Confessions of a Sharp Glance by Mercurie

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Chapter 4: Idril's Castaway

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Idril’s Castaway

          Love is a curious affliction.

            I suppose most people wouldn’t characterize it that way, but... well, most people have not met Idril Celebrindal. I don’t know whether to pity them or envy them for that. Don’t understand? Confused? So was I. Allow me to explain...

            Idril Celebrindal. Id-ril Cel-e-brin-dal. Idril. Idril. Can you feel the music in the words? Her name is like spiced honey on my tongue... even after all the ages I can see her, radiant in my inner eye. Golden-haired, silver-footed, slender, swaying – how run the poet’s words? The light upon the leaves of trees... the voice of water, more than these... her beauty was and blissfulness... her glory and her loveliness. Oh, I loved her! She made me miserable. And I loved her the more. I gave her every scrap of pure feeling in my soul. A man is only capable of a certain amount of love, I think, and I lavished all mine on her, leaving nothing for others. They weren’t worthy of it, not compared to Idril.

            She was Turgon’s daughter, my dear cousin. I would have married her despite that, but she would have none of it. It made me laugh, this silly feminine insistence on adhering to law and tradition, coming from a woman who had rebelled against the very Powers! But say what I would, she liked me not at all, or so she told me.

            Ah yes, it was high noon in summer, as I recall, and Gondolin’s spires sparkled like diamonds in the sun. I was sitting in the shade of an apple tree in the Western Orchard with a book in my hands, reading a bit and thinking more. Thinking about her, of course. I always did.

            The Orchard was just what its name suggests: a congregation of trees planted in orderly rows of apples, pears, plums, lemons... it was in a quiet corner of the city, far removed from the forges and workshops further up the hill. But I hadn’t come here for the peace and quiet. This was one of Idril’s favourite spots, mainly because of the fountain in the middle of the Orchard.

            They called it the Sleeping Spring. Gondolin was full of fountains, of course, in all fantastical shapes and sizes and colours, some singing, some silent. This one was different, and presumably that is what Idril liked about it. It was an old moss-covered rock, perpetually damp, strewn with tiny flowers, shaded by the fruit trees. A modest source sprang from it, weeping its way down the rock in a miniature waterfall to spread into a silent pool at its feet. The old spring had an abandoned, wildered look about it, as if no one ever cared for it properly. Leaves always drifted on the pool’s surface, and smooth pebbles covered its bed. It was lovely, and when Idril was there it became dazzling.

            I was sitting with my back against the apple tree when she glided from among the trees to the pool’s side. She did not see me at first, so I was free to watch her undetected for a while. I had to smile – this was not the princess of Gondolin! She had pinned her burnished locks into an untidy bundle on her head, where they tumbled carelessly around her ears. I could not tear my eyes from her. She bent and pulled the silver sandals off her feet smoothly, then picked up the hem of her white dress and pulled it up, tying it into a knot at her side. It reached now only to her knees, leaving her legs and feet bare. I watched her wriggle her toes in the grass and grin like a child. Then she waded into the little pool, slipping a few times on the smooth rocks. Each time she nearly fell a look of adventurous humour dashed across her face. That was Idril – a laughing lioness in the body of a nymph.

            She walked through the little mere to the rock and its tiny fall, thrusting her hands into the water. It splashed over her arms, shimmering drops breaking away and clinging to her skin. A contented smile flickered gently over her lips and she leaned back against the dry part of the rock.

            I... cannot describe what Idril looked like in that moment. The memory is like a mad painting, a canvas of colours and emotions that cannot be deciphered. She was beautiful, heart-breakingly beautiful. She stretched out there, throwing her head back and her arms out to the side, her eyes closed against the sun. Her dress, so white against the green moss, drew tight over her body... the water had soaked it in places until it was nearly transparent. I could see every curve, every contour... the graceful line of her pale legs, her narrow hips, the cloth drawn taut over her stomach... her even shoulders and delicate arms, those hands whose touch I craved... her breasts, rising and falling with each gentle breath... her neck, so white and vulnerable. I wanted to touch her, to run my hands over her, kiss her and taste her, possess every inch of her.

            Perhaps I made a sound of some sort, for her eyes snapped opened suddenly, flying to my face. She jerked upright, looking vaguely embarrassed, and crossed her arms before her chest.

            “Maeglin?” The sound of my name on her tongue! “What are you doing here?”

            I put down my book – Thus Spake Fëanáro, I believe it was, actually – and stood up awkwardly. What to say? I was tongue-tied for a moment. But it was only a moment.

            “I was reading,” I said, “but something much lovelier caught my attention.” I tried to smile winningly, but she only looked disturbed.

            “Did you follow me?” she asked flatly.

            “No.” It was the truth.

            “But you have been,” she insisted, “Wherever I go, I find you there. Always as if by coincidence, and yet... why, Maeglin? What do you want from me?”

            I had the feeling she wanted to run from me, so I walked closer as casually as I could, until I stood at the bank of the pool. She watched me with calm, confident defiance. The princess of Gondolin had asked a question, and she expected to be answered. 

            “Only your company,” I replied, “If I have followed you, it has been unconsciously. I mean no offence, but I... that is, I...” I ended lamely. My thoughts had scattered. We were so close together. I could see each eyelash, each detail of the patterns of her irises. Blue eyes... depthless eyes, like ancient wells eternally fresh. I tried to see the bottom of that clear water, but it was veiled to me. My sight failed me always when I tried to look into Idril’s soul, giving only tantalizing glimpses of what went on in her mind.

            “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, taking a step backward, “You always look like that. I’m your cousin, Maeglin.”

            I followed her, drawn helplessly like a fish on a line, heedless of the water soaking my trousers and the pool’s broken peace.

            “Cousin? Cousin?” I said, unable to keep the feeling out of my voice, “What of it? Are we children, obeying meaningless laws without thought? What is the law, beside love?”

            “Do not speak to me of love!” she snapped. Angry, she was ten times as exquisite. A high colour had come to her cheeks and her eyes flashed. I wanted to weep at the sight of her. How can a man be expected to stand such glory? Did the gods jest, showing her to me, only to withhold her?

            I could feel my heart racing, pumping anguish through my veins. It was a disease, this infection of love, and it had only one cure. Only her cool skin could calm the fire that tormented me, only her soft voice still the howling winds... She stood there before me, the answer to all my questions, the resolution to all my fruitless searches, my salvation in this world. Denying me. 

            “Then what shall I speak of?” I said, more loudly than I had intended. My own voice shocked me into embarrassed silence. I took a deep breath. “What shall we speak of?” I asked, in a normal tone. The tension between us lessened somewhat, and we both breathed easier.

            She looked as much at a loss as I felt. It was almost laughable – both of us had grown so used to this game, she running, I pursuing, that we could imagine nothing else.

            “Fish?” she suggested finally, “Books?”

            “The latest fashions at court?” I added. She smiled at that (being the princess, she set every trend), and her mood softened almost visibly. It was one tower of an impenetrable fortress collapsing – and I, like a fool, saw the weakness and attacked.

            “Will you tell me what to do?” I asked quietly.

            “How do you mean?” she wrinkled her brow prettily.

            “What can I do to make you love me?” I could see the wall rebuilding itself faster than I could tear it down, so I hurried on. “Understand, Idril! I am no fool, nor a child, infatuated with a goddess. I see you as you are – and what I see, I love.”

            “Yes, I know what you see,” she said, softly as a sword drawn from its sheath, “Or at least, what you look for. You think I don’t know it? You look at me with those dark eyes of yours and what are you doing? Trying to look into my soul, that’s what! And who gave you that right? Is my mind a display of war trophies, for anyone to peer and point at? It’s, it’s... spying, Maeglin! Perhaps your insight is a gift, but you use it wrongly!”

            “Then will you not teach me how to use it rightly?” I pressed on, determined to have it out today, once and for all, “Is that my fault? Forgive me for not being infallible! And yet that is all you think of, the thing that matters least! What care I for the gift of sight? You are all I see. You are all that matters. My every action I dedicate to you. I speak of love, and nothing else. I love you, Idril – is that not enough?”

            She was shaking her head numbly, sending escaped curls bouncing over her shoulders. It was like a golden waterfall, released from its dam to come crashing onto sharp rocks beneath, taking my battered spirit along with it. “You don’t love me,” she said with absolute certainty, “Maybe you think desire and possessiveness are the stuff of love, but I know otherwise. You... frighten me, Maeglin. Your spirit is dark and tormented. Everything you do and feel, however well you mean it, becomes skewed and twisted. And you see none of it... you are blind, for all your sight. Always so absorbed in your work, brooding in those dark caves over fire and steel and plotting who knows what...”

            “I think only of you,” I interrupted faintly, “Only of you.” My heart throbbed as if I had thrust it into a living forge. Was that how she saw me? A stunted half-man, cowering in the darkness? I felt sick at the thought. Sick, and angry. All my work, all my soul belonged to her, and she cast it away with a shudder of disgust. “So much then, for the kindness of the Lady Idril!” I said bitterly, “The flower of Elfinesse, who haughtily accepts favours from all, to toss them away at her pleasure. Sometimes I think you enjoy this, cousin. It’s just a game to you, isn’t it, an idle game of tossing darts at hearts? Something must fill the long days, after all!”

            Her blue eyes narrowed in hurt and anger, as if heavy clouds had drown over miniature seas. “It’s nothing like that!” she snapped, “You’re just, just...”

            “What? Telling you a truth you don’t want to face? Remember, I can see through shadows and lies!” I laughed hollowly, “I see the satisfaction on your face every time some hapless courtier turns his adoring eyes on you. You love to have them underfoot, worshipping you, obeying your every command. You feed off their adulation like a spider in the guise of a butterfly...”

            “You...!” she spluttered, outraged. I thought I saw tears collecting in her eyes, and suddenly I felt ashamed. But it was too late to unsay what I had said. “You’re hateful!” she spat, “Must you poison everything?” She turned away from me and stomped angrily through the water, ignoring the waves and splashes her feet kicked up.  

             “Wait! Idril, I...” I followed her, stumbling on the smooth rocks, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

            She ignored me, stepping onto the bank and snatching her shoes. I watched her indignant back helplessly. She turned to leave, and I called after her desperately, one last time.

            “I love you!”

            She stopped. I waited breathlessly, wondering, hoping I could make her wait, make her change her mind. But she did not turn to look at me, and spoke only one sentence.

            “Maeglin,” she said in a steely voice like a headsman’s axe, “I love you not at all.”

            Without a single look back, she ran like a deer through the fruit trees, leaving me listening dumbly to the death knells she had rung for me. Her dress flashed between the branches, a flag announcing the triumph of innocence.

            I slumped back weakly against the rock, my hands digging reflexively into the moss. I was soaked to the bone, and bleeding from the heart. Idril, oh lovely nymph-spirit! She had thrust a knife into me and twisted it, all without the slightest idea of what she was doing. For she couldn’t know, she couldn’t imagine the power of the love that drove me. It was an obsession. Didn’t I know it? I hadn’t chosen it, but there it was, come from some mysterious land beyond the borders of the world to tempt and torment me.

            Blindly, I wished I had never met Idril, never seen Gondolin, never come here at all. This beautiful, cold city full of marvels and wonders mocked me. I didn’t belong here, I belonged to the forest, to the shadows and cobwebs. Child of the twilight, my mother had named me rightly.

            The irony of my thoughts unfolded itself in all its bleak glory. For years I had longed for Gondolin, and now I longed to be gone once more. I had won honour, respect, and freedom, only to be trapped in the end by love. Love, which conquers all. A maiden with silver shoes had cast the net that ensnared me. What did I want? Everything, nothing... Idril. Would she have made me happy, or would I only have turned to some other, inaccessible object to hunger after?

            For I was no fool. I knew myself. Idril was right. There was a web of darkness clinging to me, spun in part by myself and in part by Eol. Perhaps... perhaps if I left Gondolin I could escape it. But that would mean disobeying Turgon, and leaving Idril. I could hardly bear to think that thought. It was the only road to freedom, barred by my own undeniable desires.

            Yet in that moment I knew with a frightening certainty that I could never leave Idril. I would love her and follow her, nay, crave her and stalk her until I died, or she did. I was drawn, helplessly, a fly to honey. She had cast me away, but she could not hinder me anymore than I could myself. Long years stretched ahead of us both, here behind the Encircling Mountains; ; I had time. We would see, in the end, how this tale would finish.

            I had been cast away. But already plans began to form in my mind.