Hi guys!

First of all, I want to thank Celridel for her immense help by editing this story as well as to add that it was SHE and not me who wrote the last chapter ('Tears Uncounted'), so all the wondeful descriptions about the Battle of the Outnumbered Tears belongs only to her.

Also I want to thank to d'elfe and Amberdeengirl17 for their important and encouraging reviews.

Let's see what else happens now that Tuor has arrived with the so important message from the Vala Ulmo and Idril's reaction before what she felt the last night.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!


Chapter 54: Unrest in the City

By the time the banquet had finished the stars were pale, and by the time Idril had escaped to her chambers, Dawn was in the sky, pink fingers blooming. She leaned against the sill, her eyes vague and soft.

Outside the window, a hummingbird fluttered, a flash of iridescent colors on the morning breeze. It paused, perched for the barest instant, then flew down to take nectar from the lupine that grew beneath Idril's window, and then was gone.

Idril sighed, her head collapsing in her hands. Just as that hummingbird had stolen nectar from that flower, so had the sharp-eyed son of Húor stolen something from her. There had been something when he kissed her hand, something that had ensorcelled her, some vibrant, visceral magic.

She remembered the night of Turuhalmë when she had her vision of Laura and Glorfindel, and she had felt a feeling, an emotion filling a void she never knew existed.

So he had come, the other half of her soul...in the shape of a man! A messenger of a Vala, a strange, golden man filled with power and light, but still a mortal.

News traveled slow to the cloistered city, but she knew enough of Lúthien to understand the profound consequences of her situation.

And she needed advice. Clairvoyant, sagacious, and clever she might be, but she still needed advice.

Elyéta's name came to mind. All her ladies-in-waiting were married, but Idril felt closer to the sensitive young artist.

She took a cloak, not wanting to be disturbed, and wrapping it around herself, left her bower in search of Elyéta.


Turgon's eyes were bitter as he looked out across his city, white walls shining like sea foam, cradled in the womb of Nature.

Beyond those walls lay eras of empty wandering, homelessness, inevitable peril for his people.

Here there was peace, at least for a while. He had learned early that living East of the Sea was costly, as life after life was stolen to pay a debt, he did not know he owed. Eventually, there would none of his kind left on Ennor, or the Valar would relent.

The choice that lay before him was grim. To live in this great city in bliss for a time, then die a bloody death, or to wander, withering away to grey shades?

He had only listened to his Lords at the Council they gathered, and he knew that some of them-Glorfindel and Maeglin-had seen the inevitable written on his face.

They would not leave.


Flashback

His words had weighed down the air with a tremendous choice as Turgon recounted the events that had led up to Tuor's coming: how Tuor wore the suit of armor Turgon had left in Vinyamar on Ulmo's advice, the Sea God's command to flee to Sirion, as soon the Prophecy of the North would come to its bloody fruition.

When the King was done speaking, he looked around the table, taking measure of each of his Lords.

"Stay," Egalmoth said at last. "We have much here to treasure, much to protect. Our walls are strong, and we have the mountains to keep us safe as well."

"Stay," Galdor agreed at last. "Gondolin a bulwark of hope for our kind. It is a symbol."

"I will not die for a symbol," said Duilin.

"No, my lords. None of us would give our lives for a symbol," Maeglin interjected smoothly. "But we are quick to think the worst."

Ecthelion looked sharply at the black-haired Prince. "Are you suggesting we doubt Tuor?" he asked. "We heard the voice, and it was not Tuor's own. And he was clad in the livery of Nevrast, and many who are here gathered saw Turgon set them beyond the High Seat. And above all, he was mantled in a sea-mist, the cloak of the Deep-Dweller. I do not think further proof is needed that this son of Hador's House comes from Ulmo himself."

"It was an impressive performance," Maeglin agreed. "And Tuor has a silver tongue. But are we to believe him simply because the man is eloquent?"

"Do not forget the armor," Penlod said.

"Of course," Maeglin agreed with a smile. "My Lords, I believe that Voronwë was born in Nevrast, was he not?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Thank you," the Prince continued. "So, I may assume that Voronwë knew that the High King hung a suit of armor? And might not he have shown Tuor that suit of armor?"

"And why would he do that?" Glorfindel asked coldly, his eyes welded to Maeglin's own.

"Otherwise, he would have come home in disgrace, with a wrecked ship and a failed errand. He was washed up on the shore like a rat. Now, he comes bearing a message of enormous proportions, so that the fate of Gondolin itself hangs in the balance."

"You are quick to discredit the both of them," Ecthelion said.

"Hardly, my lord!" Maeglin exclaimed. "But when they come bearing such tremendous news, surely we must call their characters into question. Do you not agree, Lord Salgant?" he asked suddenly, turning to the sluggish Lord with an enchanting smile.

Salgant leaned forward, beaming. "You bring up some salient points, my Lord Maeglin," he agreed. "And think my Lords," he said, widening his gaze to include the rest. "Tuor has had a tragic life. Both his blood-kin and his foster-family have died, and he was both a thrall and an outlaw. Voronwë was in a shipwreck where all his companions were drowned. Are we to think that has not done some damage?"

"You mean to their mind?" Glorfindel inquired, his face rigid. "Are you suggesting that they are demented?"

Salgant shrugged in a neutral gesture. "Merely examining the facts, my Lord."

"I have one more question," Maeglin said, picking up the thread of the conversation with seamless grace. "The Prophecy of the North concerns only the Noldor, as I understand it. Why would the Valar involve a mortal? Their lot is not cast with ours."

"You are walking a dangerous path," Ecthelion said softly. "Do not lightly question the will of the Valar."

"I question many things," Maeglin said, and his eyes glittered darkly. "Death foisted those questions on me, Lord of the Fountains."

Ecthelion turned to the King. "My Lord, if we stay, imagine how many lives we are putting at risk."

"Who is to say the chances of survival are better outside these walls? The journey to Sirion is long and hard," Galdor said. "There is no point in running. Let us stay, and fight when and if the time comes."

"We play with fire," Ecthelion said bitterly.

"Then it is well for us stone does not burn," Turgon said, rising. "Do we reach a consensus, my Lords?"

"I will stay and fight," Rog said, and the other Lords echoed his pledge until Glorfindel and Duilin stood alone.

Glorfindel stood up. "My King, you will have my sword as long as I live. But I cannot offer you my approval."

"I do not need your approval, only your allegiance," Turgon answered dryly. "And what of you, Duilin?"

"You have my allegiance," the Swallow answered sadly. "But my heart belongs to another, and it says to go while there is time."

End of flashback


Glorfindel laved his face in the fountain basin, then rested his head on the rim. He was fuming with anger. The Council had been held at noon, and now it was deep night, but the elapsed time had done nothing for his temper.

"Why don't you take a bath?"

Glorfindel straightened slowly as Laura crossed over to him, sitting down on the edge of the basin. "What happened?" she asked.

Glorfindel shook himself like a dog after a swim, then raked his radiant hair out of his face. "What happened?" he exclaimed. "Well, to sum up my morning, half of the Lords decided to disobey the direct commands of a Vala! And Maeglin...Maeglin is ruthless in convincing the King to stay!" His voice danced at a pitch he could seldom attain.

"We can all be stubborn at times," Laura said cautiously, trying to defend her friend. She still felt close when the Prince, even though he had been changing, and not for the better.

"You do not understand, Laura," Glorfindel said, his chest tight with anger. He began to walk away from the fountain.

The woman followed him. "So explain it to me."

Glorfindel paused, then sighed. "Very well. Ulmo, King of the Sea, sent a message to the King through Tuor. The Curse of the Noldor is nearing its fulfillment. We must abandon Gondolin and flee to the Havens of Sirion."

"And why won't they listen?"

"Tuor's character-even his mental balance-is being called into question. Maeglin is trying to slant it to look like a trick played by Tuor and Voronwë, and of course, Salgant stands by him. Egalmoth believes that our walls are strong enough, and Galdor believes that by deserting Gondolin, we are symbolically surrendering to the Dark One."

"Oh," Laura said slowly. "Well, I don't think we could stand an assault."

Glorfindel laughed mirthlessly. "No! Of course not! Our only real fortifications are our secrecy. If you strip that away, you are left with a massacre in the making." He lowered his voice. "If the Unnamed One sets his fire-drakes on us, half the city will be in flames within minutes."

"And what did you say?" Laura asked, watching him.

"I said that I would stand by the city, but I also stand by Ulmo's warning."

"And?"

"The High King noted that he did not need my approval."

Laura nodded. "Okay. Come on." She gestured to him, and they began walking towards the wall. During the day they had their own obligations, but they devoted the nights to each other.

Since Glorfindel had realized his love for Laura, he had given her two epessi: Morifindë, for he loved the black softness of her hair, and Maistalda, meaning beautiful strength.

Laura had been surprised: she knew that the Elves only gave pet names to those they considered very dear, and she had never expected an epessë like Maistalda. However, she refused to harbor illusions. Elves felt more deeply than humans, as they were fine-tuned to the world and each other. So all those names meant was the half-Vanya loved her as a friend.

When he had asked her to give him an epessë, she had refused, saying she only gave nicknames to people she wanted to make fun of him. He had Blondie, wasn't that enough?

"So, what would your decision be, Maistalda?" he asked, once they were alone on the wall.

"The obvious: leave."

"Why?"

"The city is well fortified and that our soldiers are well trained-"

"It is true; they have the most skilled trainer I have ever met," Glorfindel interrupted, smiling. He loved giving her compliments but knew if he were too aggressive with his sweet words, she would push him away, thinking he was mocking her.

Laura raised an eyebrow at him, clearly annoyed. Glorfindel's small compliments only drove the thorn deeper in, as he only made them to be a good friend.

"Forgive me. Pray continue," he said when he saw her reaction. It would take labor and time to mine his way through her steely temper.

Laura shook her head, leaning against the battlements. "Look, I still remember that Battle. Alone, we don't have the slightest chance. Also, we're trapped. This place is surrounded by mountains, and the soldiers can climb mountains, but imagine those who aren't soldiers? What happens then? If the King decides to stay, we'll be the same as Troy or Edom."

"What happened to those kingdoms?"

Laura turned to him. "Utter annihilation," she said tartly.

The Lord of the Golden Flower was thoughtful for a few moments.

"I do not understand why they do not heed the warning," said Laura after a long silence during which only the gentle whistle of the wind was heard. "From what I've read of Noldorin history, every time you disobey the Valar, things go from bad to worse."

"Right now, the Noldor have very little save for their pride," Glorfindel said with a sad shade of a smile.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Laura rejoined mockingly.

"There is no need for your sarcasm, Morifindë."

Laura snorted. "I have had almost thirty years to fully realize just how proud Elves can be. If not for my healing factor and my immortality, I would be considered less than nothing "

"Let us not forget your skill for battle."

Laura smiled, flatter, and Glorfindel smiled back.

"One day I'll beat you."

He laughed. "I doubt it."

"I have time to learn."

Glorfindel nodded. Time was no longer a problem for them. Here, Time's line was derelict, and he hoped soon he would be able to confess his love.


Waiting for your reviews, guys!