Hi guys!

First of all, I want to thank Celridel for her help as well as I want to invite you to leave reviews because I haven't received any and I don't know if this story is well-written and moreover, if the plot is good enough.

The last chapter was Lord Salgant inviting to a friendly duel to Lord Duilin who is not exactly in the best of the moods. What will be the result of it?

Waiting for your reviews, guys! They're the compass of this story!

Chapter 21: Battles With Swords and Within Hearts

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

And it was not surprising that the three Elf-lords pitied Salgant. The Lord of the House of the Swallow was known for his marvelous agility and speed: known as the fleetest Elf of all Gondolin and, perhaps, among all the Noldor. His clear mind and quickness made him an opponent that was not only formidable, but dangerous when his blood was roused, and Duilin had been an ill temper for the past two weeks. It was clear to the three onlookers that his attack was as quick and hot as his temper.

Fortunately for Salgant, although he was not as excellent a warrior as Duilin was, despite being older and possessing more experience, he was strong. Although his strength did not match Lord Rog's, it easily surpassed that of Duilin's, and his movements, although not as fast, were fluid. However, soon it would be noted that this was not enough

The two Lords unsheathed their swords and after saluting lightly with their weapons, put themselves on guard. As a rule, Duilin waited for his opponent to attack in order to observe him and know his weaknesses: it was a tactic he had learned from Lord Ecthelion. But this time was different.

No sooner had Salgant put himself on guard then Duilin attacked. The speed that distinguished the Swallow made him only a blur before Salgant's eyes. He leaped back, Duilin's blade passing inches from his chest.

Perhaps the Lord of the Harp was not outstanding in the art of sword-play, but he possessed enough equanimity to parry the hailstorm of blows raining down on him. Using his strength more than his skill, he forced Duilin to retreat, and with a sudden blow, almost disarmed the Swallow.

Seeing that Salgant was willing to use his force against him, Duilin took a leap backward and then he launched an attack. His legs opened wide as his armed arm extended, its tip threatening his opponent's chest.

The Lord of the House of the Harp fathomed the attack and instantly tried to stop the thrust, but his sword met the air, for, in the blink of an eye, Duilin crouched, then sprung, launching a terrible thrust at the tasseled Lord.

Salgant hardly had time to stop his enemy's attack. Their weapons were now locked together above his head, their faces a mere hairsbreadth apart. But that was not the intention of the Swallow. Before Salgant could react; Duilin slid his sword down his opponent's blade and tore Salgant's clothes along the left clavicle.

Salgant gave a short cry of disbelief: Duilin had wounded him. He looked into the other's eyes and saw a blazing fury in the pale blue.

The three onlookers had already hurried to where the duel was taking place. All knew that Duilin could at any time make a foolish act that would cost him dearly.

However, now Duilin was attacking with terrible agility. Although Salgant had a physical strength much greater than that of Duilin, it was utterly useless in the face of his lithe and ferocious attacks. Little by little, Duilin forced him to retreat, and a cold sweat covered Salgant's forehead. The look on Duilin's face could terrify even the bravest heart.

The Lord had received several thrusts that had ripped his rich clothes, but had they been deeper, would have gravely injured him. Finally, Duilin again lunged at him, with his blade angled at Salgant's chest. Salgant tried to stop him, already prepared in case his opponent feinted and attacked him from another angle; but what Duilin did left him stunned. Passing by him, Duilin threw three quick thrusts: one to the chest, another at the head and another, at the back. Salgant parried the first two but seeing he could not stop the third, turned quickly to face Duilin. But when he turned, Duilin pushed him, and Salgant stumbled and fell heavily upon his back. Although Salgant was well-nigh defeated, Duilin did not stop, instead, attacked him more savagely. Lord Salgant gasped at such ferocity: parrying only a few blows before Duilin disarmed him, twisting the other's wrist.

"You win, Lord Duilin!" He exclaimed.

But it seemed that he did not hear, or he did not want to hear, and it seemed he was ready to strike the killing blow when a scimitar intercepted Duilin's sword.

"Enough, Duilin!" Lord Egalmoth ordered. "You have won: cease this folly!"

Duilin did not answer. He stood looking at Salgant, as one would look at a groveling worm, and then spun upon Egalmoth. Egalmoth stopped his blows without trouble: he was much faster than Lord Salgant and had a greater presence of mind. But before Duilin could do aught else, two great arms surrounded him, entrapping his arms.

"Let me go!" He shouted in rage, trying in vain to free himself.

"No. Not until you calm yourself." Lord Rog answered coldly. Duilin's violent attempts were as a feather-brush for the mighty Noldo.

Egalmoth raised his curved sword to Duilin's throat, looking down the blade at his friend with steely eyes.

"Give me your sword, Duilin."

Duilin looked at him for a moment, his teeth clenched. He knew that he did not have the slightest chance of freeing himself; he knew that although Lord Egalmoth was of a mild nature and was his best friend, he would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to stop him; and there was also Lord Penlod who had helped Lord Salgant stand and had returned his sword. Finally, he released his blade. Egalmoth kicked it away, and then made a gesture to Rog, who released Duilin.

"Are you well, Lord Salgant?" asked Penlod quietly. The black and tasseled garb of the other was in tatters.

"Yes, Lord Penlod. You are very kind, unlike others," he replied, with a cold glare at Duilin, who only stared at him, and then left.

When he had gone, Egalmoth spun angrily on his friend. "What were you thinking, Duilin!"

"He was not thinking," Rog replied, his deep voice heavy with irony.

"Look who is saying it!" Duilin jeered.

Rog frowned, a look of displeasure in his fierce brown eyes. He was not known for his tranquility, but he knew how to control himself, something brought on in part by age, for after Lord Ecthelion, he was the oldest and most experienced Lord.

"Be careful with your words, young one," he answered quietly.

Duilin looked at him, his eyes still bright from fury, but he did not answer. He knew what could happen if he dared to say one more word about it.

"Duilin, what is it?" Penlod asked at that moment. Among the three that surrounded him, he was the most peaceful. "You have foisted your ill manners upon us for two weeks, and now, you have hurt Lord Salgant. Certainly, you are quick-tempered and hot-headed, but you have never been violent before. What troubles you?"

Duilin met the expectant looks of the other Lords. He knew they would listen to him, and were willing to help, principally Penlod and Egalmoth, who were his dearest friends….but how could he tell them what was really troubling him? What would they think of him if they knew that a maiden had been consuming his mind for two weeks? They would mock him, moreover since he was known to mock sentimentality and now ... he was the victim of it! And what he needed least was derision. He looked at them for a minute, and then said dryly, "My sword."

Egalmoth looked at him: waiting for an answer, not an order. But Lord Duilin did not care. "My sword," he repeated.

Egalmoth knew his closest friend well and knew he was stubborn, and it was near impossible to change his mind. If he opposed Duilin, the only thing that would occur was a heated argument that could end poorly.

"Promise me that you will harm none, nor fight a duel," he said, locking Duilin's gaze. "Promise, Duilin, or I will take you, along with your sword to the King's presence so that you explain what has happened."

Duilin looked at him coldly. He hated to be threatened, but there was no other solution but to comply. "Very well."

Egalmoth held out the sword, which Duilin snatched away, and sheathing it, left without a word.

"I have never seen Duilin like this," remarked Penlod after a moment of bewildered silence. "I never thought he would behave so violently in a friendly duel."

"For him, it was no longer friendly" answered Rog answered. "His temper clouded his mind."

"So it is." Egalmoth frowned. "I wonder what caused it."

He shared a glance with Penlod. Not one of them had the faintest notion.

Lord Duilin's POV

'In the name of Utumno, what is possessing me! Penlod was right: but he accused me as if I were guilty.

The culprit is Salgant. Válar, he is blind and fickle, and now I have fought with him, I know he is not worthy to be a Lord!

But….I fall into the same net as he does. My behavior was not lordly at all. If Turukanò hears of it, he will punish me like Glorfindel, and justly too.

Oh, Válar! What is happening to me? I feel that at any moment I will go mad! Every moment I see Elyéta and hear her voice. She is in my mind at all the time, and no one…nothing can rid me of her! I want her gone, but I want her here, with me. I am weak, weak and mad, so easily swayed that a pair of grey eyes and a head of black hair can turn me into this.

As much I want to see, I will not. She was so ashamed when she was apologizing, seeing me will only make her remember it. What she does not realize is that for me that is was the most beautiful moment in my life!

I am intoxicated…..as if her voice were strong wine, so strong even the memory makes me giddy.

What is this? What am I doing here? Why did I come to the Alley of Roses? It makes no sense, it is the longest route to the Swallow-House.

Oh, Válar! She is here! It seems that everything is coming together against me to see her again.

Ah! How beautiful she is! I wish I could look at her forever, memorize every detail of her lovely face.

No, all my limbs refuse to listen to me when I say I will only pass her by. I want to talk to her but ... I do not know what to say! Oh, Válar! And now I am here….. What do I do?'

Elyéta's POV

'Ah! I do not know what is happening to me! I cannot stop thinking of Lord Duilin. My first thought whenever I see the dawn is of him, and when the stars come out, it is still home. Whenever it is night, seem to see him once more in front of me, his graceful demeanor, his long hair braided with those feathers as white as his heart. I do not know why I think that when I know he has the reputation of being a quick temper. Maybe because he was so kind to me.

Oh! How I wish I could relive that moment I touched his hand! That great silence fretted with magic and beauty. Beautiful….oh yes, so beautiful! And I would give anything to have that again.

But to him, I do not exist. I am only one more inhabitant of the city: he has forgotten me, forgotten my name

But I have not. I cannot, and I do not want to forget him! I know that he is a Lord and I am neither beautiful nor of illustrious or noble blood.

When I think of it, I feel so dejected, as if wistfulness and sadness are gnawing at my fëa. But I encourage myself and Ardyl is there, and his cheerful chirping brightens my day. He has stayed with me all the time I sketched that feather and painted it too.

I know it's foolish, and I am acting like a dreamer. Linwe told me I was humming while painting, and my face seemed to be in the middle of a sweet dream. Maybe it was true ... I do not remember it, what I do remember is that every brushstroke I gave when I was painting, was for me to remember the feeling I had when I looked at him and touched his hand.

Elyéta, look around you! Why are you in the Alley of Roses. This is the longest road to go to the palace! And it so busy…I do not like the hustle and bustle. I'm not used to socializing: although Linwe insists I need it.

Oh! Válar! He is here! Oh, why, why, why! Now he will think that I am following him! No, I have to go before….it's too late, he has seen me.

Oh, Válar! What do I do, what do I do?! Válar, help me! I must leave…but ... but I cannot! I cannot! My feet refuse to move! His blue eyes have mesmerized me, and his elegant demeanor has captivated me! What do I do? I do not want to seem like a fool again because surely that is the concept he has of me: a clumsy and senseless maid, who is not able to speak intelligibly.

Aì! He is approaching me! What do I do? What do I say? The only thing I can do is look at him! I feel so weak….

"Elyéta?" Duilin asked eagerly: How silver-sweet her name sounded! He darted a glance at her: her hair was dark, so her eyebrows, and the long lashes that curled up from her great grey eyes. With her skin as pale as cream, their duskiness took on an added beauty, and nothing could rob her face of its individuality and suggestion of charm.

She nodded, and swallowed several times, blushing. "Yes, my lord. I am Elyéta. At your service." she said, dipping a small curtsey and keeping her eyes on the ground. Every time she met his gaze, she lost everything. All she could see was the blue, keen eyes.

"I am glad to see you again," he said without thinking. His words rushed from his heart and spent no time being weighed on the scale of his mind. He only spoke what his heart wanted to speak.

Elyéta raised her head sharply, her eyes shining.

'Ah! He remembers my name! And he said he was glad to see me again!' Elyéta thought excitedly, her heart beating with restless delight.

"I ... I ... likewise, my lord," she answered, stuttering.

There was a silence that hung between them. She was afraid of doing something foolish: he had no clue of what to say, but he was frantic to stay by her side.

'Oh, be merciful, Válar! What do I tell her? Will it be possible that I will not be able to look her in the eye and talk with her?! I longed to see her and now that I'm here with her ... I do not know what to tell her!' he thought angrily.

"It is a beautiful day." He broke the silence uncomfortably, as for the first time in his life, he did not know what to say.

"Oh, yes! Yes, it is," she answered without daring to add more. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her hands were folded behind her back, and she began to rock slightly back and forth on her heels.

'Ah, what a dullard I am! As if she was the first maiden I've ever spoken with! And now ... now I've made her nervous! Oh, Valar! What do I do?!' he pleaded inwardly.

'I'm so clumsy!' Elyéta thought miserably. 'I do not know what to say. Surely, he must be thinking that I am a fool. I am only reaffirming the terrible impression he has of me! I must leave.'

" I think I am interrupting you in your duties and making you waste your time. And well ... I think ... well ... I think ... well ... I should go," she said as a disquiet entered her heart. "May you have a blessed day, my lord, "she said as she bowed her head so he would not see the sudden cloud of sadness in her eyes.

And she was leaving when Lord Duilin's voice stopped her. "Ah…pardon my curiosity. Where are you are going…..if it is not prying?" he asked, trying desperately to find a way to stop her from leaving.

Elyéta blushed and looked down again, folding her hand in front of her this time. "I was going ... I was going to the palace, my lord. I must collect my painting supplies and take them back to my house…because the Princess asked her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone today. And besides, I must feed Ardyl. He will surely miss me if I do not greet him and….." She stopped when she saw the Elf-lord smiling at her. "Oh! I am sorry! I'm rambling! That was not what you asked me!" Her cheeks burned, and her fingers clenched each other nervously. "Yes. I go to the palace."

"I ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat before daring to ask the question. "Would you allow me to escort you ?" His heart beating against his chest like a caged hawk.

"Ah ... where?" She asked.

He raised a surprised eyebrow. "To the palace. You told me you were going to the palace "

Elyéta blushed further. "Oh, yes! The palace!" she exclaimed, her tone vague as she met his eyes. 'Ah! How handsome he is! How noble and graceful!' She could not help but sigh inwardly.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, confused at her stare. Elyéta shook her head and quickly lowered her head as she began to rock back and forth on her heels.

"Then ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat again. It was a way to give himself courage. "Would you allow me to escort you to the palace?"

Elyéta finally seemed to come out of her dreamy state. "Um ... yes ... if you want to ..." she said, without moving until the Elf-lord told her,

"So, shall we go?"

"Ah ... yes ... we should go," she stammered and resumed her way to the palace.

Turgon gazed at the council-table thoughtfully, watching the silver snake its way through the blue marble, the table where he and his loyal Lords sat to make the decisions concerning the safety of Gondolin.

Each of them had a different temper, and he considered the variety excellent, for they complemented each other and, in this way, he gave him different perspectives on a single situation, thus allowing him to make the most suitable decision. A mistaken choice could prove disastrous in dangerous days like these.

But now, the problem that had arisen had not come from outside, but from within, from his own family.

The argument he had with his daughter, with his Itarillë, that morning, was still echoing in his ears, and the terrible words that his beloved daughter hurled at him: 'And I never believed that my father would not defend me from my enemy', was for him more lacerating than any Orco weapon, however, poisoned it might be. He would never have imagined that his beloved child, his dear Itarillë, would be able to say such words. He knew he had hurt her, he knew her well and he knew that when she wanted to be alone it was because something had greatly disturbed her.

Aye, he had been severe…but what else to do? He could not be lenient when she mistreated Maeglin such a way? Maeglin, the son of his sister, of gallant, daring Irissë.

No, it should not have been possible that Itarillë so mistreated Maeglin, and even less that she would raise such a falsehood against him. Maeglin had the desire to ... to ... to rape her?! That, at least, was not possible! That was against all the laws of the Eldar, that went against their nature. Maeglin was not able to do such a thing.

He had seen the argument that had happened that night between the cousins. Itarillë had been angry with Maeglin, had made him beg, beg her to accept the gift he had made. And as if that was not enough, she had rebuked, mistreated and humiliated him! That must be punished, but he loved his daughter desperately and wanted no breach in their relationship.

He had remembered the words of Itarillë. She told him that many times she had had to ask for help from the Elf-lords, flee to them so that Maeglin would leave her alone. If such a thing was true ... why had not his Lords told him so? He did not believe that his Itarillë was lying to him, but he must know the truth. And if it was true, why had not anyone told him anything? But ... whom to ask? All of them were wise in one way or another. Even Lord Duilin, despite his quick temper and rashness, was strategically wise and his advice was useful. However, this time he needed someone who was wise, experienced and who would not take sides, who was completely evenhanded.

There was only one: Lord Ecthelion. The Lord of the House of the Fountains was the oldest of all the Elf-lords, nearly the age of the King, and they had been companions before Turgon ever entered his birthright. His nature was peaceful and reflective, he always thought before acting. He had been the only one who had been able to maintain, from the beginning, an acceptable relationship with the firíma they housed.

Yes, Lord Ecthelion had been able to endure her mistreatment and even stop his friend from doing something foolish due to her jeers.

But there was Maeglin too. The Lord of the Mole had not only been able to have a passable relationship with Hwa-Young but had also been able to get into a conversation with her; something that the wise Lord of the Fountains had not achieved. That was part of the reason he thought Itarillë was wrong.

However, it was always wise to see other's perspectives, and the best choice was Ecthelion. Ah, if only Elenwë was not with him! As the North Star guides the traveler at night so Elenwë was for Turgon ... his North Star, whom he swung too like a lodestone to the North. But since such a thing could not be, then he would seek the answer and perhaps counsel in his wise and faithful friend.

"You called for me, my lord?" said clear voice behind him.

The King, who was so immersed in his thoughts, had not noticed that the Lord of the House of the Fountains was there, standing behind him at a respectful distance. Turgon turned. "That is so."

"How can I serve you, my Lord?" he asked, bowing.

Turgon studied him for a minute, measuring the Lord of the Fountains.

There was no doubt Ecthelion had the demeanor of an Elf-lord. He walked with his head erect and his step firm. His silver eyes were insightful and although he was not as sharp-eyed as Duilin, both wisdom and intelligence could be read in them. His manner of dueling illustrated his manner of thinking: before attacking, he measured the opponent, studied each movement, and looked for both the weak points and then strengths, and then attacked with quick precision. His patience was also evident in his love of one of the fine arts: Music. Before being the best lutist in Gondolin, he had practiced and studied for hours, until finally, he had achieved mastery playing not only the flute but also the harp and the lyre. Certainly, his innate ability had helped him, but it had been practicing until he was now considered outstanding in Music. Truly, Ecthelion combined in his character the courage, strength, and strategy of a true warrior; with the patience, perception, kindness, and elegance of a one of high nobility.

"Today ... I talked at length with my daughter." Turgon began hesitatingly. "And it was a strange matter that emerged in the conversation she and I held."

Lord Ecthelion studied his King attentively, without understanding why he was told such a thing. The conversations held between the Princess and her father was no one's concern but theirs. But perhaps he needed advice. Raising a daughter was no easy task. Ecthelion hoped he had enough wisdom to be able to support his Lord in this delicate matter.

"She told me that her cousin, Lord Maeglin, follows her throughout the city, as if he were her own shadow," Turgon continued after a minute and fixed his eyes on Ecthelion, who instantly became vigilant. He knew the king's opinion of his nephew, and his response needed to be measured. "Is this true?"

"Yes, my King. At least that's what I've seen with my own eyes," he replied slowly. "I cannot speak for the other Lords," he added. It was better not to answer for everyone. Some of the Lords, such as Lord Rog and, above all, Lord Duilin, were not kind to Lord Maeglin; and taking the blame for others was not necessarily wise.

"And what do you do when Idril seeks your help? Or do you run to her aid?" Turgon asked, with a calculating look.

"No, she seeks our help. As for what we do, it is what the Princess asks us to do "

"Which is?"

"Let us accompany her somewhere, or escort her back to the palace. Usually, those are her orders," Ecthelion answered slowly: although his answer was not entirely true.

He and Glorfindel were the two people that the Celebrindal trusted the most after her father, and she asked these for help when the Mole hounded her. They had listened and tried to assuage her desperation and anger.

Many times, Idril had told him with tears in her eyes how disturbed she was over her cousin: how angry that her father did nothing, and her explanations about what was truly happening had only brought down his ire on her head. Lord Ecthelion did not answer, just listened to her, which was really what the Silverfoot needed; she did not need advice or consolation, she just needed who understood her, and she knew that the wise Lord of the House of the Fountains understood her completely, for nobody knew Lord Maeglin better than Ecthelion or Glorfindel himself. nobody better than him or Lord Glorfindel knew Lord Maeglin. Of all known, they had been largely the reason why the Huntress Princess had been snared in the Dark Forest. t

How many times Ecthelion had wished to tell Turgon what was happening! Perhaps when listening to another voice that confirmed what the Princess said, the King would finally understand. But ... he had been unable to for the Celebrindal had asked him not to tell her father: knowing that Ecthelion would be punished for daring to speak against Maeglin. Turgon as protected his daughter of any danger and even any word said against her, and he did the same but, to a greater extent, with Lord Maeglin. It was his way of redeeming himself, to love his sister's son.

"And has she ever told you why she asks for your help?" The King continued, his eyes measuring the responses of his loyal Elf-lord, seeking the truth in them.

Steeling himself, Ecthelion continued evenly. "She tells us only that she wants Lord Maeglin to leave her alone."

"And has she told you why she thinks he's looking for her all the time?"

"No, my lord." Another lie. It was better to protect the Princess. If the king knew that his daughter had told Lord Glorfindel and himself, and perhaps another what she thought, surely the Celebrindal would find herself in a difficulty over even her golden head. As for them? Turgon would be unhappy because they listened to her, but nothing more. So, it was indispensable to protect the young Princess at all costs, even if it meant having to lie to his lord.

The king stared at the Lord of the Fountains for a long time, before asking the most dangerous question of all.

"And tell me, Lord Ecthelion, what do you think of my nephew?"

"That he is a Lord endowed with a great ability to forge metal like no one among all the Noldor. Despite his youth, he is very wise; is a brave warrior and worthy Lord of Gondolin."

Turgon raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he did not believe Ecthelion's answer.

"I already know that," he said dryly. "What I want to know is YOUR opinion, not what I already know about him."

Ecthelion flinched imperceptibly. Here it was, the brazen confrontation. There was no finesse he could use to get away from the question.

"Permission to speak freely, my lord," he said finally.

"Speak."

Ecthelion said nothing for a moment, mindful of his dangerous position, and then said at last. "What I have said about him was something I truly believe. He is gifted in the things of Aulë, and I admire his skill. However, I also have to add that Lord Maeglin disdains us all. We try to approach him, we invite him to be one of us, and his response is always cold and abrupt. It is true that he follows the Silverfoot as faithfully as her own shadow, nor do her requests for him to leave have any weight. He is wise for one so young, and once again, it is something I admire in him, but…my Lord, he has too much influence in the Council. His youth and inexperience could lead him to give unsound advice. I do not ask my Lord to listen solely to the other Elf-lords, but I certainly think that perhaps you should allow their advice to have the same weight as that of the Prince. It would allow you to reign ever wiser than you already govern. As for the situation raised by the Princess, if I am allowed to advise, I think it would be an excellent idea to talk to her and inquire more. If the Celebrindal says repeatedly that Lord Maeglin seeks her and follows her throughout Gondolin, there must be some reason. The old proverb holds true, my Lord: 'if the river sounds, it is because it carries water.'"

The King's face was a stone mask, but his words overflowed with great anger, so great that even Ecthelion, accustomed to his moods and power, stepped a pace back.

"How can you talk that way about my nephew!" he cried. "I am amazed at the freedom with which you slander Maeglin, my Lord I Ecthelion! I decided to speak with you thinking that because of your wisdom is known to all, and your temper, you would be impartial ... and behold, I see that you still hold an hostility towards your Prince! " He paused, and shot the most terrible shaft, that shaft that had rankled in his heart and caused him to hold a silent grudge against Glorfindel and Ecthelion." Do you forget that it is because of you and Lord Glorfindel that my sister was lost? Do you forget that, because of your mistake, the Dark Elf Eöl seized my sister and that Lord Maeglin was born of that terrible union? Do you forget the sad state my nephew is living? You know well why he does not live here, in the palace, because in all the city there is gossip and calumnies spoken against him! Do not think I am ignorant of it! And now, I realize that you are one of them! That you also hate him, even though it was through you Maeglin was born! You should hold some responsibility to him: try to redeem yourself towards him and in that way expiate the sin you did towards his mother!"

"I acknowledge my mistake as to what happened to Princess Írissë," replied Ecthelion, struggling to handle the King's wrath. The accusations that Turgon raised against him, were so great and terrible he felt crushed under their weight. "But I am not part of the people who have given epithets to your nephew, my lord. Despite his sharpness, I try to show kindness to him."

"I know that my nephew is not the most vivacious person in Gondolin, but he certainly does not have ill manners. He has always been kind to me. Why then with you is not he?" Turgon replied darkly.

"If I may remind you, my lord, you are his uncle and in addition the king whom he serves. I would not be surprised in the least that he is kind to you ."

The High King of the Noldor looked at him for a moment: a terrible light in his eyes. "How is that possible, Lord Ecthelion?" He said coldly.

"You asked me to tell the truth and I told it, my lord." the Lord of the Fountains answered calmly.

Turgon turned abruptly away from him, suffering from an emotion far deeper than he cared to acknowledge. He stared for a long time at the throne where he sat during each Council. "You said that 'if the river sounds, it's because it carries water,'" he said after a few silent minutes. "And you are right." He turned to Ecthelion, regaining control of himself and announced with a forced decision and a studied coldness, which Ecthelion knew to be the cloak used to hide grief, fear, and anger. "Summon the Lords of Gondolin for a Council."

"Yes, my lord," Ecthelion replied, bowing.

Turgon's brief nod was enough to dismiss him.

Rog was intently watching the duel between Penlod and Egalmoth.

Once Duilin had left, Lord Penlod and Lord Egalmoth had decided to engage in a friendly duel. Whoever won in that contest, would fight against him.

It had been a few of hours since the two began. Both had great skill and speed and were evenly matched. Although Egalmoth's curved sword had confused Penlod in the beginning, Penlod was adaptable and had learned how to take advantage of it.

A calm, controlled voice made Rog turn. "Ah! Ecthelion!" he exclaimed. "Are you coming to keep us company? "

"No," Ecthelion answered. "I came to tell you that the king has summoned us for a Council."

Rog frowned in surprise. "Has something happened?" He asked. "Something threatens the city?"

"No" replied Lord Ecthelion, a glimmer of anger in his grey eyes. "He wishes to talk to us concerning the Prince."

Upon hearing this, Rog made a fleeting expression of displeasure. He was one of the Lord who most disliked the Lord of the House of Mole. And it was not because the young Lord had such an unkind and closed temperament, but he knew that the Mole was unreliable, and this was made manifest by the way he dogged the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin. There was only one reason why a male hounded a female, and it was by no means a noble thing. "What of Lord Maeglin?" He asked after a moment.

"I do not know. Tell them that it is necessary that they go to the Council right now," Ecthelion added abruptly, clearly wishing to add the conversation. "Where is Duilin?"

"I do not know, but I have to warn you that he is not in a cheerful mood."

"I know. He has not been these last two weeks."

"It's true," Rog admitted, "But today he is in a worse mood than the other days. Lord Salgant can tell you."

"What happened?"

Rog laughed huskily. "Let us be content with saying Duilin fought Salgant without a shred of mercy. You can guess the result."

Ecthelion nodded slowly. "I will go and look for him: we must be gathered as soon as possible. The King is not cheerful either."

"I'll go look for him," broke in another voice.

Both Lords turned. It was Egalmoth.

"I'll go look for him," he repeated as he sheathed his curved sword, legendary among all the Noldor, for there was none like it.

Ecthelion nodded. "I will search for Galdor and Salgant."

And without further ado, he turned around and walked quickly in search of the last two Lords.

Elyéta's POV

'Oh! How can something be so wonderful and at the same time so sad? Lord Duilin is escorting me to the palace! This is something I never imagined. He remembers me, he remembers my name. He says he's happy to see me again and even offered to escort me. There is no word to describe how wonderful it is!

But at the same time, it is so sad! We have walked to the palace and I have not been able to address a single word to each other! He was kind enough to accompany me, and I ... I am not able to be a good companion for him.

Oh! Elyéta! Sometimes you are not only more than clumsy…..you are pathetic too! You are so childish, and now Lord Duilin will regret walking with you.

Ah! Why are you like that, Elyéta? Why are you so clumsy just when you should be lively, smiling and witty? How sad this is! He will never speak to me again, and even less, accompany me. Once again, his opinion about me as a mindless nissë has been proven!

We have arrived at the palace! What do I tell him? What do I do?'

Lord Duilin's POV

'I hate myself! Yes, I hate myself! I have not been able to talk to her! I have not said a single word: a mute, mindless fool! I have always been agile in mind and word and now ... now that I must be is when I am not.

What will she think of me? Surely, she must think that, because I am a Lord, it is that I do not deign to speak with her. I Surely, she thinks that I see her with scorn for being one of the common people….and nothing is further from my mind!

For me, I do not care if she is not of the nobility. For me, Elyéta is different. She is beautiful both in mind and body; and I prefer a thousand times over to be in her company, then be with a high-ranking Lady.

That is why I offered to escort her to the palace, to be able to talk to her, but here I have not been able to open my mouth. The only thing I've been able to do is to admire her grace. She may not have the same level of grace as the Silverfoot, but undoubtedly Elyéta is graceful, elegant and beautiful.

I do not want her to think that I consider her below me, but ... I do not know what to say! Every time I see her beautiful eyes, I lose myself in them and forget all else! Válar! I even forget who I am! Now that we have arrived at the palace, I do not know what to say to her; I do not want to say farewell!

Elyéta turned around, the hot blood blooming in her cheeks. She glanced out under her lashes at him, before crossing her hands under her back and rocking back and forth, an unmistakable sign she was nervous.

Lord Duilin returned her look. His blue eyes never tired of admiring her, he could have stayed there the rest of eternity.

'She is so beautiful! Yes, boast of your Finduilas and Lúthien and Idril…..none are as beautiful as Elyéta!' Thought Lord Duilin, as his heart beat, but he found a sweet cadence there like never before.

"Thank you very much for escorting me," she said timidly. "It has been a great honor for me, that the Swallow would do such."

Duilin smiled. "The honor has been mine, Elyéta," he said. Her name was so sweet: he loved being able to say it.

She blushed intensely and for the first time smiled at him, a timid, childish smile that sparkled in her eyes and danced around her mouth timidly. A smile that the Elf-lord loved, a smile that would never disappear from his mind and heart, even at the moment of his death.

They looked at each other in silence. It seemed that the world had slowly stopped until it froze at the moment they stood in, a moment that had become eternal.

'He is so handsome and so generous and so brave!' Elyéta thought wistfully. 'You should not waste your time with me: I'm not worthy of your escort. You shouldn't even talk to me, for I am so awkward. But there is no one like you. No, there is no one in the whole world like you, my lord! '

"Ah...maybe on some other occasion we can ... well… talk for a few moments", Duilin suggested hesitatingly.

Elyéta nodded several times and smiled eagerly. "It would be an honor, my lord," she murmured.

The Elf-lord smiled and once again, both fell into that strange charm, the silence that drank away their voices in echoless repose, a dream-like silence, as the twilight grew above them.

Someone cleared his throat a few steps away from them, breaking the silence. Both turning sharply, seeing Lord Egalmoth, who was studying the architecture of a pillar.

Seeing this, Duilin could not help but blush, while Elyéta also blushed and looked down, catching a glimpse of Duilin's flushed face.

'Ah! He's adorable! ' She thought, stifling a laugh at his confusion.

Egalmoth bowed to both. "A thousand apologies for interrupting, but the King has summoned you, Lord Duilin, to a Council meeting

"Yes, yes ... ah ... have a blessed evening, my lords." Elyéta said, nodding nervously.

"May you have a blessed evening," Egalmoth replied, bowing his head in greeting.

Lord Duilin could not answer with words, but his involuntary and beautiful smile said it all.

Elyéta bowed and walked away quickly.

Duilin watched her until she disappeared around a byway. 'How beautiful she is! '

The voice of his best friend dragged him out of the dream. "Duilin, we have to go. You will talk to her another day "

The quick-tempered Elf turned sharply upon Egalmoth, who looked at him meaningfully.

"Do not dare mention to any other!" he growled.

Egalmoth smiled, having no concerns over his friend's threatening tone. "It's not going to be necessary for me to say it. You will say it yourself. Love is something that cannot be hidden, I tell you from experience." he answered. "Now, let's go, the king is waiting for us "

Seems that a storm approaches to the Elf-lords considering the anger of king Turgon.

As well as seems that Lord Duilin have fallen for Elyéta very against his will. Will he allow that this love continue or will he continue fighting against it?

Waiting for your reviews, guys!