Of Eol & Aredhel by gamil-zirak

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Chapter 2

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OF EOL AND AREDHEL

OF EOL AND AREDHEL

Chapter Two...

Aredhel sat upon a chair by the window that overlooked the great Square of the King. She could not see beneath her, for the window sill stood higher than her sight. Yet she could hear the rush of the fountains, the faint steps and steely clink of armoured guards as they patrolled the marbled lanes, and the birds chirping sweetly within the boughs of the spray soaked Poplars. It was a fair morning within the city for all except two people...her and Maeglin. She looked at him now, sat on her bed with a bowed head, hunched shoulders and hands clasped together in his distress. They both had not slept, comforting each other in the gloom of a long night that seemed to go on forever. Maeglin had moaned, cried out, scolded himself, and finally wept in self defeat. With his tears had come the first vestiges of dawn; a greying of the skies above the black jagged outline of the Echoriath to the east. Aredhel herself had been silent for much of the night, listening to her son's rantings and watching his grimaces. She had been silent because she knew not what to tell him, and she did not want to lie to him. "Everything will be alright," is what she might have said to ease his agitation. Or perhaps "I shall know how to deal with your father when he comes," is what she could have reassured to calm him. But those were both untruths. She had no idea of what to do. Maeglin himself had not admonished her for her silence, for he knew she was just as perplexed as he. She had after all been overwhelmed by the shock of Eol's coming, and swooned to her shame. A little while later word had indeed come that Eol was held at the Golden Gate. The King had summoned Aredhel not long after, and they had words about Eol's unexpected arrival.

~oOo~

"You are not pleased by this news," said Turgon, watching his sister with a discerning eye.

They spoke in his council chamber; a fair sized hall of glistening white walls upon which hung many tapestries of art that displayed fair landscapes under a golden silver haze. The hall had no pillars, but fourteen statues stood there with six to the left and seven to the right of the hall. These were robed in pearl and stood eight feet tall, ominous in their carven glory with their heads looking down at the long marble table that was set at the center of the room. The statues were of the likenesses of the seven Valar and the seven Valier, and made by Autamo, Gondolin's greatest craftsman. The statues were all a shining white, save their eyes that were jewelled with differing gemstones that went with the Ainur they represented. Manwe and Varda stood opposite each other and were nearest to the threshold, and their eyes were of glittering sapphires that signified the heavens of which they ruled. Next were Aule whose opposite stood Yavanna, and in their eyes were set gleaming diamonds, the richest gems of the earth. Next stood Namo facing his spouse Vaire, and their eyes were of Obsidian. Dark was their glance of Doom that wove the strands of fates in Arda. Beside them were Orome and Vana, from whose emerald eyes burst forth the greenery of the world. Next were Irmo and Este, in whose eyes shone the white glance of Moonstone, the dreamers gem. Beside Irmo stood Tulkas opposite Nessa and in their eyes flamed yellow beryls that signified the fires of wrath of the Valar. Last in the row to the right stood Nienna but she faced an empty space for she had no spouse. Her bowed head looked to her feet and her pearly eyes held no gemstones, but upon her cheeks fell a smouldering line of red rubies that were her tears and lamentations for the blood and suffering of Arda.

Now the marble table was long with many chairs set beside it for the counsellors of Turgon. But his chair stood at the table's head, facing the doorway of oaken wood that was arched with golden traceries. And hemming the doors were again the likenesses of Telperion and Laurelin carved in pure gold and silver. Behind Turgon's chair upon the wall was a great tapestry, and upon it were woven an image of a white city stood upon a hill, and it was Tirion upon Tuna. Before this tapestry and casting a shadow over the King's chair stood the final statue, and it was of Ulmo, the Lord of Waters. His eyes were of blue beryls that turned white with ample light or else shone dark blue. His gaze was set upon Turgon's chair itself and not the table. For to him was most given Turgon's heart and the very thought of his counsel was held most dear to the King.

Aredhel had never felt at ease in that room, filled with the likenesses of the Ainur with whom the Noldor had a grave quarrel. But Turgon had placed them there as a reminder to all of their wisdom lost, as well as to induce the inclination to humble oneself in council before their mighty countenances. Now she looked at Ulmo, towering above her brother, immutable in his pearly glory. Could she yet pray to him for guidance or mercy? Or perhaps the Ainur looked on mockingly; judging all of Gondolin's works and policies as being vain and doomed to eventual destruction. Had not Mandos spoken it? Aredhel sighed and returned her eyes to her brother. She should tell him the truth. Now was surely the time for it, but something stayed her intent. Maybe it were his eyes...doe eyes as she had once described them. That had irked Turgon for he said it implied he was soft at heart.

"Is that not a good thing?" asked Aredhel with a laugh.

"It is not," replied Turgon. "Not if you are a King."

"It implies a goodly King," said Aredhel, "who thinks true with his heart and whose wisdom is guided by hope for the good in us all."

"Such a king may be great indeed if he lives in a peace that lies far from the trammels of exile and war. But Aman is shut and a heavy doom is laid upon us. I cannot afford to be "soft at heart" as you say."

"Oh come now," said Aredhel. "You and Ingoldo have always been held as the "soft hearted" princes of our family, and that is why you are both beloved. I may tease you for it, yet in truth I honour that side of you, for it is worthy. And remember, a soft hearted king may curb a dark heart better than the cold counsel of a stern ruler."

Aredhel smiled at the memory of their gentle words together, spoken many years ago when the world seemed quieter and fonder. And looking at Turgon now deepened her melancholy. For he sat at ease, dressed simply with all his stately garb shorn away. He wore a simple yet finely made tunic of sea blue, hemmed about the neck and sleeves with bands of woven mithril. His black silken trousers fit him well as did the fine brown boots. His dark hair fell in thick braids laced with silver bands and about his head was a silver circlet with a dark blue sapphire set within. The King of Gondolin was no more, as it were her beloved brother who sat there.

"Why do you smile?" said Turgon, leaning forward as if to read her more deeply.

"Memories," she answered, leaning back in her seat and sighing wistfully. Behind her stood Nienna and her tears. "How apt," Aredhel thought.

Turgon put a hand to his chin and elbow upon the table, leaning upon it as his brow darkened. "There is much that you have not told me," he finally said. "I read that plainly enough from our conversing yesterday. Yet I did not seek to question you more, deeming you needed time to reacquaint yourself with friends and home. Your husband was away you said, yet he gave you leave to return to Ondolinde and might follow himself when he was able. Well...he has come, yet you have not taken the news with joy it seems. Is all not well between you and this Eol?"

Aredhel looked at her brother with pity. There were times when Turgon's discerning nature seemed to fail him. Even now he sat there earnestly perturbed by why all was not well with the coming of Eol. Could he not fathom the edict of his stern law that none who enter the Ring shall leave it? Or perhaps he was so naive as to think any elf who came from the outside would be willing to reside on the inside forever, giving up all claim to the wide freedoms of Beleriand. Perhaps Turgon had been cozened by the willing Sindar who dwelt here. After all, they had come of their own free will and were fully aware of the freedoms they were giving up. For it had been a choice. A choice given before they set out from Vinyamar. But Eol, or any elf who somehow found his way to the Hidden City would not be given the same grace. How could Turgon not see the problems that could arise from this? Yet even in thinking so, she realised that she could not blame her brother. For it were her own choices that had led to this situation. Her choice to leave Gondolin, though Turgon had long been against it. Her choice to love and beget a son with Eol who hated her people. Her choice to flee with that son and so lead Eol to her hidden city. Yes, it was all her fault and she did not know what to do, save to look upon her doe eyed brother with an ill conceived pity he did not deserve.

"Irisse please," said Turgon, placing a soothing hand upon her own. "You must speak. What must I know of your husband that has you troubled?"

Aredhel sighed. She must tell him the truth. "All was not well with him for a long while," she began. "Or rather, all was not well with me."

"What do you mean?" asked Turgon.

"My husband...Eol is a proud elf, living as he does with few servants in that dim land of Nan Elmoth." She paused for a moment, picturing the tall trees that stood as mighty towers whose tops could not be seen and whose thickened cover blocked the light from its shadowy paths and ancient secrets.

"Go on," said Turgon.

"As I told you before, Eol found and rescued me from the shadowy mazes of the forest and brought me to his home, and there we lived, content in each others company for a long while. But he admitted one thing to me in the beginning."

"Well?" said Turgon, leaning forward even more to hear better.

"He admitted to a dislike of the Noldor, his obvious reason being for our deeds of war against the Teleri of Aman." There...she told him. It was a truth, but not the whole truth as to Eol's hatred. Yet what was she to say to the King of Gondolin. That her husband thought the Noldor overproud upstarts who lorded over all the Moriquendi they met in Middle-earth. For those were Eol's words when in a dark mood.
"Then why are you with me?" she had asked on such occasions.
"You are different," he would say. "A beauty like no other I have ever seen. And you are mine to honour and cherish, no matter your heritage." Such coddling words and more besides would blind her for a season, but she soon felt a bitterness that continued to rankle as the years went by.

Turgon sat back and sighed. His grey eyes went to the great figures that stood looming majestically over the table with jewelled eyes that flamed in the lamp-light. They said nothing, but could be heard clearly by those of conscience.
"It is at times such as these when I feel the weight of their bejewelled stares," he said, folding his arms. "That terrible deed against Olwe and his people remains a blight upon the Noldor. That Eol has not forgotten it is no strange thing. However, that he has not forgiven it though he is wed to a daughter of the house of Finwe is strange to me."

"Maybe," said Aredhel, "but we loved...love each other well. Yet I am fearful that his goodwill will not extend to you and our people."

"Then why has he come?" asked Turgon. "If he despises us and yet knows of my law, why is he here?" Turgon's eyes narrowed their intensity. "Unless he knew not of your intent to return and did not give you leave to do so. Unless he comes not as a kinsman following his family to start anew in Ondolinde, but comes rather in pursuit of his wife and son who abandoned him. Do I not strike near the truth?"

Aredhel bowed her head as feelings of guilt welled within her. The guilt of her choices...bad choices, all of which had led her back here to this very table as a foolish sister now reprimanded by the stern gaze of her brother.
"Did he not say that ill would come of my going," she thought, remembering Turgon's ominous words to her at their parting. But now Maeglin's face appeared before her, proud and handsome. If she had not left, her son would not be, and he certainly was not an ill to her. She could never believe that he was a mistake. Aredhel raised her eyes to Turgon. His face was stern indeed and his grey eyes held a hint of blame. Yet that triggered the well known defiance in Aredhel that had always exasperated Turgon.

"You do strike near, and I will own my part in this folly," she said to him. "Yet I do not regret my choices to leave or to love, for both gifted me my son." Turgon looked at Aredhel for a moment then lowered his eyes. She watched him for a while, twiddling his thumbs as he did whenever he was engaged in some deep thought. "What are you thinking?" she asked after a while.

"I am thinking of my own part in this. My heart was heavily set against your going but I shunned its warning at the last. Ever rash have been your decisions Irisse, since childhood. "A constant headache," is what father used to say after you had defied him in some manner." Aredhel opened her mouth to defend herself but Turgon raised a silencing hand. "Nay, do not speak!" he cried. Turgon was angry, whom seldom ever was. That was disconcerting to Aredhel and it filled her with remorse for making him so. She pursed her lips and bowed her head as Turgon sighed. "I will receive this elf whom is your husband," he said at last. "Yet he had better beware himself, for this is my kingdom and he will abide by my word."

"And what will your word be?" Aredhel asked.

"That he will remain here as the law commands. Whether to walk free or languish imprisoned will be his choice."

Aredhel sat back wringing her hands in her lap. Eol would not abide such a law and yet walk free. So it would be the dungeons for him, yet could she live knowing the father of her son suffered in chains in the darkness below? And what of the scandal about the city when this became known. What of the embarrassment to her and Maeglin; what of the scorn. She turned to her brother and found him looking at her. His grey eyes were hard and held a starry glint of heated emotion.
"This is your fault Irisse," he said. "To put me and Eol in this difficult position. I will welcome him with good intent, but how it will go with him remains to be seen. Yet I do not foresee an amicable outcome though I should hope for it, and I see that you who know him well are of the same mind." He sighed. "Well things will go as they will. Leave me now for my heart grows hot. Tomorrow Eol shall come before me and we will settle all."

Aredhel rose and turned away quickly, not wanting more of her brother's distress. She walked towards the doors of the hall with a bowed head yet felt the stares of the Valar; felt their silent judgements, heard their wordless admonishments. She reached the doors and opened them, but could not help but turn for a last glance at her brother. He sat as a small figure, looking forlorn and alone in that crowded room of statuesque giants. The guilt came again, welling from the pit of her stomach. And then she caught the dark gleam of obsidian flashing at her. She looked to the eyes and saw the face turned towards her somehow. It was impossible, but regarding her with merciless flaming eyes was the terrible face of Namo! He was the Master of Doom whose cold words had foretold only woe and sorrow to the Noldor ere they left Aman. His ominous sight pierced Aredhel's heart and her guilt turned to coiling fear and dread. No words did he speak, but only his stare bore into her and the stabbing flashes of his jewelled eyes pierced her own. Aredhel would have cried out, but she did not. Instead she shrank back from the doors and turning, fled from the Hall of Council.

~oOo~

All that had happened the night before and now Aredhel sat by the window, listening to the waking sounds of a fair morning where each passing hour felt a step closer to certain doom. Even now her ears were strained to catch the cries of an approach, which would lead to the inevitable summons to the King's Hall.

"I will not go with him," said Maeglin, pacing up and down in his agitation. "I swear to you, I will not go!"

Aredhel heard his vow and pitied her son's grief, but the hour of Eol's coming drew ever nearer and she felt the need to share the bitter truths. "Indeed you will not go with him," she replied somewhat bluntly. "You will not go because the King's Law shall forbid it."

Maeglin stared at Aredhel for a moment. His grey eyes shone piercingly bright, as they always did when he was grappling with some emotion. But Aredhel swiftly turned away, for their flashing reminded her of Namo's terrifying eyes the night before. "But Father will not assent to staying," said Maeglin.

He said the obvious and it irked Aredhel to a sudden coldness. "Of course he will not assent!" she cried. "He will not yield nor choose to understand. He will be an emissary of mockery to the King, being cold in his hatefulness and disdain. He will also be perilous, goading the King to rash anger."

"Then he shall find himself cast into the dungeons and we should be rid of his shadow," said Maeglin in a quiet voice. His mother's sudden anger had unsettled him.

"To your shame and mine!" cried Aredhel. "Would you live in happiness, revelling in the great city while your father languished in the prisons below? Could I walk the courts and fairways without the mark of gossip dogging my steps? Could we live at peace with ourselves, knowing the father who raised you, and the man whom I loved now toiled in utter misery in the darkness beneath our very feet. Could you be at peace with that?" She stood bristling with frustrated anger as her own eyes blazed at Maeglin who said nothing. But Aredhel clutched at his shoulders. "Answer me!" she cried, shaking her son in an attempt to dislodge a reply.

"Mother please," said Maeglin, gently taking hold of her arms and stilling their vigour.

Aredhel stood for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes, but the fire seemed to die and her sight darkened. She turned away and went to the window to look out. The King's Way lay wide before her, sloping all the way down to the West Gate where tall towers tapered towards the sky like massive spears, glinting in the morning sun. Already many people walked upon its gleaming paved stones, going about their morning business and leisurely pursuits. Small figures ran here and there; children laughing and shouting in innocent play. Courtyards and gardens came alive with conversing elves, sitting in the shade of blossoming trees. Sweet music and gentle voices wafted up to her ears as poets and harpists recited and sang to smiling listeners, sat beside the watery rush of ceaseless fountains. Laughter and voices full of mirth came from nearby as night guards changed shifts with their daily counterparts. It was a fair city waking to the light and joy of a new day, and the gentle promises it held.

But Aredhel looked upon all with jealousy and envy. "We both should have woken to this new day carefree, as are all who walk before me," she said softly. "We were to be granted a new beginning." She sighed and turned to Maeglin who sat glowering upon her bed. "But no! Eol's vengeance followed us even here to shadow all our hopes." She came and kneeling before him, took his hands. "I am sorry my son," she said, looking sweetly into his sad face. "Sorry for bringing us to the light, only to have it dimmed ere you could partake of its radiance. Maybe it were better had we stayed in Nan Elmoth. Maybe I should not have filled your mind with my tales. Maybe we should have been content with the life I chose for myself when I yielded to Eol. That was the price I accepted, and at least it were a price we could live with; me, you and Eol. But here is where our doom has led us all. I am truly sorry that I failed you."

But Maeglin looked up and smiled. Then he lift up her hands to his lips and kissed them. "Nay mother," he replied. "You did not fail me. It were I who pestered you into storytelling, and it were I who suggested your return. But I regret nothing. For I am both the son of Eol the Sindar and of Aredhel Irisse, Princess of the Noldor. Father took you to wife and so owes you something. I can only hope he remembers that."

Aredhel looked at Maeglin, seeing a grave wisdom behind his starry eyes. Did that wisdom come from her? Nay, she thought. That came from his father who hid his own with hate and ready disdain. But it was there, buried deep yet still a part of him. Perhaps she could pry it loose. Aredhel let herself smile at the hopeful thought. Her mind readily conjured the same doubts that had festered since Eol's coming, but now her heart spoke too. Spoke of hope that Eol could still be reasoned with. "Pry it loose," came the voice, uttering the ridiculous notion. But what had she to lose. She would try to pry Eol's wisdom loose.

~oOo~

The walls of the city rose before Eol's eyes, shining white and clean, and standing thick and tall in their impregnable majesty. The guard towers that hemmed the gate bulged their stony might proudly with their fitted banners, the gold and silver trees flapping in the morning airs. Many guards stood beneath the shadow of the gate's arch, clad in shining silver mail, tall helms jewelled with sapphires and long flowing blue cloaks. Eol was weary; weary of walking; weary of the pleasant sights of the land and weary of the overproud strutting of Gondolin's people.

The sun hampered him, bearing down to sap his strength and dampen his will. He had never liked that flaming orb in the sky, for it's heat and fiery sight burned away the cool darkness and welcoming shadows of night in an obscenity of light. And it overthrew his beloved stars that had shone unimpeded for years uncounted. How he yearned for the Age of the Stars, when all of Middle-earth lay under a silver sheen of twilit darkness. Beleriand had been mesmerising in its starry beauty, with grey lands that lay silent and serene, save for the gentle voices of elves in the dim forests, singing at peace. But the sun had taken that away, replacing the soft caress of the stars with the vulgarity of a fiery eye, whose heats sapped ones strength and whose light stole away the intimacy of the shadows.

Eol wiped his damp brow. He sweat easily in the sun, but hardly from the heats of the forge. The sun hated him and he hated the sun, and blamed the Noldor for bringing it with them. And now its light reflected brightly upon the white walls, paining his eyes and causing them to blink and tear up. And these Calaquendi were proud, showing off their love of radiance at every bright turn; white walls, shining armour, images emblazoned everywhere of the Two Trees, silver and golden orbs upon many pillars. Eol grimaced his disgust. He hated all light; gold, white and silver...white and silver.
Now he could see those twin hues at play through the dark stems of the forest, flitting here and there, now open to his sight, now hidden behind the shadowy trees. Their hide and seek enchanted him, beguiling him with their radiant beauty and wary innocence. He had loved the white and silver that had crept into his domain, for they were the sheen of the stars now come to him in the form of...but she had fled from him. Fled to the fiery light of this cursed land.

Ohtarion halted before Eol and gave a call to a group of guards who were gathered under the shadow of the great arch of the West Gate. They casually looked up and three began to approach. Ohtarion turned to Eol. "We come upon the threshold of the city," he said, eyeing Eol warily.
He and Rehtano had spoken little to each other and not a word to him after the other had been ordered back. True to Ohtarion's word, they had not halted until they reached the great bridge far below. It had been a cursory stop, a verification between guards on the movement of the "guest" from the borders to the city. Then up the winding road they had come, and Eol gazed upon the western plain with contempt and spat at their rolling green fields, their white roads, their neat hedgerows, their blue pools, everything he saw and had seen under the blasted light.
"Now we have led you here in bonds, though we did not wish to set them upon you," continued Ohtarion. "But we are come to the city and I do not wish for you to walk as a prisoner in the eyes of the city-folk. Therefore I will release you if you give me your word that you will not be difficult."

Eol regarded Ohtarion with glinting eyes. "Whatever indignities and grievances I have suffered upon my arrival I hold in my heart, so vain is your attempt to assuage them," he growled. "However, if it be your wish to release me then do so, for my path leads directly to your King. I shall neither fight nor flee."

"Very well," said Ohtarion as he took out a knife with a beautifully made handle of obsidian, carven with runes of yellow beryl. He cut the bonds.

The three guards of the West Gate reached them and to Eol's surprise, bowed before him. "Hail, Eol of Nan Elmoth," said one. "I am named Cendarion, guard of the West Gate. I welcome you to the Hidden City of Gondolin, and you have the King's greeting also. We are bidden to escort you to his hall where he awaits you." Eol said nothing but gave a curt nod. Cendarion turned to Ohtarion. "You have our thanks for the escort and may rest awhile in our barracks ere you return."

"Water," said Eol. His belly growled and his throat was parched again. He would not delay for a meal but water at least would slake his thirst.

"Of course," said Cendarion, motioning towards the left tower. "The trek was long and you must be in need of some refreshment, though doubtless a fitting meal should await you at the palace."

"I care not for food," said Eol. "Just some water will suffice."

They came to the left tower, passing under the shadow of the gate's parapet of pearl. An open doorway on the inner side of the tower lead to a round common room, where stood many trestled tables hemmed by long benches. Two large pitchers were set upon each table, beside decorated flagons and an assortment of crockery. There were also loaves of bread, freshly made by the enticing aroma, and slabs of butter and jars of golden honey, alongside bowls of fruit, filled with oranges, red apples and pears, peeping in all their succulence under sumptuous garlands of purple grapes and piled strawberries. Many guards sat there drinking, eating and conversing with each other. All had removed their helms and Eol noted many golden heads among the black. He swore inwardly at the traitorous sight. All eyes turned to him as he entered, and their speech died to silence as they gazed at him in wonder. Eol thought to turn his back on them but the noble in him could not ignore the few who rose and placed their fists upon their breasts in a salute of greeting. Eol noted that all who did this were Sindarin, while the black heads stared him over with roving grey eyes. Eol nodded at the saluting elves and ignored the appraising eyes of the black-heads. The Sindar acknowledged a fellow kinsman whilst the Noldor saw only a travel-worn elf whom defied their expectation. Eol swore again.

Cendarion went to a near table where he took a pitcher and poured its dark red contents into a silver flagon, but as he turned Eol held up a halting hand. "I said water!" He had been treated as a prisoner, so he would drink as one. Cendarion nodded and filled another flagon with the other pitcher on the table. Eol took the cup and turned to a guard who sat nearby. He was a Noldo whose staring eyes looked doubtfully up at him. A wave of hate passed over Eol but he raised his cup to the proud fool. "To Gondolin," he uttered with a sneer, and drained his flagon. The water was cool and painfully sweet. He set the flagon down bitterly and motioned to his guards. "Now take me to the King," he said as he walked out.

The King's Way lay before him in all its paved glory. It was well made, so much so that even the dwarves would have been impressed, what with its impeccably placed stones, its pitch perfect gradient and its rising kerb made of glittering blue goldstone. The highway rose as a duality, with a strip of dark green lawn in the middle where grew flowering Uilos in pretty white rows. Placed at intervals upon the green strip were pillars such as those upon the road to the city, and all had large crystals shaped in the likeness of flames perched atop them. A silver light, flaming from dusk to dawn would spring from those crystals, lighting the King's Way all through the night. Beyond the kerb upon both sides of the road lay a wide channel four feet wide and a foot deep, and within it flowed clear water rushing down from the summit. The channel was also fed by waterways from each rising tier of the city.

The road climbed at a steady gradient and about it rose the western quarter of the city in tiers of branching paved roads and gravel pathways, fair housings, wide courtyards and flowering gardens. The lowest levels that rose from the gates were mainly comprised of quaint houses with grey and white walls and golden roofs immaculately thatched. Pretty wooden decks decorated with potted flowers of colourful hues and furnished with comfortable chairs and low tables, were set before each threshold, where a few elves could be seen seated, enjoying the morning sun. All turned to look at Eol with interest as he passed their houses and some even stood and went to lean upon the deck railings that looked to the highway as he strode by. Further up the housings were larger and grander, being no doubt the fairer and more spacious dwellings of elves of note. Where gravel pathways had branched from the King's Way as lanes for the thatched houses, now paved roads led away from the highway. The houses had taller walls and grey stone-tiled roofs, and the decks were larger, with furnishings that were carven of greater skill and beauty. Small gardens lay there with green lawns and clear ponds from which rose smooth statues that spouted wispy showers of sparkling water.

There were already many elves upon the road and as they passed Eol and his escort, many stopped to stare. "Who is this stranger?" queried some as they pointed. "Is he the one who was prophesied to come as a messenger from Ulmo?" asked others. "That may be the husband of our Lady Irisse," said a discerning few. Eol listened in silence as he walked, sneering inwardly at their curiosity. They would soon know who he was.
A group of children ran about the escort, shouting and laughing as they skipped around them. "Welcome to Ondolinde, master!" they cried, giggling in their sweet abandon. "Did you come with lady Irisse?" they plied. At that name they began to dance. "Irisse! Irisse!" they shouted as they laughed, echoing the joyful cries of the day before. Some elders came and shooed them away, being wary of the strange grim elf who strode purposefully up the highway. Eol swore again.
On he went, now reaching the upper tiers of the city. The buildings upon both sides of the road were greater in stature than any he had yet seen, with vaulting walls and long colonnades, and domed structures atop multi-storied halls. And there were many sheltered walkways, formed of intricately carven vines and creeping plants which were rested upon sturdy stone trellis-work that criss-crossed the white paved paths between the lawns and fountains. Deep ponds there were of dark blue water upon whose surfaces floated yellow waterlillies and pink hyacinth.

So the King's Way finally reached its height and levelled out upon the high plateau that was the Square of the King. It was bordered all round by a built shelf of glistening obsidian, save only where the two great highways led from it, being the roads to the West and North gates. Delved within the shelf at intervals were long cushioned seatings for the high lords and ladies of the realm to sit at ease before the beauty of the Square. There Eol saw the mighty fountains whose gushing waters were like waterfalls of silvery mithril, and the great well of sparkling water that mirrored in crystal clearness the white lissom limbs of the poplar trees that graced the green lawns of that place. A few ladies, fair and regal, walked there in the morning sun, and a group of high lords were stood by the shaded pool. They all turned to Eol's approach and he noted some of the emblems among them. A rainbow atop an opal caught his eye, as did an arrowhead, winged by a fan of feathers. There also stood a lord with a glorious mane of rich fair hair, who wore a rayed sun atop a golden flower that might have been Celandine. They all solemnly put their hands to their breasts in salute but Eol ignored them, turning away purposefully in a show of disdain.

Now before Eol's eyes stood the Palace of the King, rising in majesty upon the summit of Amon Gwareth. It stood many floors high, each as a tier of glorious construction that meshed its walls of white stone to the black rock of the hill. The ground level wall was very high with many leaf arched windows looking west as did the main door to the King's Hall. Eol could see little else of the palace above, though he had glimpsed high gardens and domed rooms and terraced chambers. But four great towers at least he saw clearly. Three of them rose from the third level that was a rectangle that sat with each corner facing north, south, and west. The east tower he could not see, but rising from the seventh and last level of the palace was the fourth tower which was the Tower of King, rising two hundred feet into the air to a rooftop crown that gleamed against the blue sky in piercing silver. Eol eyed the building with as much disdain as with fascination. Great was the beauty of the slender towers atop which were set the white stems of proud banners of blue and silver rippling in the high winds. Immaculate was the workmanship of the leaf-like arches inlaid with etched traceries, the winding balustraded outer staircases and the high balconies flowering with decorative vegetations, all under the crystal clear clarity of a bright blue sky laden with fragrant airs. The city was beautiful in ways he never thought.
"So this is where you came from," thought Eol as he took it all in. He thought of his own home now far away and of which he might never see again. It was true; his dwelling was a hovel when compared to the city, but he did not feel ashamed that he had housed the Lady of Gondolin in such frugality. Had she not tired of Gondolin and its exquisite excesses? He had offered her what was quaint but intimate. He had stripped her of the airs and graces of rigid nobility and given her the freedoms of the heart. He had forbidden her the light of the sun for that of the stars which was better. Nay, he did not feel lessened by the carven glory that was Gondolin. Besides, his own people had made better, for to his mind the beauty of Menegroth still had no rival.

Now stood atop the broad marble stairs that led to the palace doors was a tall elf clad in silver mail that seemed to shimmer in the morning light. His long sweeping cloak was snowy white and his surcoat were of red dyed leather, and woven upon it were the images of the sun, the moon and a scarlet heart beneath them, all laced with gold. Eol slowed his stride as he looked at the heraldic images for they seemed vaguely familiar. Where had he seen that sigil, he wondered? The memory came to him slowly, like a budding light of recollection that grew until it swept aside the shadows of forgetfulness.

~oOo~

She sat in a shadowy dell a fair ways from the doors of his house. There the mighty tree trunks were not so close together, though their high boughs still met far above in a thick leafy entanglement that blocked out the sun. She wore a brown tunic and grey leggings, with high supple boots of leather. On the leather belt at her waist was a worn scabbard which held the black hilt of a dagger. Beside her lay a long bow of elm wood. She indeed sat as a hunter of the wood and none would have known she were of a mighty house of Elves. She turned to his approach and her face lifted, revealing a royal beauty that pierced his heart. Her oval face was pale and smooth, with arched brows that led to clear grey eyes, shining now with the light of mirth. Her midnight hair was pulled back to a long slender ponytail. No adornments touched her brow or ran about her neck, but she did not need the enhancements of gems to bring forth the clarity of her dark beauty. A familiar thrill ran through him as he gazed upon her in wonder at his fortune in claiming such a prize wandering aimlessly in his domain.

Now he stood before her, returning her welcoming smile with his own. "Sit with me, Elben," she said, motioning to the ground beside her. He sat a little apart, for he saw that upon the ground next to her were shapes etched in the soil.

"What have you drawn?" he asked, gazing at what looked like the outline of a broad shield with a circle at its center.

"That," she said, pointing to the circle, "is the sun."

"The sun?" he said, frowning a little. She knew of his hatred for that fiery ball and its revealing light. "Why do you draw the likeness of that which offends me?"

"Do I offend you?" she asked as her smile faded.

He looked questioningly at her, wondering for he sensed a riddle. "Eldis, you know that you have never offended me."

"Yet you hate the sun and its light," she replied. She looked down to her drawing and with a slender finger, traced a crescent above the circle. "Here then is the moon that you love better," she said.

"I prefer the stars," he said. She looked at him with vague irritation. "But if it is between the sun and moon, I choose the latter," he added warily. But she turned away and it seemed her mood saddened, as if his words displeased her. He was puzzled by this, and put a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "What are you attempting to show me, Eldis?" he asked with growing concern. "If this is some strange riddle, I would have more guidance to answer it."

"It is no riddle," she said, turning her sad eyes to him. "This is who we are, Elben. I am the sun and you the moon. I come from a realm of light and you from the shadows of night. Yet here we are, beyond all thought and circumstance, living together in love." She set her finger to the ground again and below the circle and crescent, drew an image of a heart. "We are joined by a love that will not fail on my part. You I have chosen and to you I will cleave, though you should deny me the light from whence I came."

His face darkened a little at her words, for though they spoke of love, he caught the rumour of bitterness. "I only deny you that which I cannot partake."

"Nay, you deny me that which you choose not to partake," she replied.

He looked away, downcast and troubled. "How long has this thought rankled?"

"It does not rankle," she replied. "Yet I will not deny that I yearn for the light at times, as you would yearn for the stars should they be denied to you." She looked down at the drawing and her strange sadness dampened her eyes. He watched her sidelong for a while.

"And now you mourn," he said quietly. "If the image of our love does not bring you happiness, why did you draw it?"

But she looked up at him with intensity. "Nay, do not mistake me," she answered. "I am content with you by all accounts. Yet I am grieved that our love is fraught with obstacles and fences, where there should be acceptance in all matters. Nay, do not become angered," for she saw the frown upon his darkening brow. She took his hand and clasped it. "I love you and always will, no matter the years that should pass or from wherever I should pass them. My home is here under the shadows of the forest and I am content. Yet one day I hope you will find it in your heart to accept the light that lies in me."

He sat silent for a moment, wondering what had brought on such talk. He felt the pangs of suspicions rising, yet willed them away, unwilling to be darkened by their tempting whispers. He believed in his heart that she would not leave him. She would never betray his trust and never flout his command to renounce the light. Yet part of him understood her grave words but he was not ready to face their meaning. She was his prize, to covet with jealous ardency. The selfish thought shamed him, for he knew she deserved better. But he had long set aside the noble in him, living the rustic life as he did. Could he give up the shadows for the open sky and gleaming light of the sun? He had taken much from her whereas he had only received. Received a love and companionship that he had lacked in his dark world. He could never give that up. He looked again at the drawing in the soil. The sun had dimmed itself for the moon, yet could the moon brighten for the sun? Or was he too cowardly to do so, or too selfish and proud? Nay, he was not prepared to face such grave questions about himself... not yet. Or better still, not ever.

She had been watching him intently as if trying to read his thoughts, but suddenly he gathered her in his strong arms. "I accept you as you accept me," he lied. He kissed her softly and let his lips linger, brushing them against hers as he held her ever closer. Her arms went about his neck as she sought his lips in answering desire. He felt a pang of guilt for the unworthiness of his actions, using her innocent desires against her. But he loved her and could not lose her; not now, not ever. He would not survive it. He held his head back from her awoken passion.
"You are a child of light and I have long made my peace with that," he said, caressing her heated cheek. "Yet in time you shall come to wholly accept the mastery of the starlit night, with all its passion and mystery." With that he kissed her again and soon they were both upon the ground, clutching and caressing in a fit of boundless fervour.

Soon the airs about them rang with her quivering cries. "The night!" she moaned. "I will cleave to the night!"

~oOo~

The memory receded as Eol looked at the elf's surcoat with a rising wave of hate. Aredhel had lied to him, even then. She had not drawn the sun, the moon and heart as a symbol of their love. Nay, it were the heraldic arms of Turgon and the city of her people that she had longed for. She had never loved him, but only bided her time with manipulations of passion so as to birth an heir for her people, whom she would steal away when she was able. His dark anger at the realisation coiled about him, beating out a pounding heat within his chest. Verily would he be revenged!

Now Eol and his escort approached the guard and he stepped down towards them with a fist to his breast in greeting. "Hail Eol of Nan Elmoth," he said. "I am named Eldacalwe, Captain of the Palace Guard." He laid out a hand, sweeping it towards the doors of the palace. "King Turukano awaits you within," he said with a curt bow.

Eol stared darkly at the elf, despising his courtesy. "Then lead on!" he grunted in his impatience.

They took to the stairs and Eol glanced at golden Glingal searingly bright, and silver Belthil shining white in the rays of the rising sun. He swore again. Through the shadow of the doorway he went and Eol found himself facing the length of the Throne Room towards the dais of the king at the far end. The marble floor glistened as did the walls upon which hung many tapestries depicting scenes of the histories of Turgon and his people in Gondolin and of his ancient dwelling in Vinyamar. The tapestries near the throne were of scenes alien to Eol's eyes, for they were of a great city upon a gleaming plain and another sat upon a hill that was hemmed by immense cliffs. Some also depicted tall figures of majesty who stood surrounded by elves who were rejoicing before them.
Now two rows of slender pillars, banded by mithril at rising intervals, upheld the great hall and upon them spiralling upward were golden lamps that never faded. For the tall windows of the hall were set on the north and southern walls where the light of the sun did not directly shine. Only at dusk would the setting sun's rays gleam through the tall windows and main entrance of the western wall, filling the hall with gold. Lining the north and southern walls were great statues that depicted the mighty eagles of the Crissaegrim whose bejewelled eyes and grasping talons were of twinkling diamonds and they stood with outstretched wings of gold and obsidian beaks that were open wide, heralding in silence. A great pool lay at the centre of the hall, shaped as a square with pearl columns that rose at each corner, upon which were set large globes that were clear, and whose innards housed a strange coiling substance of silvery hues that pulsed and flashed, glittering the waters below. Rising from the pool was a shape of great height and majesty. It wore a tall crown of silver, from which long hair fell as carven foam. A mantle hung about him yet here and there his mithril mail showed through and was close-fitted as the mail of a mighty fish. Its crowned head was uplifted with a mighty horn held to its lips, blowing a silent call for as long as Gondolin stood.

Now Eol approached the throne of the king that stood before the eastern wall, rising seven steps to a dais of pearl. A stately yet less opulent throne it was of gilded wood and covered in hallowed engravings, and fixed upon the end of each of the wide armrests was the head of an eagle. The King's seat was adjoined by a similar, yet less ornate seat and upon it sat a lady with golden hair and a face like to Turgon's in womanhood. So Eol first laid eyes upon Idril, the daughter of Turgon. But swiftly Eol's gleaming eyes turned to the man and woman who stood to the right of the King. The man stood at the top of the dais, level with the King's seat, and was clad in a finely made silken grey tunic, white trousers and black leather boots that fit him well. Upon his head was a golden circlet and about his shoulders was draped a flowing blue cloak. His head was somewhat bowed and his face was sullen. The Lady however stood upon the bottom step of the dais. She was clad in a slender flowing white satin gown, hugged at the waist by a mithril belt, and patterned about the low-cut neckline and wide sleeves with golden lace. Adorned upon her brow was a silver circlet which held a white opal stone, and about her neck lay a shining silver carcanet. Her midnight hair was parted neatly at the center, and fell luxuriously about her shoulders in dark waves upon her back. She stood tall with hands clasped together before her and seemed a vision of nobility, being queenly in her posture. Eol gazed at her for a moment and a spasm of longing shot through him, for he had never seen her look so beautiful, so regal, so unattainable to his humble self. Then swiftly his hatred gained the mastery, infecting his desire with dark jealousy and a fiery sense of betrayal. A slow sneer animated his face upon his final approach, and so at last Eol came before the throne of Turgon, standing as a grim figure bristling with pride, anger and ill intent.

~oOo~

Aredhel stood with eyes lowered as she could not bring herself to watch Eol approach. Yet she could feel the heat of his anger and sense of betrayal. Her nerves were an equal turmoil of shame and anxiety, and it took all of her will not to wring her hands that she now held tight before her. She had noted Eol's coming from afar, looking out from her window and seeing his unmistakable proud and purposeful stride. Maeglin had joined his mother, placing comforting arms about her as he watched his father's approach with flaming eyes.

"And so he comes at last," Aredhel said to him in a low voice. She trembled.

"Then let us prepare to meet him," her son replied, embracing away her tremors and kissing her cheek.

"I need a moment alone," she said to him, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his brow. "I shall join you in the throne room."

So with a bow Maeglin had left her, and she had stood before a tall mirror, taking in her reflection. She put on a stately gown that accentuated her slender frame, with its matching circlet and carcanet necklace of bright silver and linked sapphires. She would look her best as the White Lady of Gondolin. There came a knock and Eteminiel her maiden came with word from the King. Maeglin and Idril were already by Turgon's side when she entered the throne room, and there stood also a few lords of the realm. Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch stood by Ulmo's Pool in conversation with Duilin of the Swallow, while Glorfindel of the Golden Flower stood hard by, talking to one of the palace guards. There were a few lesser nobles, stood about the latter half of the hall in pairs or trios, speaking quietly to one another. This did not please Aredhel, for the words between Eol and Turgon would be stern enough without having an audience to hear them. Besides, having many proud eyes looking at Eol with scorn and disapproval would only incense him to greater folly. She went to the King who sat upon his high seat and bent to his ear.

"I do not think it prudent to have lords and counsellors present at this meeting," she said in a low voice. "This is a delicate family matter of which I would not have its contents published throughout the city by the gossip of dissenting voices."

Turgon looked at his sister gravely and gave a nod. "You are right," he replied. "I too would not have our guest daunted or discomforted unnecessarily."

He then motioned to Arheston, his squire, and bid him ask all to leave the throne room save its guards. Aredhel felt a little easier as the hall cleared, yet she could feel a sense of panic, vague yet rising as she realised that with each beat of time, Eol's approach drew ever nearer. She and Maeglin now stood in the safest place for them in all of Middle-earth, yet she had to endure the inevitability of an approaching doom. It were almost as if she were a little girl again, pacing about fearfully as she awaited the heavy footfalls of her father and his sharp rebuke for some mischievous deed. Yet her peril here was far more dire than the chiding words of Fingolfin, who would more than often end his scolding with a forgiving embrace and kiss on the cheek.

Eldacalwe, who stood by the entrance looking out, now turned to them. "Lord Eol has reached the Square, my lord," he called.

"Welcome him in," said Turgon, straightening in his high seat.

Eldacalwe bowed and went out to stand as a tall silhouette atop the stairway to the threshold. Aredhel turned to Idril who sat upon her seat of honour to the left of her father. She was as always, a vision of dignity, with her hands placed one atop the other upon her lap, and her fair yet solemn face betraying nothing of her thoughts. Aredhel's eyes went to Turgon who sat stern and thoughtful, with his Staff of Doom placed at his side and held loosely in the jewelled claws of the right arm-rest. He was robed in gleaming white, belted with gold and crowned by a ring of twinkling garnets. Ever cool was her brother's mood, steering to patience and wisdom rather than to pride and anger. Aredhel prayed that blessed side of him would rule his counsel in the face of her husband's scorn. She turned at last to Maeglin who stood beside her to her right. His fists were clenched and his head was bowed, his dour face revealing a mournful dismay. She wanted to give him words of comfort, yet realised that she also needed it for herself. For her panic continued to rise steadily, and already she was trembling again. She felt a hand clutch her right arm and turned to the reassuring face of her brother.

"All will be well, sister," he said with a faint smile.

Aredhel took hope from his gentle words. They had not spoken since the night before and she thought he were still angry with her, and feared that that anger would guide his mood towards Eol, worsening what was to be a most tense meeting. But she realised that he understood the delicate nature of the situation as so much rested upon its outcome. But what would that outcome be? Either Eol were to be somehow persuaded to remain in Gondolin, or else he would be held as a prisoner for the rest of his days. Those were the two grim choices that held impossibilities on both counts. Eol would never agree to the former and Aredhel could never live with the latter. What was to be done? Even as she wrestled with these worrisome thoughts, she saw Eldacalwe move forward as he descended the stairs and disappeared from view. Her swirling nerves tightened and the beat of her heart quickened. As a final move to ease the portrait of Noldorin pride that might only serve to humiliate Eol, Aredhel stepped down to the first step of the dais, for she would not stand next to the throne above her husband, as if to flaunt her royalty to his forlorn misery and further embitter him.

And just like that, there he was, coming up the stairs and passing into the hall. His grey tunic was wayworn as were his dusty leather boots, and his great black cloak was tattered along the hem. Yet he strode proudly and purposefully, approaching with roving eyes that took in the beauty of his surroundings. His face was grim, with a clenched jaw and simmering eyes that spoke of the boiling anger within. Aredhel was relieved that he was weaponless, for no scabbard was attached to his brown leather belt. But as he approached her fearfulness turned to feelings of shame. Not shame for loving him, but shame for abandoning him. Shame for betraying his trust. Shame for stealing away his son. She could not look at him; could not meet his fiery eyes with her own... for shame. She bowed her head and lowered her gaze to the floor.

The footsteps halted but ten paces away from her, and then there was silence. Aredhel held her hands tightly before her, using all her will to resist the urge to wring them. She was commonly known for being strong and wilful by her peers, but she felt meek under Eol's dark appraisal. His eyes were upon her. She could feel the hate behind their stare. All their years together, of trust, of love and passion had now come to this day... to this point. Had it all been for nothing? Or were it just an ill advised tryst which was destined to end in ruin. Aredhel did not want it so, and she hoped... nay she prayed that Eol did not want that either. She had to hope all would turn out well. Her brother assured her so. She had to face her fate... to face her doom. She had wrought it from the very day she set out all those years ago as a defiant woman seeking thrills and adventure, without thought of consequence. Now had come the day of payment. She gave a deep breath and raised her head to look at the man she loved, and yet who looked at her with the dark flames of hate.

"King of Ondolinde," she began. "I present to you Eol of Nan Elmoth, who is my husband and the father of Maeglin, your sister-son." Aredhel's words rang loud yet lifeless, as a solemn proclamation of foreboding rather than a joyous welcome of honour. But she heard the King rise from his high seat, and coming down, Turgon came forward to stand before Eol and extend a hand.

Welcome, kinsman, for so I hold you," he said in a clear voice.

Eol did not move and a silence descended upon the hall. Aredhel's heart was racing and she began to tremble yet again. She looked at Eol's face and saw the dark reply of his eyes and the grim seal of his lips. What would he do? Her panic took flight again, filling her mind with terrifying thoughts. Yet even as she thought to step forward in an attempt to ward off conjured evils, Eol made a movement. He raised his own hand with slow deliberation to join it with Turgon's in greeting. Aredhel closed her eyes and her body shuddered with relief.

"Kind words to be sure," Eol said in a low voice. "And I hope you have found joy at the return of your sister."

"I have," replied the King. "And you have my eternal thanks for her safekeeping throughout the mournful years in which I thought her lost."

"I did as fortune willed," said Eol steadily. "For whom of elves would have abandoned a maiden of royalty to the perils of the wild unattended and unaided?"

"There are none indeed," said Turgon with a smile. "Yet still you have my thanks and I am indebted to you and yours, for you have raised a worthy son whom in being an heir to the House of Nolofinwe, shall receive the highest honour in my realm."

Eol's brow darkened and his body seemed to stiffen. "An heir to Gondolin he may be, yet the heirloom of his father's people still awaits him in Nan Elmoth."

"I do not doubt it," said Turgon. "Yet to this land he has come, as have you. Henceforth you shall dwell in my city in honour, for it is my law that none who finds the way hither shall depart."

Another silence fell, more potent than before, and Aredhel quailed inside, knowing that all hung upon a knife-edge as the edict was finally put to Eol. Then as purposefully as he had lift his hand to take the King's in greeting, so now Eol withdrew it. His face was dark and grim indeed, but his eyes blazed with ire, so much so that Eldacalwe who stood beside him took a step closer, readying himself for some sudden deed of anger that might be set against the King. But Eol did not move to such irredeemable rashness, but bristled where he stood, undaunted and full of defiance.

"I acknowledge not your law," he said. "No right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there. This is the land of the Teleri, to which you bring war and all unquiet, dealing ever proudly and unjustly. I care nothing for your secrets and I came not to spy upon you, but to claim my own: my wife and my son. Yet if in Aredhel your sister you have some claim, then let her remain. Let the bird go back to the cage, where soon she will sicken again, as she sickened before. But not so Maeglin. My son you shall not withhold from me." Then Eol set his flaming sight upon his son who still stood with a bowed head, glowering by the high seat of the King. "Come, Maeglin son of Eol!" he cried in a voice so loud that Maeglin started, and looked up to meet his father's gaze. "Your father commands you. Leave the house of his enemies and slayers of his kin, or be accursed!"

Aredhel whipped around to her son. He stood as he was, facing his father's steely gaze with a wavering return. She could see his grievous turmoil, forced to choose between the rights of his father and the royalties of his mother. It pained Aredhel, and she desperately wanted to comfort him, yet had no idea how. She saw Idril's intense gaze at Maeglin as if weighing her own notions of his thoughts. Calm she seemed, but Aredhel could detect a stiffness in her posture that betrayed her tenseness to the situation. She turned back to Eol whose gaze returned to the King. He had spoken his mind, yet Aredhel was somewhat relieved that all had been laid bare. It were as if a great weight of dire expectations had been lifted. However, now came the task of deliberation and compromise, and she knew that all still hung in the balance for her family.

At that moment Turgon turned away from Eol and made his way back to his throne. He glanced at Aredhel as he went and his face was stern. Aredhel's fears rose again, for she knew that Eol's words had angered him. Turgon would now seek to proclaim his power, thwarting Eol's pride with kingly strength. Aredhel receded into helplessness again, knowing she could not stand against the King who had attempted to be welcoming. Yet she could not stand against the anger of her husband who was injured by her betrayal. What was she to do?

Turgon now sat upon his throne and took the Staff of Doom from its claw. It was a white rod fitted with a crystal globe within which coiled a black mist. His eyes were gleaming as he thrust the rod to the floor with an echoing dint upon the marble. Then he leaned forward in his high seat. "I will not debate with you, Dark Elf," he said in a stern voice. "By the swords of the Noldor alone are your sunless woods defended. Your freedom to wander there wild you owe to my kin; and but for them long since you would have laboured in thraldom in the pits of Angband. And here I am King; and whether you will it or will it not, my doom is law. This choice only is given to you: to abide here, or to die here; and so also for your son."

Turgon's words were proud and grim and indeed he seemed a mighty king, filled with anger at the impertinence of a lowly thief who stands before him, ragged and forlorn, and bound in royal chains. Aredhel turned back to Eol and saw that his flaming eyes fenced with Turgon's as he stood undaunted by the kingly threat. All stood thus for a terrible moment, locked in a silent tussle of mighty wills. Then Eol's gaze turned again to Aredhel and she felt the heat of their piercing glance.
So much lay in his stare; "Why did you leave me? How could you flee from me? You never loved me."
Aredhel stood as still as a statue, held by the daunting strength of his will. "All is your fault," came the blame of her inner thought. "Either he lives in chains or dies in bitterness. Such is what you have wrought," echoed the distant mockery.
"Forgive me," she returned. "Forgive all the days I held you in my arms, and forgive the day you laid eyes upon me wandering in your woods. Forgive me please!" She wailed inwardly, willing her turmoil through her wavering sight so that he might somehow understand her. Perhaps Eol did, for Aredhel could swear she noted the flame of his eyes flicker and fade.

For a moment, a sense of elation grew within her as she thought she had quelled his anger. But the heats of Eol's eyes had not faded in defeat or mercy. Nay! A coldness now fed his gaze, as if the fiery anger were now cooled to the black embers of a hateful purpose. Aredhel shrank back from those dead eyes. She had lost him! She meant nothing to him now. And so his gaze turned to Maeglin with a cold menace that conveyed a notion of darkest evil. Aredhel almost gasped, losing all semblance of the man she loved to a fell creature, readying itself for an ill deed beyond comprehension. Eol was now perilous in a way that was utterly alien to what Aredhel thought possible. What was he about to do? Nay, he would not do that! He would not seek to end their son's life, and so take his own either by the king's strength or by his own hand. He could not hate her so. Yet in that moment, Aredhel saw Maeglin's death in Eol's eyes. She could not believe it. If only she had known how black this day would end when it had dawned. But now a desperate thought came to her. She must stop him! She must cry out, or fling herself upon him. Anything to save her poor son. Yet a darkness attempted to overwhelm her, holding her limbs in shadowy chains and dumbing her speech. She was held prisoner by her mounting horror and disbelief. Eol was going to strike! She could see his left hand inching towards the folds of his cloak by his right breast. Her tearful eyes widened with shock. She must do something before it was too late!

But she could not move; could not speak. A stronger will held her in its icy embrace as she watched her world slide inevitably towards chaos. She must do something!
Visions flashed before her eyes: A father and son smiling after a hard but fruitful day's work at the forge. A young boy laughing as his father carried him upon his back. A babe in arms, giggling at its doting mother who nuzzled their noses together. Lovers lying beside each other with wearied smiles after a night of passion. A pair entwined in each others arms as they sat beside rippling waters, with the wavering stars reflected in both the pool's face and in their eyes. A lost maiden sighing her relief in seeing a tall stranger's approach in her hour of need.
Tears rolled down Aredhel's cheeks as she recalled the memories, all of which had led to this hateful moment. Despair stared her in the face. But from the deepest recesses of her heart came a seed of defiance and she latched onto it with all her will. She refused to give in to despair and fear. She was a daughter of the mighty House of Finwe, hardy in strength of mind and purpose, and whose defiance rose even to the Powers. This was not how her doom would end. Neither would she accept such for her son nor for Eol. She must do something! With all the will left to her, she brought forth the defiance of her people and the seed of hopeful light suddenly burst forth as shining rays. Their radiance shattered the darkness that held her with searing beams that smote the chains and shrivelled the shadows. Suddenly she was free and felt the lifting of a great weight upon her spirit. Eol's foul purpose was nearly done for she could see his fingers delving into his cloak, seeking for something hidden. Then with all her defiance and all her love for her son and husband, she uttered a single word.

"Wait!"

Her voice was faint in her ears, as if spoken from a great depth, and for a moment she feared no-one had heard her. Yet even so, she looked at Eol and his returned stare was full of surprise. He had pulled back his searching hand and his wide eyes looked confused and bewildered. Then with a great rush, her hearing roared back and she caught the echoes of her utterance ringing about the walls of the hall. Had she cried out? She slowly turned to those behind and found them staring at her in utter shock. Then Maeglin was swiftly at her side with concern in his face.

"Mother," he said, caressing her face with his other arm about her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him a moment, a little confused herself as she held onto him with clutching arms that lovingly embraced her son. He was unharmed and safe, she thought as renewed tears coursed down her cheeks. Now Turgon rose and joined them, placing his palms about her face and turning her eyes to his.

"Irisse," he said gravely. "Perhaps you should sit and regather yourself, for I feel this confrontation threatens to overwhelm you."

Aredhel agreed inwardly, for she felt a great weariness of both limb and spirit, as if she had partaken in some great labour beyond the reach of her strength. But she turned from Turgon to look at Eol. There he still stood, with both hands at his sides as he stared aside in some deep thought.

"Nay," said Aredhel, pushing both her brother and son away. "I must have words with my husband."

Eol looked at her suddenly and Turgon's face darkened again. "I feel our words spoken have been enough," said he. "All that remains is Eol's reply to my command."

But Aredhel swiftly turned to Turgon who almost took a step back, so sharp and fiery was her glance. "Nonetheless I will speak with Eol alone whether you will it or no!" she cried. "You both have said much, but now I shall speak."

Turgon looked at her and it seemed she was fey. He sighed. "Very well," he ceded. "I may not desire this but I will not hinder you, for truly do you both have much to discuss," He gave an eye to Eol. "Yet I hope wisdom shall prove the more fruitful in your discourse."

Aredhel turned to Eol, who looked at her with a strange light in his eyes. She went to stand before him, her glance flitting from his face to whatever lay hidden beneath his cloak. "Will you have words with me, my lord," she said, steadily meeting his gaze. Eol did not answer, but his expression were of confusion, as if he were lost and now stood bewildered with aught else to do. "Please," Aredhel implored. "Let us speak together, alone, and air our differences and hopefully understand our minds. Thereafter you may be free to choose as you will and I will not hinder you."

Eol looked at her intently, trying to fathom the riddle he now seemed to ask himself. All fires whether hot or cold were now quenched from his sight and he seemed himself again. He clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod, wordlessly signifying his willingness.

So Aredhel turned to Turgon. "We shall use the Council Chamber," she said as she strode past the king. Maeglin followed but she held up her hand. "I said alone!" she countered forcefully. Maeglin bowed and stood aside, watching his father follow after his mother in silence.

Turgon watched his sister go with mounting concern. He hoped indeed that she could quell Eol's anger and persuade him to abide by his law. But he had no hope for it. The elf was dark indeed and the depth of his ill will had shocked him. A heavy cloud lay about the strange elf that Turgon could not fathom, yet he had noted the strange change that had come upon Eol that threatened a black evil, but his sister had suddenly given a shout. That utterance that rang loud and desperate. "Wait!" she had cried. Unease crept over Turgon. An evil will had found its way into his hall but maybe it were not all of Eol's making. He thought of the Curse of Mandos that hung over his people and all their deeds. Perhaps it had reared its serpent head, readying itself to strike a fatal blow to his house and kingdom. But what of Aredhel's cry? Had some great evil been averted? He did not know. There were too many questions, but no wise sage to answer them. All he could do was sit and wait.

He turned to his daughter and found her watching him in silence, betraying little of her wise thought. Yet he knew she also was troubled. He returned to sit upon his throne and Idril leaned towards him.

"What shall you do?" she asked quietly.

"I shall sit and think," came his thoughtful reply. "Unless you have wiser counsel for your father?"

Idril sat back and put her hand upon his. "We can only follow Irisse's plea," she said gravely. "We wait!"

~oOo~

And even in the very instance of Aredhel's utterance, the echoes of her word were flung from the hill of Amon Gwareth. They raced over mountains and valleys, over lakes and rivers and over forests and plains. And coming to the sea they swept over its deep waters, ringing ever wider in a great arc of sound. There, in the deepest depths of Belegaer and sat upon his coral throne, Ulmo heard the cry and lifted his crowned head as his sapphire blue eyes blazed forth. The echoes passed even over the Pelori and raced across the fields, gardens and pastures of The Blessed Realm. There the vast pillared halls of Mandos trembled and all the houseless spirits quailed and were halted in their mourning, and for a moment, all of Namo's counsels were in disarray. He rose slowly from his obsidian throne and turned his grim sight east towards Middle-earth. And rising high, the echoes reached the very halls of heaven upon Taniquetil, and came to the ears of Manwe upon his lofty throne. And he slowly sat forward, listening perforce to that echo as it faded into the winds. Then he sat back, closed his eyes and gave a sigh that swept forth like a gale. Now who can say what are the counsels of Manwe and Eru, yet when he opened his eyes, they flashed, bright as suns. And upon his face was a smile.

~oOo~

And even so, Aredhel now walked towards the doors of the council chamber within the palace of Turgon. She had been a little unsteady upon her feet at first, yet her weariness left her with each step forward. And unbeknownst to her or to anyone in Middle-earth, each footfall fell upon a new path, birthing a new Fate whose web-like strands began to grow and spread throughout the world and whose endings were now unknown. Yet for Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin of the House of Finwe, she had no notion of the epic changes that occurred with each tread. Her only concern was with Eol and what she would say to him once they were alone behind closed doors. She had little hope of the outcome, but she was sure of one thing. The thought echoed to her over and over again. "Pry it loose," and she would do just that. She would pry Eol's wisdom loose.

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Author's Commentary:

Nothing to say except I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.

Thanx!