Work Text:
" I promise I will return"
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" Promise? "
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" Promise "
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Maeglin walked through the streets of Gondolin with measured steps, the sunlight spilling across the white stone spires and gilding the city in a soft, golden warmth.
As he was on his rare times to take a break on forge work as he gaze at the beautiful view.
The city was alive with movement and sound. children laughing as they practiced their swordplay, merchants calling out from their stalls, and the soft murmur of elves moving through the gardens. And yet, despite the life around him, a hollow tugged at his chest.
He moved among the people, returning polite nods and faint smiles, but the gestures felt distant, almost foreign, as if he were observing from behind a pane of glass.
The warmth of the city, the laughter, the bustle as it all passed through him without reaching the part of himself that ached.
He often found himself wondering if it had always been this way. Living in this city sometimes felt unreal, like a dream he might one day awaken from, leaving everything behind.
Even amidst the care of his family..if he could call them that something had always been missing.
It was not absence in the way of loss, nor a longing for a thing he could touch, it was subtler, a void that pulsed beneath the surface, always present yet never fully understood.
He could sense it in the soft silences between conversations, in the fleeting glances of elves speaking with ease and ease of connection. Their closeness reminded him of what he could not claim, and the hollow pressed heavier each time.
Sometimes he tried to fill it with observation or duty.
He watched the ripples of the fountain at the city’s center, the sunlight glinting off the water as it spilled into the basin, and allowed himself a quiet hope that perhaps this emptiness could be soothed. But the ache remained, persistent and intangible.
Thoughts of the distant past stirred..of Nan Elmoth, of Amme and Atto, back when they were alive, when their voices still filled the quiet shadows of the forest.
Maeglin could recall only fragments of his childhood, shadows of trees, faint voices, the cold weight of the earth yet he felt something is missing.
Every attempt to reconstruct the missing pieces brought only frustration, and he learned early to leave the subject unspoken as he knew forcing him to remember something he didn't know forgot would only end in futile.
And yet, despite his restraint, the hollow persisted, a quiet, stubborn companion that no comfort could dispel. He sometimes caught himself looking longingly to something he didn't understand causing Maeglin to sigh.
Maeglin then moved on through the streets, nodded politely to a passing artisan, and observed the orderly life of Gondolin with careful detachment.
He carried his hollow silently, a subtle ache woven into the rhythm of his steps, a quiet awareness that something or someone was absent, though he did not know who, or why, or whether he would ever know ad he continue his walk as his dark hair had fluttered gently in the wind as he never look back.
___________
Maeglin struck the final blow, the ringing of hammer against metal echoing through the quiet forge before fading into silence.
He lowered the heated metal into the basin of cold water, and steam rose at once, curling upward in pale wisps that briefly clouded his vision. The sharp hiss filled the air, lingering for a moment before slowly dissipating.
He set the hammer aside and removed his gloves, flexing his fingers as he exhaled softly. Sweat clung faintly to his brow, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his shoulders loosening as the tension of the day’s labor finally eased.
The steady rhythm of work had carried him through the hours without notice, and only now, in the quiet stillness, did he feel the weight of fatigue settle into his limbs.
He stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness that had formed during the long hours at the forge.
The movement drew a quiet breath from him, almost a sigh of relief, as he stepped away from the workbench and moved toward the side table. Pouring himself a cup of water, he drank slowly, the coolness soothing the dryness in his throat. Only then did he realize just how thirsty he had become.
Lowering the cup, Maeglin glanced around his workstation. Tools lay neatly arranged, though a faint scattering of metal filings and ash remained from the day's work.
Habit guided him as he began to clean, moving with quiet efficiency as he returned each tool to its proper place. It was a routine he followed without thought, one that brought a small sense of order before leaving.
Once finished, Maeglin extinguished the remaining embers and secured the forge before making his way toward the stairs. The workshop of his people lay beneath the ground, carved deep within the stone, and the climb upward was familiar beneath his feet. Yet as he emerged above, he paused.
The corridors were quiet.
Too quiet.
The lamps along the walls burned low, their soft light casting long shadows across the stone floors. It was then that Maeglin realized how late it had become.
"It's already late?"
The thought came quietly, his brows drawing together in faint surprise. He had not noticed the passing of time at all. The forge often had that effect, pulling him into its steady rhythm until the outside world faded entirely.
As he stood there, his stomach gave a low, unmistakable growl.
Maeglin stiffened slightly, glancing around instinctively, though there was no one nearby to hear. A faint crease formed between his brows, and he exhaled softly, almost embarrassed despite the solitude. It would have been… unsightly, he thought, for a lord of Gondolin to be heard with such a complaint.
He hesitated, considering whether to make his way toward the kitchens. But the hour was late, and the servants would likely have already retired for the night. The thought of disturbing them sat uneasily with him, and after a brief moment, he shook his head.
With a quiet sigh, Maeglin turned instead toward his chambers, ignoring the faint protest of his stomach as he walked through the dimly lit corridors.
Upon entering his chambers, Maeglin noticed that the lamps had already been lit, their soft glow casting a warm, gentle light across the room. He paused briefly at the doorway, a quiet sense of gratitude settling within him.
The small gesture was simple, yet comforting, especially after the long hours spent within the dim forge.
He moved toward the cabinet, retrieving a fresh set of clothes. The faint scent of metal and smoke still clung to him, and he felt the lingering warmth of the forge upon his skin.
After washing and changing, he emerged wearing his sleeping attire, the fabric cool and light against his tired body. The exhaustion of the day settled more heavily upon him now, and he turned toward his bed, intending to rest.
That was when he noticed it.
Something had been placed on the bedside cabinet.
Maeglin slowed, his steps quiet as he approached. Drawing closer, he realized it was a plate of food, carefully arranged and covered to preserve what warmth remained. Though the meal had already gone cold, the sight alone caused him to pause.
Beside the plate, partially tucked beneath it, was a small piece of paper.
Maeglin reached out, lifting it carefully. His eyes moved silently across the brief message, and as he read, a faint, almost phantom smile appeared upon his face, soft and fleeting, yet genuine. The quiet thoughtfulness behind the gesture settled warmly in his chest.
He sat at the edge of his bed and began to eat slowly.
“Delicious…”
The thought came quietly to him as he tasted the food. It was not particularly refined, nor was it among the finest meals he had eaten.
The flavors were simple, even slightly bland, yet there was something comforting about it. Each bite warmed him, easing both the lingering fatigue and the hunger he had tried to ignore. The quiet room, the gentle lamplight, and the simple meal created a moment of unexpected peace.
He had nearly finished when a sudden gust of wind swept through the room.
The doors leading to the terrace swung open with a soft but abrupt sound, and the curtains billowed inward, fluttering wildly. The flames of the lamps flickered violently before dimming, some nearly extinguished, leaving the room shrouded in shadow. Only the pale light spilling in from outside illuminated the space faintly.
Maeglin frowned slightly.
He set the plate aside and rose to his feet, moving toward the open doors to close them. The cool night air brushed against his skin as he stepped closer, and as he reached the threshold, he lifted his gaze—
And froze.
The sky stretched above him in deep, endless darkness, the moon absent from its usual place. Yet the absence only made the stars shine brighter. Countless lights scattered across the heavens, glittering like fragments of silver cast upon velvet.
The constellations shimmered clearly, each star burning with quiet brilliance but among them..
One star caught his attention.
It shone in the northern sky, brighter than the rest, its light steady and unwavering. It seemed almost too bright, as though it outshone the others surrounding it. Maeglin found himself staring, unable to look away.
Without realizing it, he stepped onto the terrace.
The night air was cool, brushing gently against him as Maeglin continued to watch the distant light. And then, unexpectedly, he felt it..
His fëa stirred.
A soft, steady throb echoed within his chest, and his hand rose instinctively, pressing lightly against his heart. He could feel each beat clearly, strong yet unfamiliar in its intensity.
It was not painful.
Nor was it unsettling in the usual sense.
Instead, it felt… warm.
As though something within him had shifted like a missing piece, long unnoticed, suddenly drawing closer, just beyond reach.
“Strange…”
Maeglin murmured softly.
Slowly, he lowered himself to sit upon the terrace floor, his gaze never leaving the northern star as it continued to shine quietly above him.
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Far away, on the other side of the world, another Elf stood quietly before a tall window, gazing into the night.
The sky stretched wide and clear, filled with countless twinkling stars. Yet his attention lingered not on the heavens as a whole, but on a single light—the bright northern star shining steadily among the rest.
Its glow reflected faintly in his eyes.
“I wonder… how he is…”
The Elf murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Unconsciously, his hand rose to his neck, fingers brushing against the necklace resting there. He gently rubbed the small pendant, as though seeking comfort from its familiar presence. A quiet sadness lingered within his expression, softened only by the steady light above.
A sudden knock broke the silence.
The door opened shortly after, and another Elf stepped inside. He bore long silver hair tied neatly into a low ponytail, and he wore the formal attire of a Warden. It was elegant yet practical. His presence carried a calm authority, though the gentle smile he offered softened his otherwise composed demeanor.
The first Elf turned at the sound, and upon seeing him, a small, unconscious smile appeared in return.
“Are you ready?”
The silver-haired Elf asked gently.
The other Elf hesitated, his gaze drifting once more toward the northern star outside the window.
His fingers tightened slightly around the necklace resting against his chest, as though drawing strength from it. Then he took a slow, steady breath.
When he looked back, there was firmness in his eyes.
Blue met green.
The silent understanding between them passed in that single glance.
“Let's go. The King awaits.”
The silver-haired Elf spoke once more before turning and walking toward the door.
The other Elf followed after him, pausing briefly to cast one last glance at the northern star still shining quietly in the sky. Then he stepped forward and gently closed the door behind him, leaving the room and the silent night behind.
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Two children could be seen sitting at the edge of the cliff, their small figures silhouetted by the fading light of the setting sun. The sky was painted in hues of gold and orange slowly melting into soft shades of violet, as if the world itself was quietly preparing to say goodbye.
One of the children had straight black hair that gently swayed with the wind, his black eyes calm yet distant as he stared at the horizon. Beside him sat another child, his black curly hair tousled by the breeze, emerald green eyes reflecting the dying sunlight like fragments of fading glass.
Behind them stood a large, massive tree, its long, drooping branches resembling a willow tree. The leaves fluttered softly, whispering with the wind as though the tree itself was mourning the moment. The ground beneath them was covered with patches of vibrant green grass, scattered with small wildflowers in delicate colors—white, yellow, and pale violet—swaying gently in the quiet evening.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
"…It's almost time."
The green-eyed child spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched the sun slowly dip lower and lower beyond the horizon. His fingers tightened slightly against the grass, pulling at the blades unconsciously.
The black-eyed child simply hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze still fixed forward. But his shoulders stiffened slightly, as if he, too, felt the weight of those words.
Silence settled between them.
The wind grew cooler.
"…Will you return?"
The black-eyed child finally asked, his voice quiet and careful, as though afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. He turned his head slowly to look at the other child.
The green-eyed child froze.
His hands, rough and slightly scratched from chores and work, tightened against his lap. His eyes lowered as he stared at his palms, as though searching for an answer hidden somewhere between the faint scars and dirt that never seemed to leave.
"I… don't know…"
His voice trembled.
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred. The sting in his eyes grew stronger, and he bit his lip as he tried to hold it in—tried to be strong.
But before he could stop himself—
Warm arms suddenly wrapped around him.
The green-eyed child's eyes widened as he looked up, only to see his friend hugging him tightly, pulling him close without hesitation.
"Okay… it's fine."
The black-eyed child said softly, his voice gentle and firm at the same time.
That was all it took.
The green-eyed child's composure shattered.
Tears welled up instantly, spilling down his cheeks as he clutched his friend's clothes tightly. His shoulders trembled as quiet sobs escaped him, growing louder and more desperate with each passing second.
The black-eyed child hugged him tighter.
His small hand moved to rub slow, comforting circles on his friend's back, just like he had seen adults do. He didn't know if he was doing it right, but he didn't stop.
"Now… now… don't cry…"
He murmured softly, though his own voice wavered slightly.
The green-eyed child sobbed harder, burying his face into his friend's shoulder. His fingers clung tightly, as if afraid that if he let go now, he would lose him forever.
"I'm sure… we'll meet again."
The black-eyed child added, trying to sound confident, trying to believe his own words.
Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at his friend's face.
His chest tightened.
The green-eyed child's eyes were red, tears streaking across his cheeks, lips trembling as he struggled to breathe properly. Seeing him like this made something ache painfully inside the black-eyed child's chest.
"But…"
The green-eyed child croaked, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes again.
The black-eyed child sighed helplessly.
Carefully, he reached out, wiping away the tears with his sleeve. His fingers gently brushed away stray strands of curly hair stuck to the damp cheeks, his movements careful—almost hesitant.
He didn't want this moment to end.
He didn't want to let go either.
Then suddenly, an idea came to him.
"Then… how about we make a promise?"
The black-eyed child suggested quietly.
The green-eyed child blinked, confused, still sniffing softly as he looked at him.
"…Promise?"
He repeated.
The black-eyed child nodded, turning his gaze back toward the sunset, now only a thin line of gold peeking beyond the horizon.
"Let's promise… that we'll find each other again."
He said softly.
The green-eyed child stared at him.
The wind blew gently between them.
His chest tightened painfully, but slowly… slowly… he nodded.
"…Okay."
His voice was small.Fragile but sincere as he gave a soft but genuine smile at his friend.
"…Oh… wait a minute."
The black-eyed child suddenly spoke, as if something had just come to him. His brows furrowed slightly, and he looked down at his chest as though remembering something important.
The green-eyed child blinked, confused, still sniffling quietly as he watched his friend fumble with something beneath his collar.
Then slowly, carefully, the black-eyed child removed the necklace hanging around his neck.
It was simple.
A thin cord, slightly worn from time, with a small pendant resting at its center. It wasn't grand nor expensive, but it looked cherished—like something that had always been with him.
The green-eyed child widened his eyes.
The black-eyed child then gestured for him to come closer.
Confused but obedient, the green-eyed child leaned forward slightly.
Without saying anything, the black-eyed child carefully lifted the necklace and gently placed it around the other's neck. His fingers trembled slightly as he tied it, lingering for a brief moment before slowly pulling away.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
The pendant now rested against the green-eyed child's chest, glinting faintly under the last rays of sunlight.
"…This— this— Lin!"
The green-eyed child called out in panic, quickly grasping the necklace as if afraid it might fall. His eyes widened in alarm as he looked up at his friend.
But the black-eyed child simply shook his head.
"It's fine…"
He said softly.
"Besides… you're going to return it, right?"
The green-eyed child froze.
His grip on the pendant tightened.
Then slowly… realization dawned on his face.
A small smile—fragile but genuine—formed on his lips as he nodded.
"…Yes."
The wind blew gently between them.
The black-eyed child looked at him quietly, as if memorizing the way he looked right now.
"Let's meet again… in case the other might forget…"
He said softly.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment, neither of them looked away.
Then slowly, the black-eyed child lifted his hand… and held out his pinky finger.
The green-eyed child blinked, then slowly—carefully—he lifted his own hand.
"Even if our worlds are apart…"
The green-eyed child added quietly, his voice still soft but steadier now.
"Let us be united again."
Their pinky fingers slowly hooked together.
Small.
Fragile.
But firm.
"Let's find each other again."
They said at the same time.
Their voices overlapped softly as their promise was sealed.
The wind stirred gently.
The willow leaves whispered behind them.
The world itself seemed to pause as the last rays of sunlight bathed them in warm gold, as if the setting sun had become witness to their promise.
And then—
They both giggled.
Soft.
Quiet.
But genuine.
"I promise… I will return."
The green-eyed child said, his voice no longer trembling as much. His tears had slowed, though his eyes were still red.
The black-eyed child smiled brightly.
"Promise?"
He asked lightly, though his voice carried a faint tremble he tried to hide. His eyes stung slightly, but he blinked the feeling away.
"Promise."
The green-eyed child answered softly.
He held the pendant tightly against his chest.
"I promise… Lin…"
The name lingered softly between them.
The black-eyed child—Lin—felt his chest tighten.
But he smiled anyway.
Because this wasn't goodbye.
It wasn't supposed to be.
Yet somehow… as the sun finally disappeared, and the shadows slowly stretched across the ground…
It felt like one.
And under the whispering willow tree, two children sat side by side—
Holding onto a promise…
Afraid…
That it might be the last one they would ever make.
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Maeglin gasped as he was now awake as he was now panting as he subconsciously put his hand on his chest. As he could feel his cheeks being wet as he now sat up on his bed.
"It's that dream… again."
Maeglin whispered softly, his hand still pressed against his chest as his restless fëa stirred. He closed his eyes briefly, wiping away the tears that clung stubbornly to his cheeks.
Maeglin had been dreaming that dream, over and over again. And everytime he dreamed about it he will always wake up with restless fea and be in tears. He was frustrated as he push back his hair as his eyes welled up with tears blurring his vision.
" I don't like this.."
Maeglin muttered as he pulled back his knees to his chest. He didn’t like this feeling that was felt unknown. He felt unsettled and vulnerable. He hated it yet everytine he though about that dream his fea ache in longing and sadness.
He didn't know why and it hurts..
Maeglin let out a choked sob as he quietly cry in his room. The second time that he let himself cry after arriving in Gondolin.
Hours had passed as Maeglin was now looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes was puffy from crying but it was now less visible as Maeglin fixed himself one more time for mistakes before he deemed it okay as he then left his quarters.
It had been weeks after his day off as he then acknowledged the greetings of his house members as he proceed to went to the dining table which is food ready.
" Thanks the chef " Maeglin muttered to the servant who was near him as he sit himself at the chair that belong to him as he started to eat the food.
The table was massive that could fit twelve people but yet here it was only Maeglin was the only one sitting as he finish food as he then wipe himself with a handkerchief as the servants then was now cleaning the table as he then went outside the house where the sunlight shine upon him making him block it.
He was still never used being out in the daylight beside staying in Gondolin for decades.
" My Lord, The horse is ready " Belthir spoke who was now beside as he bow toward Maeglin who just hum as both of then went to the stables.
As they then ride towards the castle.
Life in Gondolin followed a rhythm as precise and unchanging as the turning of the stars, and Maeglin moved within it as one might walk a path long memorized.
Each day carried its own duties, its own expectations, and he fulfilled them with quiet efficiency. In the forges, he worked with careful focus, shaping metal beneath steady hands, listening to the familiar ring of hammer against steel.
It was a sound he understood, predictable and constant, and for a time, it allowed his thoughts to settle into something manageable. Here, at least, there was purpose. Here, things could be made whole.
Yet even among the craftsmen, where skill was respected and precision admired, Maeglin remained apart.
Words were exchanged, of course brief conversations about technique, about materials, about the needs of the city but they rarely strayed beyond necessity. There was no easy laughter shared over idle moments, no lingering presence when the work was done.
When the day’s labor ended, the others drifted away in small groups, their voices blending into a quiet hum of companionship, while Maeglin found himself standing alone more often than not. It was not an exclusion, not a deliberate turning away, and perhaps that was what made it more difficult to name.
He was included… and yet never quite within.
Maeglin saw it everywhere, if he allowed himself to notice. In the gardens, where families gathered beneath the shade of flowering trees, their conversations soft and unguarded. Along the walkways, where friends walked side by side, their steps unconsciously matched.
In the halls, where kin spoke with a familiarity that came from years of shared understanding. It was a closeness that seemed effortless, as natural as breathing, and Maeglin could not help but feel its absence when he stood at the edge of it all. He knew these people.
They were his kin, his fellow citizens, his family in all but name and yet there was a distance that no passage of time had ever quite bridged.
Even within the walls of his own home, that quiet separation lingered. His mother’s presence was warm, bright as ever, her affection freely given, yet there were moments when her gaze lingered on him with something unreadable beneath the surface.
His uncle, the King, regarded him with measured care, his words always chosen, his tone steady—but never unguarded. Maeglin did not question it aloud.
He had long since learned that there were things left unsaid in Gondolin, truths that lived in the spaces between words. Still, he could not help but feel that whatever stood between them was something he could not see… or perhaps something he had once known and since forgotten.
And so he carried on, as he always had. He fulfilled his duties, walked the shining streets, and spoke when spoken to. He existed within the city, a part of it in every visible way, yet separated by something invisible and unyielding.
The hollow within him remained, quiet but ever-present, and no matter how many days passed beneath the light of Gondolin, it never seemed to lessen but now as he was approaching the castle, Maeglin could not help but feel something in his fea told him today was gonna be different.
Upon arriving the castle doors. Maeglin then get off his horse as a came to them as they lead away the horses as walk the stairs as he enter the castle with Belthir behind him as his assistant followed
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The throne hall of Gondolin stood in quiet grandeur, its high arches sweeping upward like the ribs of some great, slumbering beast, pale stone catching the light that poured in from the tall windows.
Gold and silver traced the pillars in intricate designs, and the banners of the hidden city hung in still dignity along the walls.
It was a place meant to inspire awe, to remind all who entered of the strength and beauty of Gondolin and yet, as Maeglin stepped within, he felt only the familiar weight settle over him once more.
Today was the day the delegates from Doriath would arrive in Gondolin that left Maeglin confused. He didn’t understand on why his Uncle would allowed it as he value secrecy upon the city much less allowed an outsider delegate from another kingdom that was far away.
Yet still Maeglin could not help but have a bitter feeling. As his father never had a good impression on Doriath. He couldn't understand why as he just shook his head.
The hall was already filling. Lords and captains gathered in small clusters, their voices low but steady as they exchanged words before the assembly began.
The murmur of conversation wove through the space like a distant current, rising and falling in soft waves that echoed faintly against the stone.
He took his place without drawing attention, his presence acknowledged with brief nods and polite greetings. Nothing lingered beyond that. No one called him to join their discussions, nor did he make the effort to step into their circles.
It had always been this way, and he had long since ceased to expect anything different.
Maeglin allowed his gaze to drift across the hall, taking in the gathered assembly. He noted the positions of the captains, the subtle shifts in expression, the quiet undercurrents of tension that often accompanied such meetings.
It was a habit ingrained in him, this careful observation, a way of grounding himself in something tangible. Yet even as he focused on these details, that restless unease remained, threading through his thoughts like a discordant note.
He could not explain it.
There was nothing out of place. Nothing unusual in the gathering, nothing in the posture or demeanor of those present that would warrant concern however the feeling persisted, growing more pronounced with each passing moment. It settled deep within him, not sharp enough to be called fear, but far too insistent to be ignored.
The great doors at the far end of the hall remained closed, standing as a silent promise of what was yet to come.
The murmurs of the assembly shifted subtly, anticipation weaving through the air as the final lords took their places. Maeglin’s gaze lingered there, drawn without reason to the unmoving doors, his attention fixed as though he were waiting for something he could not name.
A strange thought flickered at the edge of his mind—unformed, fleeting, gone before he could grasp it.
Maeglin did not understand why his chest felt so tight.
He did not understand why his fëa seemed to stir, restless and uncertain, as though it sensed something approaching long before his mind could comprehend it.
And still…
He could not look away.
The great doors then slowly opened.
The sound was not loud, not enough to silence the hall entirely, and yet it seemed to echo in Maeglin’s awareness with a strange clarity. Conversations softened, then stilled, as attention turned toward the entrance. Light from beyond the hall spilled inward in a pale wash, outlining the figures that stepped through before revealing them fully as they crossed the threshold.
A delegation from Doriath.
Maeglin registered the fact distantly, his mind supplying the expected conclusion even as his thoughts seemed to falter.
The envoys moved with quiet dignity, their presence composed, their expressions measured as they entered the hall of Gondolin. Their silver hair characteristics as of their kin Sindar yet Maeglin ache at the sight as it reminded him of his father and yet—
His attention fixed.
It was not a conscious decision. One moment, he stood among the gathered lords, observing as he always did.
The next, something within him stilled so completely that the world seemed to narrow to a single point. His breath caught, subtle but undeniable, as his gaze locked onto one among the envoys.
He did not know why.
There was nothing outwardly remarkable at first glance, another elf among many, moving with the same quiet composure expected of one sent as a representative of Doriath and yet, as Maeglin watched, an unfamiliar tension coiled low in his chest, tightening with each step the stranger took into the hall.
He was an odd one among them, bearing such black raven hair that was tied in pony tail with end with a slightly curl but one thing that catches his eyes was the elf green emerald shade of eyes.
A strange sense of recognition stirred within him.
It did not come as memory, nor as anything he could name..only a feeling, sharp and insistent, like standing at the edge of a forgotten dream.
He knew it had once meant something. Knew it had once been important. Yet when he reached for it, there was nothing.
The hall seemed to fall away.
Voices dimmed, movement blurred, and the presence of others faded into distant noise, until there was nothing left but the figure drawing nearer and Maeglin could not have said when the stranger’s gaze lifted, nor when it found him across the distance, but when it did—
Something in him broke.
Not visibly, not in any way that those around him would have noticed, but deep within his fëa, something shifted with a force that left him momentarily unsteady. His breath faltered, his thoughts scattered, and for a fleeting, disorienting instant, he felt as though he were standing on uncertain ground.
Why...?
The question never fully formed.
Because there was no answer.
Only that feeling, overwhelming and undeniable, rising within him as the stranger’s eyes remained fixed on his own.
Familiar.
Wrongly, impossibly familiar.
And Maeglin did not understand why but the moment their gazes met, the world stilled.
Maeglin could not breathe as the stranger’s eyes held his, unwavering, and within that gaze was something far too intense to be called mere recognition.
It was something deeper, something that struck against Maeglin’s fëa with a force he could neither anticipate nor withstand.
And then—
Pain...Longing..Happiness..
It came without warning, sharp and sudden, lancing through him like a fracture splitting open beneath the surface.
The hollow that had long resided within his chest did not simply stir..it surged, expanding, twisting, as though something buried deep within it was clawing its way to the light. His breath hitched, his vision blurring at the edges as a pressure built behind his eyes, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
Maeglin did not understand.
Nothing in his memory offered explanation. There was no name to attach to this feeling, no face he could recall, no moment he could claim as the source of this unbearable familiarity.
Yet his fëa reacted as though it had found something long lost..something it had mourned without knowing.
He did not recognize this elf yet his fëa reacted as though it had found something long mourned.
The stranger took a step forward as Maeglin could not move.
Maeglin's body remained rooted where he stood, caught between instinct and confusion, as that gaze never wavered.
There was something in it something raw, something unguarded that made his chest tighten further, that made the ache deepen into something dangerously close to grief.
The distance between them should have remained and yet the stranger moved.
Not with hesitation, not with the careful restraint expected in such a setting, but with sudden, undeniable urgency. One step became two, then more, closing the space between them with a swiftness that shattered the stillness of the moment.
Maeglin could not react.
His body refused him, locked in place as though the very ground had claimed him. His thoughts, already scattered, failed to catch up with what was happening before him.
All he could do was watch..watch as the stranger drew nearer, watch as that same unrelenting gaze never once left his own.
There was no time to speak.
No time to question.
The embrace came without warning.
Warmth.
Solid, immediate, and inescapable. Arms wrapped around him with a familiarity that did not belong, pulling him close before he could even think to resist.
The contact was firm, almost desperate, as though the stranger feared he might vanish if not held tightly enough as he could hear gasp echoed in the room.
Maeglin stiffened, every instinct caught between alarm and something far more confusing. This was wrong..this breach of decorum, this closeness from someone he did not know. He should have pulled away. He should have demanded an explanation.
And yet—
He did not.
Because beneath the shock, beneath the confusion, something else stirred.
His fëa responded before his mind could.
The hollow within him shifted, not disappearing, not vanishing entirely, but changing like a space long left empty suddenly filled by a presence he had not realized he had been waiting for.
The ache that had followed him for as long as he could remember twisted into something sharper, something heavier, pressing against his chest with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe.
It felt…
.
.
.
Familiar.
The realization came unbidden, unwelcome, and impossible to deny.
There was something in this closeness in the steady warmth of another pressed against him that struck far too deeply to dismiss. It was not recognition he could place, not a memory he could call upon, but his body knew it....His fëa knew it.
And that frightened him more than anything else.
Around them, the hall had gone utterly still.
Maeglin was dimly aware of it..the sudden silence, the weight of countless gazes fixed upon them, the breach of formality that no one had yet dared to interrupt. It should have mattered. He should have cared but in that moment—
All of it felt distant because the stranger did not let go.
For a moment that felt stretched beyond time, neither of them moved.
The embrace remained, unbroken and unwavering, as though the world itself had paused to witness it. Maeglin stood rigid within it, his thoughts scattered, his breath unsteady, his fëa caught in a storm he could not comprehend.
The warmth of the other’s presence lingered too close, too real, pressing against that hollow space within him until it ached in a way that was no longer quiet or distant.
He did not understand.
Nothing in his memory aligned with this closeness, this overwhelming familiarity that had no place in his mind and yet…
His body refused to reject it. His hands, though tense at his sides, did not push the stranger away. His voice, though it should have risen in protest, remained silent.
It was as though some part of him had already chosen.
Slowly, the world began to return. The weight of the hall pressed in once more, the silence no longer distant but immediate, heavy with unspoken shock. Eyes were upon them..he could feel it, even without looking.
The lords of Gondolin, the gathered court, all bearing witness to a moment that had no place within the rigid structure of their world.
And still—
The stranger did not release him.
Instead, there was a shift, subtle yet unmistakable, as the one who held him drew back just enough to close the last distance between them. Maeglin felt the movement more than he saw it, the slight change in breath, the nearness of a voice meant for him alone.
Then, softly—
.
.
“I’m here.”
.
.
The words were quiet, almost fragile, yet they carried a weight that settled deep within him, sinking into the very core of his being. It was not the tone of a stranger, nor the formality of a diplomat addressing a lord. It was something else entirely—something certain, something grounding, something that spoke as though it had always belonged.
Maeglin’s breath caught.
For a fleeting, disorienting moment, something within him stirred in answer. A response rose unbidden to his lips, a word, a name..something just beyond his grasp.
He could feel it there, lingering at the edge of his mind, aching to be remembered.
"I'm finally here… Lin."