Hi people around the world!

I want to thank Celridel for her editions as well as for the encouraging reviews of d'elfe and Ducking Cute. Oh! By the way, d'elfe, in this chapter we'll know a little more about Duilin's family, specially his twins.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!


Chapter 65: To Take Hold of Heaven

February, FA 510

A small arrow, fletched with blue feathers, thunked to the pavement in front of Duilin's feet.

"You cannot pass!" the Elfchild exclaimed, hastily stringing her bow with another blunt-tipped arrow.

Duilin crouched in front of his daughter. "So a rebel dares to attack her Lord?" he inquired, noting that Sulneth had painted-or forced her brother to paint-the sigil of the Swallow on her tunic.

Sulneth grinned, the roguish, daring smile she had inherited from her father. "I will not let you pass," she insisted, her bow-arm trembling a little she tried to keep her aim steady.

Duilin looked at her, his face grave. "What you have done is very serious. You are now an outlaw, Sulneth. You had best run."

Eagerly, as naturally as a fish takes to water or a hawk takes to the sky, Sulneth raced away through the snowy gardens of her home, laughing uncontrollably. Although she was still very young, she had already carved herself a reputation as the fastest child in Gondolin. However, Duilin's longer legs and equally impressive speed allowed him to catch up with his daughter. He snatched her up, tossing her in the air. "Beg for mercy!" he told her, trying to keep his face grim, but Sulneth's shrieks of laughter cracked his mask and he began to laugh too.

"Do you promise you will no longer attack your Lord?" he demanded, catching her in his arms.

She nodded seriously. "I promise."

Duilin grinned, put her down on the green lawn, and helped her regain her scattered arrows.

"So you have been practicing while I am away, my little renegade?"

Sulneth shrugged the quiver onto her back, her eyes round and serious. "Yes. Every day. But I am not strong enough, so I cannot join your House."

Duilin ruffled her hair consolingly. "You still have a long time before you are old enough. But let me give you some advice. I saw you wrap your pointer finger around the arrow shaft. Only novice archers do that, and you are no novice, are you?"

Sulneth shook her head. "Will you let me join your House, Atar?"

He took her tiny hand in his and they began to walk towards the house. "Of course."

"Will Amil let me become a soldier?"

"Amil will once I talk to her," Duilin promised. As if summoned, his wife appeared, coming down the balcony steps to greet him, with Glastor, seemingly bathed with paint, by her side. Duilin's son had taken after his mother, body, and mind, with glossy black curls and an insatiable love for art.

Duilin caught Glastor up in his arms, perching the boy on his shoulder while he kissed Elyéta.

"How is my painter?" he asked afterwards, tugging on Glastor's small foot.

"I did something new today! Do you want to see it?"

"Of course. Duck your head when I go in the door, or you'll be decapitated."

Elyéta took Sulneth in her arms and followed her husband in from the chill outdoors.

"So where is your latest painting?" Duilin inquired, looking around him and seeing his house was more or less as he had left it.

"I doubt you will like what he used as a canvas," answered Elyéta. "Come, let us go to our bedchamber."

They climbed the stairs, Glastor leading Duilin eagerly, nearly bursting with excitement.


When Duilin entered the chambers, he shared with his wife, he nearly fainted at the extravagant change. The decorous pale marble was gone, replaced by lavishly painted scenes. Even at five years, Glastor's skill was remarkable enough Duilin could make out his family in the tableau that spanned the entire wall. He crossed the room and touched a corner carefully. His fingers came away stained purple and blue.

"Do you like it, Atar?" Glastor said eagerly. Great grey eyes looked at the Lord from under messy stray curls.

Duilin picked his son up again, Glastor's intoxicating excitement overwhelming Duilin's irritation. "I love it. It is beautiful," he said sincerely.

At that moment, if Duilin had to weigh the world against the sweetness of his son's smile, it would not even have been a choice. The boy held Duilin's face in his tiny, paint-stained hands and kissed his father's forehead.

Duilin settled the boy more comfortably in his arms and said gently, "Next time you want to paint, perhaps you should do it in the art-room."

"Amil said so too, but there is no room," the Elfling protested.

Duilin sighed as Elyéta nodded confirmation. "We will build a new place for you to paint, Glastor. But for now, maybe you should use canvas, like your mother."

"But it is not the same, Atar!"

"Paint my clothes!" Sulneth piped cheerfully. "You can put the sigil of the Swallow on all my clothes."

Glastor seemed to glow with inspiration at the idea. He wriggled out of Duilin's arms and raced out the room, followed and quickly overtaken by Sulneth. The two heard their children's' excited voices come echoing down the hallway.

Elyéta sighed, leaning her head on Duilin's shoulder. "You are not angry at him?" she asked. "I know Glastor's artwork can be trying at times, but..."

Duilin kissed her forehead. "I am not angry. I wish that Glastor would consult with us before... doing this," he finished, waving his arm around their thoroughly refurbished room.

Elyéta giggled fondly. "He has such great skill. The world is his canvas, and I do not exaggerate. Everything he sees is fit for painting."

"Mm," Duilin agreed. "I suppose he reminds you of another little Elf-child, who painted everything in reach despite her parents' wishes."

"Did you put Linwë near a wine-keg again?" she said, nestling her head so it rested in the curve between his neck and shoulder.

"Only a guess, melmë."

"I heard you this afternoon," she said after a silent minute. "Do you truly intend to let Sulneth join your House?"

"We cannot stand between a person and their calling," Duilin advised.

Elyéta sighed. "But she is so reckless, so foolhardy, Duilin. Glastor considers things, even if he comes to the wrong conclusion. But I do not believe Sulneth has considered the consequences of anything, ever. She has the spirit of a hurricane!"

"Elyéta, I was once far wilder. Years tempered me. They will do the same to Sulneth."

"I do not want her in danger," Elyéta said, standing upright. In her eyes, Duilin saw her mother-spirit, a mother bear that would defend her cubs and her den whatever the cost.

He took her hands. "Melmë, Sulneth would not be in danger. She will have the best training there is. That, coupled with her innate abilities, will make her an unstoppable force." Duilin grinned fondly. "A hurricane, as you said. Besides, what danger is there in Gondolin?"

"You went to war," his wife said softly, holding his chin in her hands. "You went to war. There might be another."

"The younger soldiers stayed behind. Sulneth will not be allowed to fight until she is older and wiser," Duilin assured her.

Elyéta made a muffled noise, the illicit child of a laugh and a sigh. "Ah Duilin, you know as well as I do Sulneth will put herself in the thick of it. Do you think that Glastor has my qualities? When I see Sulneth, I feel that I see you as a child."

Duilin laughed. "And yet here I am, the happiest creature in Arda, Elyéta. I have you and I have the twins. All the jewels of the Smith could not compare. I think there is much hope for our daughter."

Elyéta shook her head fondly, smiling. She leaned close to Duilin as if plant a kiss on his cheek, and instead blew gently in his leaf-shaped ear, tickling it with her breath. Duilin cupped his hands behind her head and kissed her. Their kisses still had the same magic that they did upon the windy walls. It was the moon shimmering on water, it was the long shadows of trees, it was flowers and fruit, it was spring rains and tidal waves, it was butterfly wings and falling stars. It was to hold back nothing, nothing at all. It was to see and taste an alchemic compound formed from the elements of their lips and the catalyst of unabashed and infinite love.

"Amil! Atar! Naunt Ramalë is here!" Sulneth screamed, tearing through their house like a small whirlwind.

The two broke away, their eyes bright and guilty, like secret lovers.

"This will be continued," Duilin said, arching his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Get thee gone, rogue," Elyéta laughed, as Sulneth bounced through the doorway, breathless and grinning with her news.

Duilin picked his cloak off the bed and followed his daughter to the main door. Ramalë, lean, wiry, and direly efficient, stood on the doorstep, as Glastor regaled her with stories.

"And that is why you should not paint the Sun," the little sage advised solemnly.

Ramalë nodded, her eyes showing clear relief when Duilin picked his son up, kissed him, and placed him carefully by his sister.

"Listen to Amil. I should not be gone long. Is that not so, Ramalë?" he asked, looking hard at his lieutenant.

Ramalë stared back, unimpressed and undaunted. Sighing, Duilin gave in and they walked down the Way of the Well at a crisp pace.


"What is the trouble?" he asked at last when Ramalë showed no signs of breaking her silence.

"There is no trouble. But, out of the kindness of my heart, I come to remind you of the monthly Council."

Duilin struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, his face plainly horrified. "Ramalë, I forgot-"

She pushed a thick sheaf of parchment at him. "I know you did. Here are the reports from the Swallow's Roost."

Duilin flipped through the ream. "Ramalë, how can I ever thank you enough?"

The small runner eyed him up and down with a look that boded no good for him. "Never fear, Lord Duilin. I will find a way. For now, seek out a fountain before you enter the Council."

"Why?"

"Oh, forgive me. Are you on the warpath or is that simply paint?"

A smile tugged at Turgon's lips as he saw the Swallow enter as unobtrusively as possible, his face pink with the scrubbing it had undergone, his tawny hair wet but still streaked with purple paint.

"Pardon my tardiness," he muttered, finding a seat by Egalmoth.

"Not at all. It is only that we happened to be early," the King said, his face all lordly courtesy save for the glint in his eyes.


Flashback

Duilin's speed had been too great for a timely halt. He skidded to a halt a few yards beyond the King and Lord Penlod and darted back to them, standing slightly behind Penlod and fidgeting like a child that has eaten too many sweets.

Penlod, aware Duilin's patience would not extend for the length of his report, turned to the Elf-Lord, who was now bouncing on the balls of his feet, with a gesture of invitation.

"Pardon the interruption," Duilin exclaimed breathlessly. "But I have been made a father! The Válar have given Elyéta and I a child!"

Penlod's dark brows nearly melded into his hairline, while the King smiled at the Elf and clapped him on the back.

"You have been given a great gift, my friend. I am beyond happy for you," Turgon said.

"Thank you, my Lord!" Duilin said, bowing although his heart was in the sky, overwhelmed by a giddy joy. "King Turgon, Lord Penlod, the announcement will be made the Roost today at twilight. Would you do me the honor of being there?"

"Of course," Turgon said, and Penlod echoed the sentiment.

"I think you have much to prepare, so find a Lord that will take your guard."

"Thank you, my Lord. I will leave now, with your permission."

"My blessings to you and your wife."

Duilin was gone, challenging the wind with his speed.

"Would you aid him?" Turgon said to Penlod. "When one is so happy, one forgets where they place their wits."

The Lord of Two Houses could not but chuckle. He bowed and left the presence of his lord to find Duilin.

End of flashback


"Find the nettle, kiss the flower

Search for cure inside the sting

Sow your ashes, hope for fruit

And see what it will bring."

Eärendil's eyes showcased the love and awe that only a young child can have, his small face dimpled into a smile made of pure sunshine. Salgant smiled back at the thrilled boy, feeling sick inside. He came often to Tuor's house and was received by good wine, good food, and the warm greetings of the little Prince, and in return, he would entertain the boy with music and stories. Lately, though, he had noted that his mother had become reserved, and although she would not order him to leave outright, she had was less than welcoming.

Salgant tried not to think about the significance of the far-sighted Princess' unfriendliness. Tried not to think about it as he played song after song for the Prince until his voice was strained and his fingers numb. It was his small penance, perhaps.

"It is a very pretty song, Salgant!" Eärendil exclaimed gleefully. For the Prince, all songs were pretty, regardless of the lyrics or the melody. "Would you play another?"

Salgant tried to smile again, but the child's wide summer-blue eyes, bright with utter innocence, made it a difficult task. He cleared his throat, swallowing a thick, slimy membrane of guilt. It sat uneasily in his swollen stomach. "Of course, little Prince. This is called Moonlight Shadow."

And he sang:

"The last that ever she saw him

Carried away by a moonlight shadow

He passed on worried and warning

Carried away by a moonlight shadow

Lost in a riddle that terrible night

Far away on the other side

He was caught in the middle of a desperate fight

And she couldn't find how to push through

The trees that whisper in the evening

Carried away by a moonlight shadow

Sing a song of sorrow and grieving

Carried away by a moonlight shadow

All she saw was a silhouette of a bow

Far away on the other side-"

Salgant's voice broke off, his voice splintering under the weight of Princess's blue gaze. He rose and bowed. Idril nodded back, her manner cold and precise, and took her son's hand. "It is time for your ciphering lesson, my son."

"But Amil, Salgant has not finished his song," Eärendil complained.

"I see that," the Celebrindal said, looking back at Salgant. "But it is time for your lessons. Lord Nolandil is waiting for you."

The child looked ready to protest but Salgant shook his head. "It is time for your lessons, little one," he said. "You must go and learn but I will always be here when you have time, to play you a song."

Eärendil slid off the bench reluctantly, but before they left, Idril looked back at Salgant, and her eyes were as cold and invasive as a stab of ice. Salgant, frozen by her gaze as he made a bow, was able to note she was wearing shoes.


Waiting for your reviews, guys!