Quoted from JRR Tolkien's The Book Of Lost Tales 2,
Chapter III The Fall of Gondolin:

"...Idril arrays herself in mail, and seeks Eärendil. And that child was in tears for the strange lights of red that played about the walls of the chamber where he slept; and tales that his nurse Meleth had woven him concerning fiery Melko at times of his waywardness came to him and troubled him. But his mother coming set about him a tiny coat of mail that she had let fashion in secret, and at that time he was glad and exceeding proud, and he shouted for pleasure. Yet Idril wept, for much had she cherished in her heart the fair city and her goodly house, and the love of Tuor and herself that had dwelt therein, but now she saw its destroying nigh at hand, and feared that her contriving would fail..."

Chapter Ten, Reckoning

We go by way of the delving that Idril had devised and come into the city in utter secrecy. In the courtyard beyond Tuor's house I insist to be set upon my feet, and Amon complies though his strong hand is on my arm as I walk to the door.

There comes out from the entrance ere we cross the threshold a tall shape running forward and I am engulfed in an embrace that robs me of wind and balance. Tuor would crush me in his greeting but for the gentle words of Amon. Slowly he releases me, and looking upon my ruin he hastens to lead me within. Amon follows with an amused smile.

Within awaits Idril and she cries out at my state, but I stay her dismay with a present I had longed to deliver. She takes the stained pack from my hands and without examining it places it aside and gently embraces me. "Years of worry I have endured for each hour of your absence. Thank Eru that you have returned to us again. We feared for your life."

"It was a frequent concern of mine, lady," I said light-heartedly, though I leaned against her husband in my weariness. "But this task is not done. The secrecy of it must be preserved. Let no speech over this be heard. I will depart now and return to the city by the gate, and there answer as I must the questions of my absence. Let my silence be your example; do not let the lives I have taken and seen spent mean nothing."

I turn to leave, but pause at the sight of young Eärendil, roused from sleep by voices. His face is angelic with his sleepy eyes, and he is trailing a blanket from his bower. "Mother, what is the matter?" he asks, and then sees me. With a delighted laugh he rushes to me and leaps. I catch him with my good arm and we tumble, the softness of his kisses erasing all my pain. "'Lothiel! I have missed you! Are you back or am I dreaming still?"

"This is a dream, little prince. Go back to your bed and sleep. Would you deny yourself a visit to the house of Lost Play?"

"You are bleeding." Crimson stains his snowy gown and he lays a tiny hand on my shoulder.

"It is nothing. Why, I have taken more serious cuts whetting my own sword!" I kiss his dark hair, and as he runs away back to his room I feel as though a part of me runs with him. Will I ever be whole again?

Amon leads me back down the long tunneling, and frees me just inside the end, where bushes screen the entrance. I hurry out and run with all speed to distance myself from that secret place. Then I make my way toward the city, as the morning comes over the grey walls of Encircling Hills.

At the gate I am hailed by the guards, and they seem amused and impressed by my worn state. Ignoring their questions I pass within, but get no farther than the Square of Fountains before sable-clad elves intercept me.

"Lord Turgon will see you," they spoke, and looked upon me suspiciously. What tales Maeglin had told them I knew not. I followed them without a word.

To the Palace I am brought, led like a prisoner before my jury. Turgon is there, and at his side is Maeglin, with a glint of triumph in his eyes as he speaks to the King, "See this elf, my Lord, who did break your law and leave Gondolin to treat with Morgoth's servants! She returns to fetch more information for her master, and perhaps to cause damage from within the city."

Turgon looks sternly upon me, moved near anger at the thought of betrayal. I return his regard without defense. My hands are at my sides.

"What do you say to this charge, Morlothiel?"

My answer is silence.

"Further, my Lord," continues Maeglin as if to whet the king's ire, "This weapon was found on the southern marches." In his hands are the shards and bent hilt of my long-trusted blade, shattered by the fall from the sky. "And see her wounds, my lord. No elf could endure such ill treatment without telling all she might know! How long before Morgoth's armies march to our gate, traitor?" said Maeglin to me, and I saw in him that he believed his lies and was seeking to protect the city and folk therein. Not wholly corrupt was this elf, though in him I saw a darkness that could become a tool, if ever the Dark Rider found him. Pity I felt for him, bound by his fate to be forever outside, looking in at the happiness that he hungered for.

I spoke no word nor acknowledged him.

"Need you hear more, my Lord Turgon? By her silence does she confess her crimes. Let your law be carried out; is it not death to betray the location of Gondolin or to treat with her enemies? The stones that are stained with the blood of Eöl call now for hers!"

Turgon sat on his throne, and his face was grave. He waved for all to remain silent while he pondered. Maeglin watched me with a strange intensity, his eyes on my face as if he could look beneath the skin.

I waited, and inside my heart I felt a chill of despair as I tried to read my fate in the face of the king. I sought for the memory of that fair child for whom I fought this quiet battle, and the knowledge that he would bring something great to the world gave me composure. I was warmed, and a small smile took my face; a gentle reflection that Maeglin interpreted as scorn. He stepped down from Turgon's dais and struck me with his fist, throwing me to the floor.

"Hold!" Turgon rose and descended his throne. He looked upon Maeglin with reproach. "Am I not the King? Have I renounced my throne? Do not think that your closeness in our councils gives you leave to act for me. Step down, Maeglin!"

Turgon extends his hand and I accept it, and he raised me to my feet. From the torn clothing over my shoulder he plucks forth a golden feather once edged with creamy white, now rusty with blood. His face is a closed door to me.

Turning to the gathered lords, he speaks, "Other councils I have heard this past night, from the pinnacle of my tower," and I raise my eyes to that shining needle above, glimmering in the morning like frosted glass. "A messenger came to me with tidings grave, of the fall of Nargothrond and the movement of our enemies. And other news did he bring which I will keep to my own council. One eagle was slain as he sped on errantry for the Lord of the West whom we all revere, and this Thorondor said through his messenger: 'Let the hunter of your choosing tithe for Gondolin to support the nest of the fallen.' This I will do, for I owe much to the Eagles who watch our borders."

Turgon came close to Maeglin, who struggled to keep his face free of shock and distress.

"This is my doom: I choose this elf," and his hand did point at me, standing humbly before him. "Morlothiel is the most prolific hunter of all my people, and since she has no nest of her own to tend, she shall be the one who provides this tithing, until Lord Thorondor releases her from the geas."

Maeglin would protest, but Turgon said firmly, "I will not make sport of throwing dark elves from my wall, sister-son. This is my will. Find your peace with it."

"But my Lord," he stammered, and he pointed to my ear where the gift of Durin gleamed. "Where came she by that strange token? She wore it not when she faced you last, nor when I saw her..." and he bit off his words before he could implicate himself.

Turgon bent to examine the ring. "So, you are betrothed, dark elf? Strange place to display your promise! May I ask with whom you are plighted?"

The shadows that press my heart are lifted with the light voice that fills the hall in answer. "She is mine." Golden light and golden voice, my lord has come to claim me.

We stand outside the palace in the Place of Pomps, and the eyes of many folk are upon us, yet we heed them not. Darkly does Maeglin leave that place before us, and Glorfindel's voice is light with jest.

"'Tis said that the whole folk of Gondolin shooting with bows without stay day and night for many years still might not expend all the arrows we have hoarded. I would test that claim if Maeglin were the mark." I laugh as we walk down the Alley of Roses. "I understand your silence, Morlothiel, and I will honour it. But I have need to ask something of you; something that I have delayed too long." We come to an ivy-bound fountain and he stops our wanderings to speak earnestly.

"I spoke truth before the king, and yet I have not. For only now have I the will to seek your heart in this matter. Huntress, wilt thou be mine? Long have I lived in the world, and many Ages are there still to be seen. What days of bliss we have left to us I would spend with thee, if thou wills it." And he places in my palm a band of silver.

I look into his eyes and wonder how a lord of a great house could choose from among all the beautiful maidens in Gondolin, the most beautiful to be seen in any kingdom of elves gathered on the earth; choosing from among these lovely women one scarred and wild elf who is more skilled with a sword than a spinner, who could kill soundlessly but could not make music, and who values leaves over pearls. It seems he understands, and his face is smiling and open.

"Now, you are to obey my words," he began, and my face lit with rebellion that made him laugh and bow. "Harken, dark maid! Get you to the House and there rest and mend yourself. I shall take your part to serve the eagles until your wounds permit you. We have friends waiting for us there!" He takes my elbow and says no more, letting me take what time I need in the pondering of this proposal.

I close my fingers over the gift; is it possible to refuse?