Hi people!
First of all, I want to thank Celridel for being a great beta, also I want to thank d'elfe for her reviews. Answering your question, d'elfe, the lack of reviews maybe it's because I lost my first account where I was uploading this story. Therefore, all the people who reviewed must surely think that I'm not longer writing.
Talking about this story, let's remember that the relationship between Lord Maeglin and Alassë is right now thin because the Elf-lord 'friendzoned' Alassë. Now, let's see what will happen between those two. Also, a new stage in Laura's life will begin.
Waiting for your reviews, guys!
Chapter 47: Reconciliation
Alassë arrived at her booth in the Lesser Market just as the sky began to lighten, heralding dawn. A green scarf, jeweled with dew, lay bundled on the booth counter. She put down her basket of goods, her pulse beating like the wings of a hummingbird, and unrolled the silk scarf carefully. It was a water lily, made from silver and blue topaz; the frosty petals centered around the ethereal blue stone. She laid it down again, struggling to dam the tears. Then she wrapped the gift up once more, stowed it away, and began to lay her wares out.
For Alassë, the day passed quietly, clothed in grey, quilted melancholy. This flower had stolen her peace, but she bit her tongue on the subject. Laura came to see her, and they spoke for a few minutes, but neither mentioned Maeglin.
So, when her last customer had left, Alassë sat down at her empty booth, knowing that soon, he would come.
It was her heart, not her eyes, that told her. It lunged with anticipation and alarm, and she watched come out of the purple-gloaming shadows. He was tall and lean, his body a framework of muscle and motivation. His sleek build, his swift, fluid walk, set him apart from the other Elf-Lords, making him distinctly feline in appearance. A black cat, who walks the night because all other cats are also black at this time. It was a different beauty, a beauty few could see and less could appreciate.
"Alassë," he said. He wanted to smile, but those cornflower eyes would not allow it: they accused him instead.
Alassë rose and curtsied. "Lord Maeglin."
He frowned. "We agreed that the entire 'lording' business was no longer necessary."
"After what happened, I thought we should return to formalities."
Maeglin regarded the elleth with confused eyes. "Why are you so angry with me?" he said. "I only want things to be how they were. That is why I gave you the gift. My ability is not in the things of Yavanna, but those of Aüle. I hope you liked it," he added with a smile, a sweet, hopeful smile.
Alassë's eyes suddenly stung with tears. "Of course, I did, Lord Maeglin. You have a rare and splendid gift, but no matter how beautiful, a gift does not win the person."
Maeglin regarded her in bemusement. What more did this lovely-haired Sinda want from him? "It is a token of regret," he said. "I want your friendship back, Alassë."
"But not my love!" she cried at him, her voice tuneless and choked like a cracked bell.
Maeglin stared at her, his inky eyes reflecting back an ocean of moonlight.
Alassë drew herself together, shaking her head. "My begetting day," she said, her tone so low it was almost a sigh. "You almost told me you loved me, but then you said that I was a 'fine friend'. Laura has a word for that behavior, Lord Maeglin. Friendzone." She paused, crying softly, and while her voice spoke volumes, her tears were an entire library.
"First you make me believe one way, and then another. You think a gift can change that?"
Maeglin stood still, his mind a sea of surging confusement. He thought of his father, silent and dour, often in his workshop, emerging only to offer gifts. He thought of his mother, her perfunctory acts of affection, the strange glances she slipped at him from the corners of her eyes. He thought of Turgon, his distant kindness, always willing to speak to Maeglin but rarely focused on him. It was his father that had offered him the only tangible proofs of affections, the one he could hold in the shadowy nights of Nan Elmoth, where strange magic things walked and talked among overgrown trees.
But others... others did not want gifts. Love was not cultivated by handouts, but by connections, by turning the skin to soft glass, by being vulnerable and offering others a chance to look inside.
Maeglin ran his hands through his hair, suddenly racked with frustration. He understood these things on an intellectual level, but in a deeper, visceral, and much more real way, he did not understand it at all.
Alassë stepped forward on seeing the deep, still-healing scars on his hands. "Maeglin, what happened?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.
Maeglin frowned at her until the Sinda took his hands in her own, turning them over with exquisite care. "What happened, Maeglin? You never cut yourself."
He began to pull his hands away, but Alassë's stopped him, tracing the wounds on his right hand with the softness of a feather and a tenderness only love can provide. He sucked in breath, his pulse lunging. Then he hung his head, and said in a defeated voice, spitting the words out as if to be rid of their taste. "She destroyed the necklace I made for her. She despises me."
Alassë was saddened but also invaded with a strange, entirely alien joy. If the Princess had denied Maeglin, perhaps that meant she had had a second chance with Maeglin.
At last, he looked up, his black eyes sad and humiliated. Alassë smiled at him, and taking courage, Maeglin took her hand and held it gently in his own. "Teach me," he pleaded.
The years had passed quickly, bright-colored birds on the wings of Time. Laura now wandered the city by herself, learning all its secret passageways, the hidden alleys, the clandestine lanes. ANd more than that, she had come to appreciate and even love the city. She admired the clear fountains, the gracefully tiled boulevards, the lovely gardens, the lamplit streets, the avenues of trees, the sky-aspiring pinnacles, and fretted spires. She had been an admirer of human architecture before, but this impressed her differently. The splendor of the Kremlin, the elegance of Versailles, the exotic shape of the Taj Mahal were true works of art, but Elven architecture had something different. There was some ethereal about it, an art that led to the exaltation of the spirit, an art that led to light.
It was a paradise, this city; it was a harmony of stone and growing things, it was a quiet, constant song wrapped in the arms of mountains.
Slowly the Gondolindhrim became accustomed to her, although Laura understood that accustomed was probably all it would ever be. Fitting in was once against a blatant impossibility.
But she could care more about what they thought of her. What she really cared about was Glorfindel. He came to her cottage every week, and they would talk for hours, no longer bickering, but long, rich conversations about their worlds and themselves. For Laura, it was a bittersweet thing. Looking at him reminded her how hopeless her love was, but she always loved being in his company. She told herself sternly that she was his Elf-friend-although he had never said that-and that was enough.
The morning was cold, and the sun rose late, but when it did, it released a flood of diamonds, the dazzling glint of light on snow.
Glorfindel stood on the Sixth Gate, shielding his eyes from the glint. Tumladen was a sheet of white that made its way up to the snow-clad city. It was a fairy-tale world, at once childishly whimsical and fascinating pure, almost holy.
"No misadventures, I hope?" Penlod said, coming up the stairs behind him. He stood a head taller than Glorfindel, his black hair dusted with snow. He seemed the manifestation of winter now: calm, powerful, mostly silent, an enigma in his own right.
Glorfindel shook his head. "None whatsoever. Enjoy your snow, my lord," he added, watching as Penlod picked up a handful of snow and tossed it in the air, powdering their heads with the white stuff.
"A ritual my mother taught me," the older Lord explained. "To honor the first snow. The Earth sleeps now."
"Of course," Glorfindel agreed. He enjoyed Penlod's company as much as the next, but at times the Lord seemed to live in a different world. He bid Penlod farewell and jogged down the stairs, beginning the long walk back to the city.
He had passed the Place of the Well, admiring the silver-brown trunks of the oak and poplar which clustered around the well, and was coming to the Road of Arches, a short road that led to the Square of the King, overshadowed by a series of massive cloverleaf arches. This road stood apart from the rest of Gondolin: the arches made it eccentric and strangely, almost severely beautiful. Sometimes, in the summer, red flowers would twine around the arches, but now they were bare and stern and lovely.
He recognized the woman leaning on the parapet, standing with her arms crossed to watch the slow December dawn.
"Good morning, Glorfindel," she said, at last, the occasional gusts of cold wind making her hair flutter.
"Good morning," he returned. "What brings you to this spot?"
"I wanted to see the sunrise from here," she returned, still watching the horizon, which was filled with moody pinks and bruised purples.
"And what else?" he asked, standing by her, but careful their shoulders did not touch.
Laura swung round to face him and said, "I'm bored, Glorfindel, bored to death. I love walking around the city but it's all I do. I get food and a place to live without earning it."
"Because you saved my life. You did earn it."
Laura sighed in exasperation and turned her back to the sunrise. "Glorfindel, I want to have a job. I want to contribute to this place, not leech off it. "What things make me an asset to this place? I wander around the city like a hobo, and I can't take it. I've always been useful. Not always in a good way, but I have always been useful. And now, in this beautiful city, I am less useful than a glass hammer."
Glorfindel looked up, surprised, and interested. "This city is beautiful to you?"
"Of course. You would have to be blind to consider it otherwise."
"So...who healed you? I recall that you used to despise this city."
Laura shrugged the point away. "Maybe. The point is, I'm bored. I want to do something useful."
"What interests you?"
Laura looked at him steadily and Glorfindel straightened suddenly. "You wish to be a soldier?"
"Why not? I was trained to be a fighter. Come on! I was created to be a fighter!"
"Laura-" he began in a reasoning tone.
"Glorfindel, you know I'm right."
"This is not your Facility or your X-Men," he said.
"I know. I also know it's not about killing or hurting people. It's about serving our city!"
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.
"What?" Laura asked.
"What did you say?"
"I said this is not about-"
"No, no. You said our city."
"Yes. I'm here to stay, so it is our city. We have to share it, whether you like it or not."
Glorfindel smiled slightly, amused at her temper.
"What?" Laura asked again, seeing his smile. "Did I say something funny?"
"Do not pride yourself on being a wit," Glorfindel retorted, then added. "But I am glad you think this way about our glorious city."
"Calm down, Elf Friend. Let's not throw terms like those around."
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows again. "Elf-friend?"
"As far as I know we are friends. I hope I'm not mistaken," she said, and a little voice added, And I love you with all my heart, but you will never know that.
Lord Glorfindel looked at her for a moment, aware of something being growing inside, something yet unnamed, which made him enjoy the woman's company more every day. "Yes, Laura, you are my Elf-friend,"
Laura's eyes widened, emerald brightened with joy and deepened with a flash of...some complicated emotion he could not quite decipher, but he sensed sadness.
"Good to know, BFF."
"BFF?" Glorfindel repeated.
"Best friends forever. I mean, we're immortal, after all," Laura replied. They stood still for a few minutes, suddenly awkward and afraid.
She is immortal! Why are you so afraid? thought one.
He can never love me, and you can never blame him for it, insisted a voice inside the other.
Finally, Laura cleared her throat and turned back to the East, studying the sun. "I have an idea," she said, with forced brightness. "Maybe you can ask the King to have an audience with me. I bet I can convince him...with a little help," she added, looking at him significantly.
Glorfindel laughed. "I can obtain you an audience, perhaps, but no one sways the King." No one save the Mole he added resentfully to himself.
Laura sighed, the newly risen sun lighting up her face, while the cold brought roses to her cheeks. "I'm good with that."
"So, you wish to enter one of the Houses as a soldier?" the King asked.
"Yes, your Majesty. I want to put my skills at your service and the service of the city," Laura replied politely.
"I have a more difficult question," Duilin said sharply.
Laura turned to him with a polite smile. "If your question is why you can trust me, it is that I hope you can believe in change. That, and the King lets me wander the city freely, so perhaps you should speak to the King on that matter."
Before the Lord of the Swallow answered, Turgon said, "It is one thing to roam the city, and it is another to be entrusted with its defense, Laura Kinney."
"At least give me a chance, your Majesty," Laura pleaded. "It is not fair to the community that I receive food and shelter while offering nothing in return."
There was a reluctant agreement. As soon as they came of age, all Elves found their respective niches, each one taking it upon themself to raise their society up a little higher. It was not a written law; it was more of a natural one for the Eldar.
"And why do you insist upon being a soldier? There are many trades."
Laura's mouth twitched but she said. "I have been trained since I was a baby to fight. But I am not going to torture, nor kill, nor a spy. That was my past life, but you have taught me I can start over. So, I want to use my skill to help this city."
The King raised his staff of Doom and silence fell. Turgon was not entirely convinced, but he recalled the words of his daughter well enough, and her pale eyes that saw too far. "If you wish to be a part of our military, you must complete our assessment, and I assure you that our criterion is not remiss. And remember, if you do qualify, you will begin in the lowest rank. I will not offer you favoritism."
"I understand."
"In any way," Turgon said sternly.
Laura bowed her head, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
What will be the result of Lord Maeglin's pleading to Alassë? And what about Laura?
Waiting for your reviews, guys!
