Chapter Forty-Three: Aranel

Lalwendë made her way to Glorfindel's side as they followed Turgon into the war room. The king sat down heavily at the head of the table, and the rest of them found seats around him.

'Very well,' he said. 'Go.'

'We should leave,' Lalwendë said immediately. Glorfindel glanced at her before looking back down at the table.

'Just a moment,' Egalmoth said. 'We might have been warned, but Gondolin is still significantly safer than outside. We have better chances of survival here than we do sailing down the Sirion.'

'He's right,' Ecthelion said uncomfortably. 'We have a choice between the frying pan and the fire, yes, but for now I think we should stay here, hidden in Gondolin.'

'Despite the explicit warning of Ulmo, a Vala?' Lalwendë asked disbelievingly.

'Think about it,' Egalmoth said. 'If we leave, it will be a matter of hours before we're discovered by Morgoth's servants. We'll be fending off attacks within days, and an army within a week. Thousands of us will be killed, all in an effort to maybe reach the sea and maybe find safety.'

'That said, Gondolin is a trap,' Idril spoke up. 'We are safe while we remain unknown, but if Morgoth attacks, we have no escape.'

'What about the eagles?' Maeglin asked, his eyes fixed on Idril. 'They could help evacuate.'

'There are tens of thousands of people in Gondolin,' Glorfindel said. 'They would save a hundred.'

'We might stand a chance if we were attacked,' Lalwendë said. 'We've fortified the gates and the city walls.'

'But maybe not for long,' Ecthelion said. 'Once Morgoth knows where we are, our advantage is gone. He has greater numbers, military strength, weapons, everything. Once we're found, Angband will just wear us down.'

'So are you saying we go, or we stay?' Turgon asked him, frowning.

'Stay,' Ecthelion said with a sigh. 'Neither decision is good, but the fact remains that for now, we are safe.'

'Egalmoth?'

'Stay,' Egalmoth said.

'I agree,' Maeglin said. 'I do not trust for a moment the words of that man-child, Tuor.'

'I think we should go, adar,' Idril said quietly.

Turgon turned to Lalwendë. 'What about you?'

She chewed on her lip for a moment, then shrugged. The situation was hopeless. 'Stay.'

Beside her, Glorfindel sighed. 'I think we need to go.'

'Very well,' Turgon said, getting to his feet. 'I will think on it. Be ready.'

A night and day passed before the news came that they were to stay in Gondolin. Fortifications redoubled, and people started wearing their weapons about town. Glorfindel was called into council after council, and with all his added duties as the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Lalwendë barely saw him.

They passed each other in a busy corridor a week later, when she was on her way to the stables. Ecthelion had asked her to send building plans down to the gate where he was stationed, and she'd been planning to ride down herself.

'Lalwen!' Glorfindel exclaimed, and pulled her aside out of the stream of people. 'I can't stop for long,' he said.

'Nor can I,' she replied. 'How are you?'

'Fine. Busy.'

'Tired?'

'Not too much. Are you alright?'

'I'm well.' She held up the tightly-rolled papers in her hand. 'I'm taking these to Ecthelion at the gates.'

'Ah – could you tell him he's wanted for another meeting tonight?' Glorfindel asked.

'I'll tell him.' She glanced around and lowered her voice slightly. 'Do you really think we should leave Gondolin?'

Glorfindel rubbed a hand over his face. 'I don't know. We've been safe until now, but…'

'If we're found, we're doomed.'

'Exactly.'

'Both choices are awful.'

'I know,' he muttered, but then he shook his head and took her hand. 'But it doesn't matter. Whatever the King chooses, we stay with him and our people.'

'Agreed,' she said. His hand was warm over hers, and he brought them up to his chest.

'We'll be alright,' he said quietly. 'I miss you.'

'How about tomorrow night,' she said. 'Will I see you then?'

He winced. 'I doubt it. Sorry.'

'It doesn't matter, we'll have a moment soon enough.'

'I just…' he sighed, looking away. 'As ridiculous as it sounds, I don't want our last chance to be together to be spent like this.'

Lalwendë's heart dropped in her chest, and her hand tightened in Glorfindel's. 'We have months left, if not years. Trust me.'

He smiled faintly. 'Very optimistic.'

'Well. I'll keep smiling while I can.'

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder. 'I should go, I'm already late.'

'Give me a kiss, then,' Lalwendë said, her smile turning teasing. He grimaced at her.

'We're in front of everyone.'

'What if it's the last time you ever see me?'

Before she could say anything more, he swooped in and pecked her on the lips, before flushing, turning and disappearing into the bustle, leaving her laughing in his wake.

Lalwendë was right. A year passed without alarm in Gondolin, and then another. The fortifications were completed, and the guards doubled, giving Glorfindel even more work, but everything stayed quiet.

The dry riverbed tunnel through the mountains, the only way in or out of Gondolin, was finally sealed by order of the King. No one left, and no one came.

It was a calm, sunny afternoon when Idril asked to walk with Lalwendë in the gardens. They walked quietly for a while, arm in arm, enjoying the warmth while it lasted. In the past years, sunlight had become harder to come by, often because of a thick black smog that crept across the sky. They supposed it was a symptom of Morgoth's growing power. Lalwendë thought it smelled like Angband.

Idril cleared her throat. 'How is Glorfindel?'

'Busy,' Lalwendë said. 'Now, is this about Tuor?'

Idril blushed and looked away. 'Aren't I allowed to walk with you?'

'You are the Princess of Gondolin, and I Lady of the House of the Golden Flower, and both of us advisors to the King,' Lalwendë said with a smile. 'When do we have the time to visit the gardens without reason?'

'It isn't just about Tuor,' Idril muttered, and Lalwendë laughed.

'Alright. Tell me.'

'I think… I'm in love with him. Deeply, properly in love,' said Idril. 'I've been asked hundreds of times in my life whether I'd fallen in love, and sometimes I wasn't sure. But now I know that any affection I felt for anyone before was merely that. This – this is love.'

Lalwendë felt the odd urge to cry. 'And does he love you in return?'

Idril stared at her. 'That's your question?'

'I am happy for you, melda. But unrequited love is hard.'

'I just mean – you aren't afraid or angry that I want to marry a mortal man?'

'Not unless he doesn't want to marry you,' Lalwendë replied with a smile.

'He does,' Idril said, a little of the tension draining from her body. 'Rest assured.'

'Have you heard of Beren and Lúthien?'

'Hasn't everyone?' Idril said. 'But this is not the same. I may be an elf, and Tuor a man, but Beren died to prove himself to Lúthien's father. I will not suffer anything like that to happen.'

'Your father is nothing like Thingol,' Lalwendë said reassuringly. 'He won't demand a silmaril or anything like it. Tuor has a lot to recommend him in the eyes of Turgon.'

'Like what?' Idril said aggrieved.

'His father died to save this entire city, for a start. And though he's only lived here a few years, your father already loves him like a son. He is a good, honest, brave, kind man.'

Idril stopped walking and whirled to face Lalwendë. 'So you believe that if Tuor asked my father for my hand, he would say yes?'

'I do. Have a little faith in him, my love. He wants to see you happy, even if it means marrying you off to a mortal.'

Idril sighed heavily, staring up at the sky like she might read the answer in its blueness. 'That's the other thing.'

'What is?'

'Tuor is mortal. His lifetime is a fraction of ours, and… I'm not afraid of him growing old, but – but when he dies…'

Tuor was yet young, and the shadow of Angband grew darker and closer every day. The chances of Idril seeing Tuor die of old age were growing increasingly slim, but Lalwendë refused to voice the thought. Idril didn't need to hear it.

'You will deal with it when you come to it,' she said instead. 'If you love him… I suppose there isn't much you can do. It's already too late.'

Her face melted into a soft smile. 'Elves and men love differently,' she said. 'The love of men can be fleeting and false. But Tuor loves like elves love. Properly, you know, permanently. Obsessively.'

'Go to your father,' Lalwendë said. 'Get married.'

Idril's smile broadened. 'I'll tell Tuor.'

The next day, it was Tuor knocking on Lalwendë's door. He was standing straight and tall, and though she could tell he was nervous, he met her gaze with clear eyes.

'My lady,' he said. 'I have come to speak with you, if you have a moment.'

'I have as many moments as you need,' Lalwendë replied warmly. She was suddenly afraid that Turgon had refused their request, and that Tuor was now coming to her for aid. She stood back to let him into her quarters, silently thankful that Glorfindel wasn't there to scare Tuor away. 'How can I help you?'

Tuor cleared his throat as she closed the door. 'I think Idril has already spoken to you about this, but I wanted to ask you myself,' he explained hesitantly.

'Yes?'

'I am hoping to marry her,' Tuor said, the youth suddenly all the more apparent in his face. He smiled slightly. 'Idril tells me she wants as much too. I wanted to ask for your blessing as well as the King's.'

Lalwendë blinked, utterly taken aback. 'You have my utmost approbation, Tuor, but why do you want my blessing?'

Tuor looked relieved. 'You are like a mother to Idril, in the absence of her own,' he said openly. Again, absurdly, Lalwendë felt like crying. 'Your approval means everything to her. So, it does for me too.'

Lalwendë took his hand in both of hers. 'I said this to Idril yesterday, and I will repeat it now,' she said earnestly. 'You seem to me good and valiant of heart. You are selfless and wise for someone so young.' Tuor looked away, reddening, and Lalwendë laughed. 'I like you exceedingly, Tuor. If Turgon allows it, I will be overjoyed at your wedding.'

Tuor took her hand and bowed over it, and laughing again, Lalwendë pulled him upright and kissed him on the cheek. 'Welcome to my family, young man.'

The door behind them opened, and Glorfindel stepped inside. Tuor looked over at him and bowed slightly. 'Hello,' he said. Glorfindel stopped short, then nodded once. Tuor cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry for the intrusion, I was just – visiting your wife.'

He glanced at Lalwendë, and she smiled again. There was a beat of silence. Glorfindel didn't move. She decided to put Tuor out of his misery.

'Would you like to stay?' she asked gently, gesturing to the empty chairs next to the fireplace.

Tuor shook his head quickly. 'I should go,' he said. 'But thank you – thank you for having me. And… you know.'

She reached out to clasp his hand once more. 'You are welcome here anytime,' she said.

Tuor squeezed her hand with a quick, earnest grin. Then he nodded to Glorfindel. 'Goodbye,' he said, and left. Glorfindel turned to Lalwendë and raised an eyebrow. She shot him a stern look.

'You scared the poor boy.'

'I didn't mean to.'

She smiled, unable to help herself. 'Very well, you are forgiven.'

'Are you going to tell me what you are smiling about?'

'My name is Lalwendë. Smiling is what I do.'

'No teasing,' he said, but she could see the smile he was suppressing. 'Please.'

'You'll never guess who is getting married.'

He looked genuinely surprised. 'Idril and Tuor?'

She nodded. 'Some good news. Finally.'

'Have they thought it through?'

'Have some faith in them,' she said. 'We take happiness where we can find it these days.'

The next time she woke, she was nearly gone.

Her breathing was shallow and slow. Her skin felt paper-thin. Her body felt like it was floating, and her thoughts were disconnected and drifting. Death wasn't far away, and it wouldn't be a battle; it would be a gentle surrender.

Lórien the Vala was not so cruel after all. The pain was gone. Dying would be like falling asleep, and Azshar was exhausted.

She could hear whispers nearby, and she wondered idly who Glorfindel was talking to. No one replied to him though, and it took her a while before she realised that he was praying. She could only make out a few muttered words.

'Please… let her… please… I will do anything, anything… let her live… another thousand, another ten thousand years of service… please… whatever you ask of me, in return for her…'

Her heart fractured inside her chest. Dying wouldn't only kill her, it would kill him too.

Idril and Tuor married during Tuor's seventh year in Gondolin, the first wedding in their hidden city in a long time. Lalwendë, Turgon and Maeglin stood by the bride's side as her remaining family, and Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and Glorfindel (who had finally been persuaded that Tuor wouldn't mind) stood by Tuor.

They were married on Gondolin's most important feast day, the Gates of Summer. Idril looked picturesque, an ornate pearl necklace around her neck, the Elessar pinned at her shoulder, and happy tears shining in her eyes. Lalwendë, arm in arm with Turgon, thought she looked just like her mother.

In spring they had a child, a baby boy, whom they named Eärendil. Lalwendë was the first to hold him after he was born, screaming and pink-faced. It was she who wrapped him in a swaddling blanket and handed him to Idril to hold.

He was a beautiful child – the most beautiful, Lalwendë thought – with big blue eyes and thick, golden hair. To Glorfindel's wry amusement, she was utterly taken with him, and Eärendil with her. Happily, Idril and Tuor were as content to leave their son with Lalwendë as she was to take him.

'You've found your soulmate,' Glorfindel declared when he came home to find them together for the third day in a row. 'I will step graciously aside, never fear.'

'How kind of you,' Lalwendë smiled, standing up. Eärendil, nearly one year old, suddenly laughed in her arms. Glorfindel smiled down at them.

'He makes you smile more than I do. He'll make a good new husband.'

Lalwendë stood on her toes to kiss Glorfindel on the cheek. 'He's a baby,' she said, going to sit back down by the fire. Outside, it was snowing. 'Don't be jealous of a baby.'

'It was a joke,' Glorfindel said, sitting down opposite her and taking off his boots. 'And I'm happy to see you happy.'

Eärendil reached up to pull on her hair, and she winced. 'Here, will you take him for a moment? I want to tie back my hair.'

Glorfindel grimaced, but took the little boy from her. He held the child at an arm's length as Eärendil began to babble like he was conducting a genuine conversation. After another minute, Lalwendë glanced up to find them both staring quite seriously into each other's eyes. She made no remark, and Glorfindel held the baby until Idril came an hour later to find him.

Eärendil turned two, and then three, becoming more and more precocious as he went. He seemed to be the only person in Gondolin, except Lalwendë, Ecthelion, and Turgon, who wasn't intimidated by Glorfindel. On the contrary – he loved him. Glorfindel was excessively fond of the child, patiently listening to his excited ramblings and, occasionally, picking him up when he begged.

Eärendil brought the elation of joy back to Lalwendë, something she had forgotten she could feel in her days of contentment with Glorfindel, fear of discovery by Morgoth, and grief at the deaths of her family. It was joy, youthful and loud and vivacious. She adored the boy.

'Perhaps we should have had a child,' Glorfindel said to her one day, when they had a moment alone between meetings and duties. 'Did you ever wonder?'

'It would be selfish,' she said, looking up from her book. 'To have a child in times like this, just because it would make us happy.'

'Would it?' he asked thoughtfully. 'I don't think so.'

She closed the book with a sigh. 'Very well, you have my attention. Explain.'

'We live in dangerous times, yes. But that doesn't mean there isn't a life to be had, beauty to be – to be experienced, happiness felt.'

'Imagine we had a child,' Lalwendë said, leaning forward. 'Imagine that. Then, when – if Morgoth invades, it might die. What then?'

'Think of Turgon's sister, your niece, Aredhel,' Glorfindel said. 'She died. Does that mean it would have been better if she had never been born?'

'Of course not. But by that logic, if our child were killed, are you saying you would simply be happy it had an opportunity at life?'

Glorfindel shot her a look. 'You know I wouldn't be happy. I'm just – it was a thought. Just a thought.'

She gazed over at him. 'Would you want a baby?'

He didn't answer for a while, but then he shrugged. 'I don't know. You would be a wonderful mother, but I don't know if I would be a very good father.'

'Don't say things like that. You would make an excellent father.'

'If we had a child, I know I would love it,' he said quietly. Lalwendë felt a stab of sadness.

'You should have said something before. Years ago.'

'Well. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.'

'Do you think…' she hesitated. 'Is it too late?'

He nodded, and her heart sank. 'I think so. I've had a feeling of late, like Morgoth will find us in a matter of months, if not weeks. If we had a baby to take care of – or if you were pregnant…'

'Well, we don't,' she said quietly. 'So there's no point in thinking about it.'

'Perhaps it's for the best,' Glorfindel said, coming closer. Then there was a sudden knock on the door, and before they could answer, it opened to reveal Ecthelion.

'Feel free to let yourself in,' Glorfindel said drily. Ecthelion came over and patted him on the shoulder. Lalwendë smiled at him, standing from her chair.

'I assumed if you were being indecent, you'd be doing it in the bedroom.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Am I wrong?'

Glorfindel winced, and Lalwendë laughed. 'Tuor is less than thirty, and he is more mature than you.'

'Forgive me, dear lady,' Ecthelion said with a bow. 'But besides all that, I have come on important business.' The joviality faded from his face, and he sighed. 'We've been summoned to a meeting. A big one.'

'News from the outside?' Glorfindel said, and Ecthelion nodded. Lalwendë made her way over to her chest of drawers, where her sword was lying. She attached it to her belt and returned to the door.

'Better to be ready,' she said. The two of them, both already wearing swords, nodded, and she opened the door. 'Let's go.'

They were the last to arrive at Turgon's chambers. Idril was sitting at the King's left hand, and Maeglin at his right, glaring daggers at Tuor who was sitting a little way down the table.

'I just don't understand why Maeglin hates Tuor so much,' Ecthelion whispered to Lalwendë as they found seats at the end of the table. 'They've barely exchanged a single word since Tuor arrived in Gondolin.'

'Maeglin has been in love with Idril for years, and he resents Tuor for marrying her,' Lalwendë murmured.

Ecthelion's eyes widened, and he forgot to whisper. 'Really?'

'Hush!' she said with a smile as Turgon got to his feet. Silence quickly fell, and the King sighed.

'The eagles have brought us more news,' he said. Under the table, Glorfindel's hand found Lalwendë's. 'Doriath has fallen, and Thingol is dead.'

There was a ripple of dismayed exclamations down the table, and Lalwendë and Glorfindel shared a look. Her heart was beating fast, like she'd been running; the news didn't surprise her, but she was suddenly terrified. Had Galadriel survived?

'What do we know?' asked Egalmoth.

'It was the Silmaril,' Turgon said bitterly. 'The one Beren stole from Morgoth as a bride-price for Lúthien.'

'Morgoth came after it?' Idril asked in a small voice.

'Not quite,' her father replied. 'Thingol hired a band of dwarves to fashion the Silmaril into a necklace. When the dwarves finished it, it seemed they wanted the necklace and the jewel for themselves, so… they killed Thingol and tried to escape. They were killed too.'

'Manwë's breath,' Ecthelion muttered. Lalwendë pursed her lips; she knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. It was almost embarrassing, elves and dwarves murdering one another while Morgoth sat by and gloated. And all of it, still, was for Fëanor's damned creation.

'Queen Melian fled Middle-earth in her grief,' Turgon went on, 'leaving Doriath with no protection. An army of dwarves, sent in retaliation for the deaths of their kin, marched to Doriath. There was great death on both sides.'

'Morgoth will be overjoyed,' Tuor said darkly. 'We are doing his own work for him.'

'Where is the Silmaril now?' Ecthelion asked.

'We have heard that it passed, somehow, to Beren and Lúthien,' the King said. 'Their son, Dior, wore it for a while.'

'Wore it?' Maeglin asked with a frown. Turgon sighed again, looking haggard.

'Fëanor's sons heard he had the Silmaril, and they demanded it back. Dior refused.'

Lalwendë went cold. Her hand tightened in Glorfindel's. 'And…?'

'And they killed him, along with nearly everyone in Doriath. Dior, his wife Nimloth, their two young sons. Only his three-year-old daughter survived. They are calling it the Second Kinslaying.'

'What of the sons of Fëanor?' Lalwendë asked, feeling bile at the back of her throat.

'Three of them are dead,' Turgon said shortly. 'Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. Only four now remain, Maedhros and Maglor, and the twins, Amrod and Amras.'

There was a long silence, broken at length by Glorfindel. 'Where is the Silmaril now?'

'They believe Dior's infant daughter has it,' Turgon said. He sat down. 'Her name is Elwing, and apparently she has fled to the Havens of Sirion with the refugees from Doriath.'

'It won't be long then,' Lalwendë said hollowly. The faces at the table swivelled to look at her. 'If we've heard this news, it can't be a great secret. If Fëanor's sons – his surviving sons – if they know little Elwing has gone to the Havens with the Silmaril, they will follow. The Oath still binds them.'

'I think you are right,' Turgon said.

After the council, Lalwendë waited behind as the room emptied until only she, Turgon, and Idril remained. Turgon raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged.

'I wanted to know if you'd heard about Galadriel.'

He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Lalwen. I've heard nothing.'

'No mention of her? What about in the last decade?'

'Nothing. You can hope if you like, but…' he sighed. 'It seems we are all headed the same way.'

'If you really believe that, then you ought to order us to evacuate Gondolin and head for the Havens,' Lalwendë said sharply. Turgon pursed his lips.

'We agreed it was safer here. You voted to stay.'

'I was wrong.'

'We decided,' he said, a tone of finality to his voice. 'Let it be.'

'Very well,' Lalwendë said quietly.

'I want to ask you a favour,' Turgon said, more gently. 'A big one.'

'What is it?'

'Would you… would you go to Celebrimbor and tell him that his father has been killed?'

Lalwendë felt ice settle in her heart; telling Celebrimbor his father was dead would not be an easy task, even putting aside the fact that Curufin had been killed in self-defence while he committed an atrocity.

'Of course,' she said.

Idril cleared her throat, and the two of them looked over. 'There was something I was hoping to talk to you about, Lalwen,' she said, throwing a meaningful look at her father. Turgon nodded.

'I'll leave you to it,' he said. 'Thank you for everything, Lalwen.' He left them alone in the room, and Lalwendë turned back, curious.

'What is it?'

'I have begun a project, with Tuor's help,' Idril said. 'As I have told you, I've had… premonitions, feelings of foreboding, more and more of late. I think Morgoth's invasion is not far away.'

'You aren't the only one,' Lalwendë agreed. 'What is the project?'

'As my father said, we have decided to stay in Gondolin,' Idril went on. 'But that doesn't mean we should be unprepared. I have begun building a secret way of escaping through the mountains.'

'But… the tunnel was sealed, years ago,' Lalwendë said, confused.

'This is different,' Idril said. 'And Lalwen, you must promise me it remains a secret.'

'Very well,' Lalwendë said. 'Tell me.'

Idril pulled a map of the city towards them on the table and pointed to a spot on the lowest levels. 'It begins here, in this little-used cellar. No one goes in there now, and I have locked the door so no one will discover the tunnel.'

'Tunnel?'

'We are tunnelling under the city,' Idril said, tracing her finger over the grassy area on the map. 'When it is finished, it will run this way, northward of Amon Gwareth. It will allow us, hopefully, to make it to the Cirith Thoronath pass through the mountains.'

'So it is to be an escape route,' Lalwendë said.

'Yes.'

'I don't understand why it must be secret,' she said. Idril shrugged.

'Times are changing. We don't know who can be trusted to know about this, because as much as it is a way out, it could also be a way in.'

'So you suspect betrayal from within Gondolin,' Lalwendë surmised, frowning. 'Who would do such a thing?'

Idril shrugged again. 'I cannot say. It's just a feeling I've been having.'

'Best to trust your instincts, then,' Lalwendë muttered, surveying the map again with a critical eye. 'I daresay this can be done. How far have you made it?'

'To here,' Idril said, pointing at a spot halfway across the city. 'But that's why I'm telling you now. The work should be moving faster, and we need more help.'

'I'll tell Glorfindel,' Lalwendë said immediately. 'And Ecthelion, he can keep a secret too. They each have a few men in their houses whom they trust completely, they can help. And I will do all that I can too, of course.'

'Thank you,' Idril said gratefully. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two brass keys. 'Keep one for yourself, and give one to Glorfindel. They will unlock the door to the entrance of the tunnel.'

Lalwendë took the keys. 'Who else has one?'

'Me, Tuor, my father, and now you and Glorfindel. I will have another made for Ecthelion.'

'So if we're invaded…' Lalwendë said slowly, and Idril nodded.

'It will have to be one of us six who leads the evacuation.'

'You do not trust Maeglin to carry a key?' Lalwendë asked.

Idril pursed her lips. 'Would you? These days, all my cousin does is speak against my husband in the King's councils. And besides, he has left again to go mining with some of his people. He's barely here these days.'

Maeglin was made Lord of the House of the Mole by Turgon after his arrival in Gondolin and the murder of his mother. Perhaps because of his father Eöl's love for darkness, or his own upbringing in the depths of a shadowy forest, Maeglin had no love of sunlight.

Half of his time, he spent in the city. The other half, he was gone, digging mines for ore and gemstones in the Encircling Mountains. As the years advanced, the lengths of time he spent away grew longer and longer. Turgon didn't seem to worry, but Lalwendë did.

One time in particular, Maeglin returned from his mining with only a handful of followers, a strange gleam in his sharp eyes. Lalwendë watched him re-enter the city curiously; when he caught her gaze, he nodded at her unsmilingly and strode away.

'Do you think Maeglin could be leaving Gondolin when he goes on his trips?' she asked Glorfindel as she lay sleepless that night. He rolled over and hummed sleepily.

'I don't know.'

'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'I was only dozing.'

'It's just…' she hesitated. 'I don't want to sound untrusting. He's my niece's son.'

'But?'

'But his mines don't seem to yield enough, considering the amount of time he leaves for.'

'So maybe he is leaving. What then?'

'It's dangerous outside those mountains. Turgon has his laws for a reason.'

Glorfindel shifted closer and pulled her against him so that her back was against his chest. 'Will you tell the King what you think?' he asked quietly, his breath warm against her shoulder. His voice was fading, barely noticeably, and she knew he was slipping back into sleep.

'Maybe,' she whispered, closing her own eyes. 'It doesn't matter. Go to sleep.'

'I love you,' he breathed, and she smiled.

When Eärendil turned seven years old, Idril's secret escape route was finished. Lalwendë wore the key to the cellar door around her neck on the same chain as her locket.

One day that year, Maeglin returned from a particularly long trip away to his mines. This time, he seemed sick; he had strange scars on his body, he was paler than usual, and occasionally, his hands would start shaking.

Lalwendë knew he didn't much like her, or anyone else in Gondolin, but she also knew that Maeglin didn't have many friends in the city. One day, when she saw him in the gardens, alone and staring at the northern mountains, she approached him.

'Maeglin,' she said, and he started.

'What is it?'

'Nothing,' she said with a smile. 'I saw you standing here, and I thought we might talk.'

'Talk about what?' he asked sullenly, his gaze returning to the mountains.

Lalwendë hesitated, watching him with concern. 'Are you… alright, Maeglin?'

He started again. 'I am well,' he said shortly.

'I know you must miss your mother very much. Perhaps even your father.'

His expression turned nasty, and he turned his sharp gaze on her. 'Do not speak of what you do not know.'

'I want you to know that you can talk to me about things,' she continued obstinately. 'I've been around a long while, and believe it or not, I have gathered a little wisdom.'

He stared at her, some of the malice ebbing from his eyes. But then he turned away. 'The outpost set on the mountains to the north is the smallest of all our guards,' he said thoughtfully, as though he was talking to himself. 'Why do you think that is?'

'Because the northern mountains are the most difficult to climb,' Lalwendë replied warily, still watching him. It was beginning to rain. 'Even if the enemy managed to find us, they wouldn't attack from the north.'

Something she said seemed to bring him back to the moment. He looked across at her again. 'Perhaps,' he said, his tone cold and distant. Lalwendë left him there, knowing she was no longer welcome.

Ecthelion in this chapter is loosely based on my dumb ass. And in other news, someone said that Part Three is their favourite part so far, so I'm riding that high. Next chapter coming soon as. S