Hi guys!

So... here's the next chapter.

Let's remember that Lord Duilin suffered a great tragedy, now it's time to see the end of it. If it's for good or for bad.

I want to thank Celridel for her immense help as a beta and friend. As well as I want to thank the reviews of d'elfe which are very deep, as well as the ones of tobiramamara.

And now... let's go!

Chapter 38: The Swallow and the Dove

(Súlimë {March}, The Stirring)

The wind was keen, but with an underlying warmth that promised a proximate spring. Duilin stood on the northerly wall, his blue eyes vague as he looked for old memories.

He stood on that wall each night, watching the moon rise in its house of silver silence, listening to the wind. It's the sound that truly matters, Elyéta had told him, but he knew now that the sound that truly mattered to him was the sound of her voice. He had lost that. When he saw her in the palace, she passed by him without a sideways glance, an aura of icy indifference freezing his heart.

He wondered whether she had made peace with her brother. According to Ecthelion, Linwë had given up music entirely after the incident.

Duilin still recalled the bitter crash the lyre had made when he smashed it.

For a long time, he had pinned all the blame on Linwë. But after a while, anger gave way to reflection and he accepted that he was guilty as well. He had lost the only woman he could ever love because of his pride, and he was not angry anymore, only miserable. As much as he tried to forget her, he could not help climbing the wall each night, remembering when his beloved artist had rescued him from the storm in his heart.

"Who's there?" he called without turning around.

"It is I, my Lord," said a polite voice. Duilin felt the cold, hollow feeling in his heart lift, to be replaced by the first sparks of reborn anger.

"What are you doing here, Linwë?" he snapped, turning to stare at the Elf. Linwë was a little taller than the Elf-Lord, but suddenly Duilin seemed very large and very fearsome.

"I came up to take in the night air," Linwë replied. "I did not know anyone else was here. And since I see my presence irritates you, I will leave."

Duilin paused for a minute, taking in the sight before him. Linwë's voice was tired and consigned, and he seemed to have aged. His silver eyes were tarnished by a deep sadness, and something deep in Lord Duilin forced him to say, "If you wish to stay, Linwë, you are welcome."

Linwë looked at him quickly, as if him expecting a jape, but Duilin's face was as solemn as a gravestone.

For a long time, both Ellyn watched the Northern horizon without speaking. Duilin had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed stonily on the Encircling Mountains. Linwë stood with his hands folded behind his back, his eyes searching the skies. The sidereal clock of the stars revolved above them, counting an astral time that they could not comprehend.

"What brought you here, Linwë?" Duilin asked at last. "Gondolin has many walls; why did you come to me?"

"I need to speak with you," Linwë said, and Duilin shook his head. It was years too late for that.

Linwë continued, still looking at the sky. "It is our fault Elyéta is suffering. I want to know if you will put aside our past, so we can help her."

"We? Who is to blame for this?" Duilin demanded savagely. "One of Elyéta's hairs is more precious to me than Válinor! It was you who tricked me-you who hurt her because of your damned jealousy!"

Linwë swallowed, struggling to brace himself as sobs gathered in his chest, trying to choke him. "I-I did not know-"

"Well now you do," Duilin said, "And now I have lost her forever." He stopped then, not trusting his voice to continue.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps you should speak to her. Maybe she would relent," Linwë said falteringly, with no real belief in his voice.

"Does she speak to you?" Duilin asked.

Linwë shook his head. They lived in the same house, but as strangers now instead of siblings.

Duilin smiled thinly, shaking his head. "If she will not talk to you, what makes you think she will talk to me?"

"I'm sorry," Linwë said suddenly, staring doggedly at the sky.

"No," Duilin answered, putting a hand on Linwë's shoulder. "It is I who has to apologize. What I did that day...there was nothing noble about it. I hope that there can be peace between us."

He felt the younger Elf stiffen with surprise and sensed he was about to speak. Before Linwë could open his mouth, Duilin continued, taking away his hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "I fulfilled a duty I had towards Elyéta. Now please leave me alone."

There was a short, taut silence, then Linwë bowed and went down the wall. Duilin did not move, only stood and the eyes of the stars marked the tears that trickled down his cheeks.

The next afternoon was mild and wet, filled with misting rain and the earthy smell of new growth. Gondolin was in the white goblin spring of snowdrops and melting snow, but the warm wind promised more.

Duilin was walking quickly through the palace gardens, taking a shortcut towards his House's barracks. He felt enervated and hoped by the West that his second-in-command had kept everything in good order.

It was a long time before a familiar voice permeated his fatigued mind. It was Ardyl, Elyéta's bird, a cheerful, bright-eyed creature, with soft blue-and-black checkered feathers.

Duilin held out his hand, "Well met, little friend," he said, and Ardyl alighted willingly on his hand, still warbling.

"Ardyl!" a voice called and Duilin's heart leaped into his throat, choking him.

"Ardyl!" Elyéta called again, coming around the kugel fountain with a paintbrush in her hand. "Ardyl, where did you go..." She saw him, and her voice was wrestled into silence. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again without making a sound.

A rainy, bird-twittered silence enclosed them. The sphere turned over and over in the kugel fountain, kept aloft by a thin film of water.

Finally, Elyéta said, "My lord," with iciness that wicked all the warmth away from his heart.

"Elyéta," he replied. "I am sorry that I disturbed you." He held out his arm, hoping that Ardyl would return his mistress, but the bird perched quietly on his finger.

"Don't apologize," she said. "You can go where you want," The cold was radiating from her, frozen lace on his skin. "May I have my bird back, please?"

Duilin nodded mutely and approached her. She picked up Ardyl with small hands, careful not to touch his skin, and then turned, her hair an ebony cascade down her back.

"Elyéta," he said again, pleadingly. She stood still, not turning, but not walking away either. "Elyéta," he repeated as if her name was a spell that would make her face him. It did not. She stood statue-still, her head held high. "Please. I know it is too late to...mend what we had, but please forgive me. I'm not asking for you to give your love back. All I want is for you to forgive me."

Elyéta turned to him, her paintbrush in her left hand, holding Ardyl in her right. "If I say I forgive you, will you let me be, Lord Duilin?"

Duilin understood from her frozen eyes she meant every word. "I will let you alone, Elyéta. You don't have to forgive me; that's your choice. But please let me tell you one more thing."

She made a moue of distaste but did not walk away.

Duilin had never thought much of love, but when he did, he imagined confessing it at summer twilight, hearts blooming like flowers. But he stood in the rain and the mud on a March afternoon, and his own love was looking at him with cool toleration.

"I love you," he said simply. "I was going to offer you my fëa that day. That is all."

He watched the paintbrush slip from her fingers and fall on the ground. Her face seemed to crumble in itself, and her hands clutched to her chest as she dangled between realization and reaction. Then they flew to her face and she began to weep like a broken-hearted child.

Ardyl launched himself into the grey sky as Duilin carefully gathered Elyéta in his arms, holding her gently.

"I love you too," she whispered into his chest. "I love you so much. I always have."

In that embrace, the world stopped on its axis. There was no wind, no rain, no time. They danced on the ballroom floor of eternity, and eternity was bright and beautiful. No words were spoken because words were not needed anymore. Love is not a langue that can be spoken out loud. It is heard in the heart, and they heard love like the sky loves the birds, with open hands and infinite freedom.

He kissed her soft hair, and she lifted her face to him. He took her by the shoulders, hesitated an instant, and then kissed her lips, as rain danced around them.

At last, they broke apart, looking at each other, wondering what to do next.

"I assume now would be a good time to ask if you would accept my courtship?" Duilin said.

Elyéta giggled, "Of course I will,"

He smiled at her again. "I love you, my dove,"

"Dove?"

"Your eyes," he explained. "They are like dove feathers, like birds flying on sunlit days,"

"I didn't know you were a poet," she laughed.

Duilin smiled, took her face in both hands, and kissed her again.

A shadow turned away from a nearby balcony. Ardyl perched on its hand, for once silence.

"It seems the House of the Swallow will have a Lady soon," it said softly, "Come, my friend, let us get you a drink,"

And having said that, it entered the palace again, carrying Ardyl in its hands, who chirped as if he agreed with what that shadow said.

Seems that in the end things didn't finish so bad for the quick tempered Elf-lord. A very good luck he had!

Waiting for your reviews, guys, they're utmost important!