Lost Tales of Gondolin by darthfingon

Fear

It was like no terror he had ever known, standing in that vast hall with the eyes of all the citizenry of Gondolin upon him. His throat felt as dry as sand, and his hands trembled within the heavy sleeves of his robe. Primal instinct told him to flee. These were not his people: strange-looking and foreign, they stared him down with a collective unblinking gaze. It made his heart pound almost loud enough to echo through the great vaulted roof of stone.

At his side, somebody hissed. Ecthelion. "What are you waiting for? Go, man!"

Ecthelion's elbow dug into his ribs, and he felt himself pushed forward. One foot found its unsteady way in front of the other.

"Go!"

He took another step, and another. His knees were soft and weak, likely to collapse at any moment. On all sides, eyes bored into his skin. He forced his way forward. Why did this have to be such a public spectacle? Ahead on the dais, the King sat waiting on his throne, his face impassively blank. At the King's side, Princess Idril looked impatient.

He kept his eyes on Idril. Step by step, he made his torturous way to the end of the hall until he stood before the both of them. All the eyes of the crowd weighed down upon his shoulders like a leaden yoke.

King Turgon's brow creased. "Well, Tuor son of Huor?" he asked. "What have you to say to me?"

"My Lord King," Tuor answered, and his voice shook. "I come before you today to request your gracious favour in... in that... you might... honour me..." His throat seized around the words.

"Honour you how?" Turgon asked. "Speak up."

And Tuor would have fainted then, but for Idril's reassuring smile. The sight of her calmed his nerves. He stood up straighter.

"My Lord," he said, "I beg you grant me the hand of your fair daughter in marriage."