Hello guys!

So... we return to the main plot that has concerned us during almost all the time: Glorfindel and Laura. But in this chapter something... unexpected, so to speak, will happen. What will it be?

I want to thank Celridel for being so magnificent beta.

Waiting for your reviews guys! They food the Muse!

Chapter 20: Power of Music

(Menelya, Day of the Heavens. Yavannië {September} Yávië, Waning of Summer, First Age 463)

The past several days, Glorfindel had observed a change in Hwa Young. She seemed distracted, to a greater degree that he had ever before seen. Commonly, when he told her of the city or some small story of his past life, he sensed she was paying close attention, even if she showed no outward signs of it. But now, it was different. He had never seen her like this: she had lost interest in everything he told her, which had surprised but deeply hurt him. He had always made a great effort to stay with her, even when the situation merited his abrupt departure, and had striven to be kind in answer her sneers and ill manners. So, he did not understand the reason for this attitude.

Every morning, when he walked to the palace, after speaking with her all night, he returned in a thoughtful state of mind, trying to find the answer to her sudden change of attitude of the young woman, without finding any explanation that would satisfy his questions... until the night he got the answer he wanted.

After Laura had translated 'On Horseback' into Exicilix Quenya, Glorfindel had not brought his harp. Between his labor as a Lord, he was busy tuning and caring for it. He had rebuilt the harp after she had destroyed it, but because it was a new instrument, it was still temperamental under his hands, and he wanted its sound to be sweet and melodious now more than ever, for he desired to play her song in the most beautiful way he knew how.

Glorfindel did not understand the meaning of that song. The lyrics make no sense to him, but he realized that for her it was very special, and its meaning precious, to such a degree she had cried in front of him.

Strangely enough, the young woman had not asked him why he had not brought his harp with him, she did not seem to care, or if she did, she did not want to show it. She had always shown herself to be uninterested in other people and what other people thought of her, for the most part.

Finally, when his harp yielded a sound so harmonious that Ecthelion had congratulated him, and he had finished embellishing and gilding the body of his instrument, he took it once more to the cottage.

"The Noldor are the most skilled with metals, nigh as skilled as Aulë's children, the Naugrim," he said. "There are many skilled smiths and jewelers in Gondolin, not to speak of the Noldor architects."

There was a short silence. Beyond the cottage, he heard a verse praising the harvest Kementári had given them. A young male was singing, and he heard a maiden echo his voice on the last line.

"When summer birds take to wing

Flying southwards there to sing

Then my song shall rise to the sky

And echo back from clouds so high

A lullaby of rest and peace

When plantings sleep and harvests cease."

He stopped listening when she answered him.

"Like Lord Maeglin," Laura said without turning to see him. She was watching the hardy oak leaves that rustled, and beyond them, the evening that lengthened beneath the heel of Menelvagor, the Swordsman in the Sky.

"Ah ... yes," Glorfindel answered uncomfortably. "He and all the House of which he is Lord: The House of the Mole are excellent architects and craftsmen."

"I guessed that. After all, Lord Maeglin's father, Eöl, was a genius in smithying."

Lord Glorfindel frowned. How did she know such a thing? As if Laura guessed his thoughts, she turned and added, "Lord Maeglin told me his sad story."

Glorfindel lifted his eyebrows in surprise, the Prince was neither friendly or well-known for his openness.

"There is no doubt that even among you there are Shakespearian tragedies." Laura chuckled derisively. "Even though, you are the Elves, the most 'pro' beings of all Ennor!"

Glorfindel ignored the last part. It was pointless to try and convince her of anything else. "Who or what is this Shakespearian?" he asked.

"Shakespearean refers to the dramas written by a genius named William Shakespeare."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask about this man; at last, he could learn about her realm without having to bicker with her for information. But Laura did not care to explain. Instead, she added quickly. "In short, what an interesting thing to know that you, the Noldor, are such incredible craftsmen."

"I'm not Noldo." he answered, "I am only half-Noldo."

Perhaps if he spoke a little about himself, she would explain to him about these Shakespeare dramas, but it seemed that Laura sensed his intentions because all she did was turn around and look at the vines that capriciously adorned her paling. This night, those vines were far more interesting than anything he said.

"Ah!"

Glorfindel ignored her studied indifference, and the jibe implied in her tone.

"I am half-Vanya. That is to say that in my blood runs the blood of the Fair Elves: the Vanyar. My mother was Vanya, my father was Noldo. That is how I learned to play, for although the Noldor prefer viols and like instruments, the Fair-Elves played harps."

"How interesting!" She answered, her voice heavy with irony, as she stared at the flowering vines, blossoming with orange and golden blossoms.

Glorfindel's jaw tensed. He had not spoken of his mother only to have her tossed aside, like her and her race was a worthless bauble. He would stay, but if she ever dared to insult his mother, he would leave forever. No friendship was worth the violation of Lairëa's memory.

"Hwa-Young, what is it?" He asked, trying to speak gently.

"What do you mean by: 'what is it'?" She replied mimicking his voice.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, which did not go unnoticed by Laura who smirked.

'No, I'm not going to let you get it,' he thought, and clinging to this thought, he answered in the calmest way feasible,

"I asked you," he said, mimicking her voice. "'What is it?', because I know that when something hurts you. You hide it by being on the offensive, bickering me and provoking me. But I want to help you. And the only true way I can help you, is not by bickering, because that will not take away your pain, it will only increase it." he paused. "Hwa-Young, what's wrong?" he asked, his blue eyes fixed on her, trying to find the slightest sign that would let him know what was happening inside that shell. "I know that most likely I do not yet have your confidence, that what I did two weeks ago is not enough to have earned it; but I do know one thing: I know you are suffering and I do not want you to suffer, I want to know you, I want to help you, I want ... I want you to be happy."

Laura turned, staring at him hard. Glorfindel did not see gratitude in them, but neither did he find rejection in them. He did not see happiness, but she was not angry either, the only thing he saw for a moment was a flicker of sadness, that disappeared as the night wind blows out a candle, but it was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. For a few minutes, she stared at him, her eyes impassive now. Finally, she returned her gaze to the vine.

He sighed in inward exasperation. He had nearly made her open! Taking up his harp, he began to play her song: maybe when she heard, she would change her attitude, but her reaction was entirely different.

"Stop playing that song," she said in a strained voice.

"But-" he began to protest, although now he knew what was disturbing her.

"Stop playing it. I will not repeat it again," she answered, her green eyes threatening him. They were rigid, cold, hard, narrowed like a viper who is ready to strike. Her attack was not a primary concern for Glorfindel. Although he had heard that some of the House of Hador had a strength that rivaled the Noldor's, he was certain that this woman had no training. The only thing he did was grasp his harp: he did not have the slightest intention of letting any damage be done to this one, now that he had just fine-tuned it.

"I do not understand why," he answered, playing a couple more notes. It was necessary to make her speak, even if he had to face her anger, the fury of a person wounded in the most intimate area, the fury of a person who seemed to fear nothing.

"Now!" shouted Laura, clenching one of her fists. Glorfindel prepared to dodge her attack, but the woman instead hit the bench with such force it made a crack in the wood.

Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow in cool astonishment. He would never have believed that the firíma had such strength! Perhaps the strength that renowned Hador's descendants were not only among his children but in the inhabitants of North Korea.

"Hwa-Young," he said softly, trying to calm her.

She was panting with rage. He was reminded of a wildfire-he could all but see the green flames sparking in her eyes, ready to ignite anything that she came in contact with. If it were not for some strange feeling that forced her to stop, Laura would have rushed the Elf-lord and attacked him with her claws.

"Don't you dare play it again!" she said, clenching her teeth and leaning forward. "If you cannot understand what it means, you do not have the slightest right to play it, let alone sing it."

Glorfindel studied at her for a moment. No doubt he had infuriated her, but he was determined to still face a blow in order to reach the desired response.

"And how am I going to understand it if you do not explain to me?" He asked, leaning towards her. She sat up, her back as rigid as her features.

"As I told you that time: you would not understand, even if I explained it to you," she answered in a low voice.

"But at least I could try," he said in the same tone.

Her threatening attitude changed little by little until she was only tense, but in her eyes flickered a light of sadness that once again, only lasted a moment, but her body emanated sadness, that the Elf-lord, as perceptive as he was, immediately sensed.

'Something is hurting her for a long time and this song either remind her or relieves her.' he thought 'I have to know which of the two possibilities is the real one and why.'

So, he stared at her, without moving, waiting to receive an answer patiently, something that did not go unnoticed by Laura.

"It's better that you never know," she said finally, her voice low and forced. "It is a weight that only I should carry."

"No," he replied, his posture showing goodwill and concern, his voice low as he looked her in the eyes. "It is not only you must carry it. I can help you."

Laura smiled, a smile full of pain. She looked at him and then said quietly.

"No, you cannot."

"Why?"

"Because I've shared it with other people, and all of them have fled from me. They've been horrified by my past and they've pushed me aside."

"I will not do it."

Laura raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"Aha," she answered. "An angel like you, in shining armor, loved by all? You? No, you would be the first to do it. The Sun cannot join the night, because they are the opposite. The Sun brings life, night brings death. No, you and I are totally different." she paused. "You cannot understand or help me, but you did, you would run away never to return; because for you to be able to stay, the only way is that you also have a dark past, as dark as mine. And nobody but a single person has been able to stay by my side once they knew." she finished in a muffled whisper.

Glorfindel looked intently at her face. Her eyes were glistening damply, and she had fixed her gaze on a distant point to prevent him from seeing it.

"Who was that person?" He asked after a moment

"His name was Remmy. He was from France," she answered. "He had a past as dark as mine, so when he knew how it had been before my life, he did not go away. In fact..." she chuckled melancholically, "In fact, he considered me his friend and did small things to make me smile, even for a moment. He called me 'Petite'." A few of tears had rolled down Laura's cheeks. Her voice was no longer threatening, little by little it had become sad and dreamy. "But then ... we had to separate, and I never saw him again." She paused again, for a long time, and her eyes turned cold. "So, if he, who knew my past, which was echoed somewhat in his own, never dared to sing 'On Horseback' ... what gives you the right to sing it? You do not know my past. Your life has always been as bright as the Sun and golden like your hair! How dare you sing it without knowing its meaning!" She leveled a gaze with all the warmth of chipped ice at him.

"You are right: nothing gives me the right to sing or play it" he answered after a few moments. "But then ... why did you teach me it?"

"Because you said you liked it and because I thought ..." Laura stopped and again evaded his gaze.

"You thought I could understand it? That I could understand you?" he asked.

Laura did not answer, it was her silence that answered what Glorfindel was asking.

"No, I do not understand you yet, but I know that one day I will," he said gently.

Laura laughed bitterly.

"The first part is true, you do not understand me, but you never will."

"Do you think I'm as bright as gold and the Sun, Hwa-Young? I will show you that I am not," he answered. "I left my homeland, Válinor, under an oath of fealty to the High King of the Noldor. But I could have stayed. I could have tried to convince my parents to stay, but I did not and now ... now I have the wrath of the Válar over me." he paused. "I could have tried harder and maybe I could have saved Queen Elenwë. I could have done more, but now she is in the Hall of Mandos while King Turgon suffers the pain that half of his fëa is torn away from him."

Laura frowned slightly at this. 'half of his fëa'? It was probably an expression like the one used on Earth: 'your soulmate'.

"I could have saved my father in battle, but I did not and now both he and my mother are in the Hall." he continued, tears silently streaking down his face. "My mother faded for the grief and I lost my two parents. he paused again, trying to rein in his emotions. "I could have made a greater effort together with Lord Ecthelion and sought reinforcements to prevent the Lady Aredhel from being lost in Nan Elmoth,.. " He shook his head with a bitter smile. "I am not as bright as the Sun, nor is my past as gold as my hair."

"Apparently the says applies among Elves too. 'Not everything that glitters is gold' '." she murmured. Glorfindel turned to her. That was one of their proverbs. She did not scorn their culture as much as she professed too.

"True and wise words," he admitted. "But you can also say that 'not everything dull is worthless'. Precious stones are often covered by stone and earth which, at first sight, do not seem to have a greater value, and which anybody would discard and put aside."

Laura slowly turned her gaze to him, her features and eyes blank. There was a long silence in which Glorfindel realized that this time the young woman would not explain or show what she was really thinking.

"I will not play or sing 'On Horseback'." he said "I swear on my honor, Hwa-Young. You can trust my word."

"I know" she replied without looking at him. "I know," she repeated softly as if to herself.

He gazed at her, blue eyes shocked. Apparently, there were things he had achieved that he was not allowed to see for fear he would take exploit it. A sudden joy made him take a rash venture. He took up his harp and began to sing, nimble fingers finding the notes and setting the night dancing to their tune.

At first, she tensed and clenched her fists, but then they began to relax, and she began to smile, a smile of tranquility and enjoyment, closing her eyes.

"Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight

The stars are stretching far as sight

O, though time and world are in flight

There is peace in the cradle of twilight.

Love and hope are always dear,

Dearer when the twilight is near

Silver and violet so dusky sweet

Time when night and day do meet

Stars are spinning, shining bright

In the soft cradle of pale twilight

Love and hope are always dear,

Dearer when the twilight is near

The gold fades, the silver grows

An enchanted dusk over us flows

A promise comes in twilight gray

Hope shall not fail nor love decay.

Love and hope are always dear,

Dearer when the twilight is near

Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight

When the stars stretch far as sight

For love and hope are always dear

Dearer still when twilight is near."

When the last note was lost in the night air, Laura opened her eyes and fixed them on his. He smiled, glad to see her reaction.

"It is a song that my mother used to sing," he said by way of explanation.

Laura nodded slowly.

"It's very beautiful." she answered, lowering her gaze.

"That is true, but yours is no less beautiful. They're just ... different," he said, rightly guessing what she was thinking.

Upon hearing this, Laura looked up and looked at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Really?" She asked anxiously.

"Yes. Why do you think I liked it, Hwa-Young? I do not like uncouth music, and I would never play it, but 'On Horseback' is beautiful. Very different, but that does not detract from their merit or beauty."

Laura chuckled, trying to hide the tears of joy in her eyes.

"I'm glad you think so. That ... that means a lot to me." she murmured.

Glorfindel smiled.

"I thought that, if I learned to play 'On Horseback', it would be fair for you to learn to play this song," he said.

"It seems fair," she agreed after a few moments

"I will seek to be a good teacher, I do not have the ability of Lord Ecthelion, but I will try. The harp is a difficult instrument to play."

"So, playing the harp is too difficult for a firíma to learn?" she asked mockingly.

"I know that you are capable of learning. I saw you learn to speak our language without a teacher, but the art of music is completely different, as Lord Ecthelion would tell you."

"Yes, but Lord Ecthelion is not here. as he won't be my teacher" she replied.

Glorfindel frowned, not understanding what she meant.

"If it really is sooo complicated," she continued. "Then I propose a wager ... I bet you that I can learn to play it in the same period of time when you learned 'On Horseback'."

Glorfindel hid his laughter.

"I'll wager you this: the one who loses cuts their hair."

Glorfindel stopped laughing. But what madness was she thinking?

"Very well." he said "I accept the wager. But, if you set those rules do not complain when the game goes against you."

Laura smiled grimly.

'Surely she thinks she will win,' thought Glorfindel 'I am so sorry for her!'

'"Deal?" Laura asked.

"Deal," he answered.

The woman offered her hand. Glorfindel looked at her and then the hand she offered him, and then slowly took it. Laura gave him a firm squeeze, and a wide smile appeared on her lips.

He smiled back at her, but he could not understand the strangle tingle he felt when he touched her hand. If Laura felt it too, it did not seem she gave it the slightest importance, so he also put it aside.

Seeing that the Elf-lord was still staring at her, Laura crossed her arms and tilted her head to the right.

"Alright, master ... what is lesson number one?"

Idril sat in an alcove adorned with autumn roses. The morning sunlight was spilling over to caress their crimson heads and her golden hair, as she read. The book was one of her favorites. It spoke about the different flowers and their origins, each different from the other, and was adorned with colorful and beautiful illustrations, drawn and hand-painted by of one of her ladies-in-waiting. Seeing a large orchid colored with delicate shades of pink and lilac, its green stem entangled capriciously with itself while several oblong glossy leaves adorned its base, she could not but think,

'Indeed, Elyéta is an excellent artist.'

Her lady-of-waiting was young, shy and lived in the midst of her art. She did not usually deal with many people, her life was focused especially on serving Idril, being with her brother and painting. It was in that art that she was conspicuously good, and would spend days without stopping on her project, for Elyéta loved her work.

That was a characteristic that Idril liked in her young lady-in-waiting because, despite her youth and shyness, she was a wise maid and knew that all art is important in one way or another. Blessed would be the one who won Elyéta's heart!

Then, as she considered love, the Celebrindal could not help but sigh. Her young lady-in-waiting was not as beautiful as her, nor was she the daughter of the High King of the Noldor... but, she was not forced to deal with problems, principally one known as 'Lord Maeglin'. Sometimes the Princess thought that Elyéta was lucky, for her brother Linwe, was jealously protective of his little sister. Perhaps that would make it difficult for an ellon to get close to Elyéta, but Idril preferred that her father do such a thing, instead of ignoring her cousin's constant hounding.

She looked up quickly. A great bush, with flowers of white, obstructed her view, but she heard footsteps. A minute later, she relaxed, recognizing the firm, long stride of her father.

"Atar!" she exclaimed cheerfully, rising immediately to greet him.

He smiled at her, but his smile was different and the Celebrindal noticed it. Primarily when she saw him making a gesture to sit down again.

"Atar, is something wrong?" she inquired in concern.

"I see you are reading," was his response "What is it?"

Idril showed him the book.

"Ah! About flowers!" he answered, suddenly melancholy, while before his agate-grey eyes appeared the image of Elenwë, laughing, amused at a gallant comment he made when she had offered him a blood-red flower. Elenwë had loved him with all her fëa, but she had not made the task of wooing her a simple task. No, the Elf-lady had judged wisely: instead of being swept off her feet at his chivalrous comments, she only laughed and teased him. But gradually, she had shown her favor as when she had given him that crimson blossom. In his ears again, the laughter of his beloved and deceased wife resounded, a sound which Turgon would have given all his wealth and perhaps even Gondolin, in exchange for it.

A crystalline voice drew him out of his sad reflections. The King turned to his daughter, meeting her concerned eyes. She knew he had been thinking of her mother, which made her sad because she realized that the pain of her losing her mother was intensified in her widowed father. Turgon looked at her for a moment and could not help but think that Idril looked very much like his wife, in wisdom and in beauty, and like Elenwë, she knew how to keep people who disliked her away from her, although her daughter, perhaps because of her youth, did not have the same tact that her mother has… or so he believed.

"Atar, what's wrong?" repeated Idril.

The king returned the book while smiling at her melancholy.

"I remembered your mother, Itarillë," he murmured.

Idril thought that her father was going to add a comment, on what similarity there was between her and Elenwë, or he would begin one of the many stories that she never tired of hearing.

"You know Itarillë?" He began. "Now that I see you reading, a story that I read yesterday has come to my mind."

Idril looked at him while her blue eyes lit up with joy. Her father was skilled at telling stories and she loved to hear to them.

"Some time ago, in a beautiful city, there lived an Elven Lord and Lady." Turgon began. "This Lady was beautiful, the most beautiful creature anyone had ever seen, and the Lord did not lack grace and gallantry, though he was never as beautiful as the Lady who rivaled the Sun in splendor. The two were very different, different as day and night. Even in their dress they were contrary. The Lady used to dress in snowy dresses, while the Lord dressed in black, which gave him a gloomy appearance, in contrast to the city of light where he lived, and even more so with the beautiful lady he loved." He paused. Idril felt a nearly imperceptible chill run down her back, it was not necessary to be gifted with prescience to understand her father's tale. "The Lady was not only beautiful physically, but her heart was equally fair. Her kind temper made her loved and admired by everyone around her. Yes, with everyone she was friendly and offered her smiles, everyone, save this Lord. Strange enough, it was this Lord who showed her the most loyalty, kindness, and affection, more than all the inhabitants of the city. His affection for her could only be rivaled by that of this lady's father. But this elf-lady so beautiful, so sweet, so understanding and so kind to everyone else was cold and ruthless towards this Lord, whose only offense was to consider her beautiful, to love her as no one else did save her father, to be faithful though she spurned him again and again, both his person and his gifts that he made with his own hands. And I assure you that each of these gifts were worthy of any queen. Artanis herself would wonder at the clasp of gold and diamonds that Lord gave to that Lady and would accept it, although she might never wear it. But this beautiful lady, who was not known for her pride, like Finarfin's youngest child, not only never wore any of the many gifts the Lord made especially for her, sometimes she did not even accept them. Only occasionally did she take them for sheer pity to that Lord." he paused again. Idril shuddered slightly, it was clear that his father had been an invisible witness of the disturbance that had occurred two weeks ago. "I was pensive and perplexed as to why she would disdain the gifts he made with his hands, with long, toiling labor. Think of what it must have taken to attach each of those brilliant diamonds to that gold clasp. For me, there was no reason for this lady to be so cruel and ruthless towards this lord whose only crime had been to consider her beautiful and to have a great affection for her, the one he considered an anchor in the midst of his sad and difficult life."

King Turgon stared at his daughter, his steel eyes searching for the truth in the ones of his young daughter.

"Why do you mistreat your cousin, Itarillë?" he finally asked. "Why do you treat him as if he is your enemy?"

"I see you were present during our ... conversation that night" she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Perhaps this time she would be able to convince her father of what was happening "You heard it, Atar, it's because he follows me all over the city as if he were my own shadow."

"And maybe that gives you the right to mistreat him?" He answered, clearly angered. "What is so wrong with him trying to spend some time alone with you?"

"Atar, he does want to be alone with me, but not in that way..." she tried to explain, her natural delicacy restraining her from blurting out what she thought he truly wanted.

"So, what do you want, Itarillë?" "Pressed Turgon. "He is your cousin, he wishes to be with you."

"Yes, Atar, but ..."

"Do you have any difficulty with your cousin wanting to be by your side?"

"He does not want to be by my side, Atar, he wants to be ... he wants to be ON me!" Snapped the Princess.

For a moment the High King was speechless. His calm face suddenly changed, and his eyes glittered. Idril had never seen her father so enraged: her breath hitched in her chest, for in that flash of a moment she felt she had been pierced to the heart. It was a chill and hollow feeling. Turgon's anger struck with coiled and terrible precision, leaving the victim stunned and open to attack.

"How do you dare speak of your cousin like that!" he cried, angry with her for the first time in hundreds of years. "How! Do you know what the accusation you made against him means!"

"Yes, I know, and I do not retract my words!" she said, tears that she could not step running down her face. Her father's anger had only filled her cup of endurance to overflowing.

"How is it possible!" Exclaimed Turgon. "How is it possible that my daughter would dare make such a false accusation against her cousin!"

"It's not false, it's the truth, Atar!" She cried. "Ask any of the Elf-lords if it's true that Lord Maeglin is dogging me all over Gondolin. Many times, I have had to flee towards them so that he leaves me alone!

"If I remember correctly, Idril, he told you he was following you because it was his way of being inspired to make that beautiful brooch that, you do not have the kindness to use!"

The Princess laughed bitterly. How blind was her father, how far-sighted, that he could see so far and clearly, but his clear-sightedness failed to see that which was nearest to his heart.

"Be inspired by me? Do you believe such a lie, Atar! No, he does not pursue me for inspiration. No, he looks for me to get my favor and something more than that! I would not be surprised if one of these days I found him in my chambers when I'm alone. He is strong, Atar, working the mines has made him very strong."

"Do not speak of your cousin like that!"

"Cousin!" she spat in fury. "He is not my cousin!"

Turgon looked down at her, grey eyes filled with rage.

"Do you forget that his mother was MY SISTER, your AUNT, Aredhel!"

"That does not mean I consider him my cousin," Idril answered coldly, in defiance of her father.

"I never thought I would hear such harshness and cruelty from my daughter." His sudden anger had gone like a thunder-clap but was replaced by icy coldness and a tone of profound disappointment that stabbed the Princess.

"Neither did I believe that my father was so blind, and would not defend me from my enemy," she answered quietly, trying to hide the blow his words had dealt her by returning it.

Turgon's eyes were wide. Never, even in his most terrible nightmares, had he ever imagined that his Itarillë would say such a thing. Idril closed her book and got up, her voice cool.

"It is obvious there is no use in continuing our argument. You will not defend me, so the only recourse I have is to defend myself by distancing Maeglin."

The King got up quickly. He was not just going to let her go. As a daughter, she must obey and listen to his voice, but the Celebrindal gave a quick side-step away, saying,

"I want to be alone."

And she disappeared, leaving Turgon, whose sudden desolation overrode his anger. He stumbled, tears trickling down his cheeks. For her part, Idril went straight to her chambers, ordered all her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone that day. She sat down before her bureau, and after looking at herself for a few moments in the mirror, she burst into soft sobs in which anger, desolation, and disappointment were mingled

"Loose!"

A flight of arrows shivered the cool, early-morning air. All those who wished to serve in one of the Eleven Houses or to be guards in the City had to train rigorously and must be skilled in all weapons. The training was challenging, intended to weed out the weak and half-hearted, although it would not as it was later under Laura's supervision.

He had commanded them to release their arrows instinctively: he could not see the training-his eyes were there, but his mind had flown to the person who had not left his thoughts for two weeks: Elyéta.

Impatient and upset at himself-he, who had scorned the sentimentalism displayed by lovers! But a brush of her hand was all it took: he had felt it in his very fëa, and now he could not erase her memory nor her clumsy, yet sweet apologies. Duilin had always prided himself on being able on being master of himself, to maintain control; and here an Elf-maid awkward in words, but beautiful in body and spirit had taken over his mind and had not left him while he was awake, much less when he slept. The few of times he had slept those two weeks had only been so that he could dream of that meeting, with perfect clarity. And it was this that made him ill-tempered, enough so that the other Lords, who knew him for his hot-headed disposition, had been surprised, although no one had dared to ask the reason. It was preferable to leave Lord Duilin with his own thoughts. If the proud and irritable Lord deemed he needed help or talk to someone, there they would be, principally Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod.

A voice interrupted him from his thoughts.

"Lord Duilin!"

Finally, the Lord of the Swallow turned slowly to his interlocutor: Lord Salgant. Unfortunately, the tasseled Lord of the Harp, just as he was one with weak convictions, also lacked insight, so he did not notice Duilin's strained face.

"Lord Duilin, is all well?" inquired Lord Salgant.

"Of course," he answered with a restrained smile.

Duilin's quick ears caught the sound of sprinting feet and saw Egalmoth and Penlod come running, trying to stop the unfortunate Lord of the Harp, who at that moment said, "I have noticed you do not seem very engrossed with the training of this company. Would you train with me?"

The dangerous smile Duilin gave him would have taken care of any reasonable being, but Salgant did not see this.

"Of course, Lord Salgant."

The other smiled and gestured for them to enter the courtyard, aside from the buttes.

Egalmoth and Penlod looked at each other. They had arrived too late.

"What? Did you stop him?" asked a loud voice.

Lord Rog was standing there, looking through the gateway into the courtyard, where the two Lords were preparing. Duilin's lean, hard form and his nimble moves were at odds with Salgant's heavy limbs and ungainly movements.

"I see not," he added, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. "I am sorry for Salgant."

Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod looked at him and then at each other.

"We are as well," answered the Lord of the House of Heavenly Arch.

The king, as we all know, turned to be blind about what is happening between Idril and Maeglin; but the fact that they have had such an argument was completely unexpected from them who get along very well.

And what about Laura and Glorfindel? Will she win the wager?

And what will be the result of the duel between Lord Salgant and the quick tempered Lord Duilin?

Waiting for your reviews, guys!