The day had waned by the time he was returning from the smithy. Maeglin had spent nigh two weeks in Anghabar before the king sent back for him. The elf pondered as he approached the King's house in haste, whether this urgency was in regards to the decision on the union. But then it must be. His steps were light and bore a lively sprint as the elf greeted the guards before he entered through the gates. The shimmering tower stood majestic in its looming beauty, bathed in the light of dusk as it was. An image he had seen so many times before now, and yet still took his breath away. Much like many things in Gondolin, he thought wryly.

When Maeglin reached the king's private study the sentries opened the doors for him, and there he saw Turgon standing by the window in much the same position the prince had last seen him. Hands clasped behind his back, his tunic of dark blue draped over with robes of white down to his heels. His coronet of garnets lay abandoned on the elegant marble table without.

"Your majesty," Maeglin entered.

Turgon turned and looked to the younger elf. "Maeglin. Join me," he motioned to a chair as the king went and took his own seat. "I suppose you know why I have summoned you."

"I have an assumption, my king," his sister-son said.

"Regarding this assault against Angband. Lord Maedhros shall wait no longer, and I have yet to send a reply. It would reach him too late as the host will already have started towards Dorthonion."

Maeglin locked eyes with the bright ones of the king. "You mean to follow them."

Turgon nodded imperceptibly. "The need will be dire. I will need a speedy effort to increase the numbers of arms and armor. I would ask you to oversee this, and preparations are to begin as of now."

Maeglin agreed, already thinking of the many uses he could put the galvorn to.

"I will deal with the mustering of men."

That caused the young elf to furrow his brow. "Speaking of such-"

"You do not wish to stay behind, I know this. I remember. Maeglin, I wish you would reconsider. Of my kin, you are the last surviving part of my own sister. I would have no harm come to you, and neither would Idril."

The elf nearly flinched at the sound of her name. Barring the thoughts it brought, he pursued. "Please, uncle. I wish, nay, I must be a part of this. I have never seen nor been on the battlefield, true, but if all must contribute to this cause and I know the need is dire, I will not have my place forfeit."

"You already contribute much through your mine and smithies."

"Idril...," he spoke swiftly, "my cousin may rule just as well in your stead, can she not?"

Turgon shook his head. "You know that is not the heart of the matter. I could command you to stay. But I find I cannot compel you. If this is your wish, so be it."

"Gratitude, king Turgon," the younger elf spoke, and there was clear relief on his face.

Once they finished covering details of what needed be done Maeglin headed to prepare for the work at hand. All would need to be summoned and work longer hours to achieve the supplement required for a contingency of ten thousand strong. And so Gondolin prepared and set to great haste, for war. In his tower Turgon sat many a time, pondering his decision, and whether the secrecy he had long sought to protect would come unscathed from all of this.

Idril was restless. The day came for the host of Gondolindrim to begin their march towards a battle none would ever forget. She felt it within, a fell shadow and there was a lingering feeling in her chest that this would end ill. She had done her part, of course. Helping oversee the making of the many personal items needed by the soldiers, then handling the food rations and horses were only a few of the responsibilities she had led to completion. But the maid had one more task to see to.

With quick steps she followed through the white corridors, hoping to find her cousin. When her search in the armory and palace surroundings proved fruitless, as all were busy and shifting to and fro, she decided for his chambers. When the maid reached his door she noticed it was left ajar. Squaring her shoulders, she called his name and entered.

Maeglin was seated on a divan, cleaning his black blade now placed horizontally over his lap. It reminded Idril of their first encounter after his arrival to the city. He had looked so different then. More lost, less determined.

When the raven haired elf heard her voice then felt her unexpected presence, he looked upward and stilled his movements. His face took an expectant hue. "Idril?..." he spoke warily. "...What brings you here?"

The maid felt somewhat irked by his surprise. Surely he would have said his goodbyes? "I wanted to see you, before you went through the gate," she spoke in a level voice. She looked her cousin over as he rose and reached for his scabbard. He wore a black breastplate over a long thick black tunic threaded with grey which reached to his knees. She saw black vambraces of the same material. A helm rested on a table. His long raven black hair was set in great plaits braided with silver on either side of his head, falling freely over his back. He would make quite a sight among the bright armored kin of Gondolindrim and their mithril sheen.

Maeglin spoke without looking at her as he placed Anguirel in its scabbard and cinched it to his belt. "Now you have. There is much yet to do before departure. Idril, I have no moment to spare."

Her anguish and pique only lengthened at his words. Why did he insist on this divide? Unable to rein what had been rendering her days gloomy and nights sleepless, Idril tightened her hands into fists and spoke. "Maeglin. Will you tell me why it cannot be as before between us? You barely utter a word to me anymore, you make yourself scarce when I am present no matter the circumstance," the maid said bitingly, wanting him to know the full extent of her distress. "Did you think I had not noticed?" she added bitterly. And now the one who had come to mean so much to her would leave for war of all things, and fate knew if she would ever see him alive again.

Maeglin heard, felt the bitterness lacing her words, for it was his own. He had not wanted to see her before they left. It made it all the harder to face. She could not see it, but he was merely protecting the remnants of his honor and sanity; and so he steeled his heart.

When he stood silent Idril tried asking aught else. "Are you not afraid?"

Maeglin turned from her and went to the window. "Of course I am afraid," he nearly whispered and closed his eyes. "But that matters not."

Drawn by she knew not what, Idril closed the distance between them until she stood just behind her cousin. Why was he behaving this way? She would have him tell her even if they stood here all night. Reaching for him she placed a hand to his back, saw him flinch and draw away. It hurt, in a way she never thought possible.

"What have I done to upset you so?" Idril asked so softly it nearly cracked his facade.

"Idril please," the elf sighed heavily, both hands now propped against the window frame, his head bowed. He had to escape this somehow. "You have done no wrong."

"Then why do you inflict this punishment on me?" came the defiant query.

Will she not relent? He shook his head wearily. "It is no punishment-"

"-I miss you," Idril tried finally. And she did, terribly. They had come to be so close, and his distance and sudden animosity had affected the maid more than she could say. It was strange to think that once she had been the one shunning him.

Her words sliced through his composure, now perilously close to breaking. Maeglin shielded his eyes with his hand. How he longed for a time when all was simple and unmarred between them. Now, he was heading into combat, unsure of the outcome, the future uncertain, and might well and truly never see her again. Yet If I perish, I would finally be free of this. In a way, he wished it.

"Will you at least face me when we speak?" Idril insisted, her voice close to pleading.

This was killing him. He took a deep breath to still his wayward senses, barring his whole being, his desperate fëa from calling to her. "Leave!" he hissed so harshly the maid startled. As he threw the word the elf heard a sharp sigh and a pained sob.

Nay, he would be the one to leave. Before-

Idril caught hold of his arm just as he was storming by her-

And that was all it took. All restraint broken, that same familiar darkness engulfed his mind completely. Maeglin whirled around and reached for her.

For one short moment Idril saw his eyes as never before. Burning with aught terrifying, the nature of which she had never seen on him.

Then a vice grip pressed her to him, strong fingers were gripping her chin, and before her wits returned the maid felt lips burning hers.

The first and last time he would do so. He was met with the slick warmth of her mouth, and it was better than all his hopeless guilty dreams; where he touched her and she was his, and she always pleaded for more. He swiftly ran his tongue over her lower lip, tasting feverishly. It lasted but for a blissful span of time before her body went taut and rigid in his hold.

Eyes wide and with a horrified expression on her face Idril drew back severing the kiss, and forcefully struck him across the face.

The moment had ended but still embraced they stood; he with his face averted, panting and with the sting of her palm flaming on his cheek, and Idril regarding him with the most terrified look in her bright eyes. It spoke of fear, betrayal and confusion. She then remembered herself enough to pull away and all but fled sparing no glance back, her hand to her mouth.

Stunned and defeated Maeglin turned slowly and rested his forehead against the cold window glass. What had he thought would happen? Nothing. He thought nothing. But now she knew, and if nothing else, probably would understand what he had done and why.

Repeatedly the elf halfheartedly beat his fist against the wall and for the first time since the loss of his parents, felt the sting of warm tears in his eyes. He may have been mourning the friendship his actions had just broken, the connection severed. The mark her hand left still burned, imprinted onto his pale skin. Maeglin sharply turned from the window and retrieved his helm, and with that his steps took him to the King's Square where Turgon and his host awaited.