Hi people around the world!

I want to thank Celridel for her immense help in editing this story. Also I want to thank d'elfe for the reviews that are very encouraging. And... we're getting closer and closer to the moment when Glorfindel will confess his love for Laura but first something will be known between the two and... between Maeglin and Salgant.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!


Chapter 63: If Only You Knew

They lay side by side in the snow, unbothered by the cold, the only marker in the glittering crust of the crisp snow Laura's footprints. She had heeded Alassë's request and taken Glorfindel out into Tumladen where they could find the magic in the stars.

"The stars hold the light of creation. Ele! Ele! our ancestors cried when they first woke, and thus their lives were woven into the fabric of the earth," Glorfindel said, his arms behind his head. "Even now, we are drawn to them."

"So there's nothing more important to you than the stars?" Laura asked. The long purple twilight was drawing to its end, and the stars blazed overhead, like silver spearpoints.

"No. There is the sea."

"Because you woke up by the Waters of Cuivénen?"

She could not see his face without turning her head, but Laura heard the drop in his voice.

"No, Maistalda. In the sea, there lives yet an echo of the Music of the Ainur. We long for perfection, for the world to be untarnished, to be at one with the deep rhythm of Creation." He laughed, a deep, sighing sound. "Yet we found heaven to be stale."

"I'm very sorry you can't go home," Laura said after a few minutes. "I know it must be difficult for you."

"It was our own fault," Glorfindel replied. "We could have stayed, but we chose to follow another path. Now we pay the price of our rebellion."

"But what about people who never rebelled? Like Eärendil? He's paying a debt he doesn't owe."

"Perhaps they have a plan," Glorfindel said quietly. His breath plumed out like a feathery cloud, frozen on the still night air. "Perhaps one day they will arrange the stars to guide us home. But until now we stay here, stranded. And with us, our children."

"That's very unfair."

Glorfindel turned his head in the snow. "I remember once someone told me Life is not fair."

Laura smiled slightly but kept her gaze on the night sky. It was safer that way. "You have a good memory, Glorfindel."

"Are the stars important to your people?" Glorfindel asked.

"There was a time. Some people believed that they were fire spirits, the eyes of the dead or the unborn, or even holes in the sky where God's light shone through. Then some people thought that they governed the destiny of men. Some people still do even though we know what our stars are."

"Do you believe that stars control your destiny?" Glorfindel asked, surprised.

Laura scoffed. "Of course not, but a lot of people buy into things called astrology and horoscopes. They believe that stars and constellations affect your life or personality. Obviously, that's scientifically impossible but... people like believing they're not responsible."

"You shape your own life," Glorfindel said firmly. "I cannot abide those who try and escape the consequences of their choices. To me, they seem like the worst kinds of cowards."

Laura shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so. In my opinion, stars aren't anything thing more than something burning up, millions of light-years away."

Glorfindel propped himself up on his elbow to look at her face. "It is true that stars do not rule the lives of Elves or Men, but they have magic, and now that you are here, you can find that magic in them."

Laura smiled, her green eyes shining with the same light he had seen before, and his heart beat fast.

"I would like to think there is magic somewhere," Laura exclaimed in a burst of feeling. "But I didn't feel any on Earth."

The half-Vanya looked at her questioningly. He sensed there was something sad behind it all and he waited for her to finish.

"They say that many things are magical. Like Love ... but I never found that magic, even though I looked."

"I thought you were not interested in love," Glorfindel said.

"Sorry I lied to you," she murmured, turning her head away so he could not see the tears that stung his eyes. "There was a time that it interested me extremely."

"What happened, Maistalda?" he asked softly.

Laura studied the stars, trying to swallow the bitter taste that came with those memories.

Glorfindel sat up, his eyes concerned. "Maistalda?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he took the hand closest to him and began to caress her knuckles with his thumb. It seemed to be the thing that soothed her the most.

"It's nothing, Glorfindel. It's a long time ago," she replied, shaking her head as if trying to drive away the memories."

"If it hurts you, then saying it's nothing it's like grasping nettle and expecting the sting to go away. Tell me," he urged. "I will listen to you."

Laura felt her chin tremble like she was a small child. This was so different from the dog-eat-dog world she had been born into. Glorfindel's quiet, unshakeable compassion had allowed her to have good thoughts, to build a better self. He had given her the cocoon in which to heal and would help her break it when her wings were ready. She loved him so deeply. She had never known she could love someone so much.

"When the X-Men rescued me and took me to Mansion X, I was the Ugly Duckling. No one wanted to be my friend," she began slowly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "There were only two people who showed me any kindness. That was Professor Xavier, who offered me this new life, and Logan, who had an ability like mine. But I still felt very alone, until I met Remy, in a country called France. We worked together on a lot of missions. He had a very dark past and wasn't exactly moral, but he was understanding. Instead of judging me, he decided to be my friend and teach me things." She smiled, an expression made sweet with nostalgia, as memories played through her head like old movie reels, sepia-toned and priceless. "He was the first to celebrate my birthday. One day I went out to get food and when I got back, there was a cupcake with a candle stuck in it on the table. It said 'Happy Birthday, Petite' with frosting. That was the first time he called me that, and since then I have been his Petite, his little one. He was the one who showed me the song 'On Horseback.' He didn't give me the music, but he bought me the CD, just to see me smile."

"And what happened with Remy?" Glorfindel inquired, smiling down at her.

"We had to take different paths, but he walked with me as long as he could," she said. "Our friendship never died. 'I will never forget you, Petite, you have taught me many things' was his parting words to me. I never told him-although I know he knew it-but he also taught me many things." She paused for a moment, considering the night sky, tasting the words before she released them into the open air. "Thanks to Remy, I learned what friendship was... but even though I was born an experiment, I am still human and I wanted to know what Love was. When Remy met Marie and fell in love with her, he told me how wonderful love is. He said it was a warm, comfortable feeling where you're completely satisfied with life, without any worries. He said it with such passion that since then I wanted to find who would love me, but... that seemed pretty far-fetched. So, I resigned myself, until one day I met someone called Spike. He was too a mutant, who could cover his body with razor-sharp spikes and launch them like projectiles with deadly force. He was seemed interested in me and we became close. One day he finally declared his affections and said my past didn't matter. He was only interested in what I was and that he loved me. I believed him." She was crying openly now, her hands rhythmically clenching as if there was some violent solution to her pain. But Glorfindel was there, holding her hands, reaching into her soul with a delicate touch, like rain reaching into roses. She swallowed hard and continued.

"We dated for a couple of months. He tried to make me laugh, and we did what sweethearts did. We spent time together, held hands, and he tried to get me to kiss him. But I didn't really want to. It felt like was I giving too much, too fast. And it turned out I was right because Spike was like Maeglin. They both use people for profit, and for Spike, that profit was winning a bet with other X-Men about bedding me," she ended viciously, her tears superseded by anger. "One day we argued because he wanted me to kiss him and I refused. He threatened to leave me, and I told him he promised to stay with me forever. Then he made fun of me and my past and told me that he never loved me, but if I wanted him to stay with me, I needed to go to bed with him."

She started crying again. This time her sobs sounded small and helpless. "I wouldn't. Even though it meant losing him, I had enough respect to refuse. I wasn't just a toy, and if he couldn't accept that, he might as well go. We fought then. I almost killed him, but Logan stopped me. A month late, Remy came to find me in a pretty deplorable state. I was completely devastated that my so-called boyfriend had only spent time with me to win a bet about sleeping with me. Remy had no compassion with him."

Glorfindel understood that Laura's friend had killed Spike.

"Since then, I haven't wanted to learn anything more about love or boyfriends," Laura finished, struggling with the lie but saying it nonetheless.

"Not even here? Where things are so different?" Glorfindel asked gently.

Laura sat up, her black hair dusted with snow, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy with tears.

"Glorfindel, who is going to love me here? If no one in my country could love me, why would beings of light, like you, love a person like me?" She shook her head. "My hands are so bloody that if I ever caught Love, I would stain it." She smiled with an effort, trying to make him smile back at her. "But at least I have your friendship, BFF, and that's more than I can ask for."

Glorfindel did not return her smile. He closed her eyes and kissed her hand. Laura shivered at the sensation, luxuriating in the blissful, electric feeling. "How do you do it?" she whispered.

"When we care for someone very deeply," he said slowly. "We become closer, not just in mind, but also in body. We become bonded."

"Well, it's good to know you care for me," Laura smiled.

"More than you, Maistalda."

The woman looked at their linked hands. "Thanks for listening to me," she said after a few minutes. "I needed to talk about this, and you're the best listener around."

Glorfindel smiled and kissed her hand again. It was like every warmth she had ever known-summer sun on her hair, warming her hands by a log fire, sipping mulled cider-becoming one, taking over her blood. There was something more there than affections between friends... but love? No.

She stood, brushing snowflakes off her clothes. "We better get back. I need to be ready for training."

Glorfindel followed suit. "Laura," he said as she began to walk away. "One day you will find love. Have no doubts."

She smiled incredulously over her shoulder. "I don't believe you," she said, "But I'll tell you what the Elves say: 'May the Válar listen to you'."

And so they have, he thought, deciding that tomorrow night, he would give her the necklace and confess his affections.


Maeglin with his back to the cold stone, his face tilted upward but his eyes were closed. Below him, he could hear members of his House moving slightly, leather squeaking, chainmail rattling as they stood guard at the First Gate. Bare blades swung against breeches. No one wore scabbards in winter; it was too cold, and the sword would freeze to the sheath.

He imagined the sky in the eye of his mind, saw it as a level field of black glass. He imagined a sudden blast of fire come burgeoning up, blossoming like a red flower under the eye of the night. He wondered where the attack would come from, and if he would be a casualty. Idly, he thought of dragon-fire. First the red-orange glow in their jaws, then the fire would be there, birthed from fanged jaws. The outliers of its warmth would touch his frozen marrow, a last kiss for a creature already burned, dark child of dark outlands. And then it would be over.

The thought pleased him with its poetic balance. The child of the gloaming would be killed by white-hot heat.

"Maeglin! How good to see you!"

His hands splayed on the frigid stone, grasping at the tiny niches and imperfections in the rock wall. His dark fantasy had descended out of the night, swaddling him, smothering him, and it was hard to reconcile Salgant's voice with the thought of dragon-fire. Salgant had a good voice though, not as deep as other Elf-Men, but clear and smooth, like the sound of a dulcimer, and he was a fine singer, though constantly overshadowed by Ecthelion.

Maeglin opened his eyes unwillingly, as though his unnerved mind expected a trick. But it was only Salgant, his pale face a strange contrast with the funereal tone of his garb, the light in his eyes dimmed by the flesh that surrounded them.

The Prince smiled at the corpulent musician-lord, tasting opportunities. "And I you, Lord Salgant. What brings you all the way to the Gates, and on such a bitter night?"

Salgant sighed. "My daughter's begetting day is but two days away, and I came to ask you to make her a gift. Whatever you believe suitable. Your works are priceless in the City."

"Of course I will," Maeglin said, with such hearty goodwill that Salgant glanced at him, slightly startled.

"How kind of you, my Lord," the Harper said. "And you seem to be in an excellent mood, though it's cold enough to freeze the blood."

Maeglin shrugged, looking out over the snow-bound land. The shadows of the overhanging rock wall hid his face from Salgant, but Maeglin's eyes were sharp, predatory. "I suppose I am," he said. "Tell me, do you have any designs in mind? I have heard you say your daughter is fond of butterflies."

Salgant nodded. "She adores butterflies. Perhaps a hair-clasp? She has such wavy hair, and it is always getting into her eyes."

Maeglin grinned, leaning his head against the cliff. "I know what I will make," he said.

Salgant stood by the Prince, drawing his cloak tightly around him. "And what can I give you in return for your time and labor?" the Lord of the Harp, smiling.

"Salgant, I want nothing from you," Maeglin laughed. "This gift is a token of our friendship."

The wind gusted, hard enough to flatten them both against the cliff face, cold enough to burn their faces.

"My Lord Maeglin, you do me a great honor in considering me as your friend, just as I consider you a very dear one," the Harper answered sincerely.

"It is mutual," the Prince assured him. Salgant had weak convictions and lived for comfort. He might be able to spin this story to get Salgant on his side, and he would need support.

"Butterflies are such fragile things, are they not, Salgant? They represent change and yet their lives are so brief. Most butterflies live longer as grubs, did you know? I take it to mean that things cannot support true change for very long. It goes against the fabric of Nature," the Prince said thoughtfully.

"Their beauty draws predators that would not look twice at the grubs," Salgant agreed.

"Well said," Maeglin approved. "And this place is very beautiful, is it not?"

Salgant's expression grew vaguely unsettled. "Very beautiful," he said slowly.

"You heard of the Fall of Nargothrond?" Maeglin inquired. He was still looking outward, and Salgant could only see his profile.

"Of course."

"But did you know Doriath has also fallen?"

"You jest!" Salgant exclaimed with unwonted sharpness.

"I make neither joke nor jest," Maeglin returned quietly. "Doriath is no more. And it was not taken by the Lord in the North, Salgant. It was sacked by the Kinslayers. We are surrounded by enemies on all sides."

"We are the Hidden City," Salgant answered dubiously, as if he was Maeglin's pupil, asking the answer rather than telling it.

Maeglin chuckled and shook his head. "If Doriath's Maia queen could not keep her realm safe, we have no hope. When the hawk comes, Salgant, the only hope the butterfly has is hiding in the thornbush. Do you follow me?"

"Are you suggesting we ally with the Fëanorians?" Salgant's face was now clearly unsettled. The Oath of Fëanor had torn the Noldor tribes apart, and if Doriath had fallen by the hands of the Fëanorians, there was no hope of a union.

At last, Maeglin turned his head. His eyes were dark and dizzyingly deep. "We are the outsiders, are we not, Salgant?" he said softly. The Elf-Lord stood passively by him, his square, fleshy face slack. "They made us outcasts. Does it not sting, sitting in their courts, listening to them talk, knowing that you will be overruled, trodden under, made the buffoon for not sharing their opinion?"

"It does," Salgant muttered.

Maeglin's lips curled in a humorless smile. "We are thrown the scraps, Salgant, like dogs sitting by their master's knee, and expected to be grateful. But what if we could change that?"

"How?"

"We need allies, my friend. Right now, we are caught between a rock and a hard place and Turgon intends for us to be smashed to bits. But what if we turned the hard place into a featherbed? If we allied with the Lord of the North, then there would be no more risks. The Kinslayers would not dare to challenge us! We would be safe here! There would be no more talk of sailors. We would be safe in Middle-Earth, safe forever!" Maeglin's tone was growing to a fever-pitch, exhorting, inspiring, encouraging.

"The Lord of the North?" Salgant repeated without understanding.

Maeglin took the Harper's shoulder, his voice becoming softer now, throaty and persuasive like the purr of a cat. "The Lord in the North, Salgant, would ally with us. The proud would be made low and the downtrodden raised up. The valleys would be exalted, the mountains razed." He paused, his face thoughtful, his eyes gauging Salgant. It was like seeing a deer being stalked by an old clever wolf, a deer too foolish to run. "There would be a few deaths," Maeglin began again. "But a tree must be pruned every now and again, so it bears the best fruit. We would be kings of the world. We would devour the arrogant and the glorious."

A sheen of sweat stood out on Salgant's pale forehead, despite the bitter cold. His face was sick and pasty-white. "You are speaking of... of..."

"I am," Maeglin agreed, his smile strange, fierce and restless. "I spoke to Him, Salgant. He came to me in the Mines."

"But He is our enemy," Salgant said, his lips dry. "He is evil."

"Evil," Maeglin repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Is an abstract concept, like free will. The gods over in the West called Him evil, yet they stranded you here. They treated your kind like children, and when the children disobeyed, they tossed them away. What love do you bear for gods that will not stay by your side, Salgant? Why love them when they will not love you? Why believe in them when they do not believe in you? Believe in the here, the now, the present. The present is all we are given. Believe in what is here and now, because that is all there is."

Salgant felt unable to breathe. His chest was heavy, his head swam, but through that muddy swamp of thoughts, Maeglin's voice intruded, bending his will. He would trust and obey, Salgant decided. Trust and obey.

They looked together at the plum-black sky. The stars were disappearing from the sky, like a giant hand was closing into a fist around the firmament, blocking all the light from view.


Waiting for your reviews, guys!