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“Ay! You’re Maeglin, right? Do you know how to dance?”
Maeglin, who was out for a walk in the courtyard with his older cousin, Idril, looked up at the sound of his name. An elf about his age was lounging against the trunk of a butternut tree. He was a most striking fellow, with long, fluffy golden hair and sparkling emerald eyes. And he wore a loose fitting cream tunic and dark green trousers.
“Erm...” Maeglin faltered, feeling his cheeks heat up. “A little, maybe?”
The truth was, Maeglin did not know how to dance. He had played at dancing with his mum, when he had been a little elfling. But he certainly wasn’t up to the standards of the fine lords and ladies of Gondolin.
“Don’t be silly, Glorfindel,” Idril teased the golden-haired elf. “Everybody knows how to dance!”
“Of course they do!” A dark haired elf, who was sitting on the edge of a marble fountain looked up. “Glorfindel just wants your cousin to dance with him,” he added slyly.
“Well of course!” Glorfindel said, tossing his head back like a showy horse. Maeglin blushed even more, and tried to hide behind Idril.
“And you, Ecthelion, can do something useful, instead of making fun!” He strode up to Ecthelion and poked him in the chest. “Have you brought your flute with you?”
“I take it everywhere with me,” Ecthelion said. He reached into his shoulder bag and took out a beautifully carved wooden flute. Maeglin wanted to look at it in more detail; it reminded him of something his mum might have crafted. But he was far too shy to approach.
“Excellent!” Glorfindel said. “So, Idril, Maeglin, come here please?” Idril went over at once, and Maeglin followed nervously. Glorfindel pointed to where his own golden harp sat.
“Idril, would you accompany Ecthelion?” he asked. “And Maeglin...” Glorfindel bowed dramatically and held out his hand. “Would you give me this dance?”
“Go on silly,” Idril said, nudging her red faced cousin. She sat down on the grass, next to Glorfindel’s harp. Ecthelion grinned and readied his flute. And Maeglin took a deep breath, and stepped forwards.
I’m of the noble house of Fingolfin. My Grandfather died fighting the Dark Lord. I can surely find the courage to dance!
Maeglin took Glorfindel’s hand; it was nice and warm, unlike his own clammy hand. Glorfindel beamed in triumph. “Now don’t be shy! It’s so easy,” he said. He placed his other hand on Maeglin’s back, and guided him through some simple dance steps.
Maeglin concentrated hard, not wanting to embarrass himself or Glorfindel. Ecthelion and Idril were playing a pleasant melody; something lively, but not too fast. Maeglin was unfamiliar with it; the only songs he knew were old lullabies that his mum had sung to him.
“That’s it, you’re doing beautifully,” Glorfindel said. Maeglin wasn’t sure if he meant it, or whether he was just being kind. But Glorfindel was moving with grace, and seemed to really be enjoying himself.
“Maeglin, don’t watch your feet too much,” a more honest Idril called out. “Just listen to us playing and let yourself move naturally”.
“I’m trying,” Maeglin replied. He risked a look at Glorfindel, and saw that he was smiling. Feeling shy again, Maeglin looked around the courtyard instead. The sunlight sparkled off the flowing fountain, and the leaves on the shrubbery swayed in the evening breeze. And there, leaning against the butternut tree was Maeglin’s uncle, King Turgon of Gondolin.
Maeglin gasped and pulled away from Glorfindel at once. The music stopped; Ecthelion nearly dropping his flute, and Idril beaming in delight. Glorfindel smiled too, until he saw how alarmed Maeglin was.
“Uncle Turgon! I was just…” Maeglin’s voice was filled with fear. “Please don’t be angry!”
Turgon strode over to Maeglin, his cloak rippling behind him. “Angry?” he repeated in bewilderment. “Why ever should I be angry?”
“Father, we are trying to teach Maeglin how to dance,” Idril giggled. “He is doing well, don’t you think so?”
“I do,” Turgon said, now smiling at the young elves. Then he rested a gentle hand on Maeglin’s shoulder. “Maeglin, you have nothing to fear from me”.
“Are you sure?” Maeglin faltered. “I mean...you don’t mind? Me dancing with…” he tailed off, pointing at Glorfindel.
“Not at all,” said Turgon. “Besides…” he gave Glorfindel a knowing grin. “He is a very good dancer”.
“I am,” Glorfindel agreed, with no modesty at all. “One of the best in...Ecthelion, stop making that face!”
Ecthelion, who had placed his hands on his head and was slowly moving them outwards, just laughed. “It’s a gesture, not a facial expression!”
“That means the same thing!” Glorfindel pretended to pout. “You’re just jealous anyway!”
“What of? Your large and conceited head?”
“Ahem! Well, I won’t keep you youngsters from your playing time,” Turgon chuckled. “I shall continue on my walk”. Then seeing that Maeglin still appeared nervous, he placed his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Although he was well-muscled from smithing, Maeglin was still so pale.
“Maeglin…” Turgon began. He looked at his nephew; so like Aredhel, and their father. Turgon’s heart felt heavy, as he imagined Maeglin’s strange and lonely childhood in Nan Elmoth.
“Yes Uncle?” Maeglin asked, leaning against Tugon as if he was touch starved.
“There is something I want...no. I insist that you do”. Turgon gently squeezed Maeglin’s shoulder, while pointing to the other young elves with his free hand.
“I insist that you play with your friends and enjoy yourself,” Turgon said, with a warm smile.
“Really?” Maeglin exclaimed. “I mean...certainly! I will do that, Uncle, right away”.
“Oh no, Father! Now he has become as serious as you,” Idril teased.
“I am not…” Turgon began, but his words were drowned out by good natured laughter from the other two boys. Maeglin gave Turgon a tentative smile, then risked a quick hug. And then Glorfindel took his hands and led him out onto the lawn again.
“Come on Maeglin, let’s finish our dance before the sun sets!” he cried.
“Oh, is it going to take you that long?” Ecthelion smirked. “Because the magnificent Glorfindel must display every twirl and every flourish!”
“Shush Ecthelion, and start playing!” Idril poked him, then sat down by Glorfindel’s harp again. Ecthelion laughed and put his flute to his lips. Maeglin was smiling too; his face flushed, but without the fear from earlier.
Turgon strolled off, listening to the sound of music and banter over the play of the fountain. His heart felt lighter than it had done in many years.