Hi again world!
Here's the next chapter. I want to thanks firstly to Celridel for her immense help as well as to thanks to the readers, especially the once that had left a review. Thanks for your reviews animal56. They're very helpful in all terms.
And now... let's see what happens.
Oh! By the way, here I must warn that will be a scene of self-harming... just in case.
Chapter 12: Changes
The glade of young beech stood in the sunlight of the Stirring, the buds swollen tight on every branch promising beauty forthwith. Hiding their roots, golden ranks of daffodils massed together, the golden trumpet of spring.
"How is this even thinkable! How!"
Turgon's voice cut like a knife through the silence of the gardens, sharp as steel but hot with rage.
Upon the terrace above the beech copse stood Glorfindel, Chieftain of the Golden Flower, his back straight, but his head lowered, his mien that of a scolded child, in stark contradiction to his wonted proud bearing. His golden hair was disheveled, a sure sign he had fought, and his eyes sparkled with fury, although repressed shame lurked in their depths. His sword-hand clutched the hilt of Culumaica. He would never attack his King, even if his life was at stake, but the touch of the hilt calmed him.
In front of him paced the High-King, his gray eyes the hue of a raging sea. Glorfindel had never seen him so angered.
"How is it even thinkable that an Elf-Lord would do such a thing? By Ulmo! I never believed a Lord of the Council would do such an unseemly thing!"
He stopped in front of Glorfindel, who had his eyes fixed on the marble floor of the terrace.
"How can I trust your judgment, Lord Glorfindel? Tell me! How can I trust your decisions when you act like a feckless child?!"
Glorfindel clenched his teeth, but the King's rebuke was a well-aimed shaft. He had not acted wisely; this punishment was earned.
The relationship between Hwa-Yong and him had only grown worse. Not content with insulting him, she had urged him to banter words with her, until there had been times his own soldiers looked at him in surprise, for Hwa-Young knew very well how to make him look a fool. Many times, Ecthelion had forced him away from the house, for Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to get the whip-hand over her.
There was nothing dignified about the act, but Glorfindel no longer cared. He detested the woman and regretted constantly regretted that he had not declared in favor of taking her beyond the Echoriath. His life would be far less bitter.
"Since it seems that you do not know how to fulfill your duties with the dignity of an Elven Lord, and one of your lineage, I will relieve you of such responsibilities," said Turgon after a long silence. "You and your house will go to the Gates, and guard them without rest. And thank Lord Ecthelion, Glorfindel, that your lordship is not taken from you. I was tempted, but Lord Ecthelion vindicated you from the disgrace, and I believe likewise that it is because of your youth you did it."
There was another silence, but before Turgon dismissed Glorfindel, the half-Vanya said in a halting voice, trying to check his fury. "Then, you know what happened."
"Lord Ecthelion told me all," answered Turgon, his voice calmer but no less cold. "I am aware that Hwa-Young has been troubling you these months, but that does not justify your deeds. You grappled with Lord Ecthelion and drew your sword against a defenseless mortal. Peradventure the women of North Korea may recover from any wound, but if you had injured Ecthelion, what then? Now go, and comply, and remember that such a thing will not happen again."
Glorfindel bowed and went from the palace. Curse the woman! She would stay here for the rest of her days now, and he would have to suffer in silence for over a century.
Turgon stood looking over the garden after Glorfindel left. The air was cold and sharp. A sparrow chipped its song. Snow still covered most of Gondolin, but the sparrow heralded the awakening from winter's lethargy and the sudden glory that Tàri-Laisi and Kementarì would bestow upon Beleriand. The still air and the gentle Sun calmed his spirit for the moment.
A guard of the Fountains broke into his thoughts. "My Lord, shall I bring the prisoner?"
"Bring her to the audience-chamber," he answered, a frown creasing his brows for a short moment. He was unused to dealing with mortals, and although Hwa-Young had none of the Quendi's abilities in her favor, her tongue as sharp as a two-edged sword. He entered the palace and waited in the audience-chamber.
In a short time, he heard footsteps. Veryandil entered the room, Lord Ecthelion's second-in-command, and in command of the House while Ecthelion healed.
Two guards entered the room behind him, Laura between them.
Turgon considered the woman for a long minute, his wisdom advising him to know in what disposition she was in before he addressed the matter.
"Do you know what happened because of you?"
"Yes," she replied, her green eyes enigmatic.
"And you care nothing for it?"
She shrugged. "It's not my fault. Blondie does not know how to control his anger-"
"Lord Glorfindel!" The King interrupted furiously. "That is his name and by such he shall be called. You know well that the epithet provokes him."
"And you know perfectly well why I gave it to him, Your Majesty!" Laura exclaimed. "Who was the one who started it, huh? Who?"
Her tone was one of veiled insolence. Turgon's voice was low, and there was a dangerous gleam in his silvery eyes.
"Certainly, Glorfindel was to blame. But he behaved like that because he fears for our City and our people. You do not know what lies beyond the Echoriath! There reign Death and Darkness!"
"That's not my problem."
"No," Turgon answered, his voice heavy with biting sarcasm. "No, it is not. All that concerns you is your wellbeing. As such, you should understand that it was Lord Glorfindel who argued for you to be given a house where you might live worthily, instead of being placed in a dungeon. This is how you repay your benefactor?"
Laura's face showed surprise. She opened her mouth, but Turgon continued.
"I see you do not know, even when part of the reason for your hostility was that he advocated against you. Nothing is further from the truth. It is curious, Hwa-Young, that you should treat those who spoke against you with indifference, but the one who chose to aid you, you are a thorn in his boot."
"That doesn't extenuate him from the fact he has always treated me as an inferior, with disdain!" said Laura indignantly.
"Disdain, Hwa-Young? You disdain those who do not give you what you wish, those who do not adore you. But if they protect and provide for you, and praise you, those are kind people. It does not surprise me then, that you treat the Lords unkindly, even those who have tried to earn your goodwill, like Ecthelion. He is now in the Healing House because of that, and if he was not a seasoned warrior, he would be severely injured."
Laura narrowed her eyes. She remembered the circumstances with perfect clarity. When Ecthelion had tried to prevent them, he had received a blow, that, if it were not for the instinctive jump he had taken backward, would have pierced his ribs. That had forced him to finally tell the King of the situation between her and Glorfindel, after which he had gone to Healers.
"It's his fault," she answered. "No one asked him to get involved. He just wanted to play the hero."
The king looked at Laura and smiled coldly.
"Play the hero, Hwa-Young? You know little enough about heroes. Your family were heroes because they were generous, but how will interest you, Hwa Young, if the only one you care about is you. Hero? How dare you use that word if you do not even know its meaning. You will never know."
Laura had blanched, although her features were still inscrutable. She swallowed several times.
"I do not enjoy mentioning your family," Turgon continued, believing her family was the reason she had turned pale. "No, your family is not the cause. You are the cause, Hwa Young. You have been given everything, but even if you had the Silmarilli, you would not be satisfied. You are selfish, and no matter how many skills you have-all the children of Men have skills-you will always remain selfish and insolent. For all the years of your life, you will be miserable, and you will never know true friends, those who will aid you when you need it because you do not deserve it, Hwa Young. You do not deserve it and you will not deserve it."
Her fists clenched fiercely, restraining her claws. Although her eyes held his, and her breathing was slow, the sudden rush of pain had torn her. Turgon could not read what she felt, but he was sure that his harsh words had been enough to silence the woman.
"You will not leave your house." he continued, after a long silence. "Not until you have learned to silence your forked tongue and mend your churlish ways. When you possess some measure of courtesy, then shall your freedoms be granted to you. Take her away, Veryandil."
Once he was left alone, Turgon went into the gardens, and laved his head in the chilly water of a fountain, then rested his forehead on the marble rim, rimed with verglas. It had been a long time since he had been so angered.
The guards left Laura at the cottage in silence. No one would address her until the King ordered otherwise.
When they were gone, she entered her boudoir and watched the guards leave, then drew out her adamantium claws.
She looked at them for a moment, seeing how their razor-sharp edges glinted in the afternoon light and then began to lacerate her chest and arms deeply, for over an hour. Clean deep cuts to take away her pain, as if causing physical hurt would diminish the agony in her heart and mind.
Finally, she dropped into a corner and retracted her claws, hugging her knees to her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the cornice in the ceiling, her face impassive even as she inwardly writhed with anger and pain.
The words of Turgon had hurt her more than any torture that had ever tested her at the Facility. Although Laura had learned to remain mute at times like this, this was the worst pain she had ever known.
For a brief second, she had intended to leap on the King and kill or harm him. But Turgon had Glamdring in his belt, and there were guards near. Thanks to her intense training, she kept her head until she was alone, and then inflicted as much pain as she could on herself...because she deserved it.
The King, the X-Men, and the Facility were all right: she could never do any good, she would never do anything other than what she had been trained for, she would always be selfish and cruel and ruthless.
'You have been trained for this, X-23. To kill, destroy, to do the dirty job that others do not dare to do out of fear. But you, you do not even blink at this ... you are and always will be the killing-machine that you were designed to be from before you were born.' The words of the Director of the Facility rang in her ears, the images of the family he had forced her to kill flashed in whirling pictures before her eyes.
'I do not know how the Professor has so much confidence in her.' Scott's voice resounded, too loud to be a memory, too far-away to be a reality. 'She was created to kill from birth. She has never known or will know what it is to be generous, what it is to use the skills we have thanks to the X Gene, to save lives. She snatches them, does not save them. She always has and always will. That is her nature.'
She had wanted to torture the X-Man bastard when she overheard him saying that about her, kill him little by little, but that would have meant agreeing with him, what he said about her. For several years, she had been trying with all her will to change. But every time she tried, everything went wrong, terribly wrong.
Her narrow lips trembled, wanting to voice the despair she felt. But, it would be of no use. She would never be good, no matter how much she screamed and railed at Fate. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be a real woman, she would never be like Pinocchio. Even that wooden puppet was luckier than her. He had managed to become a real flesh and blood boy. She, X-23 ... would never be, even if there were fairy godmothers.
Six Months Later
The green grass was tall in the great Vale of Tumladen, for it was Lairë, the month of Úrimë. The fruit trees were heavy laden, and their sweet, sun-rich fragrance was borne back from Gondolin by a west wind.
"And how does Glorfindel fare?" asked Galdor while dismounting from his bay stallion and patting his neck. The horse snorted and sniffed the hair of his master.
"In a far better mood," Ecthelion replied. Larcatál, his gray mare, grazed near them. "Tomorrow his punishment ends, but Glorfindel is of a cheerful nature, and his anger, although great, did not last as long as his punishment."
Duilin caught a white feather one of the Mánir had stolen from his braids.
"In that, he shows a clear head for his youth." he intervened, returning the feather to his tawny hair. "Unlike Hwa Young."
Galdor smiled at Duilin, for the Swallow was not much born much earlier than Glorfindel himself.
They had ridden out about a mile from Gondolin, across the grasses which waved above many pools and silver streams. The mystery of the Orcor was answered to their satisfaction and Thorondor and his Great Eagles had redoubled their vigilance. Once again, the Elven-lords of the Eleven Houses could rest easy.
"What about Hwa-Young?" Asked Ecthelion, with a faint frown. "Has she done anything against you?"
"No," Duilin replied, holding out his hand as the grass billowed and rolled. "In truth, she seems another."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Galdor said.
"Yes. She has scarcely spoken a word in all these months. If we do not talk to her, she does not speak to us. And if we wish her a good day, she only echoes our words or answers with a nod."
Ecthelion impatiently pulled strands of black hair from his face. "Duilin, advise your friends among the Mánir to quit their play."
Duilin looked towards the Lord of the Fountains, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "They do not heed me, my friend. See if you can daunt them with the promise of your wrath."
Ecthelion sighed and halted to braid his hair again.
"I wonder what King Turgon tell her. To silence Hwa-Young seemed an almost impossible feat." wondered Duilin as they waited. "With the exception of Maeglin. They never bickered-"
Galdor and Ecthelion looked at him, and Duilin hastened to explain. "The two were-if not friendly- on a peaceful footing,"
Ecthelion frowned in thought. Maeglin was scathing, mordant and distant. He preferred the company of his forge, rather than those of his fellow Lords. It seemed strange that the firíma would be well-disposed towards him.
"Mayhap it is because of the likeness between her life and his," suggested Galdor.
Duilin snorted. "And in matters of attire."
"Whatever the reasons, it is good tidings that he has begun to befriend the woman," Ecthelion intervened, folding his arms. 'At least he speaks to someone other than the Princess,' he thought. He did not relish how Maeglin dogged the Flower of Gondolin.
"Maybe," Galdor agreed. "When shall the King allow her to leave her house?"
"Perhaps when Glorfindel and she can have a pleasant talk," replied Ecthelion.
Duilin raised his eyebrows.
"Then she shall never leave her house again." He said
Galdor answered thoughtfully.
"Who knows? My guards have told me that Lord Maeglin advised Hwa-Young to be kinder, although perhaps he does not follow his own wise advice."
"He is not the friendliest in all Gondolin," Duilin agreed.
"But he certainly would not be so taciturn if he were not treated so coolly," replied Galdor, glancing meaningfully at Duilin.
Duilin looked at towards the sky with deprecation. It was true, he was not the kindest with the king's sister-son, but rare indeed was the Elf who truly tried to befriend Maeglin, and even rarer was an inhabitant of Gondolin who saw him without scorn or suspicion. "The only one he accepts is Princess Idril," he said defensively.
"She is his kinswoman," said Galdor. "Of course, he accepts her."
Duilin looked at him with disbelief.
"Are you so callow? Surely you see that it is not because Idril is his ettaressë that he searches for her. There have been times when the Princess fled to me, so he would leave her in peace!"
Galdor frowned. Yes, there were certainly times when the Celebrindal spurned or strove to escape her ettaréro.
"What do you think, Ecthelion?" he asked the older and wise Lord, who had remained silent.
"What I think, my friends, that is something that we do not have the leisure to speak of, since I must return to my post. At the moment, the circumstances between Hwa-Young and Glorfindel are more worrisome to me." He answered
A night breeze danced through the whispering leaves. Pale flowers blossomed like moons at midnight, twining around Hwa-young's cottage. Lilac's sweet, mauve scent was fine, heady wine, and the song of the nightingales echoed in the silence, breathing sweetness.
High above those flowers, the true Moon shone full and splendid, for Úrimë was ending and the time of Yávië beginning. Thousands of stars shone: the Sickle of the Gods gleamed in the North. The path to the cottage was surrounded by bushes that flowered white and gold, and under this blossoming archway, two Elf-Lords stood,
"Glorfindel, keep your calm," Ecthelion admonished in a whisper. "She was punished as well. This is not disgraceful, it is truce-making."
His young friend nodded. Ecthelion approached the door, and knocked thrice, firmly on the wooden door. After a moment, he called her name softly.
There was a long quiet, in which they believed she was sleeping. Then they saw her shadow leaning over the roof, over a mass of flowering vines. She watched them, waiting.
"Hwa-Young, pardon our intrusion. We must speak to you, will you come down?" said politely Lord Ecthelion
The woman stared at him and then disappeared, appearing a minute later at the door. Seeing who accompanied the Noldo, her green eyes turned hostile, but she remained silent.
Glorfindel stepped forward, his voice stiff and awkward.
"I came to make peace with you, Hwa-Young. Under this agreement, I will never call you firíma, and I ask that you will never call me Blondie. I hope we can maintain a courteous relationship, if both of us follow the terms."
Laura did not answer, her eyes seeming to weigh the situation, her face blank. Finally, she nodded. "Good evening," she said and closed the door.
The two Elves looked at each other in surprise and passed again under the flower archway.
"I thought it would be more ... difficult," said Glorfindel.
"She has changed."
"Changed? She is wholly another! "
"Would you prefer the prior Hwa-Young?" Ecthelion asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I would rather face a company of Orcor unarmed!"
Ecthelion chuckled.
"Very well. I suppose you will have no impediment in resuming your duties here."
Glorfindel snorted.
"No, as long as she-" He broke off suddenly, a slight frown creasing his brow.
Ecthelion looked at his friend in surprise. "Glorfindel?"
The half-Vanya shook his head, relaxing his shoulders. "No, it was nothing."
Ecthelion listened attentively. Only the soft whisper of the wind was heard.
"What did you hear?"
"Nothing," the younger Elf answered stubbornly. "It was only the wind in the branches, or perhaps an owl."
"Mayhap we should return…"
"No. There are guards there."
Ecthelion looked at him with a frown but said nothing more. They parted ways on the Road of Arches, but no sooner did his friend disappear, Glorfindel dashed back to the cottage.
He motioned for the guards to remain silent and approached the oak.
The leaves rustled as he climbed cautiously through its boughs, and when he was level with the roof, he raised his head.
The moonlight shone on the young woman's face, and he saw it clearly. She was singing softly, singing the same song she had sung in the Healing Houses, but this time her arms were in a position as if she was playing a foreign instrument he could not see.
The first time he saw her sing, her face had shown endless loneliness, but also girlish enjoyment, but now her face was blank. But Glorfindel knew there was something behind the mask. The emotionless expression she showed before was different from the one she wore now. It was an expression that blazoned itself on his heart. The words of the song he now heard left as if written in fire upon his mind.
So... for the first time had passed the unthinkable: an Elf-lord scolded and punished (and not any Elf-lord). And now there's something that can really hurt Laura.
Waiting your reviews, guys!