Hi people around the world!

A couple of chapters ago, a new plot started between an elf-maid and the Lord of the Swallow: Lord Duilin. In this chapter this new plot will continue developing as well another one which is canonical.

I want to thank Celridel for her immense help in the editions.

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

Chapter 19: Two Forms of Love

(Elenya, Day of the Stars. Úrimë {August}, Summer, First Age 463)

Elyéta's POV

'I cannot stop thinking of the awful collision I had with Lord Duilin, and every time I remember it, I feel even more distressed. What was I thinking? Why would I even consider plucking flowers in the thick of a bustling street?

How I wish I had never stopped. What is more, I preferred I had never gone there and had taken a different direction. But no! I had must needs take the path to the Lesser Market to pick a flower. Fortunately, my brother has heard nothing. I do not want to imagine the reproach that he would surely have told me. His reproaches sting because I love him so dearly: he is all I have.

If it had been any other inhabitant of Gondolin it would not have been so humiliating, but I was unlucky enough to stumble into Lord Duilin, the Lord of the House of the Swallow, the quickest in temper as he is the quicker in limb! Why not Lord Ecthelion or Lord Glorfindel, one for his gentle and wise character; while the other is known to be kind and light-hearted. Not for nothing does all Gondolin love and admire Lord Glorfindel. But no! It was Lord Duilin of course, as my luck ordained.

And... yet, there are times I do not feel the disgrace as I should. Now that I found his feather, I cannot help watching it sometimes. In truth, I made a sketch of it, and I intend to paint it. In the name of Vàna, it is so absurd! It is only a feather, a very pretty feather admittedly, but it's just that: a feather; which reminds me of that imbroglio.

I do not understand myself. Maybe I want to paint a picture of it because Lord Duilin was kind to me, although he should not have been. He apologized, although it was my fault, and helped me up. I think they are just foolish thoughts. Of course, Lord Duilin helped me up, as he would have done for any other. It is not for nothing he is Elf-lords.

Now, I must return the feather, in a way so that he does not get angry with me. I've been practicing a speech I wrote. I will tell him that he may not remember me, considering that he is so busy protecting our City, and I am not well-known in Gondolin, although I have a privileged position be one of the ladies of-waiting of our Princess. And then I will try to explain what happened, and how I tried to find him and return his feather but failed, and that I had no intention of keeping his feather; and finally, ask him to forgive me one more time for my ungainliness, and then leave... gracefully.

I've been practicing this conversation over and over with Ardyl, and whenever I feel discouraged over it, Ardyl never fails to make me smile with his chirping. Now that I am facing Lord Duilin, I will try to remember Ardyl. After all, it is said that the Elf-lord loves the wind. Ardyl is the same, he loves to fly through the palace gardens and then return and keep me company.

Ah! There he is! He is so graceful, more graceful than anyone I have ever seen. Oh, Elyéta! Concentrate! This is no time to be admiring anyone, this is a crucial moment in which you must remember what you are going to say, and ... Válar, have mercy on me and protect me from my own awkwardness! '

Duilin lowered his weapon. He vaguely remembered the Elf-maid: her eyes were the ones that had attracted his attention. Yes, he remembered. A few days ago, he had collided with her on the Alley of Roses. He flushed at his clumsiness. He! The quickest of all the Elf-lords had stumbled upon an Elf-maid that he could easily have dodged. It was true that she was also to blame for standing in the middle of the street, but that did not excuse the fact that he had not noticed her. Most likely he had hurt her. To prevent the Elf-maid from seeing his blush, he turned his gaze to his belt as he sheathed his falchion.

Those seconds in which the Elf-lord sheathed his dagger, Elyéta took the liberty of observing him, and could not but think.

'How fair he is! His bearing is so graceful!'

At that moment she realized that he was looking at her strangely, and had an eyebrow raised questioningly. She felt her face glow with embarrassment and instantly looked down at the stone under her feet.

'Oh, Válar! I've been watching him like a fool!' she thought in distress. 'Pay attention, Elyéta, do not be so clumsy! '

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Lord Duilin.

"Pardon me, but has something occurred?"

She looked up, suddenly mute when her eyes met the blue eyes of the Elf-Lord, who could not help thinking,

'Válar! What beautiful eyes she has! Never in my life have I seen eyes that shine so bright!'

Elyéta cleared her throat, her voice stiff and strained, and her eyes carefully avoiding his face. Every time she saw him, it seemed that her tongue refused to move.

"Ah, good evening, my Lord Duilin... ah... I do not know if you remember that two days ago a ... small incident occurred. Um ... ah ... you had the misfortune… that is, I was in your way, and then you stumbled... and... well, it was my fault and well ..." she stuttered. Her heart was beating like the frantic pounding of a hummingbird's wings. Her hands were trembling, so she hid them behind her back, staring at the stone wall, and rocking back slightly on her heels. She looked like a child who just played a prank and is being scolded for it. "Ah ... well, it's my fault you lost this." she blurted and took a rosy silk scarf from her girdle. She unfolded it, revealing the white feather Duilin recognized instantly. "Believe me, my lord, I did not intend to keep it," she continued, her words tumbling from her mouth in a desperate hurry. "It is only that when I realized that it was my fault you had lost one ... ah ... I ran to give it to you, but I could not reach you." She laughed nervously. "Well, of course, you are the fastest Elf in Gondolin. Nobody can surpass you, not even the other Elf-lords, so ... what chance could an Elf-maid without any training stand?" She cleared her throat again, seeing that Duilin was looking at her in confusion. "Ah... in brief, I am returning your feather, and it was my fault you lost it. I am very sorry, and I ask you to forgive me, it was not my intention, believe me. I would have wanted to deliver it before, but I could not until now, please forgive me ... " she said, speaker even faster, and afraid the darkness could not hide her blushes. She was going to continue when she heard Lord Duilin say.

"It is all right. Thank you for returning my feather. Thank you-"

She glanced up and saw that he was holding out his hand. She stared at him for a moment, until Lord Duilin told her,

"Would you give it to me, please?"

Her cheeks burned.

"Yes! I apologize!" She held the feather out to him, and he took it, his hand brushing that of the maiden's.

A strange sensation seized him, a brilliant jolt and then a silence, as if the sea was rushing into his ears, time slowing, and slowing farther still, and finally stopping. He saw the maiden catch her breath, and then blush again. They stared at each other for a few seconds, still and silent and barely breathing. Finally, it was Lord Duilin shook his head, trying to get rid of that silence and strange feeling.

"I thank you once again for returning my feather," he said.

"Ah ... yes ... are you not angry with me?" She asked quickly.

"Not at all" he replied, his eyes sparkling. She was so shy and sweet, as if she was a girl.

"I ... I'm glad." she stuttered.

He did not answer. She thought she was intruding and yet could not move. A strange silence wrapped them back into a dream spell, catching them both off guard with its suddenness and intensity, as if they were underwater, the silence of the ocean in their ears. Unwillingly, she said, at last, forcing the words from her throat,

"I think I should go now. My brother will be waiting for me and I have many things to do. I have to finish painting a picture and play a song with my brother-he wrote it yesterday. I also must find some seeds for Ardyl and ... " she stopped at Duilin's smile. "I am so sorry! I'm rambling, now ... I'm leaving. May you have a blessed night, my Lord," she added with a bow.

"Have a blessed night," he answered, bowing his head.

She turned but had not taken two steps when Duilin's voice called her back.

"Pardon me, but I do not have the honor of knowing your name"

She blushed, twisting her hands behind her back.

"My name is Elyéta, my Lord," she replied timidly.

"It is an honor to meet you, Elyéta," he said with a smile. "Have a blessed night."

She swallowed and nodded several times.

"Thank you, my Lord. Have a blessed night." And she walked quickly away, almost running as she went down the stairs as if she wanted to flee from his presence.

Elyéta's POV

'I am an utter fool! A fool, a simpleton...and ten hundred worse things as well! I wrote my speech down, I rehearsed it countless times and for all that... I stuttered and said nonsense! Oh, Elyéta! Just once! Just once, you could have done something right.

Fortunately, he understood what I wanted to tell him, and that was a miracle of the Válar. With my awkwardness and rambling, I do not think even my brother could have understood my babbling. And I had to talk about my painting and feeding Ardyl, too.

What interest would he have in what you have to do, Elyéta? He has his own concerns that are far more important than painting a picture. He is the Lord of the Swallow, a Chieftain of Gondolin! And yet you talked about your painting and Ardyl as if he would be interested in them. Maybe, even, I distracted or interrupted him. He cannot have very few leisure moments, and perhaps he was enjoying the night breeze for a brief time, and I interrupted him from his thoughts.

I was so awkward and so thoughtless, but at the least, I returned his feather to him, and… he was not displeased with me. So, I should be very happy that it Is over. I will not have to talk to him again or show myself off as a fool in front of him. Of course, he thinks I am that, after seeing me babbling.

And yet, I feel sad ... sad because I will not have any way to approach him again. The feeling... that sudden silence, it was like a dream, a dream we both shared, and I wish I had never woken up from it. It should not have happened, I should not have touched his hand, but we both made a mistake… that is, I made mistake. And now I cannot forget that feeling, or him, his proud demeanor, his beautiful hair braided with white feathers...

No, I will forget it. He is an Elf-lord and I am merely a lady-in-waiting. He would never notice me, he would never notice me even assuming I got his attention; I would wager my right hand that he will not remember my name or who I am within a week.

Elyéta, be reasonable. Think about what your life really is! Your brother is waiting for me, and you have to hide this stroke of bad and yet good fortune for him'

Lord Duilin's POV

'What happened to me? Why did I ask her name? Why did I stare at her eyes like a fool? Assuredly, they are the most beautiful eyes I have seen in all my life. No maid, either in Válinor and Ennor, her eyes as bright and beautiful as hers. Ah! They look like two stars, illuminating her beautiful face!

Válar, what is happening to me?! Why do I think that her words and her apologies were the sweetest ones I have ever heard? Her manner of speaking was awkward, she was very nervous, and yet ... she was so tender, so childishly sweet!

I do not understand it. I grow irritated with people who ramble and babble nonsense like a brook, but she... she is so different! Although she did all those, I felt no impatience.

And that strange, enchanted silence? I felt it in my body and my fëa! Sweet Waters of Awakening, what was that? I cannot control it, and I do not like it. I was spellbound, staring at her like a fool like it was the first time I ever spoke with a maiden.

At the same time, I cannot forget those eyes, those stars that she possesses, that beautiful black hair falling, those flushed cheeks!

Válar! What is happening to me? I am not like this! I do not let myself be influenced by something so simple, so trivial.

There is no reason for me to think of her: I care for the things that truly matter. She is certainly important, for she is under my protection, like all the inhabitants of Gondolin, like King Turgon, like the Celebrindal. Elyéta-no! This Elf-maid is another inhabitant of Gondolin and only that. And ... ah! Her beautiful eyes! No! I should not think of it in any way! No! Never!'

Under the same starry sky, was Idril Celebrindal, deemed the dearest treasure of her people. Clad in flowing white, with a belt of silver flowers about her slender waist, she glowed like a fallen star in the moonlight. She sat at the foot of a winding marble staircase, playing the high-harp, but her sweet voice, more beautiful than pipe music, more entrancing than a harp, rang out.

The harp was her most beloved instrument and she played it with mastery, but singing was more to her. Songs were the cornerstone of all Eä, and she loved the power and beauty of the melody, and, save when Ecthelion sung, her songs were the sweetest.

She was lost in the music, so entranced that she did not notice the shadow under the spreading oak, watching her, following her slightest movement with avid eyes.

She finished her song: a song that spoke of the joy that Love brings, but also the strength, and when gifted with that strength, one could face the darkest dangers of Hell. It spoke of two lovers, who, thanks to their love, were able to face the trials that endangered their lives and even their love, where many times it seemed that they would never see each other again; but their love had been greater and had united them in such a way that the two, although they did not see each other, were one and fought as one. Because of this eternal love that withstood thousands of hardships, the lovers returned to each other's sides, to live in bliss.

When the last trembling note, fair as the clear ring of glass bells, was lost in the night air, a voice said,

"That is a fair song, and the singer is even fairer."

Idril looked round sharply and saw from the shadows her cousin came, dressed in black leather, the color of the night, and of his heart, she thought bitterly. His black eyes were shining, and he smiled at her, the smile that Idril despised, the smile of her pursuer.

Lord Maeglin's POV

'She is fair, so fair. The light of Vàsa, the Heart of Fire, breaks from her every glance. She cannot contain it, it lights her golden hair and white throat. Ah, slender silver-gold beauty, the soul of song and sunlight. She is a beacon of beauty, which draws me deeper, and yet gives me no welcome.

No, I am not worthy of her beauty, or her kind heart, but I love her, this jeweled light. Light...aye, always light, light that I love and fear, for Idril is glorious, a flame in which silver and gold together dance, like the great Trees my mother told me of once.

I fear the light: she fears the dark and the silence. So, she spurns me, drives me aside...and yet, hope is the last thing to die in the breasts of the Eldar.

If she loved me...what would I not do? If my heart's desire did come true if the torment was relieved by her love...But that is a dream, a distance starlit hope. I will be content to be by her side for now, and her luminance may drown my shadow. I would do anything to see her smile at me, to laugh. And one day, my cousin, Idril Celebrindal will be my wife, whatever the price, I will get it. But at this moment, I will beg her to allow me to be by her side tonight, this will be the first step I will take to achieve my goal: the Silverfoot will be my wife at all costs.'

The Princess rose and took up her harp with a look of loathing.

The young Elf-Lord greeted her with a bow.

"Cousin."

"Maeglin," she answered coolly, bowing her head slightly in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard singing, Celebrindal, and was entranced. So, I came to find the singer, and here I have discovered that it is you, my cousin," he said, fixing his black eyes on the blue ones of her. "Song is a beautiful thing, and you are skilled in it. My ability lies not in such things, neither music nor dancing, it is forging and melding, rougher crafts, and yet I have made a gift for you." He held out his palm. In it lay a brooch of golden filigree, set with small glittering diamonds. "Please, I beg of you, my cousin, accept my gift. I know nothing that I fashion will match your loveliness, but at least let me give you something that tries, though coarsely, to equal your beauty, cousin."

Idril looked at the brooch. It was Lords a jewel of exquisite beauty, a jewel worthy of a Queen, a jewel that any Elf-maid would long to have and wear in her hair; but for her, it represented only another vain gift. What good was the gift if she did not even use them? The Celebrindal did not use nor want his presents, because of her cousin's dark heart and twisted love. Her father did not believe what she had said: Maeglin was hounding her, closer than her own shadow. So, her refusal was to protect herself.

He did not seem to understand her rejection, nor did he respect it. She did not wish to have any association with him: she would have preferred to deny her kinship with Maeglin, but that would have angered her father. Certainly, she knew of the difficult life Maeglin had led, and it was understandable that he would seek friendship, and she would have willingly been kind to him, but she had seen, since Aredhel's death, Maeglin did not desire friendship...he desired her, a lust that ran deeper than love.

"I appreciate your gift, Lord Maeglin, but I'm afraid I cannot accept it," she said quietly, emphasizing his title, and in this way, demonstrating that there was a great distance between her and him. Because they were kin, she would not leave him without deigning an answer.

"Why, Idril?" Maeglin asked, pain in his black eyes. "I know that it does not compare to your beauty, but it is the closest I have been able to create. In this craft, I have striven to put in it not only all the minute details that I have noticed in you, but also your perfect beauty and the love that I have for you."

"So that is the reason you have been hounding wherever I go?" she said coldly. "You must have fashioned hundreds of brooches like this: you have followed me often enough."

A pain slashed through Maeglin's heart, and a gleam flashed through his onyx, but it faded away to repressed adoration, and the Celebrindal read in them the twisted love that disgusted her.

"It is not my intention to anger you, Idril," he replied, quietly. "But you are beautiful, Idril, beautiful and brilliant. Like the sunflowers, that raise their heads to see the Sun, so, I am also, like one of them. You are my Sun, cousin, and my face, my eyes cannot ever turn away from you." he paused, taking a step towards her in appealing demeanor. "You know my life, it has been steeped in shadows since my birth under the trees, and even in Gondolin, remains cold and lonely. I am the Half-Noldo bastard, the Son of the Wife-Slayer, and few see me with kind eyes. If perhaps you, my beloved cousin, would allow me to enjoy the kindness you show to others! You are kind to others-beloved throughout the City for your goodness-but you disdain me."

"Maeglin, you are not treated coldly by all. My father sees you kindly, and of all in the Council you have the most influence," answered Idril, in turn taking a step backward. "Not even older and more experienced Lords, such as Lord Ecthelion, have as much sway over my father as you do. What is more, there are Lords who try to show you goodwill, as Lord Glorfindel, Lord Ecthelion, Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and Lord Salgant."

"Certainly cousin; but you forget that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion do it because they feel bound too," he replied bitterly.

"And what about Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and, above all, Lord Salgant?" She retorted fiercely. "Perhaps you will also blame them for what happened, Maeglin? Perhaps you will also despise them? Let Lord Salgant hear you say so! He, who has so often faced the biting comments and gossip because of his friendship with you. Or perhaps, you do not consider him to be your friend. Perhaps you are the honest and grateful enough to realize that Lord Salgant truly appreciates you."

Lord Maeglin remained silent for a moment. It was true, the Lord of the House of the Harp held him in high esteem and still admired him. He was the only one of the eleven Lords who saw him without prejudice and had good will for him. In fact, Maeglin had benefited from that friendship many times, since he had been able to use since many times the young Elf-lord had used Lord Salgant's kindness to manipulate him for his own convenience. Maeglin did not always like to use Lord Salgant to achieve some goal, but his love for Idril had silenced his conscience. But, he did not consider Salgant as a friend. He was a means to be used. But that would not tell the Celebrindal because it was to give her a weapon, and he would lose an excellent card from his hand.

"Truth is beautiful, and as always, you speak the truth." he answered.

Idril gritted her teeth. Even when she reproached him, her cousin wooed her.

"However," Maeglin continued after a moment, "They are all male; none of them has the gentleness that a female has, or the kindness that only a female can show towards a poor bastard like me."

The Princess felt a shiver on her back. The black eyes of Lord Maeglin shone strangely, a fanatic gleam. And perhaps he was mad: perhaps his love-his desire for her had pushed him to the brink. She shuddered. The desire that caused him to dog her over Gondolin. And when that did not work? Would it be to her chambers next? What would she do then?

"You do not need the company of a female to you feel comforted," she replied, taking two steps up the flight of stairs, and grasping the body of the harp, ready to use it as a weapon lest her cousin made any move towards her. "If, instead of being cold and bitter towards those with which you share the duty and privilege of protect our city; I assure you that you would not need female company." She paused. "Maeglin, I think you are looking for the company of the wrong person. I am certain that all the Lords would make an effort to befriend you, despite your temperament. However, you always isolate yourself, locking yourself in your forge without a care for..."

"That is a lie. I care for you!" Maeglin exclaimed angrily. "The kingdoms of the world do not weigh with me besides the hem of your dress, Idril! I would not look at a sunset if I could see you, I would not listen to a harp if I could hear you speak! Life without you means nothing to me!"

"If I am so dear to you, you will understand that I hate you hounding me across the city, and you would stop doing it!" cried Idril.

"Idril-"

Idril drew a deep breath, her voice suddenly stark and devoid of emotion.

"Do you not agree, cousin?" she interrupted, locking his passionate gaze with her icy one.

Lord Maeglin could not answer for a moment. The Celebrindal's gaze was as cold as the ice of the Helcaraxë itself, and her face, which was always lit with smiles, was as hard as mithril. Seeing that she had managed to silence him, Idril hurried heatedly.

"If you want to feel less alone, you should look for friends among the Lords. After all, you share mutual ties with them. If you want to be accepted, then be kinder to others. And if you want me to be kind with you, then STOP DOGGING ME! There is no child of Ennor, above all the gentle females who enjoy being shadowed." she finished, irony in her voice.

Maeglin opened his mouth to rebut, but Idril did not let him speak.

"And although it may not seem like it, it is; regardless if the reason is to forge a brooch or simply to delight in someone's beauty. If you truly want to show your goodwill, why not forge a gift for Lord Salgant? His begetting day will be in a couple of weeks, it will surely give him great pleasure to receive a gift made by your own hands."

The young Lord of the House of the Mole bowed his face in utter shame. The words of the Princess were so hard and so painful that he could not answer. And even if he could have answered, he would never do it because he loved her ... no ... he adored her.

"Have a blessed night, cousin," she finished and went up the stairs with the grace that defined her, her delicate feet scarcely touching the steps.

When she was about to reach the end of the flight, she heard the voice of Lord Maeglin who was halfway up the stairs.

"Cousin, at least accept this my gift," he said in a voice full of unshed tears.

Idril looked at him coldly.

"No." she replied after a moment.

"Please, cousin, I beg you!" he begged, his eyes full of tears.

Idril studied him with scorn, and then took it.

"I warn you Lord Maeglin, do not expect to see me use the brooch," she said, "Because I will never use it for any reason."

"At least I have the small recompense that your beautiful hands have touched this small gift I made for you," he replied sadly.

The Princess nodded,

"Very well."

"Have a blessed night, my Princess," he said.

Upon hearing this, Idril flinched, and went silently into the palace, carrying in one delicate hand the beautiful diamond brooch. Seeing it glitter in the lantern light, she sighed impatiently. Another useless gift! If only he would understand that the best gift he could give her was to stop dogging her!

Lord Maeglin watched her go, his eyes blurred with tears. There was a rawness to his grief: his body shook, his face full of grief, loss, devastation. Then his eyes became colder, resumed their old repressed quiet, as another emotion was added: spite. Why was his beautiful cousin so cruel to him? Was it his fault for being the son of the Dark Elf? If it were, he would have preferred never to be born! But such a wish could not be fulfilled, and now, he had to face all the consequences that had brought such a miserable union between the Dark Elf Eöl and his beloved mother Aredhel. Ah! If his mother still be alive! Surely, she would plead for him in front of his beloved cousin.

Once again, he had been rejected and perhaps this time it had been the cruelest. But that did not matter, no, it did not matter. As in tempering the iron to forge the perfect sword, one had to have patience; so also, he would have the patience to earn his cousin's love and one day ... one day he would call her his.

Unknown to both, hidden among the shadows that a curtain created, a tall figure had seen and heard everything that had passed between the Princess and the Elf-lord. And when it saw that both the Flower of Gondolin and the Lord of the House of the Mole had departed, this figure withdrew soundlessly.

Indeed two forms of love! And who is the shadow that was the silent and unknown witness of the discussion between Princess Idril and Lord Maeglin?

Waiting for your reviews, guys!