Cursed Love

It was the autumn equinox now, and the watcher sat in the shadows by the wall, right by the golden roses, which were showing their last flush of beauty for the year, his arms wrapped around his knees, looking across the garden to the tower. He was incredibly unhappy, and wished himself dead, or better yet, never born. That would have better for his mother too, for she would never have spent the unhappy years in Nan Elmoth, but left as soon as she could.

He watched the couple walking on the far side of the garden, both tall and golden haired and it took the sort of close observation only possible from elven eyes at this distance to discern one of the two was of the race of mortal men. How he hated them the sickly short-lived mortals, first the two brothers who had stayed a short while some years ago and now the son of one of them had come as Ulmo's messenger and won the King's favour.

Just how high that favour was the watcher didn't know yet, but he suspected that Turgon now held that horrible mortal in higher regard than himself, Turgon's own sister-son. He ground his teeth in anger that he'd done everything and more than he should have to been named the King's heir, but Turgon still held out, giving Maeglin some small responsibilities but refraining from giving him that which the heir should have.

And then there was Idril. Beautiful golden Idril, Turgon's lovely daughter. From the first time he'd seen her, as a young man not quite reached his majority he'd loved her and desired her passionately. How could he have known that the Noldor wedded not with kin so near? A foolish law, like so many they had. Such as counting those who had not seen the light of the Two Trees or who had Sindarin blood as inferior beings, Moriquendi he was derisively called by many, Idril included, although her good manners meant she had never used that term to Maeglin's face.

Why was she so cruel? Fair Idril whose lovely face grew hard when she saw him, her kinsman. He'd never done anything to her? Except fall in love with her, and how could he help that? There was no cause for Idril to be so cold to him, he understood that she'd never love as he wished but why couldn't she at least care for him as her cousin? A few kind words were all he really wanted. Then he might've coped with her interest in that disgusting hairy mortal better. Tuor had tried to be friendly, but Maeglin couldn't stand being in the same room as him.

So, he'd stormed outside to sit in the rose garden and think of his mother, the only woman who'd ever loved him. How he missed her, the brave and beautiful lady who'd died to save his life. He had to wonder if his life would have been different had Aredhel not died. He liked to think so.

The couple walked closer to where the watcher sat, hidden. He could hear them clearly now, and was horrified by what he heard.

The couple had halted, and the man, that mortal, how dare he touch Idril!, had taken her hands in his. And he was gazing deeply into her eyes as he spoke, 'so, dearest Idril, would you do me the honour of being my wife?' said Tuor rather nervously.

'Nothing would make me happier,' Idril whispered in reply, and kissed Tuor passionately.

The watcher had fallen on his side, his knees drawn to his chest in shock. He would get revenge on Tuor and Turgon one day he swore even as the tears flowed without stopping and his frozen mind called for his mother.