The Songs: A Story of East Beleriand by Himring

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Chapter 1: Targlin

This story features some of my recurring original characters among Maedhros's people:

- Huntress, a Sinda of Mithrim, who chose to follow the Feanorians east,

- Celvandil, a Noldo of Valinor who followed Maedhros to become his stablemaster at Himring,

- Naurthoniel (Narye), Maedhros's housekeeper, even during those times when he didn't technically own a house,

- Bronadui, his physician,

- Tercano, later his herald.

For further notes on names, see end notes.

 

Warnings for implied/referenced torture, canon-typical violence, character death.

 

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They saw him coming from a long way off. He was walking in a straight line across the plain, making no attempt to conceal where he had come from. They watched him coming, from the half-built walls of their fortress, identifying him by his stature and his walk as one of their own, and when he came closer, they recognized who he was. By the time he had almost reached the foot of the hill, they still did not know what to do.

Ordinarily, Huntress might have been expected to spot him first. But she had been down by the stream to water the horses, on the southern slope of the hill, and so she missed the moment when he first appeared on the horizon altogether. When she came back up, she noticed the others were being strangely quiet, but could not immediately work out what the reason might be.

It was only when she went up to Celvandil to report that she followed his gaze and said, in surprise: 'There's someone coming!'

They had not seen anybody besides each other for a span of a month, not since Maglor's latest messenger had left again.

Celvandil looked at her briefly, as she spoke, then directed his gaze back at the approaching stranger. He did not immediately reply. Celvandil was not, usually, very chatty, but neither impolite nor this taciturn.

With a deepening sense of something wrong, Huntress observed: 'He's coming from the direction of Angband.'

Then, as still nobody replied and her words echoed in the silence, she felt embarrassed at stating the obvious. She must be missing something—something that the rest of them, the Noldor, knew.

Finally, Naurthoniel—Narye—said in a strained voice: 'It is Targlin.'

 

***

 

'It is Targlin,' Naurthoniel had said.

And, although some looked around, at that, none even nodded in assent, so clear was it, by the expression of their faces, that they all had recognized him, knew who this Targlin was, all of them except for Huntress. A Noldo, then, and perhaps even a follower of Feanor. But still the real significance of the name seemed to elude her.

Maedhros spoke. 'Narye, am I right in thinking that during the time of my captivity, and also during the early days of my recovery, there was no news of Tarcalino, none at all? My brothers told me so. At least that is how I remember it.'

'No news,' Ceredir affirmed, in his cousin's stead. 'None at all.'

Maedhros glanced at Huntress. 'Targlin disappeared during the battle in which my father was slain,' he explained, switching to Sindarin to speak to her. 'He was last seen straining to catch up with my father who had outpaced him. None could tell what became of him after that.'

But that, thought Huntress, meant... Surely, it meant...! And the Noldor must be aware of that, surely they must aware of that. But it was hard to utter that unpalatable truth, when the others were so resolutely silent, and especially directly under Maedhros's eyes—because Maedhros, after all, was the exception to that rule and they all needed him to be the exception.

Huntress opened her mouth and shut it again.

'Will you go to meet him?' she asked, at length, and was not sure whether she had managed to convey a warning by the inflection of her voice, as she had intended.

Maedhros looked back down at Targlin, seeming to take in those strong legs, that unfaltering, confident stride, perhaps.

'Not all the way out into the plain, I think,' he said slowly. 'But he must be met.'

'Shall I go?' asked Tercano, who was the youngest there and quick to volunteer, eager to make his mark.

'You can come—but only if you stay well back,' said Maedhros. 'And that's an order, do you hear?'

So he was planning on going himself. He issued a number of other orders—who was to come, who was to stay on guard here by the walls and who was to stay out of sight.

He is being cautious, thought Huntress, but is he being cautious enough? And is it the right thing that he is guarding against? I suppose it could be another ambush, but here, in plain daylight, that is less likely than...

Then Maedhros turned to her. She thought he was about to give her an order, too, but he must have changed his mind for he said nothing. Perhaps he did not trust her enough, as a Sinda, to do as he ordered, in these circumstances. But she took it that she was free to do as she wished as long as she did not get in the way and went to fetch her bow. Discreetly, she waited and trailed a little way after Maedhros and the others when they set out. She must have been seen, but nobody questioned her acts.

Maedhros and his party went some way down the hill. In a spot that commanded a good view of the downward path as well as their surroundings they halted. Further up the path, less than a bow-shot away, Huntress stopped, too, and crouched behind a bush. It was not good cover, but it would serve for her purpose.

The stranger—Targlin—came up the path, almost as if he was taking a leisurely stroll. He carried no visible weapon.

Maedhros raised his hand.

'Hail, Tarcalino! You were long missed.'

'Nelyafinwe,' said the stranger. 'Well met.'

His voice was clear and strong, like the rest of him. And yet there was something wrong about it, surely, thought Huntress. But, of course, she had never heard him speak before.

'How have you fared, since we parted? Will you tell us?'

'Later, perhaps. I am weary from the journey and am in need of rest.'

He did not sound as weary as all that, he did not sound even as tired as he could plausibly have been, crossing the plain and climbing half way up a hill. Was he even trying to convince them?

'You have come a long way to find us,' said Maedhros.

'So I have. Will you invite me inside your walls?'

There was a moment of silence, as if Maedhros hesitated. None of the others spoke.

'Enter and welcome, Tarcalino,' said Maedhros then. 'Come in and rest!'

No, thought Huntress, that is a mistake.

But Targlin joined Maedhros's party and they went past her and back up the hill together. Only, perhaps the Noldor were not fooled after all, because despite Maedhros's words of welcome nobody seemed to rejoice, nobody was smiling, except for Targlin, and Targlin was smiling too much, too widely. Tercano, she saw, was still staying well back, as he had been ordered. She went after them.

When she caught up, they had entered inside the walls and, again, everyone was quietly watching as Maedhros asked Targlin: 'Would you like to eat before you rest?', and, as if were an afterthought, but with a kind of pained hopefulness, it seemed: 'We have a healer, Tarcalino. Do you wish to see him?'

Bronadui moved forward, ready to brave the challenge, but Targlin shook his head and said: 'Why would I need a healer?' And now it seemed that although he was still smiling, it was in outright scorn, ridiculing their efforts. With a touch of impatience, he added: 'And I am not hungry either. I merely wish to rest.'

They took him to the temporary shelter where their bedrolls lay spread out, and still Huntress followed, as Maedhros led Targlin towards his own pallet.

'Can I do anything else for you, Tarcalino?' Maedhros asked.

'No,' said Targlin shortly.

'Rest well, then,' said Maedhros and turned away.

But just as soon as Maedhros turned his back on him, Targlin's demeanour changed, all in the blink of an eye, and a knife that had been hidden appeared suddenly in his hand.

Huntress had not, in truth, expected it to happen quite so quickly. There was no time for the bow, but it was close quarters and she had a clear shot. Huntress threw her dagger. It flew accurately and found Targlin between the shoulder blades. Just as if she had been practising that particular throw, she thought dazedly, staring at the dagger handle, her own dagger embedded in the back of another elf. Which she had not, had never thought of doing.

 

***

 

Maedhros whipped around to meet the expected attack. He made a grab for Targlin's knife hand, almost before he caught sight of the knife, and, at the same time, saw Targlin's eyes widen, both with fury and relief, perhaps, and sensed the impact as Huntress's dagger struck. Maedhros caught Targlin's right hand by the wrist, hard, and wrapped his handless right arm around Targlin's other side, wedging him in, trying as best he could to immobilize him and stop him from producing another hidden weapon and either turning it on Maedhros or anyone else.

He wondered whether Targlin might try to bite through his jugular instead or whether that was an orcish tactic he had not learned in Angband. He tried to see where exactly Huntress's dagger had hit Targlin. He wondered whether there was anything he could still say to Targlin at this point, anything that would help.

Tarcalino, who in Valinor had been one of Feanaro's most skilled apprentices, perhaps the best of all, before Maedhros's brother Curufinwe grew up to rival him. Who had watched Maedhros's own efforts in the forge with pity and a certain indulgence, as they not only failed to match his, but turned out well below the expected standards. Who, even when he set up independently, still had seemed to take more pride in having studied under Feanaro than in anything he had achieved on his own. It had come as no surprise at all to anyone that Tarcalino had followed Feanaro unhesitatingly first to Formenos and later to Middle-earth...

Aiya, Tarcalino, what have we done to you, I and my family?

Unmarked. As far as he had been able to see Targlin was entirely unmarked, physically, by whatever had been done to him in Angband. Maedhros was, suddenly, selfishly grateful for every single scar he bore, for all the physical damage he had sustained in the dungeons of Angband and upon Thangorodrim, because it had not been this, because it had not been whatever had happened to Targlin.

Ceredir had not stepped in and neither had any of the others. Huntress's dagger had dealt Targlin a fatal wound, Maedhros thought, and they must be able to see that, too.

He held Targlin tightly, still as much to prevent any final attack as in a vain attempt at comfort.

'I know,' he said inanely. 'I know...' For what did he know? What could he know?

Targlin shuddered.

'Aiya, Nelyafinwe,' he said and his voice was hoarse and terrible and, at last, entirely his own.

Then he vomited a little blood onto Maedhros's shoulder and died.

 

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Chapter End Notes

"Targlin" is an alternative name for Maeglin that ended up not being used in canon.

I chose it for this OC because he, too, has been tortured into submission and betrayal in Angband without the torture leaving any visible trace on his body. (At any rate that is what happened to Maeglin in Himring 'verse: he withstood physical torture for a while and broke down when they continued it by non-physical means.)
"Tarcalino" is my guess at a possible Quenya equivalent of Targlin, that is, the name form by which he might have been known in Valinor. If the rendering is incorrect and you can do better, please break it to me gently.

Further help with (canonical) Quenya names: Nelyafinwe (Maedhros), Feanaro (Feanor), Curufinwe (Curufin).

This chapter was posted in two separate parts on AO3.