Chapter Thirty-Nine: Nossë
Lalwendë was utterly exhausted after weeks of travel. The last time she'd slept properly was the night she'd been attacked by orcs, and that had been only a few minutes.
Elves could survive on waking dreams, it was true – a kind of trance that allowed them to detach their mind from their body as a sort of rest – but waking dreams were not meant to be a substitute for real sleep, and real sleep was what Lalwendë desperately needed.
But she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes.
She was glad Glorfindel was next door to her. Every time she thought of it, it brought a smile to her face. But she also knew that the moment she had a nightmare, he'd be able to hear her scream.
She wasn't sure why, but she was reluctant to let him see that part of her. The nightmares were proof that he'd been right when he'd been angry at her all those years ago – she hadn't really known the consequences of trying to rescue Maedhros from Angband. She hadn't known the trauma would eat her from the inside out.
The thought of Glorfindel – or anyone – hearing her nightmares made her cringe. She didn't want to show that weak, flawed side of herself. She didn't feel ready.
But her exhaustion was debilitating. The first night in Gondolin, she stared at her bed for an hour, fighting the urge to lay down, before giving in. Sleep came gently and deeply.
Then she was on the cliff, hanging beside Maedhros, despair gripping her like a tightening fist. Everything hurt, every breath was agony, but there was no choice but to endure – no escape – no escape –
Unbelievable pain shot through her shoulder and arm, and she screamed, tears streaming down her face, convulsing weakly –
She woke up, gasping for breath as though she'd been drowning. For a moment, in the dark, she couldn't work out where she was – until there were gentle hands placed on her shoulders. She looked into Glorfindel's face, his expression one of muted anguish.
'Are you back?' he asked quietly.
She nodded wearily, collapsing into the pillows. 'I'm awake.'
'Is it – what happened at Angband?'
She nodded again, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.
'Is this why you haven't slept since I found you near Doriath?' he asked.
'Yes,' she whispered. 'I don't know why the dreams haven't stopped, it's been so long…' Glorfindel shifted to sit beside her, pulling her over so her back was against his chest. She realised she was trembling.
'It's not your fault,' he said quietly, his chest vibrating behind her. 'There are herbs – flowers – I'll find them, the Healers will know which ones –'
'Laurë, stop,' she interrupted him, almost smiling. 'Not everything is a problem you can solve.'
'But I might be able to help,' he said sharply. 'Just – let me try to fix it. Let me try.'
His whole body was tense against hers, and she sighed. It was just like him to think – or at least hope – that he could solve everything himself. He was trying to save her again, she realised, and part of her suspected that he needed to save her as much as she needed saving. He needed to be in control.
'Alright,' she said, and she felt him relax minutely. She was so tired, and he was so warm… she turned her face into his chest. No one knew they were there. No one would know if he stayed.
'I should have come for you sooner,' he whispered, his grip on her tightening. 'I knew that you left with Galadriel, but I didn't follow you for days… not until Fingon went…'
'Laurë, stop,' she murmured.
'I'm sorry.'
She was drifting off again, the tension draining from her body. She knew she could stop it, could force herself to stay awake, but…
Glorfindel stayed silent, but he rested his cheek against her hair. His breaths rose and fell slowly behind her. Her eyes drifted shut.
They were the happiest years of her life.
She slept better, with the help of herbs and Glorfindel's warmth beside her. She learned her way around Gondolin and quickly made new friends – the closest of whom were Idril and Ecthelion. Idril was kind and calm like her mother had been, and Ecthelion…
Ecthelion had crossed the Helcaraxë with the Noldor and survived, but if the harrowing experience had taken any of his joy or fervour for life, it didn't show. He was a constant whirlwind of laughter and energy, and not even the silent Glorfindel could dim his enthusiasm or curb his jokes.
But Lalwendë could see he had a serious side too, one which emerged under pressure and instantly took charge of the situation. She could easily see why Turgon had made Ecthelion Lord of the House of the Fountain.
Glorfindel never agreed to spar with her, but Ecthelion did so with alacrity. He was a master swordsman, and a skilled forger too – his sword was elegant and beautifully made, and he was justifiably proud of it.
'Its name is Orcrist,' he said, holding it out so it glinted in the sun. 'I forged it myself here in Gondolin.'
'It's very pretty,' she said admiringly. 'Can I swing it?'
He passed it to her, and she whirled it around a few times. It was well-balanced, so it didn't feel as heavy as it really was.
'It has a twin called Glamdring,' Ecthelion said. 'I gifted it to Turgon. Fortunately, neither sword has seen much of battle yet.'
'Nor will they, hidden away in Gondolin,' Lalwendë said. She passed the sword back to Ecthelion and drew her own out of her sheath. 'This is mine. Its name is Helcaruivë.'
Ecthelion whistled through his teeth, taking the sword. 'This is… well, it's perfect.'
'My father made it,' Lalwendë said, her smile growing a little sad. 'He was a master of his craft, when he had the time to practise it.'
'What about your knife?' Ecthelion asked as he handed the sword back to her. Lalwendë grinned and drew her dagger.
'Not as well made, I'm afraid. This one was forged by a smith in Hithlum, though he didn't have the proper tools.'
'There are good forges and smiths here, if you'd like a better one made,' Ecthelion offered. 'I'd love to see them,' she said. 'I've been missing the forges from Tirion, all these years I've spent here.'
'Well, the forges here were made in the image of those in Tirion,' Ecthelion said. 'You'll love them. I'll take you tomorrow.'
'Sounds wonderful,' she said with a smile. 'Now, are we going to duel, or stand around all day discussing metalwork?'
'While both options are equally attractive,' he said, redrawing his sword with a flourish, 'I can see that the lady is out for bloodshed.'
He beat her soundly three times, but the fourth time, she won.
With Idril, she spent most of her time walking. Idril never wore shoes, even in the cold winter months, so that she could feel the grass and earth under her feet. She was delicately beautiful, but nothing else about her was delicate; Idril was spirited, brave, and kind. She would often ask Lalwendë to tell her stories of her mother.
'You should ask your father,' Lalwendë said, reluctant to speak where it wasn't her place. 'I only knew Elenwë a short time before she died.'
'My father does not speak of her,' Idril said quietly, 'and nor does anyone else, for fear of angering him.'
Lalwendë bit her lip, then took pity on the other woman, deciding that she couldn't see the harm in it. 'Do you remember the storms that followed us all the way north when we sailed away from Alqualondë?'
'Yes. Many people drowned.'
'Well, I almost did too. I was pulled from the water, into your father's boat. Your mother's face was the first thing I saw when I woke up. She looked just like you, golden hair and all, and I have never forgotten her kindness to me that day.'
Lalwendë became Idril's confidante in many things, but the leading topics of their conversations often tended towards marriage. Idril dwelled on it constantly.
'You shouldn't worry about it,' Lalwendë said with a smile one day as they walked out of the gate of the city. 'No one expects you to marry yet.'
'I know,' Idril sighed. 'But – I've never spoken of this to anyone, but a hundred years ago I had a vision. A premonition. It was of a little boy, my son, here in Gondolin. I was holding him in my arms, and his eyes were shining like stars.'
'Then what?'
'That was all,' she said. 'That was all I foresaw. And since then, every time I see a man in Gondolin, I wonder if he is the father of my son.'
'Would that be so bad?' Lalwendë asked.
'No – it's just that I can't imagine marrying a single one of them,' Idril said, anguished. 'And the gates are forever locked, so there will be no one else to arrive.'
'It isn't so bad,' Lalwendë said. 'For many years, I couldn't imagine marrying anyone I knew. But things changed, and then…' she trailed off, realising she might have given too much away. Idril laughed.
'You can keep it all a secret if you like,' she said. 'But everyone knows very well about you and Glorfindel.'
Lalwendë blushed. 'He'll hate that.'
'Well, he's very obviously in love, so he only has himself to blame,' Idril said. 'You should have seen him before you lived here. He was a fright. I never heard him speak a single word, and his temper grew shorter by the year.'
'You think he's so different now?' Lalwendë asked.
'Well, he might not be singing at parties, but he's certainly changed. I saw him nearly smile the other day. There was a definite movement in the mouth area.'
Lalwendë laughed. 'I suppose it is an improvement.'
'Immensely,' Idril agreed. 'I don't mean to overstep, but do you have plans to marry?'
Lalwendë just sighed. It almost made her laugh to remember that she'd been the one reluctant to marry when he'd asked her by Lake Mithrim all those years ago. Now, it was he who was refusing to wed her.
A year into her new life in Gondolin, it had come to a head. She'd been watching the sunset from the balcony in her quarters, the wind toying with her hair. Her eyes drifted closed as the last light of day washed over her.
She heard quiet footsteps approach from behind. They paused briefly, then closed the distance between them. Arms wrapped around her from behind, and she leaned back into Glorfindel's chest.
'I thought I would find you here,' he said. She sighed, her eyes remaining closed. It was a moment of peace, and she didn't want to interrupt it by speaking her mind just yet. The breeze cooled as she felt the last light leave her face.
'Lalwen.'
'Hm?'
'What is it?'
'Nothing.'
He didn't reply, but he nudged her from behind, prompting her to speak. She sighed.
'I've been thinking about… us.'
'And?'
'Can't we get married?'
Glorfindel pulled away and came around to stand with his back to the ledge, so he was facing her. The orange sky behind him threw his face into shadow, and illuminated his long, golden hair.
'You don't want to get married,' he said, his eyes fixed on her face. Lalwendë raised a haughty eyebrow.
'Yes, I do.'
'No, you don't. You'd want your brother to be there.'
She hesitated. He was exactly right; she had always expected to her family to be there when she married. She'd been at Fingolfin's wedding, and with Finarfin, Findis and her mother in Valinor, and her father dead, he was the only member of her immediate family she had left.
But no one could enter Gondolin and leave.
'I would do it anyway,' she said. 'If the choice was between not marrying you, and marrying you without Fingolfin knowing. Which it is.'
He reached out to trace his forefinger across her jaw before letting his hand drop. 'It isn't. We might not be here forever.'
'What do you mean?'
He shrugged. 'Morgoth hasn't been destroyed yet. Evil still stirs outside these walls.'
'You think Turgon will let us leave and fight, when the time comes.'
'I do.'
'So you won't marry me.'
He tilted his head, studying her on an angle in the gathering dark. 'Not yet.'
She gazed at him. She was frustrated, yes. Maybe. She couldn't stay frustrated when she knew he was doing it for her sake. Besides, what difference did it make? She was here with him now. She was happy.
With Ecthelion's help, Lalwendë forged herself a new dagger. It was delicate but strong, and in its pommel, she embedded a little topaz, a beautiful stone that was bountiful in the hidden city. Ecthelion complimented her on her metalwork, and though she brushed him off with a laugh, she was proud of the result. She'd made it just like her father had taught her.
It was made from the same metal that Ecthelion's sword Orcrist was made, and Glorfindel's too – metal that began to glow blue when orcs came near. As she hammered it into shape, Lalwendë prayed she would never have the opportunity to put that property to the test.
On its blade, just below the hilt, she engraved its name. Daggers and knives were rarely named, and Ecthelion laughed when she showed him what she'd written in tiny runes. It was a Quenya name, picarca. It meant 'little tooth'.
A little less than a year later, Lalwendë was up in the mountains. She'd left Gondolin's walls the morning before and walked for a day until she'd reached her favourite spot, in the foothills of the encircling mountains.
It was a tiny clearing in thick wood, sheltered on all sides from the low-hanging branches of the surrounding trees. Inside, Lalwendë couldn't see out – but when the sun rose, its golden light filtered through the leaves of the trees and filled the little den with a soft green glow. Though she still loved the thrill of galloping her horse, or the physical strain of a dual, this place had become her haven.
She was sitting cross-legged on a moss-covered rock, humming a song her mother had sung to her when she was a child, the same she and Maedhros had sung together in Angband, and weaving together long pieces of grass into an intricate pattern. Suddenly, she stiffened.
She wasn't sure if she'd heard something or simply sensed it, but there was something nearby. She dropped the grass and moved into a crouch, pulling her knife. A bird called nearby, making her flinch. Then –
'It's me,' came the disembodied voice of Glorfindel. Moments later, he appeared through the hanging leaves. She saw the flash of relief in his eyes that sometimes came when he saw her after a while. Lalwendë sheathed her dagger.
'Manwë's breath, Laurë,' she said, 'what are you doing here?'
'I tracked you.'
She smiled, getting to her feet. She'd left the city on many occasions, sometimes for as long as a week, and Glorfindel hadn't minded. There was something else on his mind now, she was certain. 'I can see that. But why?'
'You didn't tell me you were going.'
'I didn't plan to be gone for long.'
He nodded slowly, then looked around. 'I've never been around here before.'
Lalwendë stepped forward and took his hand, drawing him further in. The leaves above them brushed his head. 'I don't think many have. Come on, you can sit down here.'
'What a beautiful place,' he said quietly as she sat down opposite him.
'I like it,' she agreed. 'It's peaceful.'
'Back in Aman, you would have balked at anything peaceful,' he commented, watching her with a faint smile. She shrugged; he wasn't wrong.
'People change,' she said. 'Times change, and they change the people living in them.'
'People change people too,' Glorfindel said. 'You have changed me, for the better.' He reached back and pulled something out of his cloak; it was two silver rings, both engraved with a pattern of swirling vines. In each was embedded a small topaz. Lalwendë caught her breath.
'They're rings of engagement,' Glorfindel murmured, catching her hand in his and sliding the ring onto her index finger. Then he did the same for himself. 'Ours might be long, but – I want you to have something to show for it.'
Lalwendë stared at it for a moment, entranced by the way that the green light of the clearing caught the deep gold of the topaz. She looked up, smiling widely. 'How can anyone think you're anything but sweet when you do things like this?'
Glorfindel looked down, bashful. 'I hoped you'd like it.'
'You really think we'll get married?' she asked at a whisper, twisting the ring on her finger. Glorfindel paused for a moment, seriously considering the question. Then he nodded.
'Yes.'
'I love you, Laurë,' she said. He held her gaze for a second, then looked down and nodded. She laughed at his silence, and he took her hand to pull her into him.
'Sometimes,' he said against her skin, 'I think you're the sun, and I'm the moon. And now that I have you, I won't be able to live without you.'
He spent nearly every night in her room. He liked to watch her while she talked to him; sometimes, on rare occasions, he would tell her about his youth in the starlight of Middle-earth. He told her how afraid he'd been on the journey by sea to Aman for the first time, how since then he'd never really liked the sea.
In quiet, early hours of the morning, he told her about his home in Valinor and the peace he'd had there. He told her that the peace had come with an uncomfortable, restless feeling that he wasn't quite home. He said his thoughts during the years of the Trees had always strayed back to the Hither Shores.
He told her about how he'd never really wanted to get to know someone until he'd met her. In the winter months, Lalwendë would light a fire in her hearth and Glorfindel would sit silently before it in a chair. She would sit on the ground before him, leaning back against his legs. She would reach up to intertwine her fingers with his.
He didn't sleep as often as she did, even though Lalwendë didn't sleep frequently. But when she did, he would slide into bed beside her and wrap her tightly in his arms.
Glorfindel didn't kiss her or smile at her in front of others, but when they were alone, he wouldn't stop. Touch was like some kind of addiction for him; Lalwendë would wake to find herself impossibly tangled in his grip, his body heat bleeding into her and his face invariably pressed to her skin as though he were trying to breathe her in.
He would catch her hand as she passed by him, or trace the shape of her face when she was before him. He would take her hand and intertwine his fingers with hers, or press absent-minded kisses to them. He pulled her into his arms without warning, more times than she could count, for no reason at all.
Her nightmares were no match for him.
Many decades passed.
One day, Lalwendë woke late in the morning, the sun well over the horizon. She frowned sleepily. She rarely slept in, but at the moment she was feeling so warm and heavy…
She smiled slightly as she registered a weight on her torso. Glorfindel's arm was slung across her belly, and his head rested on her shoulder. He was breathing slowly – asleep.
The bright morning sunlight made his long, curly hair shine. Lalwendë was tempted to take a strand between her fingers, but Glorfindel was asleep and she didn't want to disturb him.
'Lalwen,' he murmured, his voice foggy and deep. Her smile widened.
'I thought you were asleep.'
'I was. You woke up.'
He shifted off her and dropped heavily into the pillow beside her, his eyes staying closed. For a second, Lalwendë felt almost weightless without him lying on her – but then he tugged at her arm and pulled her over to lie on her side, her face a mere breath from his. His arms wound around her waist and anchored themselves there.
'Good morning, melda,' she whispered.
'Hmm.'
'It's getting later by the minute.'
'Nonsense.'
She smiled. 'Open your eyes and look at the sun.'
'No. I refuse.'
She reached up to trace her finger over his cheek. His face was too close for her to see him clearly, but even as a blur he was beautiful.
'What of your duties, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower?'
Glorfindel almost growled, and he pulled her closer still until she was firmly wedged against him. His face found its place between her shoulder and neck, and when he spoke again his breath sent goosebumps racing across her skin.
'You don't want me here? Is that it? You think I'm lazy?'
Lalwendë almost snorted. 'Sometimes I wish you were, so I'd see more of you.'
'Whenever I have the time to see you, I find you gone, seeing to your duties, talking to Idril, riding in the valley.'
'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
'I forgive you,' he whispered into her skin. She felt him smiling.
There was a moment of perfect silence. Clouds scudding across the sky came between them and the sun, and the room darkened a little. At length, Glorfindel pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her, sighing heavily.
'You're right. Time to get up.'
'It'll be a good day,' she whispered, staring up at him with a smile. 'Don't you think?'
He bent and kissed her gently. 'It always is. I love you.'
'Mm. I suppose you do,' she smiled.
He rolled away and disappeared through the door into his smaller, undecorated quarters. Lalwendë sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she got up and got dressed in one of the gowns she'd had made for herself. Her dagger, as always, was secreted under her skirt.
She made her way through the corridors until she reached the main part of the palace. It wasn't long before Ecthelion found her.
'Good morning, your royal highness,' he said, falling into step with her and offering her a bread roll. 'Breakfast?'
'Do you carry these on your person?' she asked with a grin, taking it from him.
'Have you seen Glorfindel?' Ecthelion asked, ignoring her question. 'The King wants advice.'
'He's coming,' she replied. 'Do you know where Idril is?'
'With the King, last I heard,' he said. 'You know, I often wonder whether Turgon would ask me for advice if I were as grave and serious as Glorfindel.'
'You should give it a try,' she said, smiling. 'It might suit you. Maybe you'll finally trick someone into marrying you.'
Ecthelion snorted. 'Is that what you like so much about your betrothed? The fact that he never talks?'
'It's in my top three favourite things about him, yes.'
'Lalwen!' came a cry, and a breathless Idril came running up to them. 'Ecthelion! You aren't going to believe what's happened!'
'Is everything alright?' Lalwendë asked, alarmed.
Idril nodded, still panting. 'Where is Glorfindel?'
'On his way, I think.'
'Aredhel has returned,' Idril said. The smile slid from Ecthelion's face, and Lalwendë's mouth dropped open as Idril continued. 'She's alive. She survived out there, all this time, and – she has a son.'
Ecthelion and Lalwendë exchanged glances before turning and striding in the direction of the throne room. Idril followed swiftly behind them.
Glorfindel was already there when they arrived, holding Turgon firmly by the shoulders. Turgon was crying and laughing, shaking his head.
'I really thought she was dead,' he said, wiping his face. 'I really did. And – a son! I am an uncle!'
'They will be here any second,' Glorfindel said. 'You ought to take your place.'
'You're right,' Turgon said, wiping his eyes one more time and drawing in a sharp breath to clear his head. 'Where is my daughter?'
'Here, adar,' Idril said, stepping forward.
'Come sit beside me,' Turgon said, straightening his robes and sitting upon his throne. Idril sat in the smaller chair beside him. The chair to his right, where his wife would have sat, remained empty. 'Glorfindel, Ecthelion – you too, Lalwendë – stand near us to receive them.'
'Egalmoth should be here,' Ecthelion said. 'He searched for her with us when she was lost.'
'He's on his way,' Glorfindel said.
They arranged themselves where Turgon had pointed and all turned towards the door. They could hear voices outside. Beside Lalwendë, Glorfindel exhaled heavily. She glanced up at him; his eyes were on the door, and his jaw was clenched.
She knew how much losing Aredhel all those years ago had weighed on him, and though he'd never spoken of it since, it had been clear that he'd never stopped blaming himself. She reached out and took his hand. He glanced down, surprised, but he didn't pull away. He took another deep breath and looked back towards the door, his hand warm and tense in hers.
Two guards pulled the doors open, and Aredhel and her son entered.
Aredhel was dressed all in white, as she always had been; her dark hair was braided and wound neatly about her head. Her face, shocking in its resemblance to Fingolfin's, lit up when she saw Turgon.
'Brother,' she said, smiling widely. Turgon rose to his feet.
'Aredhel.' He looked as though he was in danger of crying again. 'Sister, where have you been?'
'I was lost,' Aredhel said, her eyes flicking towards Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Glorfindel's hand tightened on Lalwendë's. 'For many days, I wondered in the shadows of the trees. I was alone, but I was never afraid. I tasted freedom outside the mountains of Gondolin.'
Lalwendë lowered her eyes. She'd often strained to see beyond the bounds of the mountains that kept Gondolin safe, but she'd never considered asking Turgon to let her leave. Staying there, trapped, was a price she was willing to pay to be with Glorfindel, and endangering the secret location of their city would have been selfish.
'I was taken in by Eöl, who lived deep in the woods, lord of a small house,' Aredhel went on, taking her son's hand. Her son was grown, tall and dark in his features. He seemed bewildered by everything around him, but mostly his eyes seemed to be drawn to his cousin, Idril. 'We married, and I bore him a son. This is Maeglin, your nephew.'
Maeglin stepped forward and kneeled before Turgon, pressing his hand to his heart. 'Whatever allegiance you ask of me, I will swear it,' he said, his voice carrying across the hall. Turgon made his way down and stopped before Maeglin, placing a hand on his shoulder.
'Rise, Maeglin,' he said. 'You are welcome here. You are a prince of the Noldor, and you will be accorded every honour of that title.'
Then he turned to his sister. 'Let every house rejoice that Aredhel has returned to this realm. Gondolin is more beautiful now than it was in her absence!'
Lalwendë smiled as the two embraced, and she stepped forward, the formal welcome complete. Glorfindel, his hand still in hers, trailed behind her.
She stopped before Maeglin, who was still staring surreptitiously at Idril.
'Hello,' she said. Maeglin glanced at her and gave a shallow bow.
'Well met,' he said cautiously.
She smiled. 'I am Lalwendë, sister of Fingolfin, your grandfather. I am very glad to meet you.'
Maeglin smiled, his eyes taking her in with more interest. He'd clearly heard stories, about Fingolfin at least. 'I am happy to be here.'
Lalwendë wondered why Eöl hadn't come with his son and wife to Gondolin. Maeglin still had the air of someone perpetually looking over his shoulder.
'Lalwen? Aunt Lalwen?'
She smiled widely and turned to see a teary Aredhel. She stepped forward to embrace her tightly. 'Hello again, melda.'
'I had no idea you were here, I never thought I'd see you again,' Aredhel said, pulling back. 'How is my father?'
'Fingolfin was well, last I saw him,' Lalwendë said. 'He misses all his children dearly.'
'And we miss him,' Aredhel said. She shook her head and wiped her cheeks. 'Oh – we have so much to talk about.'
'There will be plenty of time for that,' Lalwendë promised. Aredhel turned to look at Glorfindel, who was characteristically unreadable. Lalwendë thought he looked a little paler than usual.
'I'm sorry,' he started to say quietly, but he was cut off when Aredhel hugged him too.
'There is nothing you could possibly apologise for,' she said firmly. 'And even if there were, it is long forgiven. Thank you for all you did for me.'
Glorfindel nodded stiffly, looking down as Aredhel moved away to greet more of her friends and family. Lalwendë took his hand again.
'Will you put all this behind you now?' she asked softly.
'I will try.'
'You can't save everybody all the time.'
'I know.'
'This is a happy day, my love.'
'Yes. I know.'
'My lord!' came a cry from the door, interrupting them. A breathless guard ran through the hall and stopped short before Turgon, bowing swiftly. 'The Guard has captured an intruder – a Sindar Elf who calls himself Eöl. He is violent and hard to restrain, but we haven't yet killed him. He says he has come to collect what is his.'
There was a beat of silence. Both Maeglin and Aredhel had turned pale. Lalwendë felt to make sure her knife was in her pocket.
'He must have followed us here,' Aredhel said quietly, her voice suddenly devoid of the joy and life that had animated it before.
'I didn't see him,' Maeglin said softly, his open face settling into something like stone. 'I'm sorry naneth, I had no idea.'
Aredhel took her son's hand and drew him close. 'Don't kill him yet, Turgon. Bring him before you and make a judgement then.'
Turgon nodded at the guard. 'Let it be done.'
They rearranged themselves for the arrival of Eöl, the air suddenly colder. With Ecthelion, Glorfindel and Lalwendë now stood Maeglin and Aredhel, quiet and tense. Maeglin dropped his mother's hand.
Egalmoth brought Eöl in. He was flanked on either side by guards, but he stood proud and tall, taking in his surroundings with disdain and a hint of grudging admiration. Turgon watched him coolly.
'Welcome to Gondolin,' he said, his tone even and betraying no emotion. 'I welcome you as a kinsman, since you have married my sister. You are free to abide here in this city and do as you wish – but it is my law that none who enter may leave.'
Eöl scoffed. 'I acknowledge no law of yours,' he said lowly. 'This is Teleri land, the land of my people, which you Noldor have stolen, and brought to it pain and suffering and violence. I will do as I wish.'
'That is not possible,' Turgon said stiffly. Glorfindel was tense beside Lalwendë.
'I don't care,' Eöl said simply. 'I have not come here to spy on you or learn your secrets. I have only come to take my wife and my son, and leave.' He glanced over to their group, his eyes darkening when they landed on Aredhel. 'Over your sister you may have some claim. She will stay here if you wish it, a little bird returning to her cage. But you will not keep my son from me.' His glare intensified. 'Maeglin, with me. Now.'
Maeglin held his father's gaze uncertainly, but didn't move.
'Maeglin,' Eöl growled, 'you are standing in the house of one who murdered your father's people. I order you to leave this place with me!'
Still, Maeglin was silent. Turgon stood.
'I will not sit here and debate with you, Dark Elf,' he said sharply. 'You call my people murderers and thieves, but without us you would have become a slave of Morgoth long ago. Without us, there would be no peace in Middle-earth. Now you have a choice: live here, or die here.'
Eöl's face darkened with fury. His whole body seemed to vibrate with it, as though he were a snake preparing to strike. Then, suddenly, he thrust his cloak aside and pulled out a short javelin. With shocking speed, he launched it towards Maeglin.
Aredhel screamed and launched herself at her son, knocking him sideways. The javelin struck her in the shoulder, close to her heart. The throne room echoed with shouts, and commotion prevailed.
'Glorfindel!' Turgon barked, appearing beside them. He jerked his head towards where Eöl was being tied and gagged by the guards. 'You know what must be done. Wait for my command.'
Glorfindel nodded and swiftly left. Turgon slid to his knees beside Aredhel and pulled the spear out of her shoulder. Idril, kneeling on her other side, pressed her hands to the wound to stem the blood flow, tears streaking down her face. Lalwendë took Aredhel's hand.
'The wound is superficial,' Turgon told his sister in a low, strained voice, taking her hand in his. 'You are going to be fine. Eöl will be gone.'
'No,' Aredhel whispered. 'Have mercy on him. Have mercy on him, Turgon.'
'The wound is poisoned,' Maeglin said, coming to stand over his mother. Lalwendë looked up at him, a sick feeling descending over her. 'He's used it before, and he used it now. I can smell it.'
Turgon looked like he was going to throw up. He looked back down at Aredhel, whose face was gradually greying.
'Have mercy,' she whispered.
'Don't listen to her,' Maeglin said coldly. 'Kill him, and Mandos can judge his soul.'
Hours later, Aredhel died. Turgon could find no mercy for her husband, in the end; he ordered Glorfindel to throw Eöl to his death from the northern walls of the city. With his last breath, the dark elf cursed his son to die the same death.
The joy of Aredhel's return had swiftly turned to horror. A little darkness had bled into the peace of Gondolin.
Thank you for reading, as always! If you're enjoying the story, please consider leaving a review. I love seeing what you think! S
