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I want to thank Celridel for her immense help in editing this story. Also I want to thank d'elfe, Ducking Cute and idonthaveaname for their reviews.
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Chapter 57: Gestalt
"What troubles you, my lord?"
Glorfindel turned, bowing politely. "Nothing, my Lord. I only bring you the report."
"And all is well there?"
"Of course," Glorfindel assured him quickly. "Would you like the details?"
"Not as of now," the King replied. "But I would like something from you. I have a duty to make certain my people are well. In particular, that my Lords are free from trouble and able to focus on their duties. So, I ask you once more, Glorfindel, what is troubling you?"
Glorfindel looked down, feeling like a miscreant child under the King's agate-grey gaze. "Nothing, my Lord," he repeated weakly.
Turgon arched a slender, mobile eyebrow. "You are no expert at lying, Glorfindel, and I am glad of it. But if that is your final answer, I will not force you."
Glorfindel winced. For him, that had always been the final crowbar that pried out the information. "My Lord, how could I make one change their opinion of themselves?"
"And what is their opinion?" Turgon inquired.
"This person has an opinion of themselves that is diametrically opposed to everything I see in them. They have a very wrong concept of themselves."
"And do you consistently remind this person that it is a misconception?"
"Suppose this person refuses to listen? And all they do is apologize, but a few days later, say the same thing."
"Continue reminding. Tell them what you think, and what you feel."
Glorfindel grimaced visibly, and Turgon's face grew mild with amusement as his suspicion was proven right.
"Tell them how you feel when this person speaks of themselves in such a way," He amended. "And say it so it touches the heart. We use platitudes and cants when we are in the territory of emotions, but say it in a new way, that comes only from you."
Glorfindel nodded, studying the floor. What he had said had been spoken from the depths of his fëa, and it had lowered Laura's barriers, if only for a moment. But baring his soul to her... letting her see what he saw in her...so much could go wrong. And Turgon became aware of everything that crossed the Elf-lord's mind at that moment.
"My advice is difficult to follow, but if you hold that person dear enough, then the risk will be worth it," He said gently.
"Thank you for the advice, my Lord," Glorfindel answered, his voice low but earnest. "With your permission, I will go now."
"I wish you luck,"
Glorfindel bowed, walked away, Turgon's words spinning in his mind. The King went the other way, a smile on his lips.
Years later…
An autumn wind hurried across the yellowed grasses of Tumladen, carrying its catch of red leaves. The wind stirred the many pools, making the water ripple with small waves, and it pulled at the golden hair of a man who stood immured in thought. Tuor stood on the shore of a large tarn, listening to the water lapping against the banks. It was a timeless, omnipresent sound. He had heard the Horns of Ylmir calling—and he would hear them till his death.
So, he spent hours wandering Tumladen, picking his way through the myriad of small pools, standing beside them with his feet bare so he could understand them. There were fountains inside the walls, and their sound, although pretty, was not natural. So, he listened to the straightforward susurrus of wind and grass and most of all water and he thought of the sea. It was an achingly beautiful sound, the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, surpassed by one thing only: the voice of the woman he adored.
'Wait for me, shameless you the sea,
Soon the Blue, so soon,
Soon the Blue, so soon… '
He begged the Sea to wait for him, to remember him as he remembered it. In Gondolin, the Disquiet of the Deep-Dweller hovered over him like an unrestful ghost, too far away to hold, to close to forget. But he would not leave this white-towered city, because a star had crossed his path, trapped his heart in the web of Love.
'Ceaselessly, star crossed you and me,
Save our souls will be forever blue… '
Tuor knew that Idril also had sea-longing imbued in the depths of her being, but he also knew she would not leave her father, even if he allowed it. Idril was Turgon's greatest treasure, and he guarded her like a dragon. Tuor closed his eyes. He longed to smell salt, hear the gulls, the majestic crescendo of waves crashing on cliffs, to feel the breeze that was found only on a beach, but his heart was divided between the sea and Idril, and Idril held a greater place. In secret, he hoped that once the Flower of Gondolin was his wife, he could convince the King to go to the Havens of Sirion. And then what? Stand by the sea? Have a child and teach him to paddle his own little boat? Perhaps, once he and Idril felt the winter of their lives drawing nigh, they would sail off into the sunset, lost in the sea, although that seemed as real as a fever dream.
But to live here would be to live with his future wife, the Celebrindal. His mind was frescoed with memories, from the beginning until the time he had dared woo her, and the moment he had finally declared his love for her, and she her love for him.
Flashback
Although the Princess was full-grown, her character was faceted with the features of a child, and she loved to play games. This had surprised Tuor, but he enjoyed it very much. The childhood he had not was now within reach, and what was more, it was in reach with the women he loved with all his heart. Now, they sat together on the mossy ground beneath a pine tree, Idril with her knees pulled up to her chest, Tuor with his legs stretched out, leaning back on his elbows.
"And I see something...something small and yellow," the Princess announced, smiling mischievously at Tuor.
"Oh, come now! That is hardly enough to go on," the man protested, laughing.
Idril giggled, her eyes deliberately fastened on him. "Lord Tuor, I have faith in your skills."
The son of Húor sighed theatrically and looked around him. There was a patch of sunflowers, some in full bloom, and others just beginning to open. He thought that the best fit was a small sunflower, just begin to blossom, but the Celebrindal often chose things that were simpler and therefore more difficult to guess.
A flutter of movement caught his eyes, and he saw a small bird hopping among on the ground. Its feathers were a sunny yellow, with grey-tipped wings and red-brown streaks on its breast. "Your Highness sees the small bird," He said triumphantly.
"And what is that bird?" the Princess demanded, holding out to the bitter end.
Tuor frowned, trying to recall what he had learned from his foster family.
"Three," the Princess said, holding up three fingers and folding one down. "Two."
"A yellow warbler!" he exclaimed.
Idril smiled, looking down at him with a smile that melted his heart like butter in the noonday sun. "Well done. You turn."
He looked up at her, an impulse born his heart. "Very well," he said. "I see someone golden. So bright it leaves the daytime star behind. I see someone with a soul so full of light and goodness. I see someone blue for their eyes are the color of the sea, the sea that attracts us all, authors a longing in our hearts. That is what I see, Celebrindal."
Idril's face grew pale. Color poured in and out of the world as she tried to focus, tried to understand what he had said. She stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on him.
Tuor rose with her, his eyes clear and earnest. "Forgive me, Princess, but my heart cannot hold this any longer."
"Hold what?" she asked softly.
"I love you," he said simply. "I love you with all my heart. Since the night of the feast, my heart has belonged to you only." He smiled; a smile tinged with sadness. "This is why I stay. I stay to be with you. I feel the sea-longing-you know I do, but my love for you is much stronger. But should you choose to love me, your sacrifice will be much greater than mine"
Idril looked at him. "I will renounce the West if that is what it means," she said slowly. "I love you, Tuor. I have since the day we met in the gardens. You seemed to me then more than man. You were the grace of youth, and the valor of manhood, and the majesty of wisdom and age then, and so you have seemed to me since."
She reached out and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and he kissed her, a kiss that showed them worlds, a braided kiss that twined them together.
For Tuor, time was stilled, as he held her in his arms, breathing in her scent. It was dreamy and delicate, like paperwhite narcissus in spring.
"Would now be the right time to ask for your hand?" he whispered; their heads pressed together.
Idril smiled and answered an answer that would not only mark the destiny of her own life, but it would mark the destiny of both the Eldar and the Edain.
End of the flashback
Tuor returned to himself with a jolt. The sun was now traveling high in the sky, although the wind was still singing. Idril had chosen this restless day for their betrothal ceremony, perhaps in commemoration of the restlessness they shared.
He turned from the pool and put on his boots, lacing them up quickly. Then he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, a piercing sound that carried above the wind. His grey stallion, a gift from Turgon, came trotting over amiably. He swung astride the horse, and urged him to a gallop, returning to Gondolin and his betrothed with the wind in his hair.
The High King of the Noldor gazed at himself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a King from an ancient legend. His face was ageless, his hair black as a raven's wing, his eyes the uncertain color of the sea on a cloudy day. But now wherein the glass did he see the weariness that sat on his shoulders, encouraging them to sag. At times, he felt tired to the point of exhaustion. But when he had been too weary to decide, his Itarillë had been there, tireless. She offered him sage counsel, dealt with backdoor diplomacy, stopped court frustrations, and been his prop and support among many other things.
So, this day marked the end of an age, and it was bitter-sweet. He felt confident that Itarillë had the intelligence and maturity to choose wisely, he felt certain that Tuor would remain besotted with Itarillë, he felt that Tuor, among all others, was worthy for her.
Turgon struggled to make peace with himself. Her marriage would leave a void in his life, but it was a new beginning for his daughter. But he was left reeling, all the same. He ached at the idea of losing his child, the baby he had held in his arms, but he also understood that soon there would be a new weight in his arms. One day soon, he would hold a grandchild. The thought was enormously blissful and enormously sad.
His daughter had reached womanhood and found the love of her life. He only wished that her mother could be there, to complete this achingly beautiful moment.
Think of this, and of the grandchildren, he would soon have, he smiled. He put his powerful companion, Glamdring, in its ivory scabbard, and laid the crown of garnets, the color of the blood they had cost, on his head.
Idril walked around the pavilion where the betrothal ceremony was to be held, considering it with a critical eye. She was already dressed for the ritual, wearing a simple silver dress, autumn flowers braided in her hair. When the marriage came, she would give in to the pomp and ceremony that was expected of a Princess, but the betrothal was a relatively private thing, and she and Tuor set it up as they liked.
She climbed up the steps, a smile blossoming on her face. She could see herself now, exchanging the slender silver rings, promising undying love. What joy, what wonder! And this was about to come true. Her heart was so full of joy it nearly ached.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned quickly, expecting Tuor coming up the stairs.
The smile fell away from her face. Maeglin approached her. She had not seen him for months, and the shadows around and behind his eyes were deeper than she remembered.
"Have you come to wish me joy, kinsman?" she asked, a sheen of ice frosting her voice.
"How can I wish you joy when your betrothed is in love with another, kinswoman?" he asked, spitting out the word like it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He stood by one of the fluted pillars that held up the domed roof, his empty hands by his sides.
Her mouth twisted down in an unconscious moue of disgust. "I assume you do not talk slander for slander's sake, Maeglin?"
His black eyes were intense and smoldering, and she felt an aura around him that put her on edge. "He loves the sea, Idril."
"I know. He has told me as much."
"Idril," he pleaded. "Idril, I am trying to save you. This man worships the Sea. He will find no peace in Gondolin, not even with you. I am trying to give you everything he cannot give you."
"He gives me everything, Maeglin," Idril replied, her voice low and trembling with feeling. "He gives me everything, so you can give me nothing."
"This is an unnatural love."
The Princess laughed, a short, high laugh. "Unnatural! Unnatural! Oh gods, listen to what he says! Maeglin, I know what you desire, and I will say it. You lust after me. The Lords think you are simply begging after any scrap of love after a loveless childhood, and my father believes that you are attempting to be a brother, and if your customs are strange, it is only because you raised by the Wife-Slayer. But none of that is true. You desire me like your father desired Aredhel in the forests. Maeglin, I do not fault you for your father's sins, but I fault you for becoming like him."
With uncanny speed, Maeglin lunged for her, grasping her wrists in a stone-crushing hold. "I am not my father," he snarled at her, and Idril felt his rage, a huge hot thing, a wildfire inside.
She did not flinch away, only stared at him, her great blue eyes cold and calm. "So, what are you?"
He let her go reluctantly, glancing at his hands as if he was afraid he had been burned. "I am Maeglin, your cousin."
"And I will tell you this, Maeglin, my cousin," she continued. "Tuor is not the only one who heeds the Disquiet of the Deep-Dweller. Were I able too, I would walk with him by the pools."
"I thought you loved Gondolin."
"No. Gondolin is a marble cage, and its bars are familial love and filial duty. So, if I do love Gondolin, it is a proxy love, since my father adores it so. Do you understand me, cousin?"
"I understand," he replied quietly. His fine-featured face had gone almost slack, as the fury burned itself out. "What do you love then?"
"I love freedom," she replied instantly. "I love the sea. I love my father. But most of all I love Tuor, and I love that he understands me. And I will tell you this since you will tell none other. By the grief of my childhood, I was estranged from myself. One became two, threads pulled apart from the same weft. There is the Princess, the sunshine of Gondolin, the golden rose. And there is the silver, and she is like ivy, for if you cut her down, she grows back up. She grows up and up and you cannot stop her. Do you understand me, cousin?"
"I understand," Maeglin said softly. "I understand more than shared blood warrants, perhaps."
Idril looked at him for a long minute. "I think perhaps you do."
"Then I tell you this, Princess," he said. "Gold and black do not often commingle, but when they do, they make twilight, and I have always thought that twilight is silver."
Idril raised her chin, trying to keep away the tears that burned the insides of her eyes. "As have I, cousin. As have I."
"Shall I still wish you joy, cousin?"
"If you desire."
"Then I shall not," he answered, and walked away down the flag-stone path. Idril stood still until he was lost from sight, trying to swallow the sobs that knotted in her throat.
Maeglin walked slowly, counting out his steps. He felt giddy, unreal. His arms hung at his sides, strangely heavy and cumbersome. It was like he had only a tenuous grasp of reality and self now, like what had happened had caused a tectonic shift in his world.
"What ails you, sister-son?" The King's voice called to him, kind and concerned.
Maeglin erased his face to serenity, raising his head to look Turgon in the eye. "It is only a passing trouble, my Lord. You should not be concerned with me; you should be rejoicing with your daughter."
"I have more than enough love for all my family," Turgon said, putting a hand on Maeglin's shoulder.
"Then let me ask you a question, uncle,"
"Anything,"
"Why would you allow this?" He dragged a deep breath, calming his voice. "Why would you let Idril wed...a man? A great man, I am sure, but a man."
"Maeglin-"
"No, Uncle! You have allowed my cousin, your daughter, to be tied to death! Why have you so willingly handed off your greatest treasure to a mere mortal?!"
"He is no mere mortal, Maeglin. He is a messenger of the Sea-King."
"So, he says," Maeglin replied bitterly.
"They love each other," Turgon said in a tone of gentle rebuke. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of love. Tuor will be like my second son. In fact, I wished to speak to you on that matter. The other Lords consider him worthy of joining the Council, and perhaps even having his own House."
The Prince felt the ground give under his feet. "So much honor given to a wandering stray," he spat.
"Hardly a stray," Turgon said. "A greater scion from a great House, I believe. He has lived through much, endured much, and is still a good man." He smiled again, bringing Maeglin closer to him. "When we see the good luck of others, it is easy to curse our own."
He embraced the younger Elf and smiled fondly at him, believing Maeglin's expression to be one of resignation. "Take courage. Someday soon you will know what love is," he said. "I hope to see you at the ceremony."
Maeglin watched the King go towards the pavilion, his face cold and expressionless. Then he spun on his heel and made his way towards his smithy.
Chaos overwhelmed him. Behind the thin lid of an eye, dark tendrils reached up, beckoned, and swirled, and the name of the plant growing was Hatred. He had always hated Tuor, seem him as a rival, a scalding light. But now he also hated Turgon, for he had palmed off his daughter to a mortal. And Idril...Idril...Idril...crazed love turned to crazed hatred and back again. He could not stop loving her, even when he hated her. He wanted to push her off the highest cliff, then be at the bottom to break her fall. He yearned to be with her, to share the light that shone on her reality, to show her all the beauties hidden in the shadows.
She would be his, he vowed, and no price was too high.
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