what you may believe, he loves you like a son. A son that could do no wrong!"
"What would you have me do then, Idril? Become friends with the mortal Tuor? Take long walks with him, as you do? Should I agree with everything he says and find all his ideas wonderful? Should I ask him to dance and press myself against him and gaze deep into his eyes as though there was nothing else or no one else in the world?"
"What are you talking about?" Idril's heart sank.
Salagant laughed. "You should stop deceiving yourself, my Lady. The truth is in your actions."
"You are in love with Tuor," Maeglin said accusingly.
Idril said nothing. She was filled with doubt. She knew she cared deeply for Tuor, but did she love him? She was so confused. She was also afraid. She had become careless and dared to hope that Maeglin had become enlightened enough to realize that his obsession with her was unnatural. Now she knew that he had only become more skilled in concealing it and spying out her secrets. She understood better why Maeglin was so hostile toward Tuor. There were many reasons, but Idril was mortified that her feelings for Tuor, however innocent they may be, was one of them. She was causing them all distress. As much as she disliked Maeglin, she did not wish to torture him. She could sense the jealousy in him, the desire, the hatred, and even the bitter loneliness and shame.
"Tuor and I are friends," she insisted. "No more or less."
"But you would like more."
"I enjoy his company and he seems to enjoy mine. I would not jump to conclusions about that! I cannot even be certain if he feels remotely the same. If he does... That is a... another matter entirely."
"Of course he is infatuated with you! You are fair and a child of kings. He would not seek you out if he had not convinced himself he was in love! He fawns upon you like some love sick puppy..."
The thought that Tuor could be in love with her after all made Idril forget even the present moment's ugliness. Much as she denied and feared the powerful feelings she had for Tuor, she had only dared fantasize that he could possibly love her. Despite her beauty, Idril was like her aunt. She was considered strange, detached from the other citizens of Gondolin, withdrawn, even cold. Her father doted upon her seldom, both her mother figures were dead, and she found it hard even to maintain friendships. She had never had suitors and expressed no interest in the subject of courtship. Furthermore, Maeglin's subtle advances caused her to withdraw even more into herself and to even fear intimacy. Until now. Tuor's touch would be welcome.
She involuntarily smiled and Maeglin became furious. He seized her wrists and pulled her toward him so that they were almost touching noses. It frightened her, but she did not want him to sense and relish that. Instead, she became angry herself.
"Do not touch me!" she hissed. "Even though you are blood, you have no right to handle me so!"
"I will not be ignored!" he roared and gripped her even tighter. "I want you to avoid that Man for your own good. He will only hurt you!"
"As you are hurting me now?" she whispered, straining not to show the pain on her face.
Maeglin loosened his grip. He was ashamed that bruises were forming upon her wrists.
"Whatever pain I cause you would not hold a candle to what Tuor would do."
"You do not even know Tuor!"
"I know more than I ever cared to know. Everyone he has ever touched, he has destroyed."
"The same could have been said of you when you first came here," Idril said bluntly. "Or even of me."
His face darkened as they both recalled Aredhel in their mind's eye. But Idril also thought of her own mother. Maeglin thought of the servants he had slaughtered and the maidens he had used. Neither wanted to think of Eöl.
"He is shunned by his own kind. He wishes he were an Elf. The people often forget that he is not but he cannot change his race! Not even the highly popular Beren Echermion was able to escape an early gave even after poor Lúthien sacrificed her immortality for him. Are you prepared to make such a sacrifice for Tuor?"
"I... do not know."
"You should at least know that much before you go and start a romance with a mortal. He is not worth the dust upon your feet! As soon as he was born, he started the process of dying! All mortals do. Despite their short lives, they do not even bond with their mates for life. It is not known if they have an afterlife. They do not love as the Eldar do or share our fates. Even if he proved a perfect lover, you will only lose him. His children may or may not choose immortality. Would you want death for your offspring?"
"It would be their choice. And mine own."
"Idril, there are others that love you. If you are too blind to see it, I am but one of them."
She looked at him sadly, "I know. Not only do I know it, but it frightens me. Because I know what is in your heart. I have always known."
"If you truly know how much I love you, then why do you push me away?" Maeglin's tone was no longer one of anger. The hungry, longing look was in his eye. "Why are you so frightened of it? There is so much hate and violence in this Marred World. Why not indulge in what love and beauty we can find wherever it may be, no matter how close it may be?"
"Maeglin-"
"Why must you continue to call me that? I have asked you repeatedly to call me Lómion."
Idril sighed, "I do not wish to talk about this anymore. Leave me be!"
"Please do not be so angry with me, Idril. I only want what is best for you. That mortal will be the death of you. I do not wish to lose you to him."
"I want what is best for you too. But you can never have me, Maeglin."
"STOP CALLING ME MAEGLIN!" he bellowed.
The door burst open and Engner strode into the room with guards. Maeglin released Idril at once and Salagant greeted the incomers.
"Lord Engner," he said pleasantly. "Why the dramatic entrance?"
"We heard shouting," he answered. "I feared there was a commotion. Is everything all right?"
"Of course," Maeglin said calmly. "My cousin and I simply had a disagreement."
"Is that so, Idril?"
She hesitated, and then said, "Yes. We were arguing loudly, that is all. We will try to keep our voices lower. I apologize that we alarmed anyone."
"Everything is under control," Salagant said reassuringly. "I was witness and nothing got out of hand."
That was enough for the guards. They returned to their posts.
"We will continue this discussion later when we have both cooled," Maeglin turned to Idril. "Remember, I will always be waiting if you should need me."
He planted a kiss upon her brow. After that, Maeglin slipped past Engner and down the hall with Salagant following.
"Idril?" Engner was full of concern. "Are you truly all right?"
"Yes."
"Very well. There is just one more thing. May I see your arms?"
Again she hesitated. She had hid her hands behind her back. She did not know why, but she did not want anyone to see the bruises. She looked about the room, as though she could find some way out of exposing herself. But Engner was too suspicious to let it go. She stretched out her arms and was relieved to see that the bruises had already healed. They had been small, after all. Engner was still suspicious, but he could say or do nothing more. He let her be.
Though the bruises were no longer visible, her wrists still ached, and though Maeglin's kiss had been no more than a chaste peck, Idril felt as though the skin where his lips had touched was somehow unclean. She was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions she did not dare share with anyone. Desperately, she sought out Aredhel's tomb.
Tuor was troubled as well. When Idril left to spring into action, he wondered what sort of action he was supposed to take. In three years he had received no signs from Ulmo. Not even a cryptic dream. He could not stop thinking of the Princess. Much as Voronwë pressured him to tell her how he felt, he could not find the courage. He found her hard to read. She had given him glimpses into her life, but nothing substantial until now. She needed provoked to reveal what was truly on her mind and he could not help but feel she was hiding some terrible secret and suffering. What could he possibly do to help her if it was true? Would she allow him to help? What could he offer as an exiled human prince? How would the King react if he revealed he wanted the hand of his only child? He decided to go for a walk.
He wandered the streets and alleys he had neglected before, trying to avoid friendly faces. He simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He stared at the ground and when he finally looked up he found himself before a tomb. He was amazed. Tombs among the Eldar were rare and unheard of in such a place as Gondolin. The populace was never even ill. The tomb was beautiful. It was crafted of excellent marble and stone. There were carvings of prancing animals and the Valier Nessa upon the heavy door, guarding the departed inside. Tuor was intrigued and wanted to know whose tomb it was, for it was not labeled upon the outside. He suspected it must be inside and that the inside would be as beautiful as the exterior.
He entered to find that there was a torch lit and set upon the wall already. The smell of flowers and incense sweetened the air. In the far center of the crypt was a stone sarcophagus. In the middle of the tomb was a sculpted likeness of the deceased and her name and title. Aredhel Ar-Fenial the White Lady. He was surprised that Idril sat before it, weeping and sobbing.
"Princess?"
She wiped at her tears and struggled to recover, but this time she did not have the strength. Tuor knelt beside her. She wanted to throw her arms about him but she was embarrassed that he had found her in such a state. Tuor wanted to comfort her. He took her hands in his and kissed her upon the forehead, the exact place that Maeglin had kissed her. Somehow, this comforted Idril a great deal. She became silent. Tears still flowed, but the sobs ceased. Her breathing returned to normal.
"So you have found Aredhel's tomb," she said softly.
"She was the King's sister and Prince Maeglin's mother?"
"Yes."
"If that statue looks remotely like her when she was alive, then she was lovely indeed," Tuor declared as he studied the likeness. "I have not yet been told how exactly she died. I have never heard a word uttered about Maeglin's father either. Does he still live? If he is dead, why is he not buried with his wife?"
"Because his bones are scattered amongst the rocks of the Caragdur," Idril answered. "He put Aredhel here and intended the same for his own son. He was truly a monster. It is said that he was Telerian and even distant kin to Thingol, but the little children here are being told that he had Orc blood in his veins. If only it was true, he would have some excuse. It might also explain other things."
She told him the tale of Aredhel and Eöl. Once she was through, Tuor was enlightened. He thought he understood why Maeglin was so bitter and why Idril was so silent and sad. It also made sense to him that she might be angry at her cousin. Perhaps she resented him for Aredhel's death. Idril guessed his thoughts and allowed him to believe it. She kept the darker secret to herself.
"So you come here by yourself often?"
"I do. It comforts me somehow, and it is the closest I will ever be to my aunt or my mother until they return in some new form."
"I came inside out of curiosity, knowing I would at least find something of beauty in here. I was not wrong. I found you."
Even though Tuor felt his words were awkward to say the least, they made Idril well with happiness and she squeezed his hand. She looked up into Aredhel's likeness and recalled her words that someday Idril would experience all the happiness of the world. Did she have a moment of foresight? Was it from Aredhel that she had received the gift of Sight only amplified? She had always wondered where her talent had come from. Her father seemed to lack any foresight at all, and she knew tragically little of her own mother. But Aredhel had accurately stated that she would not find happiness in marriage and that she would never bear a daughter. She had found little mirth in her life with the Dark Elf and she had only one son. She had said that she would never truly give her heart to any Elf. Though he broke her spirit and kept her prisoner most her life, Eöl had never succeeded to win her heart, and she had almost given it to Engner. Could it be the same would be true of her niece?
I do not imagine that any Elf will have me truly either, she thought to herself. But what of a Man?
Tuor and Idril sat in silence together, still clasping hands as Aredhel gazed silently down upon them. Tuor wanted to confess his love then and there, as did she, but the tomb was not the place, and someone would come looking for them soon. Idril was decided, but Tuor was still gripped with some doubt. He might ruin her if he pursued her.
They met again the next eve upon the battlements of Gondolin. Tuor had climbed them to gaze upon the city he had risked such peril to find and come to love so much. Idril had come seeking him. She stood beside him and said nothing. She was content to be in his presence. It soothed her. The day had begun with the sun shining and cloudless, but now a great cloud was rapidly approaching from the west to blanket the sky.
"You look troubled, Tuor," Idril said softly.
"I have little right to be."
"I would be the judge of that."
He turned to her and she was smiling. She looked beautiful when she was neutral or even frowning, but when she smiled she became luminous. The wind picked up and blew her golden hair about. They heard the cry of a sea bird. Tuor glanced at it, distracted for a moment. He found it strange that the gull had come so far inland.
"I cannot stop thinking about you," he said at last.
"Nor I you," she answered.
There was a roll of thunder that seemed deep as the voice of Ulmo. Rain began to fall, smelling suspiciously of salt. Tuor looked into Idril's eyes, gray as the colder waters of the Sea. His own green eyes, green as the warmer, shallow seas, were reflected in hers.
"I love you, Tuor," Idril confessed aloud and felt instant relief.
There was another roll of thunder and Tuor wondered if this was the sign he had been waiting for. Perhaps this was the real purpose behind Ulmo's sending him here. Did the Valar require him to couple with Turgon's daughter? Was his love for Idril simply another part of the Divine Music? He wanted to believe it but did not at the same time. It would finally give him the answers he sought, but he did not like to think that his feelings were merely a convenience for fate. In the end, did it even matter? It was no use denying them.
"I love you, Idril," he declared.
This time she did not hesitate. She flung her arms about him and he kissed her as the rain fell heavily about them. They were soon soaked but they did not care. They pressed against each other for warmth. They kissed until the storm passed by. It was gone as quickly as it had come. The sun penetrated through the clouds.
"You do know what this could mean for you, Princess?" he stopped her for a moment.
"Yes," she seemed resolved. "Do you know what it may mean for you?"
"I find it a little thrilling not knowing," Tuor grinned. "All that matters is that I know I want to be with you as long as I live, and that time is short."
"Then let us not waste time," she grinned back.
Tuor and Idril approached the King with some apprehension, but they clasped each other's hands for strength and resolve. They had decided to announce themselves to him privately and they were not entirely certain how he may react.
"Ah, my golden children," Turgon greeted them with a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Father..." Idril struggled.
"We have come to announce that we intend to get married. We ask for your blessing," Tuor said simply.
They braced themselves. Turgon was speechless for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and let out an unmistakable shout of joy. It startled the new couple. Then Turgon embraced them both.
"This is wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "We shall have a wedding such as never been seen before or shall be! We should hold it in the Great Market! There shall be music and dancing..."
He continued on and on with his plans. Tuor and Idril were pleasantly surprised. They had half-expected rage and rejection rather than joy and acceptance. But Tuor had already proven himself to Turgon simply by finding Gondolin. He was Ulmo's Messenger, and Turgon remembered the words Huor had spoken and understood them completely now.
"From you and from me, a new star shall rise."
Besides, Turgon knew he could do nothing to prevent such a coupling from occurring even if he tried. Thingol had done everything in his power to destroy Beren, his daughter's mortal lover. All his plotting merely backfired and he lost his daughter forever instead. Turgon sincerely loved Tuor, and so high was he in his favor that he would not deny him even the hand of his daughter. It was also the first time that when he looked into her eyes, they appeared hopeful and happy instead of aloof and sorrowful. He was grateful that Tuor had inspired that.
The King announced the wedding to the whole city, and the people were jubilant. Weddings were always a matter of import and celebration, but this was to be the wedding of Turgon's only child, their beautiful Princess Idril, to Tuor whom the people had quickly grown to love. They speculated already upon the children the couple might produce. It was rumored that Beren and Lúthien had a son of Three-fold race whom they had named Dior and made Thingol's heir. Half-Elves, it seemed, could choose their own fate. Would Idril's children choose to become heirs to Turgon? What would a Half-Elf look like? They considered it a matter of pride that soon they would be blessed with such a union and unique child. The mingling of Men and Elves would bring color and variety to the kingdom.
Maeglin could not believe the news at first. He had hoped he had threatened Idril enough that she would have stayed away from Tuor. It seemed he had only frightened her, sabotaged himself, and encouraged her more than ever to pursue Tuor. Now there was no chance in heaven or hell that Maeglin could win Idril. Tuor was mortal and would die, but Idril would live on and carry his memory long after he was dust if she had his children to cling to. Most maidens of the Eldar never sought another lover once their husband was dead or bonded with another in such a way. They did not love as mortals loved. They cherished instead their children and looked forward to the day that their mate was reincarnated. Idril had never been one to seek many lovers. She may decide to become mortal herself and age and die to follow Tuor beyond the Sundering Seas as Lúthien had chosen to do. Then she would really be lost forever. Maeglin was enraged, heartbroken, and jealous.
The marriage also threatened his own political power and relationship with the king. Idril may be Turgon's only child of his body, but she had otherwise been a weak candidate for the throne compared to Maeglin. She was female, and though her gender was not an obvious crutch, there had never been a single Queen that ruled solely on her own among the Eldar. Not even in Doriath. Melian the Maia was considered a powerful queen. She guarded the realm with her magic, had shared her wisdom with the people and especially to her husband. But she had married into the role, had never marched in war, and often advised her husband and allowed him to make the final decisions. He did not always listen. Idril had gone many years without involving herself too much politically or even socially at court. She had never expressed very much interest or ambitions about becoming Queen. On the contrary, she was reluctant and afraid to rule in her youth. She had never courted powerful Elf-lords that would prove valuable partners, domineering ones that would probably inevitably become the true power behind the crown, or even insipid minor lords to serve the purpose of a stud to produce heirs. It was not even known yet if Idril could bear heirs.
The Eldar often found it difficult to reproduce. They enjoyed bonding, but almost all of the Eldar were infertile. Most couples only had one child after centuries of hard work. On rare occasions, such as the case of Fëanor and Nerdanel, they might produce seven within a few decades. The usual rule was that the Elf maid was willing, eager, and her courses coincided with the act. Elf women produced a certain finite number of eggs that released when they willed it. The male also had to be willing and eager and produced less seed than human males. Because the chances were so low, they required much more discipline, timing, and care. Sometimes they were overcautious. They waited for the perfect mate, and then waited for long intervals of peace. They considered it careless to have children during times of warfare and crisis. 'Accidental' births almost never happened. Young Elf couples told themselves they had all the time in the world for children. Only royal families really required the assurance of children. They above all others were encouraged to have as many children as possible and to choose among them the most capable heir to the throne.
Maeglin's birth had been unnatural. Aredhel had not become a wife and mother wholly willingly. Eöl had seduced her aggressively with a dangerous mix of drugs and brute force. He used deceit to make her feel safe and to create a platonic bond. He used powerful drugs to make them both fertile and to confuse Aredhel's senses. He used force in the act itself and to keep her prisoner. The Eldar were ever uncomfortable about the subject and too ashamed to admit one of their own could engage in the twisted and tragic crime of rape. They simply explained in their history that Eöl had used 'enchantments' to seduce Aredhel. No more was ever written or discussed. Maeglin wished his father had taught him the secret of such drugs, especially the fertility drugs. It would have made Eöl wealthy indeed if he had made a potion of it and sold it. So many more children would be running through the streets. The Eldar would not have simply diminished in number and therefore weakened. He might have sold it to the Dwarves too but their problem was not infertility. They simply had too many sons and female births were rare. Eöl had guarded the secret jealously. He valued his secrets more than treasures, much like the Dwarves. There was no way he would ever aid the Noldor in anything and he felt betrayed even by his own kin.
Aredhel had come close to discovering the secret, Maeglin suspected, but never fully grasped it. Instead she managed to reverse the effects of whatever it was the Dark Elf inflicted upon her. She was a Huntress, not a healer or as obsessed with plants and herbs as Eöl was, but being a child of Nature she knew a good deal of herbology and made herself sterile. Over time, she could even resist his mind altering poisons too. Maeglin had no proof, but he always suspected that his father had given her small pinches of some mysterious drug to make her more docile. In the end, it was his psychological hold upon her that was far worse. If Aredhel had lived and wed Engner, the one she had truly loved, they would have never had their own children and she may have never fully recovered her old self. She was only a shadow of the strong, bold, confident maiden that once had been.
It was questionable whether or not Maeglin would ever have a family of his own either, which put him at a disadvantage now. Idril had recently become much more involved in politics thanks to Tuor's encouragement. She had quite a voice and was more popular among the small folk. If she produced a child, especially a male child, Maeglin was most likely doomed. He had no children. He had no wife. He had even stopped courting maids. He was liked well enough by the mob, but he was becoming less popular. He had as many enemies at court as he had allies.
The wedding took place upon the eve of spring. It was remembered as a day of great joy to the Golodrim and also to Idril and Tuor. As Turgon had insisted it was held at the Temple of the Gods with lavish ceremony at dusk with a rowdy feast in the great market that night. The ceremony was smooth and solemn. The Golodrim sang hymns as Turgon presented his daughter to her groom. They clasped hands and exchanged vows. As the people sang softly and Turgon made a speech and asked for blessings, Tuor and Idril had eyes only for each other. They smiled and when they were pronounced, they exchanged a long, lingering kiss to the delight of the crowd. The Market was lit with hanging lamps. Every minstrel played as the Golodrim laughed and clapped and danced in circles, rows, and pairs. Each stall was filled with delicious food and wine instead of water filled the fountains for the occasion. One long table was placed in the center for the bride, groom, and most of the royal household.
There were many toasts, japes, tears, demands, gifts, and congratulations. Turgon was the most boisterous of them all and beamed with pride. Engner was as proud as though Idril were his own daughter. Voronwë clapped Tuor upon the back. Everyone was in good spirits save for one person. Maeglin was carrying on badly. He drank more than anyone else. Though he toasted to the bride and groom, his tone was mocking and he did not swallow. When no one was glancing he spit it out. He made cruel jests about Tuor's manhood and what was expected of him in the bedroom. He aimed similar jokes at Idril, pointing out and complimenting the curves of her body. Most laughed and excused him because he was drunk. But there were other drunkards and even some of the most seasoned lost their heads a little. Maeglin had held his liquor well in the past. His own men were embarrassed and apologized for him. Maeglin did not even want to be there, but it would have been highly suspicious if he was the only citizen of Gondolin who was not at the wedding. His hatred and jealousy threatened to explode at any time. His japes became more venomous and tasteless. Engner was watching him carefully.
"A kiss!" someone shouted. "Let us see a kiss!"
"Kiss! Kiss!" soon the entire crowd took up the cry.
Idril blushed and covered her face. Tuor took her hand, his eyes twinkling eagerly.
"Shall we give them what they want?"
"What they want or what you want?" she grinned.
There was a roar of laughter and the couple complied and kissed passionately. There were cheers but the crowd was not satisfied. They wanted to see them dance now. Maeglin could stand no more. He wanted to vomit. He excused himself and apologized to Turgon who simply nodded in response. Everyone could see that he was way too drunk and was doing right by all accounts. No one really noted the Prince as his Moles escorted him away, not even Idril. For now, his shadow was not over her. She was with Tuor, and to him, the warning of Ulmo seemed faint and far off.