Hi guys!

Here's the next chapter. I want to thank Celridel for her help in the editions!

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Chapter 25: Father and Daughter

Years of the Trees 1469: Tirión, Válinor

Turgon sat on the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped securely around his wife. She was shuddering convulsively, her fingers-surprisingly strong-clutching at his enfolding forearms. He would have marks there for several days after.

He breathed carefully, rhythmically, focusing on details to take the tension from his mind so she could take strength from him. Hair had fallen from her braid, and it tickled his throat.

"The passage is fully open now, my lady," Nostáma said from her seat between Elenwë's legs. She looked up with an encouraging smile. "Don't fight the pain anymore. Bear down and push. Not long now."

Elenwë gave a muffled scream as the next contraction hit and then slumped against him bonelessly. He kissed the top of her golden head.

"You're doing beautifully, my love."

"Be quiet," she gasped. "You're the one who got me into this."

Then she tensed again with the fierce body desire to bring something into the world and shouted something as muscles contracted and tissue ripped.

"I have the head!" Nostáma said. "One more push!"

A deep groan came from inside Elenwë, like the creaking of a tree in a gale. Her whole body grew rigid, then relaxed. Turgon craned his neck to see, but her head was blocking his view.

Then a piercing wail split the afternoon silence, and something inside him crumbled.

Nostáma's helpers sprang into life as Elenwë sagged against him, and finally, Nostáma lifted a white-wrapped bundle into Elenwë's open arms.

It's a girl, Turgon thought, then wondered, How did I know that?

He stared down at the new face over his wife's shoulder. The eyes were bright blue, her head covered with a golden down. The rosebud mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

She's hungry, Turgon thought again, and at the same time, Elenwë pulled aside the fabric of her shift but seemed unsure of how to continue. Nostáma showed her how to support the infant's head while feeding, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

A warm surge of protective love filled Turgon as he watched his tiny daughter feed. When she finished, Elenwë lay down on the pillows, the sleeping baby beside her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "You did so well."

"I had the easy task," He answered, caressing her hand. "You did it all, melamin." She smiled sleepily, and his gaze returned to his daughter. Her eyes were almost closed, her lashes half-moons on her face.

"Itarillë?" he asked.

Elenwë stirred, then that beautiful smile returned to her face. "Idril," she repeated. "Yes, Itarillë. Radiance."

"She will be radiant," he said.

"But strong as a warrior and wise as few," Elenwë answered.

Turgon looked at his wife. He knew that she had the gift of foresight. Then he stood up. Pins and needles stabbed his legs and back as he bent to kiss first his wife, then his daughter.

"Try and get some rest," he urged her. "I'll be in the next room if you need me."

Eight months later

"La la lu, la la lu

Oh, my Little star sweeper

I'll sweep the stardust for you.

La lu, la la lu

Little soft fluffy sleeper

Here comes a pink cloud for you

La la lu, la la lu

Little wandering ángel

Fold up your wings and close your eyes

La la lu, la la lu

And may Love be your keeper

La la lu, la la lu, la la lu."

Itarillë was already asleep, her tiny hand curled around one of her mother's fingers as she lay in the crib. Elenwë withdrew her finger gently and went to stand by her husband.

"She always goes to sleep for you," he told her with a smile.

"Mothers have that gift," she whispered up at him, but it seemed a cloud covered her beautiful face. "But you should learn it too."

"Without a doubt," Turgon answered, taking his wife's hand. "Shall we walk while the stars are out?"

They wandered through the white city, in those few, fleeting hours when neither the Gold Tree or the Silver Tree shone, but only the stars lit Valinor until they came to a grassy hill on the outskirts of Tirión, that was covered with ninlòs blossoms. Turgon picked some and offered them silently to his wife. Elenwë smiled and took the azure flowers, that crested to a pale, blue-streaked center.

"What worries you, my husband?" She asked him, as the silence grew strained. Turgon lifted his eyes to hers. They were grey as agates and set.

"I am going," he said simply, and with those three words, Elenwë felt the world spin out under her feet, leaving her to fall in space. So her husband had also been infected with the poison of Fëanáro: the leaving of Válinor to found kingdoms for themselves, kingdoms that would be their own, kingdoms where they would have to give account to no one. And Elenwë knew it very well.

"But why go, Turukanò?" She asked, grasping for words in the dark. "Here we have everything. The blessing of the Válar is upon us. We have peace, Turukanò, we have tranquility. What do you look for in Ennor?"

"We have those things…we have blessings, we have peace, and we are ruled over," he said impatiently.

She closed her eyes and saw dead swans. When she opened them, he was still speaking.

"We cannot govern our own lives, Elenwë. We cannot found our own kingdoms because Their kingdoms are already founded here. We are children in their eyes…nothing more!"

"Turgon," she said slowly. "You could found kingdoms in Ennor, but they would be shortlived ones. The Válar have forbidden us to leave because there is darkness on the other side."

"Or maybe they want us to be under their yoke," he answered.

She knew that nothing would change his mind. She was helpless, helpless as silken words and iron will drove her people to a forsaken shore. But she had to try.

"Turgon, think the course you are on. Your decision will change my life and yours, but it will also change Idril's. Are you willing to let your daughter-your daughter who cannot yet walk-face peril that you cannot know?!" Her voice was hot, and it quenched some of Turgon's fire. He sat pensively for a minute, and then said, "I will go first, and send a ship for you and Itarillë when our home is built."

"And you will go Fëanáro and his sons!" she flamed hotly. "He cares for nothing but the jewels! You and yours…they will be alone!"

"Elenwë," he said, cupping her cheek with his hand. "You do not need to come. Stay behind… forever, if you desire. It is your choice."

Her laugh was like broken glass in her throat.

"Stay behind! I go where you go, Turukanò because you are mine! No, I will come with you, but remember you are a Prince, and a Prince can risk his own life, but he will also risk a hundred more by doing so!"

"I will remember," he said softly and rose.

They walked, drowned in cold, drowned in darkness, shut out because they had locked the gates behind them.

Elenwë went silently, her daughter in her arms as she climbed over the tumbling and shifting ice. Írissë, sister-by-marriage walked behind her, equally silent. Elenwë knew she would carry Itarillë readily, but she was loath to give up her daughter, although her arms seemed to be weighted down with boulders.

She felt her husband's presence before she heard his voice ask,

"How is Itarillë?"

Elenwë turned to meet his eyes: his dark lashes and brows coated with snow. "Cold," she answered, opening the outer cloak a little so he could see his daughter.

"This will end soon, Elenwë," he said. "And our daughter will be a princess and in our kingdom."

"In your own kingdom," she answered in a low voice. "I have followed you," she continued, "because the day we joined, I promised you that we would always be one."

"And we always will be, my love," he said, "Now, I must go and see that the others are well"

"Turgon" she called after him. "Promise me you'll be a good father to our little Itarillë!"

Turgon stopped, surprised, and then turned to face his wife.

"Always," he promised

Elenwë nodded, smiling. But when Turgon turned his back, the fear on her face returned.

The wind had risen while they rested, and the ice groaned underneath their feet like a beast in pain.

Elenwë walked slowly, half-asleep, a walking dream of prisons of ice and crowns of gold. The groan of the ice had become a constant noise now: it creaked and shifted and promised ruin. It was like a great door swinging closed beneath her feet, and in her daze, it was a door, the door to Valinor, closing again and again.

There was a sharp, piercing cacophony then, a roar of thunder, and she felt the ice begin to fall away beneath her feet.

"Amil?" It was Itarillë's tiny, terrified voice that jerked into an awful reality. She was alone, in the center of a funnel-shaped hollow that was deepening by the second. She looked around and saw horrified eyes watching her as they stood on the rim.

I'm going to die. The thought was so stupendous, so ludicrous it had to be true. At any moment the ice was going crashing down under her feet, and she would go with it.

"Take her!" she screamed, holding out Itarillë to the frozen statues above her. "Take her!"

She saw Ecthelion then, coming slowly towards her, hands outstretched, a rope tied to his waist. His clear, musical voice was calm, but she felt the pulse of urgency beneath it.

"Elenwë, stay still. I'm coming."

"Take her!" she screamed again. "Take her!"

He was sliding down the hollow now…..six feet…..five feet…almost an arm's distance from her….and the ice broke into a thousand pieces beneath her feet. She felt Itarillë being jerked from her arms, and she heard Turgon scream as the cold waters rushed up to embrace her. They enfolded her in a mummery of love, taking her down, down, down under the ice.

Down into darkness.

The wild weeping of Turgon was joined by Itarillë. Ecthelion took the sobbing child went to his lord, who was staring down at the rushing water where his wife had stood.

"Turukanò," he said softly. "Look."

Turgon raised crazed eyes but Ecthelion pushed Idril into his arms. "Do not look for death, my Lord," he said softly. "Live because there are those who need you yet."

The tears did not let Turgon see for a long time, blinding to him the daughter he had to love. It was Ecthelion who had, in the first wild rage of Turgon's grief, cared of the little Idril.

But it was still Turgon who had to take his daughter in his arms, and answer when she had asked, "Atar, where's Amil?"

"Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? '

It echoed in his ears, the voice of his daughter asking again and again for Elenwë, without understanding that she would never see her again.

His eyes filled with tears, the phrase continued to resound incessantly in his mind:

"Atar…?"

Forty-two years before the Fall of Gondolin

"Atar? Atar?"

Finally, Turgon turned, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gave free rein to the pain that had eaten him for centuries. Through blurred vision, he saw a tall lady with golden hair, dressed in white, and so full of light and joy he cried out in joy. "Elenwë! Elenwë!"

Idril felt her chest constrict, a gasp of pain escaping her closed lips. She was not her mother…she never had been, but to her father, she was the surrogate to fill the void Elenwë had left. But her voice was sweet when she answered,

"No, Atto. It is I, Idril, your daughter."

Turgon shook his head to clear the vision and saw his daughter, his only daughter.

"Forgive me, Itarillë," he said, holding her tightly "Forgive me."

The Celebrindal felt tears come to her eyes.

"Why, Atar?" She asked, returning the embrace.

"For everything, daughter, for everything!" He stepped back and took her by the shoulders. "I have not been a good father! After her death, I forgot you and it is only because the Válar are good is that you have forgiven me. I took you to war with me and I ignored you when you asked for my shield." He hugged her again. "Oh, my little daughter, can you forgive this useless father?"

Idril threw her arms around his neck, tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

"There is nothing to forgive!" she sobbed. "Only remember me now. I am your daughter, Atar, please ... give me that chance."

The King wiped the tears from her eyes, and for a moment, he thought he saw his beloved Elenwë in her.

"It is I must ask for that, Idril. I will speak to Maeglin, I swear on my life. After all, you are also my family, my daughter ... the only gift I have from your mother."

Fortunately, father and daughter had reconcilied as well as fortunately, Turgon has promised he will talk with Maeglin.

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