Hello guys!

First of all, I want to thank Celridel for her immense help by editing this story. Also I want to thank d'elfe for the interesting reviews as well as some other guests. And second, invite to all the readers to leave their reviews. They're the food of this story.

Now, let's go for chapter 45!


Chapter 45: Glass Hearts

Turgon's POV

'Elenwë, if you can hear me from where you are now, let me tell you this. Itarillë has come to yet another begetting day. She is a daughter to be proud of, dearest. Gondolin loves her, and I love her, and I know that you love her too.

When I see our daughter, my heart grows infinitely wide. I try to hold the love of two, Elenwë, believe me. Believe me now as you always believed in me. I cannot fill your place, I have no illusions on the matter. I only hope my daughter knows this. That I will be her shelter, her guardian, her forever home...always with an open door, the key always in her hand, and a love that will always be hers.


The night was silver with music, setting the stars dancing in the sky. Lines of lanterns stretched from pillar to pillar, and the music beat, a cheerful shimmering of gong and tambourine.

In the middle stood Idril, wearing a crown of roses and a silver torc, made of many twisted strands. She stood by Ecthelion, who had created the festival for her. "Oh, Velindo! How can I ever thank you enough? Everything is so wonderful."

"It is certainly wonderful to have a begetting day, little Lindil," Ecthelion replied. "Come, let us open your gifts." He held out his forearm to her, and giggling like a girl, she took it. He sensed some of the stress and anxiety put on her by the last few years melting away at this moment and was happy.

The first gift given was a hinged wooden box. Idril opened it to reveal a thick book filled with brilliant illustrations, the edges of the page gilded. She looked at Elyéta, knowing that in all of Gondolin, only one hand could paint those intricate, but precise designs, those colors that both coordinated and caught the eye, elevating something prosaic to the realm of daydreams. The book dealt with the natural beauties in the glades and fields around Gondolin, and under each painting, written in looping, back-slanted script, was the location where the thing had been found. Inside the pages was a long falcon feather, used as a bookmark.

Idril embraced Elyéta warmly, then did the same to Duilin. "Elyéta, I believe it is you who paints the sky at sunset and the forests in the fall. You have such a gift. And Duilin, I cannot thank you enough either. Now I will always know where to go."

Elyéta smiled, shyly returning the embrace. "I am glad it is to your liking, my lady."

Duilin took his wife back and kissed her forehead, grinning. Any praise his adored got warmed his heart. "Gladly, lady Silverfoot."

The next gift was smaller, hidden in a rectangular box with gold and green trim. Inside was a gauzy scarf, its colors were the colors of the aurora borealis, made of silk so fine and delicate that it seemed to have been woven by fairy hands. Idril wrapped it around her neck and laughed. "Thank you, Glorfindel! It is beautiful."

Glorfindel smiled. "It is my honor."

The next gift came from Lord Rog. Loud, courageous and almost colossal in size, in front of the Princess he was as calm and tame as a dove. He gave her a small replica of Gondolin in marble, with a hidden clasp that opened the marble city into a jewelry box. If Lord Maeglin was known for his ability in metallurgy, Lord Rog was known for his ability to carve stone, and that little marble wonder demonstrated it all. Idril embraced the Lord, and Rog returned it carefully. "Thank you, Rog. I shall put my most cherished jewelry there."

Lord Galdor's gift was a basket full of flowers, colors to weave dreams.

"These flowers will not wilt, my lady, if they are left in a window where the Sun's light will reach them, and their fragrance will not die away."

Lord Penlod gave her a book of poetry that he had compiled from various poets among the Elven kinds, even some that he had authored, while Lord Egalmoth gave her a jeweled comb and finely woven blanket for her horse. The Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch was an excellent handler and knew all the secrets it took to tame a horse.

Lord Salgant for his part, gave her a set of gold and green ribbons to adorn her hair. They were winsomely pretty, and it was widely admitted it had to be admitted that the Lord of the Harp had good taste in choosing female clothes.

It was time for the last gifts: Lord Ecthelion and the king himself.

The gift from the Princess' dearest friend was a harp, so beautifully carved and so sweet and potent the music it made was like an external heartbeat.

Finally, King Turgon slowly approached his daughter. In his hands was his silk-wrapped gift. The Celebrindal plucked the cloth off then paused, her eyes not on the gift but her father. It was a golden tiara, the circlet made of diamonds set in a network of fine filigree, while the top ornament was shaped like a lotus flower, set with rubies.

The King's voice was low and clear. "This was your mother's, Itarillë. I have watched you grow from babyhood to become the woman you are now, a woman I am overjoyed to call my daughter, and I know that your mother feels the same way. So this belongs to you now."

Idril swallowed, tilting her head back as if the tears in her eyes would drain away. "Then crownme, Atar." She bent her head, and Turgon placed the tiara carefully on her golden hair. When she stood upright again, she was proud and erect, grave and beautiful, a Queen in exile but a Queen nonetheless.


Lord Maeglin's POV

'The palace is silent: the festival has been over for a few hours, and all the better, say I! There is no need for me to converse with the self-important, or tallowcatches such as Salgant.

I ache for her loveliness. But she overpowers me, and I belong to her. She is a creature blessed doubly with life and spirit as if the One gave her the soul and strength and beauty of two combined into one creature.

Her light is brilliant: it scalds my eyes. I fall in her shadow, nay, beneath her shadow, for her silver heel is brighter than the fairest part of me. She is lit from within, she cannot contain the light, it breaks from her with her every glance.

She is golden and alive, and I am beneath her light. I sense that, I accept that. I do not want to love her. But she overpowers me, and I belong to her. That is the greatest truth I have.


"Have you seen the waves playing?

Always playing: forming, breaking.

Have you heard the seagulls crying?

High and wild, they are flying,

As the wind itself.

Have you heard the sea wind calling

Tide is crashing, wind is falling.

Have you heard the waves speaking?

For it is you that they are seeking.

The Sea is never silent."

Idril was fascinated by the harp, which had been made so perfectly for her, it was like an extension of her voice. Ecthelion had been forced to leave on business, so Idril contented herself by sitting in a shadowy alcove of the lily garden, wrapped in the fragile fragrances and playing songs the Fountain-Lord had taught when she was a baby.

When the Princess heard her cousin's voice, she did not turn at once. She gathered her restraint around her like a suit of armor, but she did not attempt to smile.

"What is it, Maeglin?" she asked. He was standing in the archway, his face in shadow.

"A gift," he said, and she stood up, but did not move towards him.

"Maeglin, if you had wanted to give me a gift, you should have done so at the festival. I do not want to be alone with you."

"Idril, it has been years since we were last alone. I am years older, and years wiser. I do not wish to frighten you, nor hurt you in any way."

Idril's face was a pale, rigid blank. "Your heart stays the same, Maeglin. Your heart always stays the same. Maeglin, I know you are my kin, but the best gift you could ever give me is to let me be."

Maeglin moved forward with the grace of a dancer until he stood a handbreadth from her, the necklace glittering in his palm. "Idril," he said, and now his voice was now longer dulcetly persuading, but raw and mangled nearly beyond recognition. "I love you."

"If you love me, then let me be."

Maeglin grasped her forearm, gently, but she sensed the immense strength vibrating just inside his wiry frame. Suddenly, the Prince saw her eyes go river-froth pale, the far-seeing eyes with their strange sight that frightened him.

She jerked her arm away almost as quickly as he let go, and they both fell backward. Maeglin regained his balance with uncanny, cat-like ease, Idril was caught by Ecthelion, who had emerged from the shadows and was looking at Maeglin, his eyes diamond-hard.

Suddenly Idril snatched the necklace from his open hand, and flung it hard, shattering it against a marble bench, and they all heard the gemstone crack. "Curse you," she said, and then her voice grew higher. "Curse you!" she cried at him, and then turned and fled.

Ecthelion did not look at Maeglin as he gathered up the harp, but when he was half-way up the stairs that Idril had taken, he said in a stentorian voice, "Let her be."

Maeglin circled the stone bench slowly, studying the shattered remnants of his work with a grey and quilted hopeless. In the fractured gemstone, he saw his own face, and it was the face of a broken mirror, and he hated it.

He picked up the necklace, and the shards cut his palm, letting blood trickle down his hand in a thin red line. He made no sound, only walked out of the garden, disappearing into the night where all cats are equally black.


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