Hi guys!

First of all, I want to thank Celridel for her immense help editing all the chapters. Also I want to invite to the readers to leave their reviews which will be always welcomed.

In this chapter, something that nobody had ever expected, specially the Elf-lords will happen. What will it be?

Chapter 22: Wise Counsels

By the time Lord Duilin and Lord Egalmoth reached the Council Room, all other Lords were present, save Lord Maeglin and the King.

Each had taken their respective place, and the room was full of murmurs, surmising why the King had summoned them to a Council so untimely.

"He wishes to talk to us concerning Lord Maeglin?" Galdor inquired, looking at Lord Ecthelion.

The Lord of the Fountains had told them in broad strokes what had occurred during his audience with the High King, before Lord Salgant, arrived, for it was well known that the Lord of the House of the Harp was a great admirer of Turgon's nephew.

Ecthelion cast a warning glance towards Salgant, who had entered, but Galdor's words were already spoken and the tasseled Lord had heard. Seeing this, Ecthelion answered deftly, "It is likely, but I can say nothing with certainty."

Salgant raised an eyebrow. Both Ecthelion and quick-eyed Duilin noted this.

The young Swallow was tense, his senses as sharp as if was about to enter a confrontation. He disliked Maeglin the most, and his quick temper, combined with the realization of what had been happening and the King's impotence in that matter sparked his anger, as weakness always did. And, therefore, Lord Salgant was not one of his favorite companions either.

'If the king asks me about Lord Maeglin, I will defend him and plead for him,' decided the Lord of the Harp resolutely, turning his gaze from silvered Ecthelion and glancing around the table at other, familiar faces.

"If this Council does centers on Maeglin-considering what the King said to you-we will not have many opportunities to speak," Glorfindel murmured to his dearest friend. "He already blames us for why his nephew is orphaned."

"It's because we are to blame for what happened, Glorfindel. Whether we like it or no, that makes it no less true," Ecthelion sighed, recalling the tragedy that had happened less the two centuries ago. "Our hand was played out well before this council."

"I give you that, but Lord Maeglin has not had such an unenviable life as the King chooses to believe," retorted Glorfindel, resentment latent in his voice. "And what is unenviable is mostly of his own making."

The Lord of the Fountain shook his head in commiseration.

"If it does concern Maeglin, nothing good is to expected," muttered Lord Rog. He was, besides Duilin, liked the young Prince the least. Being among the eldest of the Lords, it was sickening to him to see the Princess hounded by her own cousin.

"We can guarantee nothing," answered Penlod, trying to reassure Rog, although his own face was quietly troubled. "It may be something else altogether."

"Then why has not Maeglin arrived. He is always the first!" retorted Rog.

Galdor, ever the peace-keeper, answered in the soft voice peculiar to him. "Perhaps he is in his forge, and his work is too delicate to be interrupted. He spends many hours working there." The Lord of the House of the Tree did not like Lord Maeglin but made an effort to be friendly.

Duilin snorted. "A long time in his forge?" he mocked. "I would rather say that a long time dogging the Celebrindal-"

An inconspicuous, although forceful nudge from Egalmoth arrested the hot-headed Elf's words.

Turgon entered the Council-Chamber, wearing all the regalia of Gondolin's High-King, no less a King than his father before him. He wore robes of white, belted with gold, and a crown of garnets glittered in his black hair. In his right hand, he held the Staff of Doom, and Glamdring was in his belt, white and gold in its ruel-bone sheath. Rare was the warrior who could face the King. Indeed, a deadly Lord he looked, his slender height emphasized in his tense posture.

In his clear eyes was a keen light like the flash of lightning: his face was calm, but it was clear it was the façade of calm before the storm is unleashed.

Turgon's POV

'I cannot believe what Maeglin told me! And yet, I know that that is the truth: how can I but trust him? He is wise, despite his youth, and has a distaste for duplicity, like his mother. His loyalty to me and to this city is unwavering. Not even the Unnamed One himself would be able to break that loyalty towards Gondolin ... towards me! Maeglin would sooner die than betray us, and his wisdom exceeds the number of his years. Ah, I doubt if even little Itarillë is as wise as he!

And now ... I see my Lords assembled, looking at me with questions in their eyes, and wish to answer their question by asking them one. Why would they treat the High-Prince so? These Lords who pride themselves on wisdom and skill cannot realize the truth.

Yet, I am a King. A just one? A wise one? That is yet to be seen. But I try to the utmost, and to be wise, I must know both sides of the conflict. That is what Elenwë taught me. She would listen to these Lords, despite her anger, and let them explain their mistakes.

And they will.'

As the High King entered the Council Room, the murmur died, as if he was the wind blowing the candle out.

As he moved towards his throne, all could see that by the brightness of his eyes and the rigid expression on his face, he was angered beyond reason.

He sat, his eyes piercing their faces, searching their thoughts with meticulous precision. They returned his gaze, waiting for him to break the silence.

Still, he drew it on, lingering on it, choosing words and watching reactions.

"As I said earlier to Lord Ecthelion," he began at last. "I talked at length with the Princess this morning, and I learned of a concern of hers, that also became mine, though for different reasons. "He paused." Is it then true? Has my daughter has asked for your aid because her cousin, my sister-son, hounds her?"

His gray, insightful eyes locked for a moment on each of the Lords, demanding an answer and challenging the silent that lay thick in the room.

Turgon had already made his judgment beforehand. That was clear, as he spoke of Maeglin as his sister-son, and the Lords knew it.

Rog spoke first: breaking the stillness with his deep voice. "It is true, my Lord. The Princess has asked for my assistance several times."

"She has asked all of us," seconded Lord Penlod, precise and quiet, as in all matters of import.

"She did not ask me."

The owner of that unwelcome comment was Salgant, now the focus of all eyes. The High King pounced on him. "Why is this?"

"I do not know, my lord," answered the Lord of the Harp sincerely. "The truth is that the Princess has never been kind enough to ask me to escort her, as it seems she has asked these Lords," he added with a certain bitterness. He felt shunned by the Celebrindal, but did not realize was that the Princess was doing it because she knew the admiration he held for Lord Maeglin.

"That is, she does not ask for….help, even if my sister-son is with her?"

"No, my Lord."

Anger against Salgant lay overt in the eyes of the other Lords, and the King saw it. Salgant had answered with the words the King had wished to hear and discredited the other Lords by doing so.

"You say that my daughter runs towards you if Lord Maeglin is in the vicinity?" asked Turgon abruptly, his tone like one cajoling a small child towards the truth."

"It is the Princess who asks our help, my lord," Egalmoth replied, "And we obey."

"That is not what my sister's son told me, Lord Egalmoth," answered the King replied coldly.

A sharp intake of breath was heard. A lie! And how many had he told Turgon?

"What did Prince Maeglin say, my Lord?" asked Galdor. It was necessary to know as soon as possible in what territory they were, and whether they should meet the King on his own ground.

"The contrary, my Lord Galdor," he replied disdainfully. "He avows that you intrude whenever he tries to speak with his cousin."

"Such a thing has never happened, my lord!" cried Duilin, vainly trying to keep calm before the slander raised against them. "The Princess asked for help! He says he was talking to you-but, my King, let me differ with you. It is not true. Lord Maeglin hounds your daughter throughout the city, not giving her a moment's peace."

"It seems to me strange, Lord Duilin," Turgon answered. "My sister-son once again tells me the contrary. You interfere when he tries to strengthen the relationship between her and him."

Duilin opened his mouth to rebut the unjust accusation, but Turgon did not let him speak a word.

"Do not think I am ignorant of your aversion towards my nephew, Lord Duilin. I never speak to you concerning it, but I am well aware of your thoughts of him," he added, looking at each of the Lords in turn. "You are looking for some mistake, to show he carries the strain of the Dark Elf: but his mother was my sister, the High-Princess Aredhel, and her blood is stronger."

Upon hearing this, all Lords were outraged. Surely the King could not believe such things! Certainly, Lord Maeglin was the son of Princess Írissë, but that made him no higher or lower than any of them. What denigrated him in their eyes was how he relentlessly dogged his cousin.

"If may I allowed to speak, my lord," Lord Glorfindel, trying to still the hot blood shooting through his veins. "Perhaps Lord Maeglin forgot to mention that many times we have invited him to join us, but he has always denied us, in words that are not the epitome of courtesy."

" And why are you surprised that he behaves so, Lord Glorfindel? "Turgon demanded. "You and Lord Ecthelion are the reason why he was born in such sad circumstances, lived his first years in darkness; and as if that was not enough for you ... you condemn his ill manners?!" He finished in hardly-constrained fury. "What you do is the least you can do for him! Do not forget the reason he is an orphan-because of your lack of prudence and of courage, my Lords."

There was a heavy silence. Lord Glorfindel clenched his teeth: Lord Ecthelion closed his fists until his knuckles were white, trying to contain the anger that had gripped him, as did his young friend.

They had failed to protect Princess Aredhel, sister of King Turgon, but ... what could they have done? Aredhel and her companions were forced to go northward on being denied passage to Doriath, through the treacherous region of Nan Dungortheb, where they were separated, in the dark shadows and preyed upon by the spawn of Ungoliant. And of all her companions, only Glorfindel and Ecthelion had returned to Gondolin, weary and wounded and heart-sick. Aredhel's death was not due to a lack of negligence, but because of dark dwimmercraft and pride.

"Perhaps Lord Maeglin shows a certain ... aversion towards Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion because of this, and perhaps he is right." intervened Lord Galdor, trying to rid the uncomfortable silence out of sympathy for his suffering fellows. "But neither I nor Lord Penlod had ought to do with this matter and, still, we also are pushed aside. The fault may no longer be found wholly on our side: Lord Maeglin is not willing for our companionship."

"My sister-son does not desire the companionship of his fellows, Lord Galdor?" asked the King. His voice was cool and emotionless, save for a trace of irony. He turned on Lord Salgant. "And what of you, my Lord Salgant? I hear you have a good friendship with my nephew, is that not so?"

"No doubt, my lord," he replied, nodding his head.

"And how is it you have established relations, while the other Lords cannot…or will not?" Turgon asked.

It was evident to all his question was a trap: either to trammel Salgant in a lie or leave the other Lords defenseless. The ruse would use Salgant's response, so once again, Salgant became the cynosure of all eyes.

"I do not know, my lord. The truth is, though I admit that Prince Maeglin is not the most affable of Elves, he has an agreeable temper and not a few qualities that many of us would like to have," he ended, with a malicious glance at Lord Duilin, who cursed Salgant to the Void and beyond under his breath.

"And what qualities have you seen in my sister's son, Lord Salgant?" Asked the King, his eyes not on the interlocutor, but observing each of the Elf-lords.

"He is very wise, my Lord, and has equal skill forging and handling weapons. He is elegant, knowledgeable, brave, and an excellent warrior. At first glance, he appears to be taciturn and aloof, but once he is approached and shown sympathy, he is an excellent friend." Lord Salgant answered, not realizing that his clumsiness and blindness was bringing gathering woe to his companions.

"So, do you consider him your friend?" Turgon's voice was low.

"That is so, my lord. One whom I admire and love, and of whom I am proud to call my friend."

"Now, tell me, my Lords," said the High after a few moments. "How is it so that only one among the nine Lords can deal with him? Does it not seem strange to you?"

"Quite the contrary, my lord," said Lord Rog, in whom a flame of indignation was burning against Salgant, so he wished he had not interfered in the duel between him and Duilin. He was discrediting them before the king. "It does not seem strange at all. Maeglin chooses as friends only those he considers useful. Salgant is no more a friend to him than I am, but he is one who can be manipulated at will."

Lord Salgant paled before the accusation. A frisson of tension crackled in the room: the atmosphere was charged with amazement at Rog's mingled audacity and bravery.

"That is not true!" Salgant cried, bringing his hand down on the marble table. First, he had been defeated in the most humiliating way by Duilin, and now he was accused of being weak by Rog, in front of all the Lords and the king. "I thought you were too honorable to raise such calumnies against me, Lord Rog, but I see that is not true!"

There was a threatening light in the eyes of the Lord of the House of the Hammer of the Wrath. Salgant held his gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes.

"So, why did you advocate Lord Maeglin in front of the Princess, when you know that the Princess does not want any meddling in her affairs?" Lord Penlod asked coldly. The Lord of the Two Houses would not stand by and let his dearest friend be insulted. "If I remember correctly," he continued, his manner chillingly precise. "She rebuked you for your imprudence and interference if I remember right."

The Lord of the House of the Harp blushed with shame and anger.

"Is this true?" Asked the King.

"That is so, my lord," Lord Penlod replied. It was necessary to undo the damage done as soon as possible "We have never meddled in this matter of the Princess in relation to Lord Maeglin. If we approach, it is because she expressly asks for it. That is not true of Lord Salgant. It is therefore not surprising, then, that the Celebrindal does not ask for assistance from Lord Salgant, for she knows that he would not help her and, on the contrary, would facilitate Lord Maeglin's companionship."

Turgon looked at the Lord of the House of the Harp, who could not answer because of the shame, the indignation, and the anger. Lord Salgant's answers had been disbanded with the timely intervention of Lord Penlod, but it happened just as Lord Ecthelion had foreseen from the beginning: the King had already made a choice.

"Do you try to shame Lord Salgant?" Said Turgon, addressing Penlod. "May more shame be brought to you, and your companions! You lash out at my sister's son: you who are older and supposed to have more wisdom, but all your prudence put together does not amount to that of my nephew's! With the exception of Lord Salgant, you spurn him and throw him aside. You believe that because you are older than him you have greater wisdom, but it has often been the advice of my nephew and not yours that has guided me. And, seemingly, such a thing does not please you, so you have taken it against him, eschewing him, reminding him without words of his past life. I cannot believe that such a thing exists in my Council!" he continued, raising his voice, his tone increasingly heated. "I cannot believe it, but I find I must! We are supposed to be of the same mind. And now it turns out that not only Lord Ecthelion, in whom I had placed my hopes of finding wise counsel; but all of you, with the sole and honorable exception of Lord Salgant, have failed me!" Hearing the way, the king referred to him, Lord Ecthelion cursed under his breath: the gentle Lord's cup of endurance had been filled to the brim. "And from what I see here, Lord Salgant has also been forced to endure your childish and envious behavior! Those who claim to be friendly," He said turning to Galdor, Egalmoth, and Penlod. "You are not friends, you are patronizing him out of compassion. Show true friendship and my sister's son will not react with disfavor! And those who against him because my nephew's state is not the clearest ... " He looked towards Glorfindel and Ecthelion. "You, above all others, should be friendly with him, instead of allying against him. Recognize the qualities of Lord Maeglin, and if my daughter asks for help, make her understand that her cousin does not intend to harm her!"

"My lord," Glorfindel said, with an unrestrained leap of anger, though Ecthelion had made a discreet signal to keep quiet. "Allow me to explain what seems to have been misunderstood. We do not mistreat Lord Maeglin, and we are aware of our error and what it cost; but if the Princess, your daughter, runs to ask for our help ... is not honorable that as Lords sworn to protect the city, would protect the greatest treasure of Gondolin, that is Idril Silverfoot?"

"Do not excuse your conduct towards my nephew under that pretext, Lord Glorfindel," replied the King dryly. "You have certainly sworn eternal loyalty to this city, to me and to my daughter; but that does not give you the right to interfere in matters that are not your concern. Chiefly you, Lord Glorfindel. You are wise and valiant, but are still young and lacking in experience. And not only do not think my words only apply to Lord Glorfindel," he continued. "I say it to others. Do not dare mistreat my nephew."

"Then what should we do if the Princess asks for our help, my Lord? "Lord Duilin asked, enraged to see that instead of protecting the Celebrindal, her father was turning against everyone, following the slanders that Lord Maeglin had told him. "Shall we allow Lord Maeglin to hound the Flower of Gondolin, your daughter, though the city? Perhaps we should close our eyes to what could happen? Would that please you more? Is it no more prudent, my Lord, to listen to both sides: to take heed to what Princess Idril says. Truly the Lord of the House of the Mole is your nephew, but the Princess is your daughter, she is also your family and even closer. Listening to her would be the wisest."

Anger lit the eyes of the High King of the Noldor. "Measure your words well, Lord Duilin," he said with a coldness that stressed the threat. "Remember too who you swore allegiance. I will ignore this kind of words, once."

The Lord of the House of the Swallow was tempted to leave. Rage was forcing its way: clawing and screaming. How was it possible that the king did not realize the immense danger his daughter was in?

There was an onerous silence, during which Turgon seemed to calm himself and his voice and words were kinder.

"I know that this has not pleased you in the least: I see it clearly in your faces. Believe me when I say that I did not relish this either. I appreciate all of you; you are the most loyal Lords I have ever known, but remember that the Enemy is very powerful and will do everything in his power to destroy us. A kingdom divided among itself falls soon. I do not want there to be divisions between us. It is true that everyone will make an enemy, but it is up to us to know how to forgive. This has been the only reason that has driven me to address this difficult issue. I do not wish there to be disagreements between you and Lord Maeglin. Certainly, my sister's son is a difficult companion, but no doubt you can make a greater effort to include him among you. I myself have told my daughter to treat him kindly. Now I ask you the same thing."

The Elf-lords, with the exception of Lord Salgant, answered in low voices, quivering with anger like plucked harp strings: As you wish, my Lord, my King, echoes filling the room, words that were only words, as meaningful as the wing-whisper of the moth save that they came from those he trusted most.

The High King looked at them for a moment. He knew that, although they were all angry and felt humiliated: they were all willing to die for him, for his daughter, for the City and its inhabitants. That's why he had been encouraged to reprimand them because he knew that none of them would turn their backs and betray him.

"I told you it was softer, Hwa-Young! Do you not understand?! Or are you deaf? "Lord Glorfindel cried furiously, bringing his hand down on the bench with a terrible force.

Laura stared at him, a dangerous light gathering in her green eyes. She was tired of her insults. It was the fifth time and for Laura, it was more than enough. If it had been another person, she would have answered with irony and aggressiveness; but it was Glorfindel. He had always behaved kindly with her, endured her insolence and ill-manners. It was true that he had said things that she did not like and, moreover, had angered her; but in the end, they had been for her sake. Sometimes, he did not understand what Laura was thinking and took false steps, but his good will and kindness were always present, and Laura could not deny that ... even if she thought too.

Laura's POV

'I do not know what's wrong with this Elf-guy! From night to morning, he has suddenly acquired a demon-mood! knows what happened to him! And apparently, he was not the only one. Today the two Elf-lords who watch my cottage, friend Ecthelion, and Lord Rog were not in a good mood at all.

Rog is not surprising: he's a guy who has a fairly strong temper. In fact, I believe that the only one who beats it is Duilin. I can imagine the reason: Duilin is younger, or at least that's my hunch. The prudence to control oneself only comes with the experience of being older or ... of having been trained like me. But since the guy from the House of the Hammer of the Wrath was not trained by the Facility or by any similar organization, then only that possibility remains: he is older than Duilin.

As for friend Ecthelion ...? He does surprise me. That Elf-guy is very calm, kind and always does his best to be at peace with everyone, including me. I must give him credit for it: I am not a very nice person. But this morning, Ecthelion was in such a bad mood that he hardly greeted me. It was quite clever on his part: following the famous, and unfortunately often ignored, advice: If you have nothing good to say, don't say anything at all.

Lord Rog hardly even spoke to me. He was abrupt with me ... well, more abrupt than he usually is, but I got used to it. Not everyone will be like Glorfindel or Ecthelion or Egalmoth or Galdor. However, it catches my attention. The three Lords I've seen today are furious.

But the quarrel was not among them, no. When friend Ecthelion gave the surveillance of my cottage to Rog, I could see that they were angry and in a bad mood, but not at each other. The same happened with Glorfindel. The guy greeted Rog in a friendly manner, and in turn, Rog greeted Glorfindel, but all three are furious. And guess who has had to foot the bill for it? Laura Kinney!

My guess is that the three were scolded. Maybe the good Turgon lectured them, maybe even punished them. The question is why; But even more important is ... what the hell do I have to do with the matter? Why did I have to pay for what Turgon lectured them about?

It is true that I am not an angel, nor will I ever be, no matter how hard I try, but I also do not deserve to be treated this poorly, especially when I have tried long and hard to be nice to everyone, including Duilin. And c'mon ...! I'm talking about Duilin! The guy who is more temperamental than a girl with P.M.S.!

This has been the fifth time that Glorfindel has shouted at me. Today he has behaved like a jerk and I am not a person who tolerates jerks. Everyone who has behaved like this to me has ended up in a bad situation. And I must add that I was tempted to do the same thing to him: treat him badly, bicker with him, or just leave and let him talk to himself. I do not have to put up with his bad mood.

But ... but I do not know what has stopped me. Now that I've seen him hit the bench, as I did a couple of weeks ago, I realize that he's really furious; but even being furious and not wanting to see me or the rest of the world, he came anyways give me my harp lesson. So, it's really admirable that he did it. Any other would have left me waiting, without even appearing or sending a message.

However, this elf-guy, Glorfindel, took the time to come here and not abjure his promise. Maybe the bet is what motivated him to come: I am sure even thinking about having to cut his pretty Rapunzel hair has terrified him. The fact that he has made an effort to come does not mean that he has been able to maintain his composure ... but hey, he is an Elf and what can be expected of the Elves? After all, they have a superiority complex so big they probably never believe they are wrong.

In any case, I had a great temptation to answer him as he deserves; or bicker with him or humiliate him. I know him enough to know where to attack, and at least hurt him for a while, but ... it's not fair. No, it's not fair and I would be very ungrateful if I did such a thing.

I know that I don't follow the idiom: If you have nothing good to say, don't say anything at all. I have never been very skilled with words unless it is for deceiving and achieving something. But in other ways, I'm awfully clumsy. I do not know how to console, I do not know how to give encouragement, I do not know how to make people laugh or at least make smile. It is so pathetic! I know many things much more complicated, things that are rare; but being empathic ...? I do not have that skill and most likely, no matter how hard I try will never have it. The same thing has always happened, every time I try to help by showing empathy, they all push me aside. And yet, even though I think this, and I get angry and sad at the same time, I cannot help but feel something for the good Elf-guy. I feel angry and offended, yes, but I also feel ... sadness and something like compassion.

I don't know, it's a pretty strange feeling. The point is, this strange feeling has made me stay, even though he is behaving like a real lout…...

Now, he is being silent. All his presence radiates contained fury. It's a fact, he is making a super effort not to speak badly, but h's failed... well, he is an Elf and even Elves, however superior, are not immune to anger.

Although I know this ... I can't help thinking: how can I help? It's a fact that can't help through words: I'm clumsy and the only thing I would do would be to anger him more and we would argue, and we would fight. Maybe even the good relationship that we have, would disappear by a word badly said by me or him. Leaving him is to show a lot of ingratitude. Why? I do not know, but I guess because he has never left even though I often, with my 'ill-manners', as they call them, would have merited it. Then what do I do? I think there is no other recourse, and, in fact, I think it is the most appropriate and logical, to stay with him as long as he is here.

Remmy used to tell me to think about how I would like to be treated, and treat others that way. If I was angry, I would like them to leave me alone and not talk to me, but Glorfindel is not one of those people. The good Glorfindel has delineated his priorities and will not fail in them, no matter how angry he is; but he is not perfect, and I am sure that the fact that nobody spoke to him, for him would be the best.

So, considering all this, I'll stay with him all night, accompanying him all the time he's here, without saying a word. I believe that's the best way to pay the debt for the immense good that he has done to me up to now, is to be ... empathic with him and try to understand him as best I can. Afterward I will see what is done in terms of reason and in the future if he will apologize, but for now ... what I will do is support him, even if it is only with my presence. If that means being empathetic, then I will be ... I'll be empathetic and try to understand Glorfindel.'

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had repeatedly insulted Laura. He had called her 'clumsy', 'firíma', 'unable to do as she was told' among other things. But the only reaction she had given was to frown and close her fists, but she had not uttered a single word.

Finally, Glorfindel understood that if he kept trying to teach her, he would ruin all he had worked for. His insults were not worthy of an Elf, much less of an Elf-lord. But at the same time, he did not want to leave. He had made a vast effort to see the daughter of the Men and knew that she would not forgive him if he left. And at the same time, he knew that he could not continue teaching her without insulting her again. The best he could do was to keep quiet and calm himself... if he could.

What the king had told him-had opened a wound so tenuously closed. Even Lord Ecthelion had been furious, although he had not said a word about it because of his magnificent self-control, temper, and wisdom. But he was not the Lord of the Fountains, nor did he have his wisdom, nor his age, much less his temper.

The King broaching the terrible end of Princess Aredhel had reopened the wound that had barely closed. In truth, his words were a knife that had cut even deeper and longer, and his anger was the blood gushing ought.

Seeing that the Lord had turned and was watching a brilliant constellation, Laura quietly laid the harp on the grass, drew up her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around and them and then rested her chin on her knees. Her green eyes glanced furtively towards Lord Glorfindel who had not even realized what the young woman had done, and then she looked up at the sky full of stars.

And all that night, Laura did not move from her place, keeping him company without a word.

Elyéta's POV

'Oh! I feel so sad and disappointed in myself! I was so ungainly...I was mute. And yet…..and yet, he did me the honor of escorting me to the palace. And he was so chivalrous with me. He even said that one day we could talk. Is he giving me a chance? Or is it simply out of kindness and pity? He has to think that I am clumsy, that I do not know how to talk and when I do I am ramble and babble like a fool.

I have felt so sad, but at the same time have such a great desire to correct my mistake that I have decided to give him the picture I made of his feather. Yes, I know that it is ridiculous and he will not like it….he may not even pay attention to it. But I would like him to see that although I did not speak to him, it was not because I did not want to talk to him. I would like him to forgive me. Maybe one day we could truly talk and spend time together. I know I do not have the slightest chance of being noticed….but, he was happy to see me again.

I have framed the painting as beautifully as I could and used the sigil of his House to decorate. I hope he will like it, and through it, he can see I am trying to correct my mistake.

Maybe this painting will keep him from forgetting my name him, even if it's only that ... do not forget my name, do not forget that there is an Elf-maid in Gondolin called Elyéta. I do not ask for more.

Purple shadows stole across Tumladen, and the Wind-sylphs bent the green grasses and pulled at Duilin's hair, carrying with them all the fragrance of evening flowers, but the Swallow found no relief in it.

No, although it was an evening made for peace, peace was not in Duilin's heart. How could it be? How could he enjoy it in the face of the storm that was unleashed within himself? The words that the king targeted him that evening had been not only hateful but slander. Certainly, he had no affection or appreciation for Lord Maeglin, but neither did he play him false. He simply preferred to stay away from him and if that meant being scathing, so be it. Seeing how the Lord of the Mole hounded his cousin for him was more than demeaning, and it had driven any pity Duilin might have harbored ought. No Lord, indeed, no Elf was worthy of respect if he did such a thing to any maid.

But the King thought very differently and his love for his sister's son had blinded him so he defended the hound instead of his daughter and believed in the lies of Maeglin rather than the truth of his Lords…or even his darling daughter, the one that had been until recently, the adoration of his heart.

His heart burned with anger, merely thinking of the words that Lord Maeglin had spoken against them. If there was any hope that he would ever have patience with the Elf, it was gone. The baseness Maeglin had shown illustrated why Duilin would certainly never trust and never accept him. Maeglin's manipulation of the noble High King enraged him, and while the words of Turgon were terrible to all the Lord, particularly to Lord Glorfindel, neither he nor the Lord of the Golden Flower was against the king: they were still faithful to him and his daughter and the city ... but was Lord Maeglin? Lord Duilin did not know what the half-Vanya thought about it, but for his part, he hated the Lord of the Mole.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts, chaotic by the fury and indignation of which he was possessed, that he did not listen to the delicate steps of an Elven-maid, who was timidly approaching. He did not even notice her presence, even though she was only a few steps away from him. It was not until a sweet voice made him turn sharply that he recognized in the beautiful elf-maid with jet-black hair, the tender beauty, the eyes that had not left his thoughts for one instant: Elyéta.

"Um ... good evening, my lord." She greeted him shyly.

"Good evening," he answered coldly, despite himself. She was not guilty of anything, she did not even know what had happened, but his anger was so great that he could scarcely contain himself.

Elyéta saw by the expression and voice of the Elf-lord that he was in an ill temper, but she thought it was seeing her again displeased him.

'I have arrived late! It's too late! 'She thought desperately, as her throat tightened. 'Overcome it, Elyéta, overcome! '

"May I say something, my lord?" she asked, lowering her gaze. She crossed her hands behind her back and began to rock back and forth on her heels.

On another occasion, Duilin would have immediately answered affirmatively, but his anger prevented him; However, that feeling that he had for her, forced him to make a heroic effort. He said in a strained voice. "Elyéta, I do not want to talk to ..."

His words were choked in his throat because Elyéta had extended the painting to him.

He stared at her in surprise and then slowly took the portraiture from her hand, studying it by the moonlight. As he saw what it represented, little by little, a slight smile appeared on his lips.

It was a small painting, drawn on fine canvas, and painted with an unparalleled mastery. It represented one of the feathers he wore, falling on a rose the color of blood that blossomed amongst from a bush full of flowers, which he immediately recognized: it was one of the many bushes that grew alongside the Alley of Roses. The feather was beautifully painted, as was as the flower. It seemed that the feather could truly be touched, and the rose exhaled its fragrance. In it not only the feather was represented on a petal of that beautiful flower, but also the airy fragility with which it had fallen on the bush was seen.

Framing that beauty of painting, there was a hand-carved wooden frame of an impressive elegance. On the bottom, the sigil of the House of the Swallow was seen, and in the corner beside it, the name of the painter with her own handwriting.

He looked at the painting for a moment and then turned his gaze to the artist. She was trembling, her gaze low, as she waited for his reaction. It was clear that she had taken pains to do something exceptional for him, and that in that simple but beautiful painting she had put in each brushstroke a small part of herself.

When thinking this, that tempest that was unleashed inside him calmed: the furious wind became a gentle breeze, and black clouds dissipated until the moonlight entered.

"It's very beautiful," he said

"You ... like it, my lord?" she dared, her gaze still fixed upon the wall walk.

"I love it, Elyéta," he replied sincerely, looking at her. "You are a very talented painter"

She raised her head and fixed her gray eyes on his blue ones, in which shone a strange light, a light that Elyéta had never seen in him or in any other Elf; but a light made her fëa tremble to its core.

"I ... I'm ... I'm glad" she stuttered. "I did it especially for you, my Lord."

Duilin's his heart stopped, and then beat again, but tender and slow, a heartbeat that he did not want to never end. He took one of her hands and kissed it, which made Elyéta shiver and blush intensely.

"Thank you," he replied smiling, a smile that he had never addressed to anyone before.

She blushed so her cheeks burned, and smiled back at him, a shy smile but full of joy; however, suddenly a slight frown appeared on her forehead.

"What is it, my lord?" She asked after a few moments.

Duilin frowned in surprise at the strange question. Seeing his gesture, Elyéta lowered her eyes once more and crossed her hands in front of her, clasping them nervously.

"Is that ... ah ... well ... your eyes do not shine as always, my Lord. Ah ... I think ... well ... something disturbs you greatly, " she ventured, so softly that it seemed more like a sigh. Finally, she raised her face and asked. "What is it, my lord? Is there any way I can help you? "

The Lord of the Swallow felt a chill run down his back. He would never have imagined she would care so much about him, and even less that she would notice such minute details. It was evident that he was truly important to her. When thinking this, once again his heart stopped, and he barely could contain the sigh that threatened to leave his chest.

"It's nothing," he replied softly "It really does not matter."

Elyéta frowned slightly. She did not believe a single word. "Really, my lord? I know I'm not the wisest person and you barely know me, but ... maybe I could ... ah ... help you? It's the least I can do for you, after behaving so impolitely."

Duilin frowned in confusion.

"I did not talk to you all the way to the palace," she murmured, looking down in embarrassment. "That's a terrible lack of manners, particularly since you were kind enough to escort me."

"No, the one to blame is me", he replied earnestly. "You were indeed nervous, and I should have been kinder to you"

"What is it, my lord?" She asked again after a moment, raising her gaze and fixing it on his, seeking the truth in his blue eyes.

"It does not matter," he hastened to answer.

Why tell her that humiliation? It was clear that this beautiful elf-maid was extremely sensitive and although she would listen to him and sympathize with him, it was no less true that she would also feel unhappy for him, and she did not deserve such a thing. Nor did he deserve that such a sweet creature should be so interested as to suffer with him. She must be happy: her sweet and tender heart deserved it.

He was torn from his thoughts by her gesture of surprise, and her large eyes on his.

"What is it, Elyéta?" He asked, surprised.

"Hush," she said, smiling, "Listen, my lord"

Lord Duilin paid attention. He heard nothing.

"Listen, close your eyes and listen ... there it is ... the sound that truly matters," she said, closing her own eyes, a look of silent exhilaration on her face.

He frowned in confusion but did as he was asked. As he did so, a sweet song came to him. It was the wind that blew softly, and he in the midst of his fury had not even noticed it.

"The wind?" he asked.

"Yes, the wind," she answered, her voice borne upon the soft night breeze almost as though one with it. "The wind," she repeated after a few moments and began to speak in the tone of one who is sharing a great and beautiful secret. "The wind is the only sound that truly matters; for the wind brings with it great and ancient stories of joy as well as sadness, both hate, and love. If you know how to listen, you learn from the great heroes of olden days, from the songs sung by the Ainur in eternity, the Great Music. The wind brings wars, but it also brings peace ... peace for those who have lost it, those who have in their hearts' great unrest," she said, turning to him and opening her eyes.

"So, the wind is the only sound that truly matters?" He asked, opening his one, asking in the same tone she had answered, while a soft smile appeared on his lips.

Elyéta nodded several times and smiled at him, while her eyes shone with a light of joy at seeing him smile.

Lord Duilin stared at her, and in his blue eyes appeared a very strange and different light that was the true reflection of the beat of his heart. He could not believe that this beautiful creature would have been able to calm the storm inside him without even knowing what had caused it. Instead of leaving him alone to the onslaught of the waves of his fury, she had stayed and by her tender and childish conversation, had calmed him, and now his heart beat so marvelously that the Elf-lord longed for it to continue forever. How had she done it? He did not have the faintest idea, but he knew she was special, very special to him, and her beautiful eyes like two great stars and her sweet smile were not only an anchor for this difficult moment, they also pleased his fëa. Guided by that strange, new feeling that had taken hold of his fëa, he said in a low voice, leaning towards her, like someone who is going to reveal a great secret.

"You are right, Elyéta. The wind brings everything you have said, but you have forgotten a very important one."

The elf-maid who had looked at the Echoriath, content to enjoy the wind next to him, turned and looked at him questioningly.

"The wind is also the only sound that really matters because it brings the voice of a sweet Elf-maid, tender, fair-minded, wise and beautiful; one who only needs to look at you to see what ails you and know what words you need to hear at the moment."

Elyéta's eyes widened, and her delicate lips parted to reveal her uncanny astonishment. In her eyes shone light very similar to the one that shone at that moment in his. She opened her mouth to answer, but apparently, she could not even find her voice, and even if she had, it would not have been useful because at that moment Lord Duilin said in a gentle voice,

"Hush ... let me hear the wind, the sound that really matters."

Elyéta nodded several times and was leaving when a hand on her arm startled her. It was Duilin, who gently stopped her, and added, "With you by my side"

She blushed and gave him a shy smile, but full of joy and a feeling ... a feeling that was reflected faithfully in his smile.

A terrible scolding that the king gave to his Elf-lords! What will be the consequence of it?

Seems that both women, elf-maid and mortal, have started to feel something towards the Elf-lords.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!