Maeglin's Choice by chrissystriped

Chapter One

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Rog sat at his workbench drawing a diagram, the window wide open to let the starlight and the cool night air in. He liked to work at this time, ‘in the dark’ like the Noldor with their eyes used to brighter light would say. But he had been born under the stars and dragged off to the deeper darkness of Angband. Isil, he could get used to, he’d come to appreciate him, but Anar still hurt his eyes if it was a cloudless day.

Rog turned to the door when someone knocked against the frame, it stood open. He was surprised that someone should bother him at this late hour.

“Maeglin”, he said surprised. “What can I do for you?”

Maeglin’s gaze shot nervously through the room. He didn’t carry a lamp, Rog knew he was as attuned to twilight as him. At first he’d tried to befriend the boy, he knew how it was to be stared at and hear the gossip about oneself, but Maeglin seemed to value his solitude and finally Rog had given up on sending him invitations.

“You said I can visit you any time. I brought wine.” Maeglin uncertainly waved a bottle.

Rog's surprise only grew. What had brought this on? But he shrugged his shoulders and pointed at a stool.

“Take a seat.”

He dug out two clean cups and offered them to Maeglin to fill. It didn’t escape him how his hand trembled when he poured the wine. Something was wrong.

“Rog, I... I need help.” His eyes were full of pain. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Rog was reminded of how young Maeglin still was. Something was frightening him badly. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Whatever it is, we’ll find a solution”, he said gently and opened his mind just a little to the probing he felt. It made him uncomfortable, his mind had been raked habitually by any Maia he crossed ways with until he’d learned to close himself off, and even then... Rog shuddered and shook the memories off, concentrating on sending Maeglin acceptance and goodwill. “There’s always a solution.”

Maeglin took a deep breath.

“The enemy knows the location of Gondolin, its layout, our number of troops. I... I told him. Everything!”, he blurted out.

Rog stared at him in terror. The cold darkness of Angband enveloped him. He felt the gnawing hunger, the burning welts on his back, hard hands that pushed him down, tearing pain, blood on his thighs. No, never again! He’d die in battle and sell his life dearly, force them to kill him – and if that didn’t work, he’d take his own life – before letting himself be turned slave again. His lungs demanded air and Rog realised he’d stopped breathing. He took a deep breath and gulped down half his cup.

“How?”, he croaked. “Why? What happened?”

 

Maeglin sat hunched on his stool, the glimpse of Rog’s terror before he’d shut him out an icy touch on his mind. He was so tense, his muscles ached. It had cost him weeks – weeks of sleepless nights and nightmares – panicking every time he contemplated it to muster the courage to confide in him. He didn’t dare to go to Turgon or one of the other lords, but Rog... Rog had been a slave in Angband, he might understand – if he listened long enough.

He waited for Rog to call him traitor, throw him out of his house, beat him, but he only said: “How? Why? What happened?”

Maeglin sobbed, scared of the memories and relieved that Rog was asking at the same time.

“When I was searching for good places for new mines the last time... I left the ring, deliberately and not for the first time, but this time... I ran into orcs. They took me captive and brought me to... him. Have you ever met him?”, he croaked.

Rog emptied his cup and poured himself another one.

“Yes”, he whispered. “But only from afar.”

“He ordered Gorthaur to torture me”, Maeglin said with breaking voice, his throat tight with tears. “And watched the whole time. His eyes on me... always on me... I... I didn’t want to betray Gondolin, but...”

Rog embraced him and Maeglin cried trembling at his shoulder.

“I know”, Rog said. “I don’t blame you for talking under torture. Everyone breaks eventually. This is what you fear, isn’t it? That they won’t understand, that they’ll call you traitor.”

Maeglin nodded although it wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t care for Gondolin. He didn’t care for all the elves living here. What had they ever done for him? They despised him for his father’s blood in his veins. But Idril loved this place and these people and he’d save Gondolin for her. It was her opinion of him that mattered.

He didn’t tell Rog that Morgoth had offered her to him in return for Gondolin’s betrayal, again and again before torture sessions (‘Think about it, Maeglin. No more pain, instead I’ll give you everything you ever wanted. You’ll rule Gondolin with Idril at your side.') – or that he’d been tempted. He hadn’t talked because of that in the end, anyway, he simply hadn’t been able to take the pain any longer. He ached for Idril, but he knew she wouldn’t be happy, if Morgoth had his way and he wanted her happy. Her people had to survive this.

“We have to tell Turgon”, Rog said still stroking his back, after Maeglin’s sobs had subsided.

Maeglin’s heart started to race again. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in his uncle’s eyes -  the disappointment about him failing to be like his mother. He hadn’t escaped, he’d been set free.

“I know”, he sobbed.

Rog gently wiped the tears from his cheeks and Maeglin leaned into the touch, instinctively reaching out with his mind again. He’d never been able to penetrate the adamant walls around Rog’s mind, but now he opened them for him for the second time this night. Rog didn’t judge him, he believed him, he didn’t despise him for his deed. He knew in a way no one in this city - outside of his House - could. He didn’t even resent that Maeglin had been as distant with him as with anyone else.

“I’ll come with you, Maeglin. It was very brave of you to tell me this. I know how hard it must have been. Turgon is going to undertand – I’ll make him understand, if I have to – that this was not your fault. He listened to me, one of the few Noldor that tried to understand me and mine.”

“Noldor are good in despising those who are different”, Maeglin said bitterly.

Gondolin had been a dream his mother had painted for him with her stories, but for him it had turned into a nightmare. His parents dead, his uncle always comparing him to Aredhel, a cousin who’d first pitied him to only turn away in disgust when he’d confessed his feelings and a population who saw the differences between him and them as evidence that he was somehow wrong.

“How can you bear it?”, he whispered. “The looks, the whispers.”

“Oh, my boy.” Rog shook his head. “They aren’t all like this. Given time, you’ll find those who are ready to accept you as you are – but you have to allow it, too.”

“I’m sorry”, Maeglin sobbed, hearing the slight rebuke clearly. “I know you tried to reach out to me, help me feel at home, but...”

Rog was an Avar and he’d reminded him too much of his father at the time to feel comfortable in his presence. The things they had in common had made it impossible for him to become friends with him. He gulped. Maybe it wasn’t too late... if his uncle let him live.

“You’ll come with me to talk to the king?” He was so afraid of talking to Turgon. What if he judged that his father’s fate should be his? Eol’s curse.

Rog nodded gravely. “We should go immediately, though I’d rather get drunk right now. Better to have more time to prepare. Do you have any idea, when Morgoth will attack?”

“The Gates of Summer”, Maeglin whispered. “When everyone’s mind will be elsewhere.”

 

“Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”, Turgon asked, blinking sleepily at them.

“No”, Rog answered decisively. “And once you’ve heard what Maeglin has to tell you, you’ll see that, too.”

Rog laid his hand calmingly on Maeglin’s back. The boy was trembling. He’d take care of him, regardless of the way Turgon would react to the news. No free elf could ever really understand that enough pain broke everyone. Turgon became very pale while Maeglin told what had happened with tears running down his face. Rog shuddered, the story wasn’t any less gruesome for hearing it the second time, although Maeglin didn’t go into detail – he didn’t have to, Rog had seen enough in his time to imagine it vividly.

“M-Morgoth’s army will attack before sunrise on the day of Tarnin Austa”, Maeglin whispered.

Turgon’s eyes widened, they had four weeks. Time to prepare but maybe not enough.

“Rog, summon the other lords immediately. I don’t care if you wake them. We have to start planning.”

“You are still set on fighting for the city? Even now...”

Turgon made an impatient motion with his hand. “Let’s talk about this when the others are here, yes?”

Rog gave Maeglin a silent look. Could he leave him with Turgon? Maeglin nodded almost imperceptibly. Rog bowed to his king and left.

 

Maeglin looked at the floor after Rog had left. He couldn’t meet his uncle’s eyes, didn’t want to see the distaste in them. He expected Turgon to call for the guards and let him be marched off, now that Rog was gone, and tensed when his uncle embraced him.

“I’m so sorry, my boy”, he said softly.

“Not your fault”, Maeglin sniffled. “I broke the law. I shouldn’t have left the city.”

Turgon shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I did to make you afraid of my judgement and that it was easier for you to talk to Rog than to me, but I’m sorry for it.”

Maeglin clung to him as he would have liked to do all these years ago after his mother’s death, right now he couldn’t even feel resentful because Turgon hadn’t been there for him then. He was now and no word of anger came over his lips while he held him.

“We have to leave”, Maeglin finally said with trembling voice. “Ulmo himself sent you a warning.”

Turgon lifted his eyebrows. “You talked differently when Tuor brought me his words.”

Maeglin ducked his head. He’d known that Turgon didn’t like Ulmo’s words, spoken by the human and he had wanted to remain in good graces with his uncle.

“I didn’t know then... uncle, you always say that our strength is secrecy. We can’t win against Morgoth’s army, now that he knows where we are!”

Turgon’s eyes were sad and Maeglin could see the reproaches he didn’t voice. He detached himself from his embrace.

“I’m sorry”, he said huskily. “I doomed Gondolin.”

He was spared Turgon’s answer by Ecthelion and Glorfindel arriving – together as usual.

“What’s going on?”, Ecthelion asked. “Rog was very secretive about the reason for this nightly meeting.”

“We’ll wait for the others”, Turgon said.

Maeglin moved into the shadow of a pillar, away from the eyes of the other lords. Turgon had reacted less angry than he’d expected, might even forgive him, but he was sure that his lords would meet his betrayal with less benevolence. They’d never accepted him as one of them. They’d demand Turgon to punish him, even if Turgon wasn’t intending to do so anyway. He relaxed a little when Rog came back, one of the last, and moved to his side.

“No one will hurt you”, he said softly. “Your uncle does not allow the law to be taken from his hands and I’m at your side... wanuro.”

Maeglin threw him a startled look.

Rog smiled wryly. “I hope you don’t think me presumptuous. I think, you don’t like to remember your father, but we were of the same clan, Hwenti, who went west long after the Vanyar and Noldor had left, that makes us family in my eyes. And you know Angband, we share that. Kin twice over.”

Maeglin blinked quickly to keep back tears of emotion. Rog was reaching out to him in a way he’d not known he craved.

“Thank you”, he whispered. “Thank you... wanuro.”

Rog patted his arm. “Everything will turn out well, you’ll see. You are not alone.”

Maeglin could almost believe it.

---

Chapter End Notes

'Hwenti' is one of the endonyms Tolkien gives in 'Quendi and Eldar' (HoME 11) for different tribes of Avari. I made Rog and Eol both Avari from the same tribe, who eventually wandered further west but with no intention of going to Aman.

'wanuro' is an older form of 'gwanur' = kinsman; here it's meant to be in Rog's native language which Maeglin also learned from Eol.

Chapter Two

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„Traitor!”, Ecthelion hissed and Rog stared angrily at him when Maeglin hunched his shoulders.

‘I’d like to see how you’d act if you were treated like he was’, he thought.

“He isn’t”, Turgon said. “He was forced under torture to disclose information and he told us the truth.” In the last years, Rog had sometimes doubted his decision to follow Turgon, but right now he was reminding him why he'd done it in the first place. Turgon didn’t judge prematurely. “Maeglin is my nephew and a Lord of Gondolin and we have to stand together now.”

Ecthelion gave Maeglin a look that could have killed, but he didn’t contradict the king.

“We should have left when Tuor brought Ulmo’s message”, Idril said. “He knew this would happen!”

“But where should we go?”, Glorfindel asked. “Hithlum is in the enemy’s hands, Nargothrond is destroyed. Círdan and Gil-galad are holding the Isle of Balar, but I doubt they’ll be able to supply themselves and us, now that there’s no support from the main land anymore, even if we take stores and livestock with us. And the way is long and dangerous. We are going to be slow, vulnerable. Fifteen years ago it might have been possible, but now...”

“And I say, now it is safer then when Tuor came”, Rog said. “Nargothrond had just fallen then, a dragon was between us and the sea and orc units were everywhere. Morgoth doesn’t know that we are aware of his plans, that’s an advantage. He is going to concentrate on his war preparations. We can move south. Yes, we are going to be slow. We are going to have civilians and children with us. We should take as much stores and livestock as possible. And we’ll have to be wary, but we can take the road to Nargothrond before we come to the wilderness in the south. The dragon is dead, Nargothrond deserted. And even if we encounter orcs, I’m sure we’d outnumber them. Morgoth is not going to send large armies into the wild, when he’s planning an attack on us. We’ll only encounter scouts and scavengers. We’ll be able to deal with that.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about what Morgoth is going to do”, Galdor growled.

Rog sneered at him, the Sinda had never stopped being suspicious of him.

“Peace”, Duilin said and shook his head, “but, Rog, you said it yourself. We wouldn’t be an army on the march. We’d have civilians with us. Can you imagine the chaos if we are attacked and they panic? Do you remember how long it took to get everyone here from Vinyamar. And that was in times of peace.”

“And in secret.”

“We should try for secrecy now, too.”

“Ulmo wanted us to abandon the city”, Tuor said with his deep voice that stood out from that of the elves although he spoke accent free Sindarin. “That’s why he sent me as his messenger. I don’t know if it is already too late or if it is still possible. But I think we should go, although he didn’t tell me, where we should go.”

“Yes, he did”, Idril countered. “‘Remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West, and cometh from the Sea.’ We should move in the direction of the sea. We should join up with Círdan and Gil-galad.”

“And wait for the Valar to have mercy?” Ecthelion huffed. “They abandoned us. They don’t care what Morgoth is doing here in the east as long as he stays away from Aman!”

“Ulmo wouldn’t have talked like that, if he didn’t think there was hope!”, Idril snapped back. “And he at least never abandoned us. It won’t be an easy road, but I’m ready to go it. How many will die if we stay and fight? Even if we win. It’s going to be a fight for the city. I might not know much about warfare but I don’t see how it could be avoided to involve civilians.”

“But we have a chance to win, to protect Gondolin, now that we know that he’s coming”, Ecthelion said. “We can strengthen the walls, build up our stocks. The city has a lot of fountains. We can withstand a siege.”

“Not forever. And there’s no one who could relieve us”, Rog answered. “All of you, who fought in the Nirnaeth have seen his might...”

“If Maedhros had come as promised, we’d have won”, Glorfindel cut in.

“But we lost", Rog looked sternly at him, "and at that time all the power of the Noldor had come together! We are just one city. We have ten thousand soldiers, maybe we can raise thrice as much if we start immediately to train everyone who is capable of holding a weapon. But do you really want to send new recruits into a battle against Morgoth’s army? And even if a miracle should happen and we win the first time – he’d just come back stronger in a few years!”

Rog fell silent when Turgon stood up.

“I have to think about what you all said. Salgant, I want a list of our stores and livestock. Penlod, analyse last year’s census and tell me how many soldiers we could possibly recruit. I want both your results by tomorrow evening. Go home now, I’ll call you, once I’ve made my decision.”

 

Rog could see that Maeglin had hoped Turgon would make an immediate decision. Every day they waited was one too many. Dawn was already rising when Turgon disbanded he meeting and Rog stepped beside Maeglin.

“Come with me”, he said softly. He didn’t want the boy to be alone with his thoughts.

Maeglin didn’t argue and followed him silently to his home. The lights were already on in the kitchen and Rog persuaded the cook to make them an early breakfast that he carried up to his office.

“Just take some of the papers off a chair”, he told Maeglin and pushed a stack of pages aside to be able to put the plates with scrambled eggs and toast on his desk.

Maeglin carefully lifted a folder with sketches off a chair and sat down, holding the folder awkwardly in his hands.

“You can lay that on the floor.”

“I don’t want to confuse anything”, Maeglin said and Rog laughed.

“Does it look like order here?”

That coaxed a wry smile out of him.

“Who knows?”

“No.” Rog shook his head and dug into his breakfast. “I need order at the forge, everything has to be in its place so I can reach blindly for it, but planning... looks like this.”

“What do you think, he’ll do?” Maeglin poked at his eggs.

“Turgon?” Rog shrugged. “No idea. He loves his city and if it weren’t Morgoth, I’d agree with Ecthelion. We can hold out a while and harrass the attackers until they give up. But Morgoth won’t give up. He doesn’t care how many soldiers are going to die in this. He has enough.”

He saw Maeglin tremble and berated himself for his thoughtlessness.

“He won’t get you”, he said firmly. “I promise. I won’t let it happen.”

“I’m afraid he’ll find out that I talked”, Maeglin whispered. “He... he’s going to... he threatened to blind me, if I betray him!”

“He won’t get you”, Rog repeated. “I escaped and I won’t go back – and neither will you.”

Maeglin looked at him with dark, fearful eyes. “What are you going to do?”

Rog slowly shrugged. In a fight? Force his opponent to kill him.

“If Turgon decides to stay... I swore him fealty in return for him doing his best to protect me and mine. But if he decides to stay, it’s not his best, I think.” These thoughts just started to take form in his mind. “The Noldor undoubtedly would see that differently, but I’m Avar and if we think our leader is wrong, we go our own way.” He shook his head. “Let’s see what Turgon decides before thinking about our reaction.”

Maeglin looked tired and Rog took the still half-full plate from his hand.

“You should lie down. How long since you slept last? I’ll take you home.”

“No!” Maeglin clung to his arm. “Please, don’t leave me alone! I can’t sleep! Every time I close my eyes, I’m there again.”

“Then sleep here." Rog gently laid his hand on his head. "I can give you something that keeps the memories away.”

Maeglin leaned into his hand and Rog could see how much he yearned for this gentleness. He bowed forward and kissed his forehead.

“Come, little one, I’ll tuck you in.”

He didn’t have children and he’d never have them, never felt like he wanted any. Aredhel had married his kinsman and although the possibility had never been there, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how it would have been, if Maeglin had been his son.

“Is it going to make me dream?”, Maeglin asked warily and Rog shook his head.

“It isn’t hallucinogenic, but it’s going to help you relax and feel safe. For me it feels like my mind is wrapped in a warm blanket, far from any danger.”

“That sounds nice.”

Maeglin stood up and let Rog lead him to a guest room.

“Get comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute. If you need something, use the bell. You don’t have to feel ashamed. My whole household is made up of people who endured Angband. They know what you went through – what you are going through now.”

Maeglin let go of him hesitantly and Rog hurried to his own bed room to fetch the bottle with the dark syrupy liquid. He rarely used it, his states of anxiety had become rare – but it calmed him to have it nearby.

Maeglin already lay in bed, trembling with tenseness, when he came back. His face was blank and Rog realised he was hiding his anxiety that way. He wondered now how often people thought him unapproachable, because he felt insecure and fearful and hiding it behind an intense stare and tight lips. Rog let the syrup run on a spoon and offered it to Maeglin.

“You don’t have to, but I think a few hours’ sleep will do you some good.”

Maeglin nodded. “I want it. I haven’t slept well for weeks.”

He grimaced when he swallowed. The herbs were sweetened with honey, but they still tasted acrid.

“Do you want me to leave or stay until you sleep?”, Rog asked.

“Stay, if... if you have nothing better to do.”

“There is nothing ‘better’ than helping someone who is in pain.”

“Rog?” Maeglin blushed.

“Hm?”

“Would you stroke my hair.”

“Of course.”

Rog sat down beside him and gently caressed his head. He wondered how long Maeglin hadn’t had anyone who would give him something like that. Since his mother had died? He must have been so lonely.

“Thank you”, Maeglin’s eyes were already sleepy. “I... I don’t know what I expected when I came to you this night, but it wasn’t this and I’m glad.”

Rog smiled at him. “I’m glad that you don’t regret it. There’s always a light in the dark, Maeglin, sometimes it’s just hard to see.”

“Lómion”, Maeglin mumbled. “Please, call me Lómion.”

Rog kissed his forehead.

“Sleep well, Lómion.”

He remained at his side until he was sure that he was sleeping deeply, then he stood up silently and went for his own bed. He hoped, Turgon would make the right decision. He didn’t want to be forced to make a hard choice.

Chapter Three

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Maeglin felt as well rested as he hadn’t in weeks when he woke. He’d slept dreamlessly and waking was peaceful, too – he felt safe. Rog was gone, but he hadn’t expected him to sit at his bed the whole day and watch him sleep. Maeglin pulled the curtains back and saw that the sun was already lowering in the west. He’d slept the whole day. Not that that was unusual for him. It had been normal in his childhood, at least when Eol was home, and he still liked to work in the night.

Maeglin dressed and hesitantly reached for the bell. He wanted to speak to Rog before he went home, wanted to explain that he wasn’t always so whiny and needy. Rog had given him what he needed and he hadn’t seemed to mind very much, but he didn’t want to alienate him. He knew where Rog’s office was, but maybe he wouldn’t be there and he was a guest here, he didn’t want to presume to wander around the house alone.

But his stomach was roiling nervously when he thought about meeting a stranger, even if it was a servant. Maeglin gulped and wiped his hands on his trousers. Rog had said yesterday that everyone in his house would be able to understand what he had endured in Angband, but that wasn’t his only concern. He’d always been too different. Yes, they’d treated him with respect, he was the nephew of the king, after all, and he’d earned the respect of the soldiers under his command in the Nirnaeth, but he was still only half-Noldo and that wasn’t enough.

Maeglin would have liked nothing better than to hide in bed again and wait for Rog to come to him, but what an impression would that make on Rog? Before he could worry about it any more he rang the bell. Now there was no going back. He paced around the room restlessly and flinched when there was a knock on the door and an elf came in.

“What can I do for you, my Lord?”, she asked.

Maeglin nervously laced his fingers together. “I wondered if Rog would have time for me? Could you take me to him?”

“Of course.” She smiled at him and he saw that she was wearing artificial incisors. “He asked to be told when you wake. Please, come with me.”

Maeglin followed her, not sure if he should be relieved that she didn’t seem to wonder about him having slept here. What might she be thinking? Did she already know what he had done? Rog sat at his desk and wrote something. He had stacked the folders and loose sheets to both sides of him so he had place to write. It was a mystery to Maeglin how he could work like that.

“Did you sleep well... Maeglin?”

Maeglin heard the hesitation before his name and remembered with a shock that he’d asked Rog to call him by his amilesse. He felt hot and he was sure that his face had become red. He barely noticed Rog dismissing his servant with a thank you.

“Very... very well”, he stuttered.

“You asked me to call you Lómion yesterday”, Rog said seriously. “And if you still want that, I’ll do so gladly. But I understand that it is a very personal name for you and if you think differently about it now – you were drugged – I won’t be insulted.”

Maeglin bit his lower lip nervously. He wanted it, he just didn’t know if it was proper to ask it of Rog. Rog had called him wanuro and he felt like family, although Maeglin knew he had no right to think like that when he’d kept away from Rog all this time – only turning to him when he’d needed his help. He nodded quickly.

“If you don’t mind?”, he whispered.

“Why should I?” Rog smiled at him.

“it’s just... would you mind to still call me Maeglin, if someone else can hear. It would seem... wrong in public.”

“Whatever you need.” Rog just nodded, as if he didn’t think anything strange about it, but that made Maeglin only more nervous.

“Rog... I just wanted to say, I’m not always so... so needy. It was a hard day and...” He fell silent because he didn’t know how to continue. “I’d better go now.”

Rog laid his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think that you are needy. Maeglin, you were hurt and tried to hide that for I don’t know how long. I know it is often not easy to ask for help, especially with something like this, because it means to show someone your inmost being. But it is nothing wrong with needing help and you don’t jar on my nerves, or whatever you think. I’m here for you, whatever you need from me.”

“Can I do something for you?”, Maeglin asked embarrassed.

“In return? No. But I’d be happy, if we could spend more time together – if you want that, too.”

Maeglin nodded vehemently. “Yes, I’d like that!” Although he felt awkward in opening up to Rog, he felt like a friend already – family, as he’d said – and he wouldn’t give that up.

“Good. You have a standing invitation, come whenever you like. Here or in the forge. You can stay now, if you want?”

Maeglin shook his head. “Thank you, for everything, but I... I need a little time for myself.”

“Of course. We’ll see each other later, when Turgon is ready to give us his decision.”

Maeglin bade him goodbye and went home. He hoped Turgon would decide to give up the city. Rog was right, they wouldn’t be able to win against Morgoth in the long run.

 

Idril slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind her. Her father was brooding over his documents and looked very unhappy.

“I said I don’t want to be disturbed”, he said and looked at her, but he said it only softly.

Idril sat down on the visitor’s chair and took his hands in hers.

“You know what is the right decision, father”, she said gently. “You knew the day would come and you knew that it is here when Tuor found his way to us. We have to leave.”

“It is dangerous.” He gave her a tired look. “The last time... I lost your mother and so many others.”

Idril kissed his cheek. The memory of her mother was a golden dream – father had smiled more back then – but she remembered the nightmares after the Crossing and the fear of losing her father, much more vividly.

“This time we don’t have to brave the Ice”, she whispered and shuddered.

“But we don’t know what awaits us on this road. How many are we going to lose? I have to do what is best for my people.”

“Surely the best can’t be found in a city that is going to be besieged. Ulmo wanted us to leave, we’ll be under his protection again at the sea. Please, father, I’m more afraid of what could happen if we stay than of the dangers of the road.”

Her father looked silently at her for a long time, then he kissed her hands.

“You think we should listen to Rog? You think he doesn’t exaggerate?”

“Well, I never saw Morgoth’s armies with my own eyes, but I think Rog knows what he is talking about”, Idril said seriously.

Her father took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then he nodded. “I just thought...” He sobbed. “I wanted you to be safe here. I thought I would never have to send you on such a journey.”

“Oh father!” Idril walked around the desk and sat on his lap, embracing him tightly. “I was so happy here. I was safe. Don’t think that it isn’t hard for me to leave Gondolin behind, but... it’s time.”

Her father nodded and held her close. “You are right of course. I hope it isn’t too late already. Ulmo surely had a reason to send me Tuor at the time he did it.”

“I have hope”, Idril said and leaned her forehead against her father's.

She didn’t tell him of the tunnel she had started to dig in reaction to her dreams, it looked like she wouldn’t need it now.

Chapter Four

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“We abandon the city”, Turgon said and Maeglin felt a burden fall off his shoulders.

He heard Rog breathe a sigh of relief. It wasn’t over, they weren’t safe, yet, but at least Turgon had made the right decision. His eyes strayed to Idril who stood beside her father. She would not die in this city. And he would protect her on the road, as well as he could from afar.

Suddenly Idril’s eyes met his and before Maeglin could turn away she smiled at him. Maeglin’s cheeks burned, his heart started to race. She hadn’t smiled at him since he’d told her of his feelings, had barely looked at him... But it meant nothing. She likley just was as relieved as him that Turgon had decided as he had.

They had bought some time for themselves and maybe it would give the scattered Noldor hope, when the Hidden King, who after Fingon’s death was High King of the Noldor, came out into the open – undefeated. Maeglin barely heard what the lords were discussing. There was so much to organise, it wasn’t a small thing to send a whole people and their belongings on a journey, but he was too relieved to concentrate on that now.

He had done the right thing. He had laid bare his transgression and by that saved the people, if not the city. Turgon had listened to him. Turgon had forgiven him. And Rog... Maeglin looked at his new friend and smiled. Maybe the world wasn’t as cold and dark as he had thought.Maeglin checked himself and listened to what was said. He was a Lord, too, he owed it to his people, who would lose their home, to be well prepared. They knew they had to hurry, the further they were away from the city when Morgoth noticed they had run, the better, so they decided to take only three days for planning and preparations. 

 

“Maeglin, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Maeglin tensed when he heard the voice. Her voice. She had only spoken to him if it was absolutely necessary for so long and now she was coming to him! He gulped, his mouth suddenly felt dry, and turned around to her. She stood in the door of the palace he had left in the break Turgon had allowed them. He needed some air.

They’d been planning for hours and Maeglin’s head hurt. Now his head felt light because Idril was so close to him. He desperately tried to think of something intelligent to say to her, but all his thoughts had fled his mind.

“Idril”, he croaked and felt a blush creep up his neck. Idril smiled at him and Maeglin had to force himself to not reach out for her.

They were alone, no one in sight, that hadn’t happened since he’d confessed his feelings to her.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened to you. I know that you stayed away from the city because you didn’t want to meet me after...”

“It wasn’t your fault”, Maeglin hurried to say, although she wasn’t exactly wrong. But he could never blame her for it. “I’m just glad that I won’t have the whole city on my conscience.” ‘I’m relieved that your life isn’t in danger anymore.’

“It was very brave of you to tell the truth”, she said and Maeglin felt a wave of happiness crash over him because she thought like that.

“You think so? You don’t think like... like Ecthelion?” And he didn’t know how many others.

Idril shook her head decisively. “You have your faults, Maeglin, but you aren’t a traitor.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Maeglin took a deep breath. “I know I didn’t treat you always right, but...”

He fell silent because he didn’t know how to continue. To remind her of his feelings would only chase her away, he was sure about that, and he didn’t want her to leave.

“Let’s be friends”, Idril said. “I know you don’t like Tuor, but we should stick together in these times and you are my cousin. I never wanted it to be so... complicated between us.”

‘You made it complicated’, was what Maeglin heard and he almost turned away in defeat, but she’d also said ‘Let’s be friends’.

He gulped. Could he spend time with her, knowing she’d only ever see a relative in him? Yes, he didn’t like Tuor. How could he, when he’d killed all hope that Idril could ever see something more in him?

“I’m sorry that you felt... harassed by me”, he answered. He’d never wanted that. He longed to touch her soul with his but he stopped himself, she surely wouldn’t want that. “I... can’t promise you that I will ever feel differently from how I feel about you now, but... but I know that I’ve lost. I’ll be your cousin, your friend, and nothing else.”

Idril looked a little nervous, but her voice was gentle, when she said: “You’ll find someone who can return your love as you deserve. I want this for you, Maeglin. I like you, but I never loved you like that and I would never have. Do you understand that?”

“I will try to understand”, Maeglin answered.

It still hurt that she kept him at armth length, that he’d never be as close to her as this mortal, but he would accept it. He’d learned that in Angband. He would have done anything to be allowed to love her, but he didn’t want it against her will. He’d accept that she didn’t love him and never would. Maeglin swallowed his tears.

“We should go back inside”, he said. “There’s still a lot to discuss.”

Maeglin let her go first and followed her back to the meeting room. He hunched up his shoulders when he saw the surprised looks at them coming back together. Tuor asked Idril something and she answered with a smile that gave his heart a jealous stab, but he forced himself to ignore it. He’d learn to accept it.

“Did you talk?”, Rog asked him and Maeglin nodded.

“She... she wants me as her friend.”

He tried to concentrate on the positive things in her words, although that wasn’t easy. It tasted bitter.

“And that is good, isn’t it?”, Rog said and squeezed his shoulder. “She understands that you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I admit, I don’t know much about what is called romantic love, but I can tell you, that friendships can be very close, too.”

Maeglin was surprised at his words.

“Have you never been in love?”, he asked and blushed. That was a terribly private question.

Rog didn't seem to mind, though, he just shook his head.

“There are elves who mean a lot to me. I love them as friends, but I’ve never felt the kind of love you mean – and I don’t miss it. But I think we should turn our attention back to Turgon.”

Maeglin turned around and noticed that his uncle had started to talk again. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to a few hours more of debates. But he still thought of Rog’s words. Could a friendship be really worth as much as a romantic relationship? Could you have a live as long as Rog’s and never fall in love? But he couldn't doubt him. Rog felt so... at peace with himself. Despite the things he’d lived through. Maeglin wished he were only half as strong as him.

He realised that he’d reached out for comfort with his mind, when he met with Rog’s walls of steel. He’d rarely met anyone with defences this strong. Rog let him in when he noticed and held him soothingly.

‘I’m sorry. You hate it when other’s touch your mind, don’t you?’, Maeglin said.

‘I’m getting used to you’, Rog answered and he didn’t sound angry – it was so much easier to communicate in thoughts, because he also got the feelings of the other. ‘It’s okay, Maeglin. I have my reasons why I shy back from that, but I know that it is instinct for you and that you feel better that way. You have my permission.’

‘Thank you.’

He didn’t know how he deserved so much goodwill from Rog, but it felt good to be trusted.

Chapter Five

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Maeglin was exhausted when he came home. They’d talked all night and half the morning. Turgon had only let them go to start making preparations. The news that they were giving up the city had been already proclaimed and everywhere the signs of people packing up their belongings could be seen. Talaran, his second-in-command, already waited for him.

“Is it true?”, he asked and Maeglin nodded tiredly.

“Morgoth knows where we are, the king decided to give up the city and I’m very relieved that he did.”

“You thought differently not so long ago.”

Maeglin grimaced. “Yes, that was before Morgoth found out about us.” He had to tell them – all the people of his House – or they’d hear it from someone else. The thought made his guts roil. “Talaran, call the officers and masters together and send someone into the mountains to bring our people in the mines back home. They should hurry, we only have three days – two and a half- to prepare. I’ll speak to everyone in an hour in the great hall.” Maeglin lifted his hand when Talaran opened his mouth. “Please, I’ll explain everything to you – later.” He had to prepare his speech and he needed a few minutes of sleep.

 

Maeglin still felt tired out when he entered the main hall of his house an hour later. His captains, master smiths and miners, who were currently in Gondolin, stood together in small groups and were conversing quietly. Maeglin felt his heart beat quicker when they all turend to him. He had the respect of his people, they were here, because they wanted to serve him. The thought of loosing that respect once they knew what he had done, made his hands tremble.

He took a deep breath and recollected himself. He hoped, no one would interrupt him during the speech he’d prepared. If he lost the thread, he wouldn’t be able to get through this. He felt terribly young and almost wished Rog were here to explain. Maeglin shook his head. Rog had helped him more than he ever dared hope, but he couldn’t lean on him all the time. He had managed on his own all this time, he could do this.

“We have to leave Gondolin. The King decided so because Morgoth knows now where our city is. You deserve to know the truth.” Maeglin had clenched his fists so hard that his nails bit into his palms, but he almost didn’t feel it. “It was me.” He tried to blend out the murmuring, staring straight ahead. What were they going to do? “A while ago, I was searching for new places to mine, I was captured by orcs. They brought me to Morgoth...” His voice broke when the memory assaulted him. He forced his tears back.

“I wasn’t strong enough. I talked. I will release everyone from my service who wants me to. I could understand, if you don’t want to serve me anymore. The King has decided to abandon the city in three days. All available carts and horses are to be gathered, they’ll be needed for provisions. What personal belongings you want to take must not be more than you can carry. Work equipment is exempt from that. You can bring it to the festival ground and have it registered, it will be transported.”

Not his most eloquent speech, all things considered. Maeglin couldn’t look into their eyes. They had to hate him! He almost feared they’d attack him – and he’d deserve it. He jumped when Talaran laid his hand on his shoulder.

“I for my part keep faith with you, my lord. Tell me what there is to do.” More softly he added: “You look very tired. Sleep a bit more, I’ll take care of everything.”

Maeglin stifled a relieved sob.

“Thank you!”, he whispered.

He quickly told Talaran everything they’d decided in the last hours. He couldn’t remember how he’d found his bed, he was already asleep when his head hit the pillow.

 

Maeglin wandered through the silent house. He met no one, it was like a nightmare. Had everyone left? He wasn’t surprised. Who would want to serve a traitor? He hadn’t dared to ring for a servant, because if no one would have come, he’d have had certainty of what he expected anyway – that no one was here anymore. He’d washed and dressed alone and now was on his way to the kitchen for a dinner – if they’d left any food – before going back to the palace for another council round.

He was surprised to hear voices in the kitchen and wanted to hurry back up the hallway because he dreaded to meet some stragglers, when the door opened and he looked into the face of a startled servant.

“Lord Maeglin, you’re awake? I was on my way to wake you. Dinner is ready for you and Talaran said, you need to be at the palace at ninth bell.”

Maeglin blinked taken aback and lost for words.

“Please, the table is set.”

“But... I thought... where is everyone?”

“Making preparations for the journey, my lord. Packing up important things and bringing it to the festival grounds.”

“Talaran has everything under control, hm?”

“Yes, my lord.” Maeglin felt something in his chest uncoil. “I’ll be in the dining room”, he said and turned around.

He didn’t know how many people had turned from him – and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know right now – but it looked like he still had a House. He didn’t really know what to think of that. Why didn’t they hate him?

He was relieved that Talaran was taking care of things. Turgon had made him his sword teacher – Eol had taught him to forge swords but had never thought it necessary to teach him how to use them – and he’d stayed as his second-in-command even when he didn’t need any more instruction. He had made the journey from Aman, he’d be better at organising this than Maeglin.

Dinner was dished up and Maeglin felt tears rush to his eyes. His cook had managed to get hold of fresh stinging nettle in this chaos and made him nettle salad for starter. It was one of his favourite dishes – something the Noldor didn’t know and that he only rarely got because they didn’t harvest the young leaves. What did it mean? Was he so important to his cook that he went out of his way to prepare this for him? He’d stayed too... or maybe he intended to leave and just wanted to make him a nice last meal. Maeglin nodded to himself. That must be it. He was still grateful for it.

Chapter Six

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Maeglin looked down when Earendil rode up beside him on his pony.

“Does your mother know where you are?”

He wasn’t sure if Idril really wanted him anywhere near her son. Earendil nodded with a wide smile and Maeglin smiled back.

“She says, I can ride with you.”

“Then it’s alright.”

Maeglin frantically searched for something to say to him. He’d barely ever seen the boy in the past years.

“Uncle?”, Earendil asked with a small voice.

“Hm?”

“Am I bothering you? Do you want me to leave?” The boy looked downcast, his smile gone.

“What? No!” Maeglin rubbed his forehead. “No. I like to have you here.” He hadn’t wanted him to feel unwanted! “Hey, let’s play. Do you know any riddles?”

“Of course!” Earendil nodded, looking happy again. “You ask first!”

“Okay.” Maeglin acted as if he had to think first, although he had already something on his mind.

„Reaching stiffly for the sky,
I bare my fingers when its cold.
In warmth I wear an emerald glove
and in between I dress in gold.“

“A tree!”, Earendil said after a moment. “That was easy! My turn!”

 

Idril found them when they reached their camp for the night.

“Nana! What is that?", Earendil said excitedly.

"Six legs, two heads,
Two hands, one long nose.
Yet he uses only four legs
Wherever he goes.“

„Hmm, I don’t know.” Idril winked at Maeglin. “I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“Not at all! We’ve had fun. He made that riddle up himself.”

“Uncle Maeglin helped.” Earendil’s cheeks were red with excitement. Maeglin felt a warm glow of happiness because he called him uncle. “Do you want me to tell you?” Earendil bounced a little in his saddle. Idril smiled.

“Yes, tell me. I can’t think of the solution.”

“A rider!”

“Very clever, ion. Shall we ask ada after dinner?”

“Yes!” Earendil looked at Maeglin. “Are you eating with us, uncle?”

Maeglin squirmed. “I have to take care of my people, Earendil.”

“I’d be happy to have you as our guest”, Idril said and sought his gaze. “If your time allows it.”

Maeglin blushed. “I... I suppose I can eat with you.”

His captains had all under control, it had been an excuse because he hadn’t wanted to invite himself when Idril hadn’t offered. He felt fuzzy with happiness because she wanted him there.

 

Maeglin walked quietly back to his tent. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but the camp was already sleeping. Everyone was exhausted from the long marches. Dinner with Idril’s family had been surprisingly relaxed, thanks to Earendil. The boy had a sunny disposition and talked a mile a minute. Only when it had been time to go to bed for him and Idril had left to tuck him in, an uncomfortable silence had descended between Maeglin and Tuor. Maeglin simply didn’t know what to say to the man who had stolen Idril’s heart. He had seen that Tuor was as relieved as he when Idril came back and got conversation back into motion.

A hand clamped over his mound, Maeglin made a muffled shout and tried to struggle free. His attacker had come from behind, he had been too deep in thought to notice. Another attacker came from an alley between the tents and punched him in the stomach, stopping his struggles. Maeglin gasped for breath. He was vaguely aware that they were dragging him away, but all strength had left his body, he couldn’t fight back.

They dragged him away from the campfires. Maeglin tensed when hands gripped his arms and hauled him upright. He’d been wrong, there were three of them, not two.

“It is your fault we lost our home!”, the elf in front of him hissed at him. “Are you just a coward or a damned traiter?”

The elf punched him in the stomach again and Maeglin would have folded if he hadn’t been held up.

“What did Morgoth promise you?”

Even if Maeglin had had enough air in his lungs to answer, he hadn’t known what to say. Morgoth had promised him Idril, but that wasn’t why he’d talked! It had hurt so much. Much more than what these elves did to him right now, but he still felt the crippling fear he’d come to know in Angband’s dungeons. He couldn’t breathe – and not only because he’d been punched. More blows rained down on him. Blood ran from his nose into his mouth, the taste made him gag.

Before he realised that the blows had stopped, his body had already curled up on the ground. He flinched, when someone touched his shoulder.

“Lómion?”, he heard Rog’s voice say. “Lómion? It’s over. You are safe now.”

Maeglin looked up with tear-dimmed eyes. He noticed with part of his mind that some guards tied his attackers up in the background.

“Turgon is going to hear of this”, Rog said with anger in his voice as he dabbed at the blood on his upper lip. “They won’t get away with it.”

“How did you find me?”, Maeglin croaked.

“My men where on guard, they heard sounds and followed them. Because they know that we are friends, one of them ran to notify me. Can you stand up?”

Maeglin nodded and Rog helped him to his feet. They walked slowly back to the camp.

“It was about Gondolin”, Maeglin whispered. “Whichever way you look at it, I’m a traitor. I have taken your home from you.”

He sobbed softly and Rog rubbed his back.

“Morgoth found us because you told him where we are, yes, but no one should condemn you because you broke under torture. I can understand that you feel guilty, but by confiding in me and your uncle, you made the right decision and that is the most important.”

Maeglin only realised that he’d been guided to Rog’s tent when his friend made him sit and filled a bowl with water.

“Do you want to wash your face yourself?”, Rog asked. “Your nose isn’t broken, I think, but it must hurt.”

Maeglin nodded cautiously. His head hurt and his nose was throbbing angrily. Rog offered him a damp rag and Maeglin gingerly dabbed at the blood on his face. His skin was sore, his eyes already started to swell shut, he closed them and gently pressed the cool rug to his lids.

“I’m so much trouble for you”, Maeglin said dejectedly. He couldn’t believe that Rog wouldn’t lose patience with him.

“Nonsense”, Rog said gruffly. “It’s not your fault that there are such idiots among the inhabitants of Gondolin."

 

Rog could see that Turgon was appalled when he informed him about the matter next morning. Maeglin had spent the night in his own tent. Rog would have let him sleep in his tent, but he’d let the boy decide, he didn’t want to patronise him. Turgon sent for him to hear his side. Maeglin’s face was swollen and starting to look colourful, there was still blood in his nostrils.

“They are right, of course”, he said with rough voice, after he’d told them what his attackers had said. “It is my fault we are in this position. I deserve this.”

“No!”, Turgon said sharply and Maeglin flinched. “No”, Turgon repeated more gently and laid his hand on Maeglin’s shoulders. “You don’t deserve this. I’d feel better, if you wouldn’t walk around alone. You have loyal followers, let them protect you.”

Maeglin grimaced and winced at the pain. “I don’t like to be followed around”, he mumbled.

“I know and I’m going to make sure everyone understands what is going to happen to people who think they can take their idea of justice in their own hands. But I’d still feel better, if I’d know you protected. Will you do this for me?”

Maeglin had a lump in his throat, Turgon looked so gently at him and for the first time he really believed that it was about him and not only Aredhel’s memory. He nodded and croaked: “Okay. What... what are you going to do to them?”

Turgon looked grim. “I won’t let them get away with this. Where are they now?”

“They are under arrest, guarded by my men”, Rog said. “They belong to Duilin’s House, but I thought it too late yesterday, to bother him with it. Not soldiers, discontent civilians.”

“I’m going to sit in judgement on them this evening”, Turgon said seriously. “I don’t want to delay our departure by doing it now. Transfer them to Duilin, Rog, they are his to guard.”

Rog bowed and left the tent, squeezing Maeglin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, uncle”, Maeglin said gloomily. “You have enough on your mind without me being trouble. Should we really hang a lantern on it?”

He didn’t want any more intention on himself. Turgon’s eyes flashed, Maeglin knew that his anger wasn’t directed at him, but he still felt a shiver run down his back.

“I won’t let our people think you an outcast and that I don’t care if someone tries to hurt you. You made a mistake, but you paid for it in Angband.”

Maeglin sucked in his breath, the name felt like a knife was driven through his heart. Turgon’s face became gentle again.

“I’m sorry to have reminded you of it”, he said.

Maeglin gave a humourless laugh. “You didn’t. It’s always there, the memory. And the knowledge of what He is going to do to me, if he ever catches me again.” Maeglin shuddered. “That’s why it took me so long to talk to Rog. I was so afraid. I’m still.”

“But he won’t have you”, Turgon said and embraced him slowly. Maeglin didn’t think he deserved it, but he leaned into him anyway. Turgon was so tall, he felt like a child in his arms – and it was a good feeling. “He won’t know where we go.”

“If he finds out...”

“We’ll have the water’s protection. I trust in Ulmo. I should have done so all along. I’m sorry that you had to be captured before I would see reason.” Maeglin didn’t know what to say to that, he’d advised Turgon to stay on that occasion, after all.

“I should tend to my duties now”, he said.

“Of course.” Turgon released him from his embrace. “We’ll meet after setting up camp this afternoon.”

Maeglin felt queasy when he thought of the upcoming trial but he nodded.

---

Chapter End Notes

Riddles are not mine, I got them from here: https://www.brainzilla.com/brain-teasers/riddles/rhyming/

Chapter Seven

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Maeglin stood straight, although his injuries protested at that and schooled his features into a blank mask. No one should see how he felt inside, but especially not these elves. He would have liked to ask Turgon to let the matter rest, but he knew that for Turgon this wasn’t about him – not completely, at least. These elves had taken justice into their own hands, it would undermine Turgon’s authority should he allow that.

He bit hard on the inside of his cheek when the whip met the back of one of his attackers. Turgon had sentenced each of them to thirty lashes. The sounds threatened to throw him back to Angband. His cell had been next to one of the torture rooms. He’d heard the screams, the sound of skin ripping under the lash... he’d felt it himself, though they’d taken care to not leave scars. The taste of blood flooded his mouth – he’d bitten down too hard. Behind his back, Maeglin dug his nails into his trembling palms and fought to stay in the present. He wished Rog were at his side, but he stood between Turgon and Duilin and Rog was far away. He reached out with his mind instead, too powerfully, he could feel Rog flinch but then he reached out to meet him.

‘Everything is okay’, his touch said. ‘You just have to hold out a little longer.’

Maeglin hurried to get away from everyone once it was over. He almost ran to his tent and closed the flap behind him. He pressed his hands to his sore eyes, heaving in trembling breaths. Rog’s calming presence touched his mind a moment before his hands descended gently on his shoulders.

“Would you rather be alone?”

Maeglin shook his head silently and leaned into him. “I thought... I was afraid to get a flashback – in front of everyone.” He took a deep breath. “I’m okay now.”

“Good.” Rog hugged him. “And remember: Let your people protect you.”

Maeglin squirmed. “I... I feel awkward about it. Many of them flocked to me after the Nirnaeth, because they were impressed by my courage. They have to despise me now.”

“I don’t think so. Talaran, for example, is very worried for you.”

“You talked to Talaran?” Maeglin didn’t know how to feel about that.

“He noticed that you spend time with me and approached me. He says you always liked your solitude, but that you withdraw even more now. He is very observant. He believes that you think exactly as you do – that your own people are despising you now. They don’t. Trust them, they deserve that.”

Maeglin nodded slowly. “You are right. I’ll try.” He felt guilty for distrusting his people.

 

Maeglin found Talaran at dinner with his other captains.

“I’m sorry to disturb you”, Maeglin said. “Can we talk in private, Talaran?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Talaran left his bowl at the table and followed Maeglin to his tent.

“It looks like I need a bodyguard.” Maeglin touched his aching face. “Can you make a duty roster?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“You talked with Rog.” Maeglin flinched at his own words, that had come out harsher than he’d wanted to and Talaran looked startled.

“I didn’t want to be disrespectful, my lord. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“No!” Maeglin shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I... I was surprised that you’re worrying. It’s hard for me to understand why anyone would hold faith with me. I am a traitor.”

“Treason requires intent, at least that’s my view on it. I don’t believe that you bowed to Morgoth willingly.”

Maeglin shook his head. “I didn’t, but... the outcome is the same.”

“And still it makes all the difference.” Talaran looked at him with earnest eyes. “When the king asked me to teach you the sword, it was an honour for me. But I stayed in your service for your own sake. May I speak freely, my lord.”

Maeglin nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

“I know it is not easy for you to make friends. I was surprised at how much started to trust in Rog these last weeks. But if he is good for you, I’m glad. What I really want to say is: Many people look up to you. They are impressed by your rhetoric skill at court, your courage in battle, your masterful smithcraft, your ability to find ore. They follow you because they admire you. And maybe also in the hopes to prove worthy of your friendship. It is true that some turned their backs on you after your speech.” Talaran looked embarrassed, as if it were his fault. “But most stayed. I think, I can speak for us all, if I say that we were always proud to be Moles and that didn’t change.”

Maeglin gulped, tears coming to his eyes. “Although I disappointed you?”

“When Turgon decided to accept Rog and his people, many didn’t like that. The Sindar told horrible stories about thralls. They said, you can’t escape Angband completely. But Turgon decided to trust Rog and everyone Rog thought trustworthy. There were others, who were under Morgoth’s influence. You managed to shake that off, to tell the truth, I don’t think that disappointing. We knew something was wrong. Now that we know what it was... We have your back, Maeglin.”

“Thank you”, Maeglin said, his voice sounding broken with emotion. He knew that he didn’t make it easy for others to come close to him and still he’d won the loyalty of the men and women of his House. “I... would you pass on how much that means to me? I can’t...”

It was so hard to find words when it was about his feelings. Talaran nodded as if he understood.

“I will, my lord.”

He thought of Rog’s gentle reproach. ‘Given time, you’ll find those who are ready to accept you as you are – but you have to allow it, too.’ He should try harder with his people. They had stayed loyal to him, despite his horrible mistake that had cost them their home. Maybe he’d march with them from now on, they deserved  him to be interested in them, to make an effort. Most horses were used as cart horses, aside from the scouts who secured the flanks of their march column only the royal family and the Lords were riding. It would draw some attention, if he decided to walk, but not too much, he thought.

Chapter Eight

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Maeglin’s legs felt tired after the long march. Riding was tiring, too, but it engaged different muscles and he was feeling it. But walking was worth it. He’d been nervous at first — as had been his people, it turned out. They weren’t used to him mingling with them outside of work and so they had talked about crafts at first. He’d had a very enjoyable conversation about the embossing of copper with a few of his people. But after a while talk had slowly moved to more personal things, having children run around would do that, Maeglin supposed.

They’d reached the spot for this night’s camp and Maeglin realised for the first time how ‘spoiled’ he was. His own tent had always already been set up, when he reached camp, now he realised that ordinary people didn’t have that luxury. He could have kicked himself for just assuming. Lairemíre — one of his houseservants — and her husband Athayo — who was a carpenter, tried to protest when he rolled up his sleeves and helped them raise their tent.

“Will you stay for dinner, my… Maeglin?”, Lairemíre asked, blushing at her slip. He’d told everyone he’d spoken with today that he wanted them to call him by his name.

It already smelled of food and when Maeglin looked around, he saw that one of the men was already cooking over the fire several of the tents shared.

“If I’m welcome?” Maeglin still found it hard to believe that they’d share their lives with him so readily.

“Of course you are.” Athayo clapped his shoulder and steered him to a folding chair.

Maeglin held back from protesting any further. Someone had produced a lute and was playing a swift melody.

“Do you dance, my Lord?”, Lairemíre asked him and didn’t sound the least deferential despite the address.

Maeglin realised with a blush that he’d been moving his foot in time to the music.

“Not really…”, he said hesitantly.

A memory of his mother laughing and humming a song as she whirled with him through the house as she taught him dances, pushed to the front of his mind. Eol had been away, of course.

“Would you do me the honour later?”, Lairemíre continued. “We’ll have a little fun after dinner.”

“I…” He’d always stood to the side at parties in Gondolin, the only woman he’d have wanted to dance with being Idril. He pushed the thought aside. “I’d like to”, he said with a smile, trying to sound sincere. He wasn’t sure about it, it had been a long day and the though of his mother made him sad, but he didn’t want to destroy the good mood or make her think she’d insulted him somehow.

Athayo came back with three bowls of steaming stew, giving one each to Maeglin and his wife. “I hope it is to your liking, I’m sure you’re are used to more fancy food.”

“When I’m on mining expedition I eat the same as everyone", Maeglin clarified. "And also, I grew up in the forest, I’m used to simple food.”

He ate a spoonful, aware that despite his words everyone was holding their breath for his reaction. It tasted good, lentils and carrots and potatoes, spiced well — though he still missed the pepper they’d traded the dwarves for in Nan Elmoth and that wasn’t available in Gondolin.

“Very good”, he said, standing up and bowing to the cook. “Thank you for the meal.”

Everyone seemed to relax after that. The music had stopped for a bit as the musician was eating, too. When he started to play again, Maeglin quickly ate up and offered Lairemíre his hand. “I promised you a dance.”

The musician struck up a lively tune and Maeglin pushed all worries out of his head. He didn’t think of how he would look, dancing a dance he hadn’t any practice in, or what Athayo might think of his wife dancing with another man. Lairemíre’s face was alight with delight and he saw from the corner of his eyes that other couples had joined them. Someone started sing to the tune of the song, Maeglin heard laughter. They were happy. Despite the fact that they were on the run, there was happiness. If he could make up for his deed by joining them in this, it wouldn’t be so hard a penance. Maeglin felt a little twinge of guilt. Shouldn’t penance be painful? But he didn’t want to worry right now. He felt too good.

 

Maeglin rode up to Turgon’s side on the horse the messenger had provided him with when he’d related the order of the King. The scouts, they’d left behind to spy on the forces of Morgoth, had caught up to them. Turgon wanted him to be there when they gave their report. Maeglin believed that Turgon had left them behind because he was hoping in secret that he might be able to defeat Morgoth’s army after all but he had no hopes in that regard. The scouts looked exhausted.  

“There were dragons, fire-breathing like Glaurung”, said their captain with trembling voice. “And Balrogs. And so many orcs that they covered all of Tumladen all around the city. That the city was empty didn’t stop them from burning it, the tower fell. We hid close to your father’s grave, even in their victory the enemy didn’t dare to defile it.”

“Are we being followed?”, Turgon asked, his face unmoving, Maeglin could see that he held his emotions back. His dream had died, Maeglin could imagine very well how he must feel. He tried to look inconspicuous. If his uncle remembered who was responsible for this...

“A part of the army followed the tracks the train left”, the scout said, “but when they noticed that it was old, they turned around. I’m afraid Gondolin is now firmly in the enemy’s hand, my king.”

“Thank you for the risks you took to be able to give me this information. Rest now, you have earned it.”

Turgon’s shoulders sagged when they’d left. Idril laid his hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, father. We knew it would come to this. Let us be glad that they abandoned the pursuit.”

“You are right, daughter.” Turgon gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But to know now that there’s no way back anymore... not with such a strong force against us...”

Maeglin wanted to slip off unnoticed, but he must have made a sound because Turgon turned to him.

“Come here, nephew”, he said and Maeglin obeyed with lowered eyes.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered.

Turgon laid his hand on his cheek so he’d look at him. “I’m not angry with you, Maeglin”, he said seriously. “Don’t forget that. Don’t be afraid.”

Maeglin nodded gratefully, the lump in his throat didn’t allow him to speak.

“May I go?”, he finally asked.

“Of course.” Turgon squeezed his shoulder and Maeglin was eager to get out of his sight.

His bodyguard followed him as he left the king’s tent. He walked towards he border of the camp, he wanted to be alone. Or as alone as it was possible with a bodyguard. Maeglin lay down in the high grass, where it hadn’t been trampled down by the many people, and took a deep breath. So it was over. He cried silently for the city that had never truly felt like home to him, but that Idril and Turgon had loved – and his mother, too, although she had felt tired of it for a while. What would she think, if she knew that Gondolin’s fall was his fault? He turned his head when Rog sat down beside him.

“I heard about it”, he said then fell silent.

Maeglin had wanted to be alone, but Rog’s presence didn’t bother him. He knew that Rog didn’t mind not to talk. It calmed him to have him here. Maeglin moved a little closer and leaned his head against Rog’s thigh. Rog’s hand came to rest on his head and Maeglin felt the tenseness bleed from his body.

“Thank you”, he finally whispered.

“I’m here, Lómion”, Rog said. “And Turgon would be, too. He told me how troubled you looked. He loves you, my boy, although it’s hard for him to show it.”

Maeglin sat up and leaned his head against Rog’s shoulder. “Thank you”, he said again.

He’d felt for so long that Turgon was putting expectation in him that he couldn’t fulfil and was therefore disappointed in him, but when Rog said that Turgon was fond of him, he could almost believe it.

Chapter Nine

Read Chapter Nine

“King Turgon asks for your attendance, Prince Maeglin”, the messenger called out of breath when he stopped his horse beside him.

Maeglin had indeed made a habit of walking with his people. It felt good to be so close to them, to not command them from the proverbial high horse. He hadn’t known how much his people wished to be his friends. It was a little overwhelming, but out here, on the road, it somehow was less so. It made him happy, not frightened. It was as if his anxiety just evaporated into the open air and only left happiness behind. Calemir brought him his horse and Maeglin followed the messenger to the tip of the train where the king was riding.

“What is it?”, he asked the messenger.

“The scouts sighted a group of riders coming toward us – elves. The king wants you at his side when he meets them.”

Elves. That could only mean that they were close to their destination. The country had been eerily empty the whole time, they had encountered neither elves nor humans since they’d left Gondolin. It scared him how complete Morgoth’s victory after the Nirnaeth and Nargothrond’s fall was here, outside of the walls of Gondolin where they’d lived in safety and prosperity.

Turgon, Idril and Tuor had ridden a bit ahead and looked at him when he came up to them. Maeglin could already see the riders in the distance. It was a flat land, a salty smell was in the air. They’d told him it was the smell of the sea he’d never seen before.

“I’m going to meet them. Maeglin, I want you and Idril to come with me. Tuor has command as long as I’m gone", Turgon said.

“I’m honoured to accompany you, uncle.”

He’d have felt degraded in the past, because Turgon trusted Tuor with the command and not him. He’d have thought Turgon wanted to keep him close because he didn’t trust him. He still wasn’t sure if the more honourable place was on Turgon’s side or as commander, but he pushed that thought down. Turgon had called for him, because he wanted him at his side when he met the strangers, that felt good. He tried to concentrate more on the good things and not see insults everywhere.

Morgoth had tried to drive him into betraying Gondolin by playing on these feelings. It had frightened him how much of what he said to him had been an echo of what he’d often thought himself. He didn’t want to be that. He didn’t want to be someone who could betray his king and home because of jealousy.

Turgon and Idril mounted their horses and they rode with a small guard towards the approaching elves. There were ten of them, they rode on small horses with shaggy manes and wore light leather armour, their helmets bound to their saddles. Only their leader wore chainmail – Maeglin could see it was fine work, as they reined in their horses in speaking distance, khazâd-made or at least by someone who’d apprenticed under them.

“You entered the lands of Círdan, Lord of the Falathrim. Announce yourselves”, the leader called.

“Don’t you recognise the crest of the High King of the Noldor?”, Maerbaudh, Turgon’s herald answered. “You stand before King Turgon, Fingolfin’s son, his daughter Princess Idril Celebrindal and his nephew Prince Maeglin, Aredhel’s son, Lord of the House of the Mole.”

The elves stared at them.

“You are King Turgon?”, their leader asked.

“I am”, Turgon answered. “Will you tell me your name?”

“I...” The elf made a strangled sound. “I’m Prince Gil-galad Ereinion, Fingon’s son. It is an honour and joy to met you, my King Uncle.”

Maeglin’s muscles tensed. Here was a relative he’d never thought of meeting. Gil-galad had been too young to fight in the Nirnaeth and so he’d never met him before – like Turgon. Turgon dismounted and Gil-galad followed him, bowing to their uncle. Turgon held him by his shoulders.

“The joy is mine, nephew. I’m glad to see you well.”

“We didn’t know, if Gondolin is still standing! But you are here, now there’s hope again!” Gil-galad looked in the direction of the train. Maeglin could see the moment he realised it wasn’t only an army but the whole city. “Forgive me, uncle, but are you on the run?”

“Who isn’t in these dark days?”, Turgon answered. “Morgoth found out the location of Gondolin, we had to give up the city. But that doesn’t mean we gave up.” Turgon squeezed Gil-galad’s shoulders. “We have to regroup. My son-in-law is Tuor, Huor’s son, a human. He thinks that it might be possible to make the enslaved people of Hithlum revolt against the easterlings. We can win back Hithlum and Nevrast has been abandoned for many years, but Vinyamar is still standing. Ulmo made a prophecy. Morgoth can be defeated if elves and humans work together. But let’s talk about this in quiet. Will Círdan allow us to settle in his lands, do you think?”

“The Sindar who fled from Doriath don’t like us Noldor very much, they won’t be happy. But Círdan has decided that all of us have to stick together and all refugees are welcome.”

“We had nothing to do with the attack on Doriath.” Maeglin could hear the suppressed anger in Turgon’s voice and wondered if Gil-galad heard it too.

“Of course.” Gil-galad bowed his head. “I didn’t want to imply that. It is not far to the camp. The people there might get nervous if such a huge group of people suddenly shows up. May I be so rude to ask you to let your people camp here while you come with me to the Island to speak to Círdan?”

Turgon nodded. “Maerbaudh, ride back and tell Tuor and the other Lords to make camp. We will go with my nephew. Tell them not to worry, if we don’t come back today.”

Maerbaudh bowed and rode back. Gil-galad gave one of his men the order to ride head to announce them.

 

Gil-galad rode beside the High King – Turgon! His uncle! – and didn’t know what to say. His hands were sweaty with excitement inside his riding gloves. The Hidden King had shown up at the head of an army. Sure, many of the elves of the city wouldn’t be trained soldiers but they weren’t a desperate flow of refugees like the Sindar who’d escapted the attack of Feanor’s sons or the people of Nargothrond whose belongings had fallen victim to the dragon.

It was an ordered retread, well thought through and Turgon seemed to have plans. That made Gil-galad hope. And he couldn’t deny that he was relieved that Turgon had shown up for another reason. Some of his people had urged him to declare himself High King to give people hope (and also, he thought, because they were afraid Celebrimbor could try to seize the title), he didn’t know how much longer he could have denied them. Turgon’s presence meant that these voices would quiet. He didn’t want the crown, he felt much too young and inexperienced for that – and he’d have felt uncomfortable to act up like that to Círdan. Círdan was the Lord of the Falathrim and Gil-galad was not so proud as to feel above him.

He’d have liked to ask Turgon about the composition of the population of Gondolin, how many soldiers they had, how many supplies they’d brought – if they had live stock with them – but he didn’t dare. His uncle rode on a horse that was so large that his own, shaggy island horse looked like a pony beside it and Gil-galad knew that Turgon was considered the tallest of the Noldor. He felt like a child beside him. Turgon was the High King, he couldn’t ask him such questions.

He turned his head to his other side, where his cousin – the son of an aunt he’d never met – rode. He knew that Aredhel was dead and the circumstances under which she had died. Turgon had sent his father a message after it had happened. Maeglin looked like a Noldo, except for his eyes. They were brown not grey or blue like it was usual for the Noldor.

“Have you ever seen the sea, cousin?”, he asked and Maeglin turned to him, surprise in his eyes. Surprise because he’d talked to him?

“No”, Maeglin answered. “We were oriented eastward in my childhood and afterwards I lived in Gondolin.”

“You can already hear it”, Gil-galad said. The sound of the surf on the high coast was so normal to him that he usually didn't even notice it anymore. He could see Maeglin listening.

“It sounds... mighty”, he said slowly.

“It is. We are lucky to be in Osse’s favour.” Gil-galad knew that Círdan had a special relationship with the Maia and that he harnessed his fury at the Noldor for his sake. “Though his favour only extends so far.” Gil-galad looked up at his uncle. “I’m afraid the ships you sent west didn’t arrive.”

Turgon sighed. “That was to be expected. But at least we tried.”

Gil-galad pointed forward. “You can already see the camp there.”

It was enclosed by a palisade to give the inhabitants at least a little protection – although everyone with a little military understanding knew that it wouldn’t stop Morgoth’s army for long if he decided to attack them. They’d started to build a wall of stone, but that would take a lot more time.

“And the sea?” Maeglin craned his neck eagerly.

“We have to travel a while longer. It’s a high coast and we are actually a little deeper then the rim right now.”

“It’s the cape of Balar, isn’t it?”

Gil-galad nodded in answer to Turgon’s question.

“I don’t want to criticise you, but is it wise to build at a place where you can’t retreat?”

“We thought of that. There are stairs that lead down to the beach and there are enough boats to bring everyone to the island should we be attacked. The island is too rocky and barren to sustain the revugees, but in the event of an attack, Círdan pledged to take them in.”

“I see it’s well thought through.”

Gil-galad blushed. “Círdan is wise and I have a good council.”

“I think very highly of Círdan”, Turgon answered. “He knows more about the coast and the sea than any other elf. And he is a level-headed leader. How is he going to react to us, what do you think?”

Gil-galad thought about it for a while. “Your arrival will cause a stir, but Círdan won’t turn you away.”

They’d reached the camp and left the horses at the stables. Gil-galad lead the newcomers down the stairs to the beach. The boats were moored at a little, natural harbour that was formed by a promontory.

 

Maeglin’s hand hurt from gripping the side of the boat. It was bucking on the waves like a wild horse, the saltwater burned in his eyes. Who’d chose to live here voluntarily? He’d felt fear already when they’d descended the stairs from the cliff down to the harbour. He’d looked west and only seen water, endless grey water. He almost couldn’t believe that there was land on the other side – that there was a other side. The motions of the boat made him feel queasy. Was he the only one feeling that? He couldn’t look up to see how he others were faring, it cost all his self-command not to throw up.

He stumbled on land as soon as the boat reached the island and was safely moored – and had to lean against a pole because the land seemed to move. He threw a quick glance at his relatives, but they didn’t seem to have noticed that he was having trouble – good. Gil-galad was pointing at something and Maeglin slowly turned his head, trying to keep the queasiness in check. They were on a dock that led to the island that was flat and green. Círdan’s palace, at least Maeglin supposed that was the building Gil-galad had pointed out to Turgon, was a large hall built of grey, uneven stones. Shells and pears lined the windows. It wasn’t Gondolin and it didn’t look like Maeglin imagined a palace, but it wasn’t a humble dwelling.

Círdan waited for them in the hall. The windows were paned with coloured glass, green and blue tones that made Maeglin feel like he was under water. He shuddered at the thought. There was a high chair, but Círdan came towards them and greeted Turgon by laying his hands on his shoulders.

“It is so good to see you!”, he exclaimed. “We already lost hope of getting any news from you.”

Maeglin had never seen a bearded elf and he tried not to stare. Círdan wore it short – different from the Khazâd – so it only covered his skin. Maeglin wondered, how old he was, if not even Rog... he thought of Rog’s scarred cheeks , maybe he couldn’t grow a beard anymore, he decided not to ask him. He bowed when Turgon introduced him and forced himself to listen to the conversation.

“I hoped you’d come sooner, King Turgon”, Círdan said. “Ulmo’s message that it is time and that he sent you a messenger, arrived years ago.”

“Maybe I should have left sooner.” Maeglin was surprised that his uncle admitted that to the Teler. He hadn’t heard it say it so openly to anyone. “I thought our city secure, now I know it isn’t.”

“Are you being hunted?”, Círdan asked with worry in his voice. “You have to realise that we only have poor fortifications and few soldiers on the mainland.”

“Our scouts haven’t found any signs of pursuit. Maybe the news haven’t reached Morgoth yet. Or maybe he thinks it unnecessary to pursue us, now that he’s expelled us from his doorstep. The Noldor are down.” Turgon’s eyes flashed. “But I intend to show him that we still have the will to fight.”

Círdan knit his brows. “You are welcome here, King Turgon, but if you want to attack Morgoth, you’ll have to do it without my support. I have a responsibility to my people. We won’t go to a war that is already lost.”

“I won’t force you, of course.” Turgon bowed his head in respect. Maeglin realised that while Círdan didn’t wear the title of King, Turgon thought of him as his peer. “Will you allow us to settle on the mainland?”

“Of course. You should know that the population of the camp consists to a large part of Sindar who fled from Doriath, the refugees from Nargothrond are a minority. Princess Elwing and her advisors are not well-disposed towards the Noldor, as you can imagine.”

“We are not the Feanorians”, Turgon said with a dark look.

Círdan shrugged. “I don’t think that they draw a distinction.”

“It’s about Celebrimbor”, Gil-galad said.

“He is here?” Turgon looked surprised.

“He came with the fugitives from Nargothrond. He assured me that he raises no claim to the crown and Círdan and I have decided to let him stay. The Nargothrondrim hold him in high esteem for what he did in the fight for Nargothrond and after. He is a born leader, but he tries to keep a low profile, because of his father and uncles' deeds. Galadhon, Elwings first advisor, let us know that as long as we tolerate a Feanorian among us, they consider us all guilty for what happened in Doriath. There’s a fence between the camp of the Iathrim and the Nargothrondrim, it’s more a symbol than it holds off exchange – there are Sindar among the people of Nargothrond and not all Iathrim think like their leaders – but it is there.”

Turgon rubbed his forehead. “Does she have the Silmaril?”

“Yes. She wears it, if she appears in an official function.”

Gil-galad didn’t sound happy and Maeglin shuddered when he was reminded of the terrible light that had come from Morgoth’s crown. Was it Morgoth’s influence that made him think of the Silmarils as something dark despite their light? Or was it the Oath?

“Have Feanor’s sons contacted them?”

Círdan shook his head. “Not as far as I know. I don’t approve of everything the Iathrim do, but you have to know that I’ll fight on their side if it should come to it.”

“I hope it won’t.” Turgon looked pale. “I have littel affection for the sons of Feanor, but a fight with them can only play into the hands of Morgoth. Gil-galad, are you ruling the Nargothrondrim?”

“Yes. I travel a lot between the island, where most of the elves live who came here with me or found their way here after the Nirnaeth, and the mainland.”

“Good. Círdan, can you facilitate a conversation with Elwing or her advisors? I’d like to have good relations to them.”

“I’ll see what I can do”, Círdan promised. “Come, I have let a meal prepared. You have a long journey behind you.”

Only now did Maeglin realise how hungry he was. The smell of fried fish that came from the dining room, made his stomach growl and his mouth water. There had been large, artificial ponds in Gondolin where fish were bred, he wondered if fish from the sea would taste differently.

---

Chapter End Notes

I'm using the Lost Tales-version of the story here, where Ulmo's message for Turgon is at first: Then spake Tuor, and Ulmo set power in his heart and majestiy in his voice. "[...]Therefore have I been brought by a secret way to bid you number your hosts and prepare for battle, for the time is ripe. [...] If thou dost not now dare greatly then will the Orcs dwell for ever and possess in the end ost of the mountains of the Earth, and cease not to trouble both Elves and Men, even though by other means the Valar contrive hereafter to release the Noldoli; but if thou trust now to the Valar, though terrible the encoutner, then shall the Orcs fall, and Melko's power be minished to a little thing." (BoLT II, p. 161)

I also moved the camp of the refugees from the Mouths of Sirion to the Cape of Balar because I wanted there to be a cliff for Elwing to jump into the sea from (though the way it looks right now that won't happen in this fic).

Chapter Ten

Read Chapter Ten

Earendil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed – finally a real bed again. He’d travelled on a boat for the first time today. They’d visited the king on the island, but more than meeting the stranger who was somehow related to nana he had enjoyed to see the sail billow and the feeling of the boat flying over the waves. The rush of the sea and the crying of the gulls satisfied something in him he hadn’t known he missed.

Earendil quietly opened the window of the house thy lived in – it was much smaller than their old house but at least it didn’t leak when it rained like their tent sometimes had – and took a deep breath of the salty air. Earendil rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was dreaming. He could see a bright light on one of the roofs in the middle of the camp, as if a star had fallen from the sky. He wanted to see what it was.

Earendil slipped out of bed and dressed, listening at the door, but he could only hear ada snore. He climbed back on the bed and from there on the windowsill. Uncle Maeglin had told him that his sword Anguirel was forged from a fallen star. Maybe this was a star like that, he’d have liked to have such a mighty weapon.

Earendil ran through the dark, empty streets of the camp. It had nothing of the beauty of Gondolin, the streets were of earth not white stone, but Earendil knew they were save her from the ones who’d destroyed their city. One day he would go back there and win it back from them.

The light was on the other side of the fence that separated the camp in two parts but it wasn’t high and he climbed over it easily. Earendil knew that it was rude to do that, you didn’t just walk into a stranger’s house either, but he wanted to find the star. He lost sight of the light as he came closer to it because the roofs were in the way, but finally he stood in front of the house where the star glowed on the roof. Earendil didn’t hesitate for long to climb up.

To his surprise, he found a girl there, sitting on the ridge and holding the star in her hands. She was so lost in thoughts that she didn’t even notice him when Earendil sat down beside her. Up close he could see that what he’d thought a star was a clear, glowing gem set in a necklace. He didn’t think it was possible to make a sword from it – and then he realised what the girl was holding.

“Are you Lúthien?”, he blurted out and the girl flinched.

She quickly wrapped a cloth around the Silmaril and plunged them into darkness.

“I’m Princess Elwing of Doriath, daughter of Dior Eluchíl, son of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Erchamion”, she said disdainfully. “And who are you, boy, to slink around here at night? The Silmaril is not your business.”

‘Arrogant cow’, Earendil thought. She talked like a grown up, but she couldn’t be much older than him. Well, everything she could do, he could do better. “I’m Prince Earendil, son of Tuor, son of Huor of the House of Hador and Idril Celebrindal, daughter of High King Turgon the Wise, son of Fingolfin, son of Finwe.”

His teachers had told him countless times how important it was to know his lineage and for the first time he felt that they were right. He lifted his head proudly. She couldn’t tell him what to do! To his surprise Elwing moved closer, looking curious.

“You have a Man in your family, too? I know no one else who is like me. How old are you?”

“I’m nine. But everyone says I’m tall for my age. Ada always says elves don’t know anything about how humans age. He grew up among them, too. How old are you? Do they all think your ears fascinating?” He always tried to wear his hair over them, because everyone wanted to touch his round ears.

“I’m nine, too!” It was dark, but Earendil thought she was smiling at him. “But I have elf ears. My ada and my... my brothers”, he voice broke. “They had round ears, but... they are dead.”

Earendil leaned his shoulder against hers. “I’m sorry. Did the orcs attack your city, too?”

“No.” Elwing’s voice became icy. “It were Feanor’s sons, cursed Noldor! They wanted the Silmaril that Iaurada and Iarnana took from Morgoth, but they didn’t get it.”

“Not all Noldor are evil”, Earendil said firmly. “The Gondolindrim had nothing to do with that!”

Elwing stayed silent for a while, but she didn’t ask him to leave, so he stayed.

“Maybe”, she finally answered. “You don’t seem so bad.”

Earendil would have liked to see the Silmaril again but he didn’t want her to think he wanted to steal it.

“I have to go home now, before someone notices that I’m gone. You can visit me. We can go sailing together! Good night, Princess.”

This time he was sure that Elwing was smiling at him. “Maybe I will. Good night, Earendil.”

 

Elwing knew she’d have to sneak away, if she wanted to play with Earendil. Her grandfather and the other advisors would never allow her to have close contact to a Noldo. She’d have said the same until a few days ago, but he’d been nice and he was her age — there ware rarely any children in the camp and most of those who were, were below her station and thus not allowed to play with her either.

When her nanny left the room after laying her down for her afternoon nap, she immediately opened her eyes again  and stood up. She pulled her hunting clothes from her chest and quickly dressed, then opened the window of her room. Her window led into a courtyard that was guarded, but Elwing was a princess of the woodland and she could climb. She pulled herself up on the roof and slid down on the other side to the street before her house.

She knew where Earendil lived, they’d returned King Turgon’s visit, although her grandfather had been very tense about it. It would have been discourteous not to do so — and the Noldor did have more soldiers. Elwing was very aware that her advisors didn’t trust the newly arrived Eldar. The Nargothrondim were one thing, there were Sindar among them and they’d always been in close contact with Doriath, but King Turgon and his people had turned up unexpectedly and they did not know them.

Earendil sat outside the house he lived in, whittling a block of wood, she couldn’t guess yet, what it would turn into.

“Hello”, she said, stopping before him.

Earendil’s face lit up in a smile. “Hello, princess!”

Elwing sat down beside him. “What are you making?”, she pointed at the block of wood in his hands.

“A swan”, he answered. “It’s the sign of my father.”

Elwing cocked her head. It didn’t look much like a swan to her, but she didn’t say that, she didn’t want to insult him. Earendil laid it aside.

“Want to go with me down to the harbour? I love to watch the seabirds and the boats.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Earendil stood up and offered her his hand to help her rise. Elwing took it with a smile.

“Just a moment”, Earendil said, opening the door to his house. “I’ll fetch my fishing pole, we can catch us dinner.”

 

Rog laid his hand on his sword when an agitated looking Galadhon barged into the room, armed guards behind him.

“Where is my great-granddaughter, you two-faced, lying piece of…”

“Peace”, interrupted Gildor, First Councillor of the people of Nargothrond, who’d invited Turgon, Idril and Tuor to his home.

Rog had come as honour guard and he was glad, it was him, because he at least wasn’t a Noldo, when Galadhon glowered at Gildor and hissed: “Don’t try to silence me, Noldo, of course you are in league with him.”

“Lord Galadhon”, Rog said, stepping forward. “I can see you are agitated. And as you seem unwilling to talk to a Noldo, maybe you will settle for a Hwento. What is it, you accuse King Turgon of?”

Galadhon eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“They call me Rog.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“The kind you earn by killing a lot of orcs.” Rog gave him a grim smile. “But I don’t think you came here to discuss my name.”

“Princess Elwing vanished!”, Galadhon snapped. “I want to know where she is. What have you done to her?”

Rog saw the incredulous stares of the other people in the room.

“You think, King Turgon abducted her?”, Rog clarified. ‘Are you mad?’, he thought.

“That’s preposterous!”, Turgon snapped. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“To get hold of the Silmaril, of course!”, answered Galadhon, glaring at him.

Rog wished, he’d stayed silent. He could feel the air crackle, if anyone lost his nerve and drew a weapon… he was not sure a third kinslaying could be prevented.

“Please”, he laid a hand on Turgon’s arm. “Of course we did no such thing. I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal explanation for all this. Can we help you search for her?”

He could feel Turgon take a deep breath. “My liegeman is right, we’d gladly help to find the princess — and prove that it was not our doing.”

Galadhon didn’t look convinced, but he said: “We’d appreciate your help. But I’d ask that one of my people accompanies each of your search parties.”

Turgon sounded very tired, when he said: “I’m sure that can be arranged.” He squeezed Rog’s hand and whispered: “Thank you, that could have gone very wrong.”

 

Maeglin looked up from his work when Rog entered their forge, a sullen looking Sinda in tow. Rog had that wrinkle between his brows that said he was worried.

“What’s wrong?”, Maeglin asked.

“Have you seen Earendil? I know he often comes to watch you work.”

Maeglin shook his head. “Not today. What happened?”

Rog sighed deeply. “Elwing vanished and the Sindar accused Turgon of abducting her.”

Maeglin stared at Rog. “That’s insane!”

“Yes, well, we realised Earendil is gone, too, so maybe they are together. Do you have an idea, where he could have gone with her?”

Maeglin frowned. “I didn’t even know they’ve talked to each other. Have you tried Annael? I know Earendil is very fond of Tuor’s foster father. He’s talked a lot about wanting to learn to do wood carvings as well as him.”

“Tuor is on his way to him. Anything else? I admit, I hoped he’d be here.”

“Maybe… he loves the sea. Idril told me, he wants to go down to the harbour every day. Maybe he went there with the princess.”

“We’ll try that next, thank you.”

“Wait”, Maeglin gripped his sleeve. “Should I help searching?”

Rog shook his head. “Better stay here, in case he shows up. Idril is at home, bring him there, if he should.”

“Tell me, as soon as you find them.”

He wasn’t really worried about Earendil, the boy was running around on his own half of the day anyway, but he could see how tense Rog was. If they didn’t find him and the princess… this could go badly for them, if the Sindar decided, they were, in fact kidnappers. He shuddered and turned back to his force, trying to push the thoughts out of his mind with the sound of the hammer on iron.

 

Earendil looked up from the waves lapping on the quay when he heard quick steps behind them. He’d taught Elwing how to cast the line and they had three fishes in a bucket, they would make a nice dinner.

“Here you are, Princess Elwing!” An agitated elf pulled her up and away from Earendil. “You shouldn’t just wander off, you worried us very much!”

Earendil noticed Rog standing further back, a look of relief on his face. He didn’t understand what the fuss was about. They’d just gone fishing!

“I was not in danger.” Elwing said, raising her chin. “Earendil showed me how to catch fish.”

“He is no fitting company for you, my princess.” The elf threw him a sneer and Earendil wondered, what he’d done to him.

“He is a prince!”, Elwing snapped. “If he is no fitting company for me, who is? I want to play with him!”

The elf sighed and steered her toward the stairs that led up to the camp.

“Let’s talk about this later, my princess.”

Earendil watched them leave and wondered, if they’d be allowed to meet again. He didn’t understand it. But he smiled when Elwing turned around and waved at him.

“Have I done something wrong?”, he asked Rog, when they were alone.

“You should have told someone, where you were going.” Rog sat down beside him on the quay. “People were worried.”

“But we aren’t in danger here, are we?” Earendil shivered. He wouldn’t have thought to be in danger in Gondolin, either.

“No, we aren’t.” Rog squeezed his shoulder. “But Elwing’s people don’t trust ours.”

“Because of what the sons of Feanor did, I know.” Earendil looked up to Rog. “But we aren’t like them!”

“No, but they don’t know that. They’ll need time to get used to us.” He smiled at him. “Do you remember how you were scared of me when you were smaller because of my scars?” Earendil nodded and blushed. “But now you know me and are scared no longer. Don’t worry, they’ll get to know us, too, and realise we are no danger to their princess.” Rog stood up and took the bucket with the fishes. “Let’s get you home now.”

Earendil followed Rog up the stairs. What he had said, sounded understandable. He felt better now and hopeful that he’d see Elwing again, soon. They liked each other, the grown-ups would just have to get used to it.

Chapter Eleven

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Maeglin hesitated to step into the forge when he noticed that it wasn’t empty. He was surprised to find anyone here. They had made known that any smith would be welcome to use their anvils -- the other groups of refugees had had to flee so suddenly that they hadn’t been able to transport heavy equipment –- but it was late at night.

The elf didn’t seem to have noticed him and Maeglin felt the overwhelming urge to slink away, but then elf turned around and saw him.

“Hello”, Maeglin said uncertainly. “I... I didn’t want to disturb you.”

The elf smiled at him. “You aren’t. And this is your forge, after all. I’m glad to be able to work in a real forge again –- and among Noldor, the Sindar don’t like me that much.”

Maeglin thought he saw something like regret on the elf’s face.

“Come in.”

The elf invited him with a motion of his head to come closer and Maeglin realised that he was still standing on the doorstep.

“Forgive my bad manners. I’m Maeglin of Gondolin”, he said, trying not to blush.

“King Turgon’s nephew?” The elf scrutinized him with interest in his eyes and Maeglin nodded. “Then we are related. I’m Celebrimbor, son of Curufin Feanorion.”

“Oh!”

Maeglin knew that Turgon had talked to Celebrimbor in private,  but he hadn’t met him yet. He understood now why he'd said the Sindar didn’t like him –- what his family had done in Doriath...

“I’m pleased to meet you, Prince Maeglin.” Celebrimbor bowed slightly. “And I beg you not to judge me by the deeds of my father.”

“If you’ll do me the same courtesy”, Maeglin blurted out and blushed at Celebrimbor’s uncomprehending gaze. He didn’t know, Maeglin tended to forget that it wasn’t common knowledge outside of Gondolin. “Eol was... I’m sure you’ll hear it from someone else”, he mumbled and Celebrimbor didn’t ask.

“So you are a smith, too?”, he said instead and Maeglin nodded.

“And a miner, I learned from the Khazâd.”

Celebrimbor’s face lit up. “You visited the Khazâd? I’ve been to Belegost a few times and wish I could have stayed longer, they are so interesting! You have to allow me to invite you to a drink. I haven’t met anyone else who was allowed into their halls.”

Maeglin felt a little overwhelmed by Celebrimbor’s enthusiasm, but he nodded.

“Why not?” He thought of the words Rog had said to him when they’d still been in Gondolin. You had to allow friendship, if you wanted it to happen. “Right now?” He smiled hesitantly at Celebrimbor who grinned back.

“With pleasure. I know for a fact that Ninque’s newest brew turned out splendidly. Have you settled in?”, Celebrimbor asked as they left the forge.

“We are getting there”, answered Maeglin. There were  lot of things to consider.

“To be honest, I’m surprised to find you on the mainland. You are the nephew of the High King after all.” And Turgon had moved to the island, where Círdan had offered him lodgings in his palace.

“Most of the Lords are staying with their people, and the princess with her husband is doing likewise. I know that my uncle has plans to discuss with Círdan and Gil-galad, so it was more convenient for him to accept Círdan’s offer.” He didn’t want to say too much before anything was decided. “And...”

Once he’d dreamed of becoming Turgon’s heir – but that had been before he’d realised that actually succeeding him would mean Turgon’s death. And he’d quickly found out that he didn’t like to be exposed to the public. He wasn’t a leader. Maybe he’d only wanted to be because it meant not being subjected to the mercy of someone else.

“And I feel more comfortable here. The sea is... scary.” And Rog was here, too, they were deciding so much together that their houses already started to mingle. “You are here, too, aren’t you?”, he said when Celebrimbor opened the door to the little pub.

Celebrimbor smiled wryly. “But I’m Curufin’s son and no one really knows what to do with me. The Nargothrondrim see me as one of their own, but there aren’t that many of them left...” A shadow crossed his face. “Let’s talk about something else.”

They ordered beer and Celebrimbor asked: “How did you meet the Khazâd?”

Maeglin accepted the change of topic. He understood why Celebrimbor didn’t want to talk about Nargothrond.

“My father traded with them”, he answered. “And he often visited their halls. He got along better with them than his own people. When I was old enough, he took me along sometimes. I learned a lot there.”

Maeglin could feel that Celebrimbor was curious about his father but he didn’t pry and he was grateful for that. Instead they talked about the culture of the Khazâd and Maeglin was surprised how much Celebrimbor knew about them. He’d never met another elf before, who felt so drawn to them. Most elves looked down on the Khazâd.

 

“Do you have a lamp? It’s already dark outside. If not I can accompany you home.” Celebrimbor lifted his crystal lamp.

Maeglin opened his mouth to tell him that his night vision was perfectly good, but then he swallowed it down. Celebrimbor only wanted to be helpful. They’d talked all evening about the Khazâd and forging techniques and he had found that it was easy for him to talk with Celebrimbor. He liked him, he didn’t want to push him away.

“If you don’t mind?”, he said instead.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. It was truly late, they met barely anyone still about. Maeglin eyed Celebrimbor’s lamp. He’d have loved to find out how they were made. His mother had had one –- one of the few things from her old life Eol had allowed her to keep –- and Maeglin had been fascinated by the glowing stone inside it for as long as he could remember. He’d always imagined the Silmarils to look like that. In Gondolin he’d known no one who knew how to make the lamps well enough to dare to ask and he didn’t learn well from books, the explanations didn’t help him.

“Your grandfather invented those, didn’t he?”

“Yes...” Celebrimbor sounded wary, as if he wasn’t sure if he liked where this remark would lead to.

“I only wanted to know, if you could show me, how to make them!”, Maeglin hurried to add, too worried that Celebrimbor might think he was judging him to be scared of how his question might be received.

“Oh.” Celebrimbor looked surprised at him then he found his smile again. “Of course I can.”

He had a beautiful smile, Maeglin thought.

Chapter Twelve

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Celebrimbor knocked against the tent pole before pushing back the flap.

“Maeglin? Are you there?”

He hadn’t seen him at the forge today at all which was unusual for him, so he’d come looking if everything was alright. Celebrimbor froze when he took in the sight before him. Maeglin lay curled up on his bed, a white cloth pressed against his face. His shoulders were shaking and Celebrimbor was sure that he was crying. No, everything was not alright.

He hesitated, Maeglin seemed not to have noticed him and he didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable because he’d seen him like this — Celebrimbor had a feeling he would worry about it — but the thought of leaving him here alone, crying, tore at his heart.

“Maeglin?”, he said softly and crouched down beside him, touching his shoulder. Maeglin’s eyes, bright with tears, appeared above the white cloth. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Maeglin shook his head. “Not physically”, he croaked and hid his face again.

Celebrimbor gently rubbed his back. “Do you want me to leave?”

Maeglin shook his head and Celebrimbor settled down beside him, continuing to rub his back.

“It’s the day of my mother’s death”, Maeglin finally said, sitting up and looking at him out of red-rimmed eyes. “Do you… do you know how she died?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “I only know that you and her came through my father’s country when you went back to Gondolin — and that my father didn’t like your father when he met him, coming after you.”

“He killed her”, Maeglin wailed and hugged the white cloth. “He tried to kill me, when he realised Turgon wouldn’t let him take me out of the city again, but Mother jumped in the line of his spear and… Mother died and Father was executed.”

“Oh, Maeglin.” Celebrimbor slowly laid his arms around him, giving him time to draw back, if the touch wasn’t appreciated. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew that Maeglin had had a complicated relationship with his father, but to lose both parents in a matter of days…

Maeglin clung to him. “Thank you”, he whispered. “For staying.”

Celebrimbor held him tighter. “You are not alone”, he said gently. “I’m here for you.”

 

Maeglin clung to Celebrimbor’s calmingly firm body, his mother’s shawl held tight in his hand. His head throbbed and his eyes felt dry from crying so long. He missed his mother so much! But at least he wasn’t alone anymore.

“This was hers”, he said, spreading out the crocheted fabric on Celebrimbor’s lap. “Elenwe made it for her.” He looked up. “Did you know my mother?”

“A little. My father allowed me sometimes to accompany him, my uncle and her when they went hunting -- back in Valinor. I liked her, but I didn’t know her well.”

Maeglin nodded. “She loved to hunt. Living in the forest suited her. But… being forbidden to go where she wanted to by my father… she felt so trapped. He let me come with him at least to see the Khazâd in their cities, but her he forced to stay in Nan Elmoth.”

He hadn’t spoken about this with anyone for so long. Idril had listened to him in the beginning and Turgon had asked — interrogated — him after his parents’ deaths, but afterwards… He felt save with Celebrimbor. Save enough to tell him this.

“My father, he thought only his way of living was the right one and he hated the Noldor for taking land as their own that should belong to everyone in his eyes. He also blamed them for Morgoth coming back. He forbade Mother to speak her own language and follow her own customs, because he wanted her to stop being Noldo. So she named me in secret, taught me Quenya in secret. It drew us closer together. Losing her…”

Maeglin sobbed and buried his head on Celebrimbor’s chest. The pain clawed into his heart, worse than anything he’d been subjected to in Angband.

 

Celebrimbor stroked Maeglin’s back. He didn’t say a word, just held him. He couldn’t fathom what he was feeling. Oh, he had grieved when he’d heard of Curufin’s death, he'd loved him despite their differences that had led him to stay behind when his father and Celegorm had been banished from Nargothrond.

A cold, angry part of himself knew that his father had deserved nothing more. He’d have deserved to be sentenced to death for usurping the crown of Nargothrond and no matter what he and Celebrimbor’s uncles were telling themselves, attacking Doriath in the name of the Oath had been wrong.

He’d also been fully grown for a very long time. Maeglin was so young, he could have been barely more than a child when his parents had died. Celebrimbor bowed his head and kissed Maeglin’s tousled hair. He mumbled sleepily, having cried himself to exhaustion. One of his hands clung to Celebrimbor’s shirt as if he feared he’d vanish if he didn’t hold on tight, the other gripped Aredhel’s shawl. It would have been cute, if it weren’t so sad.

Celebrimbor felt tears prick at his eyes, gentleness for Maeglin and sadness for a cousin he hadn’t know well enough overwhelming him. He reached down for the blanket to wrap it around them both, it looked like he’d stay here for the night.

Maeglin jerked, when he moved. “No! Don’t go!”, he said with panic in his voice.

“I don’t intend to”, Celebrimbor answered gently, kissing his forehead. “I just wanted to fetch a blanket. Lie down.”

He wrapped the blanket about them both and hugged Maeglin tight again.

“You never have to be alone again, when you are sad”, Celebrimbor said gently. “Of course, if you want to be alone, that’s alright, too, but I’ll be here, as long as you want me to. I… you are dear to me.”

‘I love you’, the words came suddenly to his mind. He didn’t say them. He feared Maeglin would run away from him, if he did. He also wasn’t sure what was between Maeglin and Rog, they were very close… and this wasn’t the right time anyway. "I like you, too", Maeglin whispered, snuggled into him and closed his eyes, quickly falling into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Read Chapter Thirteen

Maeglin watched Rog washing his face. He hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight and Rog hadn’t asked any questions besides wanting to know if he needed anything to be able to fall asleep before allowing him to slip into his bed. Maeglin had slept deeply and dreamlessly in his arms but now his whole body tensed again as he remembered why he’d been so upset. Rog turned to him as if he’d felt his changed mood – and maybe he had, Rog always let him into his mind – and sat down on the corner of the bed.

“Do you want to talk?”, he asked gently.

“I... why do I always fall in love with people I’m related to!”, Maeglin blurted out. “People I can’t have!”

Rog caressed his head. “Celebrimbor?”

Maeglin felt his cheeks heat. “So obvious?”, he mumbled and Rog smiled wryly.

“Well, you are spending a lot of time with him and I thought it might mean something. Has he turned you away?”

Maeglin shook his head. “I don’t dare to tell him. He’s my cousin and... when I think of how long it took Idril to talk to me at all again... I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

“Oh Lómion”, Rog said gently and despite everything Maeglin felt warmth in his heart because he called him that. “How can you know that he’d shun you if you didn’t ask? Even if it was only because of your close kinship that the princess didn’t fall in love with you... Celebrimbor and you are much less closely related. I admit that I don’t understand the constraints the Noldor put on marriage in this regard anyway, but I don’t think it would be a problem in this case.”

“You think I should tell him?”

“It hurts you to stay silent.” Maeglin bit his lip. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” Rog squeezed his shoulder. “What do you think about breakfast?”

Maeglin nodded absentmindedly, his eyes had fallen on the markings on Rog’s arm. Some of the signs he could read. Belonging to the Hwenti, signs that Eol had worn and that covered Maeglin’s upper arm, too – he’d been so proud when Eol had stitched them under his skin, making him an adult. His father had always said he could be proud to be of his people. For a time he had no longer been so sure of that, but now that he was so close to Rog...

“There’s something else. My Maenas... after I came to Gondolin, I didn’t continue my story...”

“Would you like to?” Rog gave him a serious look. 

“I’m not sure.” Maeglin rubbed his arm where he knew the ink to be under his skin. “I don’t want to draw attention." Even with Eol’s small community there had always been a feast when someone got a new line added to their Maenas.

“We don’t have to have a huge party”, Rog said. “I can stitch it here, only with the two of us present. If it means something to you.”

Maeglin nodded. “I’ll think about it. Can we talk about what I want to have added?”

“Of course. May I see it?”

Maeglin rolled up his sleeve and Rog let his eyes wander over the dark patterns.

“I’d like to have my mother there”, Maeglin said. “Father... didn’t want that.” He hugged himself. Eol’s eyes had flashed when he’d dared to ask for it and punished him. “I’m Noldo, too”, he whispered, afraid that Rog might share the sentiment that he needed to decide.

“It’s part of you, Lómion”, Rog said gently and hugged him. “Many of my people have parents of mixed kin, but we are all Quendi. Just because some of them forgot this custom doesn’t mean we have to exclude them from it. And one thing we have all in common.” Rog pointed at a pattern of his own Maenas. “Angband. Survivor. And before you say anything against it: You deserve it. What else do you want? That you fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad? That you are the nephew of the king? I know your relationship with Turgon wasn’t always easy but...”

Maeglin thought about it. “Do you think, it would honour him? It is my fault he lost his city.”

“And he doesn’t blame you, does he? I think he would think of it positively, yes.”

“Then yes. He is my uncle and he did his best, although he sometimes expected things from me I couldn’t be.”

Turgon had been surprised when he’d asked to be excused from the meetings with Gil-galad and Círdan, but he’d accepted that Maeglin would rather spent his days in the forge and make things his people needed.

“Then it will be so. Once you’ve decided about the time and place, tell me and I’ll arrange tools and ingredients for the ink.”

“Thank you.”

Maeglin wished desperately for the courage to ask Rog, who felt every day more like a father to him, if he’d allow him the honour of putting their relationship in his story. Was that presumptuous? Rog was always friendly but maybe he didn’t see their relationship like that. He didn’t want to destroy what they had...

‘It hurts you to stay silent.’

Maeglin took a deep breath. “You are like a father to me, Rog”, he said before he could think better of it. “I... I’d be honoured if you’d let me call myself your son.”

“Lómion, that...” Rog had tears in his eyes and Maeglin could feel clearly how much his words meant to him. “It honours me that you feel that way. You want me to adopt you?”

Maeglin nodded. “If it feels right for you?”

“It does.” Rog embraced him. “It does very much. I’d love to have a big feast, but we’ll keep it as small as you want... yonya.”

Maeglin smiled happily at him. “Thank you. Atto Rog.” He laughed because it felt good to call him that.

Rog smiled wryly. “The name my parents gave me is Tamwe. You can call me that, if you want to.”

“Oh.” He knew the story of how Rog had gotten his name, but he wasn’t sure anyone in Gondolin knew the name he’d had before. “I will do so gladly, Atto Tamwe.”

 

Maeglin rubbed his arm nervously. Celebrimbor and he were drinking an after-work beer like they often had done in the last few weeks.

“I’d like to invite you to something”, he said before he could lose his courage. “It’s... what do you know about avarin customs?”

“Not much.”

“They – we – stitch our story with ink under our skin. And I... I didn’t do it for a long time, but I want to continue it. It is part of who I am. There’ll be a ceremony and a little party and I’d like to invite you.” Maeglin felt his cheeks heat.

“I’d love to come.” Celebrimbor lifted his mug. “Let’s drink to that?”

Maeglin smiled and obliged him.

“May I ask...”, Celebrimbor said cautiously. “I thought you didn’t want to be linked to your father.”

Maeglin would have thought it an accusation but with him... “You still wear the star, too”, he said. “It is true that I didn’t want to think about being a Hwente, but... since I got to know Rog better... it feels good to share that with him.”

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”, Celebrimbor asked with a strange tone to his voice.

“He’s like a father for me. Indeed...” Maeglin grinned. “He’ll adopt me at the occasion.”

It surprised him to feel something like relief from Celebrimbor.

“I’m happy for you. Maeglin... I hope you won’t take offence at me doing this.”

Celebrimbor had taken his hand and come closer and now his lips met Maeglin’s in a shy kiss. Maeglin was so surprised that he couldn’t react. Celebrimbor pulled back trying to hide his disappointment.

“I’m sorry, I...”

He wanted to stand up and Maeglin reached quickly for his arm.

“No!” He mustn’t let him leave like this! “I was just surprised. I...” He pulled him down and kissed him again. “I didn’t think you’d want me”, he whispered.

Celebrimbor laid his hands on his cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Another kiss that felt so incredibly good.

‘Because I thought, I’d never find someone who’d love me back’, Maeglin thought but he didn’t want to stop kissing him to say it.

“I think we should find a more private place”, Maeglin mumbled and blushed when he remembered they were in a public space. His heart thundered in his chest.

“Your or my place?” Celebrimbor helped him to his feet and tugged him out of the pub.

“Uh...” Maeglin suddenly realised how this must have sounded to Celebrimbor and wasn’t so sure if this wasn’t too fast for him.

Celebrimbor stopped and laid his hands on his shoulders, his eyes kind and smiling. “Let’s got to my place and kiss a little more, if you like.” He stroked is cheeks with his thumbs. “We can take as much time as you like to.”

“Thank you”, Maeglin whispered and Celebrimbor kissed the tip of his nose.

“You are so cute.”

Maeglin felt himself blush again, but he didn’t feel like protesting the sentiment.

“Come.” Celebrimbor laid his arm around his shoulders and led Maeglin along the road to his house. Maeglin leaned a little into him. He almost couldn’t believe that Celebrimbor was really interested in him. Should he have so much luck? Their eyes met and Celebrimbor smiled at him.

“I’m so happy that we met, Maeglin”, he said as if he’d heard his thoughts.

Maeglin reached out instinctively and felt desire and love in his mind. “Sorry”, he said quickly. “I didn’t want to pry. I can’t always control it.”

Celebrimbor squeezed his shoulder. “It’s fine. I don’t have secrets.”

He opened his door without letting go of Maeglin and led him inside.

“Get comfortable”, he said while uncovering a few lamps and lighting a fire. “Do you want to drink something?”

Maeglin slowly shook his head and reached for his hand to pull Celebrimbor down beside him on the couch. “I think, that would make me only more nervous.” He kissed him shyly.

“What can I do to lessen your nervousness?”, Celebrimbor asked, his hand slowly stroked his back.

“I...” Maeglin bit his lip. “You know who I am. What... what I did. And”, he whispered, “we are related.”

He didn’t want to remind him, but he wanted to do the right thing for once in his life.

“Does that bother you?”, Celebrimbor asked frowning.

Maeglin stroked his eyebrows before he could stop himself. “Not me, but...”

“Me neither.” Celebrimbor’s smile returned. “It’s not a very close kinship.” He laid his hand on Maeglin’s cheek. “May I kiss you?”, he asked and Maeglin laughed.

“You already did. But yes, you may.”

Celebrimbor’s lips were soft and warm on Maeglin’s. He sighed softly and slid his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Celebrimbor’s neck, feeling him shudder at the touch. He could feel Celebrimbor’s arousal, too, and the knowledge that he was feeling that way for him made a warm glow start in his chest. He wanted him! He really wanted him!

“Hmm”, he hummed and sucked Celebrimbor’s lips into his mouth. Celebrimbor’s hand closed around his buttock.

“You are so desirable, do you know that?”

Maeglin felt himself blush again. “I’m not...”

Celebrimbor laid a finger on his lips. “You are beautiful. Let me desire you.”

Maeglin moaned as Celebrimbor nibbled at his neck, his hands found their way under his shirt.

 

Afterwards they lay beside each other, limbs entwined, on Celebrimbor’s narrow bed. Maeglin let his fingertips slide over his naked shoulder.

“I’m so happy”, he whispered a grin tugging at his lips. He hadn’t thought anyone would ever return his love.

Celebrimbor kissed his cheek. “It is good to see you smile. I’m happy, too.”

Celebrimbor traced the lines under his skin with his fingers. At other times Maeglin might have been worried about what he thought of it, but right now all his worries had quieted and he just enjoyed the gentleness.

“Are you going to go north?”, Celebrimbor finally asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Maeglin took a deep breath. “My uncle implied that he’d like it if I’d stay and support Idril, but I... I should go. I have to make up for something and I’d feel like a coward, if I avoid a fight. Nothing is going to stop Rog from going to war and he and I work well together.”

Rog’s people and his got along well, too, and Maeglin felt comfortable among them. It was like he’d finally found a home. Only the thought that he could have had this sooner and with less pain made him sad sometimes.

“But if you are staying...” He might change his mind. He didn’t want to let go of Celebrimbor.

His friend had a strange position here. Most of the Sindar from Doriath treated him with open resentment, although he wasn’t a kinslayer himself, but the Nargothrondrim had a high opinion of him, he didn’t lead them, but that was more because he didn’t want to than for any other reason, Maeglin thought. Maeglin knew Turgon wasn’t sure what to think of him. His uncle had never forgiven the Feanorians that his wife had died on the Ice, but Celebrimbor had been barely more than a child himself at the time. Turgon was thinking about ordering him to come with the army to not leave a rival for Idril behind, but Maeglin didn’t want to tell Celebrimbor that before his uncle had made up his mind.

“That means, if you want me close to you...” He blushed when he realised that he was presuming things. “Please tell me, if I’m too intrusive, I don’t want again to...” He gulped. He didn’t want to think of Idril and how much it had hurt when she’d avoided him.

Celebrimbor held him tighter. “I don’t think you intrusive at all”, he said and caressed his cheek. “Do you think I was asking because I want to get rid of you? I hope we can spend many hours together.”

Maeglin gave him a shy kiss. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I don’t want to leave the Nargothrondrim, they have done so much for me and I want to give it back to them by forging for them. But many of them are talking about going with Turgon to fight. And I’m thinking... I didn’t swear and Oath, but I think I should represent my family.”

“I want to be with you”, Maeglin whispered. “I have my own reasons why I want to fight, but I have also good reasons to stay away.” Maeglin fell silent, his chest feeling tight.

“Do you want to talk... about Angband?”, Celebrimbor asked gently. “You know my uncle was...”

“Did he ever tell you, what happened to him?”, Maeglin asked back and Celebrimbor shook his head.

“But I know that he... didn’t trust himself sometimes. Is that what you mean by having good reasons to stay away?”

“Yes”, Maeglin answered, his voice husky. “He was in my head and I’m afraid of what he could force me to do, if I come in his reach. Maybe I should leave. Maybe it would be better for everyone, if I go into the wild to live alone.”

Celebrimbor shook his head decisively. “You are not alone”, he said firmly. “There are people who love you, who want you to be happy. Let me help you and if you can’t trust me yet, talk to Rog. Didn’t you tell me he has the strongest mental shields you ever encountered? Maybe he can teach you to build your own more firmly.”

Maeglin threw Celebrimbor a surprised look. “I... didn’t think of that”, he admitted. “I... yes, that might help. I’ll talk to him. Thank you.”

He kissed Celebrimbor again and snuggled into him. Celebrimbor held him tighter and Maeglin’s heart beat quicker with happiness. This feeling! This was what he’d dreamed to have with Idril. And that it wasn’t Idril now but Celebrimbor who was with him, didn’t make it less precious. His dream had changed, he could love again.

Chapter Fourteen

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Rog looked at his equipment to be sure he had everything ready. Maeglin sat in front of the fire, his upper body naked. It was a private event. A few of their people Maeglin had grown close to in the last months and, to Rog’s delight, Celebrimbor who was squeezing Maeglin’s hand in support. Maeglin had been so happy in the last few days. Rog hadn’t pried, but after the conversation they’d had, he could guess that Celebrimbor had reacted positively to Maeglin’s advances. He was happy for him, the boy deserved someone who reciprocated his love.

“We have come together today”, Rog began to speak, “to give our brother Lómion Maeglin”, he’d asked him to use both his names today, “new lines in his story. He is the nephew of King Turgon. He fought valiantly in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and it was surely not his fault that the battle went wrong. He had to experience what it means to be in the Eye of Morgoth and still found the courage to tell us of his plans. Is there someone among us who has objections?”

Rog waited for a moment although he didn’t expect anyone to speak up, it was tradition. He could see how Maeglin relaxed in relief when the people stayed silent.

“We want, too, to make it known that we consider each other family." Rog turned to Maeglin, who stood up, and took his hands. “Lómion Maeglin, son of Aredhel, we are not of one blood, but kinship is not always something physical. Your fea and mine feel close and I am proud to be allowed to call you son.”

Maeglin’s eyes shone, he beamed at him and Rog thought that he’d never seen him so happy. “Tamwe Rog, Unbegotten, you where there for me when I thought I didn’t deserve friendship anymore. You led my life back to a brighter way. It is my honour to be allowed to call you father.”

They embraced to the claps of the guests. The custom was strange to most of them, but Rog knew that they were glad when Maeglin was happy. Maeglin sat down again and Rog settled down beside him. He took the needle already threaded with a sinew and dipped it in the ink he’d made earlier in the day. He’d thread it through Maeglin’s skin many times in the next hours.

Tyelcalepte started to play a flute and Rog fell into the familiar rhythm. He liked this work, passing along traditions that were as old as the Quendi. Maeglin’s face was shining with happiness when Rog looked quickly at him. He was proud of doing this and he should be. Celebrimbor was sitting at his other side, holding his hand. Rog smiled and concentrated on the stitches.

 

Tyelpe hadn’t left Maeglin’s side although the smell of his blood made him feel a little queasy. He wasn’t familiar with the customs of the Avari but he was touched that Maeglin had invited him to such an intimate ceremony. He gently stroked his lover’s back as Rog covered his arm with ointment and wrapped something around it that looked like moss. Rog seemed to have seen his doubtful glance because he said: “I know what I’m doing.”

Tyelpe bowed his head. “I didn’t want to insinuate anything else.”

Who was he to doubt his expertise? It just looked a little... archaic. ‘Traditional’, he corrected himself. Rog and his people valued their traditions and Maeglin seemed to join them in that view. They drank to Maeglin and Rog with a beverage that tasted strongly of herbs but didn’t seem to be alcoholic. Tyelpe listened to the conversations, knowing that he was a stranger among them and propped Maeglin up who leaned heavily against him, eyes halfway closed.

“Do you want to go home?”, he murmured into his ear and Maeglin shook his head.

“Can’t be the first one to leave my own party. And”, he smiled happily, “I feel good here. It’s nice to sit here and know that these are my friends.”

One of the elves, Tyelpe thought he’d been introduced to him as Talaran, seemed to have heard Maeglin. He moved closer and squeezed Maeglin’s hand. “Of course we are. This custom is strange to me, but... it has some merit to wear your own history on your skin. You can be proud of what you have done, Maeglin.”

“Thank you.” Maeglin sniffled. “For everything.” He turned his head and whispered to Tyelpe. “And thank you, too.”

Tyelpe hugged him tighter. He knew how much Maeglin longed for love and how unlovable he thought himself. He wanted to show him that he was wrong.

 

Rog had winked at him, when Celebrimbor had said he’d accompany Maeglin home and he’d blushed, because his friend was thinking they’d do something — something Maeglin dearly wished for.

“Will you come in?”, he asked awkwardly when they’d reached his hut. He always felt a little bad that he was sleeping in a house when most of his people still had only tents — but they were building houses as quickly as they could find the materials.

“If you want me to?”, Celebrimbor asked and Maeglin thought he sounded like he wanted him to.

“I do, although…” Maeglin looked at his moss-covered arm and blushed. “I don’t think I’m up to more than a little cuddling. I’d understand, if you don’t want to…”

He looked down, not wanting to see the disappointment in Celebrimbor’s face. Surely he’d tell him now, that under these circumstances… Celebrimbor gently lifted his chin with a finger.

“Cuddling sounds great”, he said and kissed him gently. “Does it hurt very much?”

Maeglin shook his head, then shrugged. “It’s… a dull pain, but it sharpens when I move the arm. And I’m exhausted.”

Maeglin leaned into Celebrimbor’s hands that had started to caress his neck.

“You’re so sweet.” Celebrimbor kissed his forehead. “I’d love to cuddle with you any time. And you don’t need a reason. Never think you need a reason for not being in the mood for sex.”

Maeglin felt tears prick his eyes and quickly turned away to open the door. How did this wonderful elf want to be with him? He couldn’t fathom it. Celebrimbor embraced him from behind. “Always tell me what you want — or don’t want.”

Maeglin leaned against him, feeling tired — and his arm really hurt.

“If you’ll do so, too?”, he asked. He’d feel terrible, if he’d only used Celebrimbor and gave nothing in return.

“Deal”, Celebrimbor said with a smile. “Let’s get you into bed, you sound like you’ll fall asleep on your feet otherwise.”

Maeglin nodded, his lids drooping. Celebrimbor undressed him gently and helped him to lie down. Maeglin squirmed around for a while until he’d found a position that didn’t put pressure on his arm.

“Hold me?”, he whispered to Celebrimbor who’d undressed, too, and waited for him to settle in.

“With pleasure.”

Maeglin exhaled with a sigh and relaxed into Celebrimbor’s warm arms.

“Thank you for coming to the party, it was very nice to have you there.”

Maeglin shivered pleasantly as Celebrimbor’s hand slowly stroked his unhurt arm.

“I liked meeting your people. They seem very loyal.”

“They are.” Maeglin sighed. “More than I deserve.”

“Don’t say that”, Celebrimbor said gently. “You are lovely and deserve the best. Please, don’t argue with me about that.”

Maeglin had already opened his mouth to do so but now he closed it. If Celebrimbor wished it… and really, he wanted to listen to Celebrimbor’s kind words and believe them. He wished he could do so wholeheartedly. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to push the guilt aside and enjoy to lie in the arms of an elf he loved.

---

Chapter End Notes

The tattooing technique Rog uses is inspired by this article on traditional Inuit tattoos: https://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/inuit-tattoos-culture-canada/index.html

Chapter Fifteen

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In comparison to the armies that had fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, their own was laughable, but they didn’t intend to attack Angband — not right away at least. Turgon had quietly sent builders to Vinyamar, repairing the citadel and building fortifications. It would need much more effort to make the city habitable again, but it was suitable as headquarters. They were ready to attack.

They only waited for Tuor’s message that everything was ready to move over the mountains. He was in Hithlum, sneaking into the quarters of his enslaved people to tell them the time for an uprising had come. He’d gone there again and again in the last two years, mobilising his people. According to him it hadn’t been hard to convince them, especially with the knowledge that Turgon would fight alongside them.

 

Maeglin was helping Celebrimbor out of his plate. His friend had made some changes and had wanted to make sure everything fit and moved well together. They’d made a lot of blades and plate armour, sharing their knowledge, learning from each other. The forge had rarely been unoccupied with them and Rog and their people hard at work. Maeglin’s miners had found good iron in the mountains around Vinyamar, their supply was ensured.

“Are you satisfied?”, Maeglin asked and Celebrimbor nodded.

“It feels good. Let’s go find something to eat. Or is Rog waiting for you?”

“I’m free for the evening”, answered Maeglin. “I thought… we could spend some time in private.”

They’d been together almost every day, but rarely alone and now that the time to attack was in sight, they had so much work that they’d been too tired at night to do much. Maeglin felt the need to be alone with him for a bit.

“Oh, I see you have lewd thoughts.” Celebrimbor grinned wickedly and kissed him deeply. “I like that.”

Maeglin was a little breathless when they parted. “Let’s go eat”, he said blushing.

Celebrimbor smiled gently at him and laid his arm around his shoulders as they walked through the citadel and Maeglin leaned against him. He felt always so warm in his arms. It was wonderful. He liked that everyone could see they belonged together.

 

Tyelpe smiled at Maeglin over their stew. It felt good to spend some work-free time with him. He loved to make him smile, loved to tease him out of his reserved manner. Tyelpe moved his leg forward under the table and slid his foot up Maeglin’s thigh. His friend’s lids fluttered as he looked at him and he quickly spooned up the last bites of stew. Then he pushed his bowl aside and leaned over the table to kiss Tyelpe. When he wanted to move back, Tyelpe stopped him by laying his hand in his neck, deepening the kiss. Maeglin’s cheeks were flushed when they parted again and Tyelpe’s heart was thundering in his chest, heat pooling between his legs.

“Let’s move to the bed?”, he asked, his voice sounding a little scratchy from arousal.

Maeglin’s eyes fluttered closed again as Tyelpe’s fingers played with the soft hair at his nape. Tyelpe stood and reached for Maeglin’s hand to pull him up. Maeglin embraced him, licking up his neck before nibbling at his earlobe, and then blushed because of his boldness. Tyelpe felt his cock twitch, he found this abashment so arousing — it might have concerned him, but by now he knew it would vanish as things progressed. He loved the abashment because he could watch it go away.

They were in Maeglin’s rooms and Tyelpe let himself be led to the bed in the next room. It was all very obviously a temporary accommodation, sparsely furnished and impersonal, apart from a few knick-knacks. Some metal pieces and uncut jewels lay on the top of a cabinet, alongside some diagrams and doodles. A childish drawing of Maeglin killing orcs — his little nephew must have drawn that — hung on a peg on the wall, a white shawl lay on the bed, Maeglin quickly folded it and put it in a drawer. Tyelpe knew it was the only thing he had left from his mother.

Maeglin turned back to him and laid his arms around his shoulder again and they kissed, undressing each other. Maeglin’s skin felt hot under his fingertips. Tyelpe felt him shiver as he traced the contours of his muscles, listened to his hitching breath as their cocks brushed together. Tyelpe moaned into his mouth, sliding his hands down to his buttocks and pulling him closer, thrusting against him.

They fell down on the bed, entangled in each other. Tyelpe closed his eyes, everything dissolving into touch and sound and smell. His hands on Maeglin’s sweat-slicked skin, Maeglin’s ragged breath in his ear, the scent of the oil as Maeglin opened the stopper. Tyelpe spread his legs wide and groaned loudly as Maeglin’s fingers prepared him for his cock. He opened his eyes again, looking up into Maeglin’s face, who was watching him intently.

“More”, Tyelpe groaned. “Please, Lómion, I want you.”

Something lit up in Maeglin’s eyes at his words, Tyelpe reached up to pull him down into a kiss. He shuddered with pleasure as Maeglin breached him, thrusting slowly into him.

“Do you like it?”, he croaked. “Is it good like this?”

“Yes, Lómion”, Tyelpe answered breathlessly. “Yes!” He met his thrusts, angling his hips and felt a bolt of lightning shoot through him when that made Maeglin hit the right spot. “Yes! Just like this.”

 

Maeglin reached down to pull the blanket over them both then snuggled into Celebrimbor. They’d washed and when Maeglin had scrounged up the courage to ask Celebrimbor, if he’d stay the night, he’d said yes. It was still hard for him to ask for something, but he was growing more confident with Celebrimbor.

And the way Celebrimbor had called him ‘Lómion’ during sex had felt so good. It had sounded like ‘I love you’ to him — even if he was probably reading too much into it.

He’d asked him if he could call him that, after Rog had used the name when he’d adopted him. Maeglin felt like he was finally building a family after feeling alone for so long. He was afraid it couldn’t hold. How could he be so lucky after everything. He’d have to pay for it eventually, he just knew it.

“Don’t”, Celebrimbor said sleepily.

“What?” Maeglin startled let go of Celebrimbor and moved backwards, a sharp pain stabbing at his heart.

Celebrimbor turned around with a frown, but when he saw his face, he looked appalled. “Nonono! I didn’t mean… Oh, Maeglin”, he embraced him gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything you were doing. I just felt that you were worrying and I wanted you to stop.”

Maeglin sobbed in relief. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want me to hold you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” Celebrimbor rubbed his back. “My dear, dear Lómion. I want you close to me. Always and forever.” Maeglin looked up to him and Celebrimbor smiled wryly. “I love you, don’t you know that?” Maeglin shook his head. “Well, now you know.” Celebrimbor kissed the tip of his nose.

“You do?” Happiness was rushing through his body. Celebrimbor had said it. Celebrimbor loved him! Maeglin clung to him and started to cry.

“Yes?”, Celebrimbor sounded a little worried. “Are you alright?” He patted his back gingerly.

“Yes”, Maeglin sobbed. “I’m so happy. I love you, too. I thought...” He sniffed. “I thought, no one would ever love me back.”

“Oh, my dear.” Celebrimbor kissed his cheek. “I do. And I’m so happy with you. And don’t say: ‘Why would you love me?’” Maeglin blushed, Celebrimbor new him so well. “You are loveable and I’m going to prove it to you.”

Maeglin leaned into him, wishing that time would stop so he could stay in this most perfect of moments. They laid down again, holding each other, Maeglin’s head tugged under Celebrimbor’s chin — he’d inherited the looks of his mother but the height of his father and Celebrimbor towered over him. He felt so save in his arms, nothing would hurt him, as long as Celebrimbor had a say in it. He loved him! Maeglin smiled, feeling so happy he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

Chapter Sixteen

warning for this chapter: conversation about suicidal intent

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Fighting alongside Rog was awe inspiring and a little terrifying, Maeglin thought while he wiped the blood off his sword. His father -- his father! it was still exhilarating to think of him that way -- stood beside him, drinking from a waterskin. His face and armour was covered in blood and gore, the sweat running down his face had left furrows in the grime. He looked like a demon — he’d fought like one. No wonder the orcs had given him the name. Rog met his gaze and grinned, his teeth very white.

“Feels good to fight again — bring the war to them”, he said, his voice rough from screaming his battle-cries. “How I’ve missed this.”

Maeglin smiled weakly. The closeness to Angband weighed heavily on his mind. Rog had taught him how to raise additional, reinforced mind-shields and it was hard work to keep them up. (He also didn’t want to think of how little use they would be, if Morgoth were indeed to come for him. He doubted that even Rog could withstand him.)

“Are you alright?”, Rog asked, coming closer and laying his hand on Maeglin’s shoulder.

“Yes.” Maeglin sighed. “I’m glad we won, but it feels too easy. They were just Men, no reinforcements from Angband. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yes. It's not over yet.”

Rog looked in the direction of the pen where the easterlings who’d begged for quarter had been put under guard. Tuor’s people were not inclined to show mercy towards them, and understandably so, but Turgon thought it prudent to give those men the chance to leave in peace. They would not be allowed to stay in Hithlum, but Turgon wanted to make as certain as possible, that they wouldn’t attack them again. He counted on them being not happy with Morgoth going back on his word and confining them in Hithlum.

Maeglin pushed his hand through his sweaty hair. He felt gross and wanted to wash. He nodded and smiled at his people, exchanging a word here and there as he and Rog walked back to their tents. It still didn’t come easy to him to be a confident leader, but he was getting more comfortable. He was following Rog’s lead, who’d told him how important the feeling that their commander looked with favour upon them was for the morale of the soldiers.

He was looking for Celebrimbor with half an eye, even though he knew his friend was probably tending to his own people right now. He’d seen him directly after the fight, when it had become clear that they’d won this battle, and had seen with relief that he was unharmed. You never knew in battle. The best swordsman could be felled by a well placed arrow or overwhelmed by superior numbers. Maeglin shuddered. The easterlings had had much more casualties than them, but everyone of his people, who’d died on the battlefield, pained him and he already dreaded to have to tell their families who’d stayed with Idril in the south.

“Will you be alright?”, Rog asked and Maeglin nodded.

“I need to get out of the armour and some water on my skin.”

“See you later then”, Rog slapped his shoulder plate.

Maeglin stepped into his tent, where his squire waited to help him out of his armour. He’d already prepared a basin of fresh water. Maeglin smiled gratefully at him.

 

Maeglin and Celebrimbor had come to eat with him. There would be a feast once they were back in Vinyamar and the soldiers were already partying, but after the din of the battle, Maeglin didn’t feel like socialising. Rog could understand him. He would have been annoyed by anyone else who had invited themselves to dinner, but Maeglin — and Celebrimbor by extension — were family. He could relax around them. Being with them did not leave him exhausted.

“Are you sure, you wouldn’t rather dance with a handsome soldier?”, Maeglin asked Celebrimbor.

“No.” Celebrimbor laughed and kissed his cheek. “I’d rather spend time with you. To be honest, I’ve had enough of war for a lifetime.”

“It’s not over, yet”, Rog said gruffly, before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry”, he added quickly and rubbed his forehead. “I’m not in the best of moods. The fighting… it gives me a rush, but it also drains me incredibly. I’m quite happy to spend a quiet evening with you two. It means I don’t have to socialize with our fellow lords.”

“It’s okay”, Celebrimbor said. “The stew is great, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Rog smiled wryly. It made him happy to see Maeglin with Celebrimbor and witness the love that was between them. He leaned back until he lay on his back, the bowl with stew on his belly. “Look at the sky”, he said. “The stars are back.”

It had been cloudy since before the Long Winter, Morgoth’s power seeping through, but now there were patches of clear sky visible, the Valacirca glinting brightly in the North.

“He cannot win forever”, Celebrimbor whispered. “Some day we will have the upper hand.”

“If the Valar keep Ulmo’s promise and deign to show up, maybe”, Maeglin mumbled, not sounding confident that this would indeed happen.

Rog was inclined to agree with him. He’d seen Angband’s power from closer up than he cared to ever see it again. A single orc might not be much of a challenge for an elf, but they were outnumbered and the army they faced was led by a Vala and his Maiar. They could not win this alone.

“I have never trusted in the Valar”, Rog said. “They’ve not done anything for me or my kin who chose to stay in these lands. But Tuor is so certain. I cannot trust in the Valar, but I want to believe his hope.” He remembered him standing before Turgon, wearing the armour that had been left behind for him hundreds of years ago, and Ulmo’s words coming from his mouth. He’d been touched by them, then. “And whatever is going to happen. Morgoth is not going to have me or either of you, if I can help it.”

Maeglin met his eyes and nodded once, taking his meaning.

Celebrimbor shivered. “To take your own life is a sin”, he whispered.

“Yes”, Rog answered firmly. “But those who made it so never were slaves in Angband. Your uncle would agree with me.”

Celebrimbor shuddered again but said: “I do not doubt it. But… it chills me to think of an eventuality where I’d be faced with the decision to take my own life.”

“As it should be”, Rog answered. “I’m just saying that knowing what Angband is like, death is preferable.”

Maeglin had laid his arm around Celebrimbor and said softly: “It won’t come to that. We’ll be fine.”

And despite the serious topic and his own dark mood Rog felt a smile tug at his lips. Yes, he believed those two would be fine, if they managed to survive this war in freedom.

 

They’d spent the last days on horseback, making sure every last easterling left Hithlum. Maeglin had felt sorry for them. Most of their warriors were dead, these were women and children and old people — but there was so much bad blood between them and the people of Hador, understandably so, that they couldn’t stay. And given that they expected Morgoth to strike back at them soon, they couldn’t risk having a hostile force in their midst. But still… it had left a sour taste in his mouth to force crying children and women carrying all their belongings on their backs on a road into nowhere. Where would they go?

They’d fed their horses, had eaten and washed and now they sat in front of Celebrimbor’s tent watching the sun go down. Celebrimbor was rubbing his neck and Maeglin leaned into the touch, shivering pleasantly.

“You look sad”, Celebrimbor said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking of these people wandering around without a home.” Maeglin sighed. “I know they couldn’t stay here, but… it feels wrong. How many of them are going to die before they find a new place to settle down? I know they treated the people of Hador badly, I know there really was no other way, but I wish we could have found one.”

Celebrimbor leaned his head against Maeglin’s. “You are such a compassionate person”, he said softly. “In a better world we might have found another way.” Celebrimbor sighed. “You know… I sometimes dream of leaving. Going somewhere else, where I can start fresh, build a place where everyone is welcome, no matter who they are or what their past is.” He shook his head. “You must think me naive.”

“No!” Maeglin turned his head and gave him a quick kiss. “That’s a lovely dream. I thought about staying in Vinyamar, after the war, I mean… if you don’t want to go south again. But maybe… maybe, we should go somewhere completely different.”

“You’d go with me? Not right now of course, but when this is over?”

Maeglin laughed. “You sound very surprised about that. Of course I’d come with you.” Maeglin licked his lips and touched Celebrimbor’s cheek, turning his head, so their eyes met. “I love you”, he croaked. It still felt frightening to say it. Say it first. Risk rejection. What if Celebrimbor didn’t say it back? What if he’d changed his mind?

“Maeglin”, Celebrimbor whispered and Maeglin steeled himself. “I love you, too.”

Maeglin breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

“We’ll find a place for us”, Celebrimbor continued. “Were we can build something together.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Maeglin kissed him again and Celebrimbor’s hand curled around his nape, rubbing his skin gently. Maeglin shivered, leaning into the touch.

“I love you”, Maeglin whispered again and wrapped his arms around Celebrimbor. “Whatever may come, I’m so glad I met you.”

Celebrimbor gave him a dazzling smile. “Me, too.” His hand travelled down Maeglin’s back. “Let’s move inside”, he whispered.

Maeglin gave him a kiss and let himself be led into Celebrimbor’s tent. It was tight and Maeglin was well aware that only fabric separated them from the other people in the camp, but he longed to be close to Celebrimbor now. He wanted to be one with him, melt their bodies and souls together until no one could separate them.

Interludes

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Interlude 1

Maeglin walked beside Tuor through the streets of Vinyamar, wondering what the Man could want from him. He knew, he and Idril had readied a ship to go out to sea, now that they’d regained Hithlum and Earendil was old enough to stand on his own feet. Idril had told him that Tuor’s sea-longing had become worse and worse in the last months.

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye”, the Man said now, meeting his gaze. “But — if I may say so — you changed for the better.”

Maeglin huffed. “If you asked me here to insult me”, he snapped, “I will not stay to listen.”

“No!” Tuor shook his head. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m not as good with words as you. I want to ask you for your help. Look, me and Idril are going to leave soon and I don’t know how long we’ll be at sea — a few months at least. I introduced Earendil to the leaders of every homestead and borough in Hithlum and he’s learning quickly how to lead, but he’s still young.”

“Not much younger than you, when you came to Gondolin”, Maeglin remarked.

“Yes, maybe.” Tuor smiled wryly. “And if I’m not entirely wrong, he’ll soon marry his own elven princess, but that’s not the point. He is still very young and I’d feel better, if you looked after him a little.”

“Of course I will.” Maeglin gripped Tuor’s offered hand tightly. “You have my word. I’ll keep an eye on him and help him as well as I can.”

Earendil had grown into a fine young man — whether Elda or Man wasn’t entirely clear — but he was still insecure in who he was becoming.

“Thank you.” Tuor breathed a sigh of relief. “Idril will sleep better, too, if she knows that you’ll guard him.”

Maeglin felt a warmth spread in his chest. How much had changed for the better. “Thank you”, he said again. “For giving me a second chance. I know I haven’t always treated you as I should have.”

Tuor patted his shoulder. “It’s forgotten, kinsman. You’ve fought alongside me to free my people, I’d say you made up for any misbehaviour toward me and mine.” Maeglin bowed his head to him in thanks. “You have a kind heart, Tuor. I hope, you’ll find what you seek at sea.”

 

Interlude 2

Maeglin looked up from the metal band he was polishing when he heard steps behind himself. He put the arm-ring aside — after forging so much armour, it was nice to make some jewellery for a change — and nodded at Earendil, who’d stopped in the door-frame.

“What can I do for you, nephew?”

“Uh, I…” Earendil blushed bright red as he looked down on his feet. “I wondered, if you could make me a ring… I mean, not for me. For… for Elwing.”

“An engagement ring?”, Maeglin asked and felt his heart beat quicker because he’d come to him with this request. Earendil nodded. “Of course. Want to look into my treasure box?” Maeglin winked at him and Earendil grinned, as a boy he’d loved to look through his box of uncut stones and little knick-knacks that might be used for a project.

“Yes, please!”

“Do you have an idea of what it should look like?”, Maeglin asked as he opened the wooden box. “A few. I’d like it to look forest-y, leafy, maybe a green stone?”

Maeglin nodded, his mind already at work. He picked out some tourmalines and beryls, an emerald. And a piece of jade he’d been gifted by a dwarf who’d befriended him when he’d visited Belegost with his father. He guessed the jade wouldn’t be leafy-green enough for Earendil’s tastes, but he wanted to offer it anyway — it had always felt too special to make something out of it, but he’d give it to his nephew.

“I like these”, Earendil pointed at two bright green tourmalines and Maeglin nodded to himself, based on what he’d said before, he’d expected that. He put them carefully aside and set the rest back into the box.

“I’ll draw some sketches for you, then we can talk about changes. I know it’s easier for many people to start from a basic sketch an change what is not to their liking.”

Earendil grinned widely at him. “Thank you, uncle. I know you are sought after. I’m grateful that you are making time for me.”

Maeglin smiled back at him. “Family comes first”, he answered. “You have my special attention. And I don’t have that much to do, really.”

It was true that people turned to him much more than he was used to from Gondolin, when they were looking for something specifically made for them. He was building a reputation of helping people bring their vision to life. And he liked to do it, liked to make things people cherished, but he would not boast about it.

“I’m happy for you”, he told Earendil.

He and Elwing still felt so young, but they were mature in a way few elves at their age were. Who knew how the mannish blood influenced them?

“Thank you, uncle.” Earendil hesitated. “Do you think… when do you think my parents will come back?”

“You want them there for the wedding, hm?” Earendil nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright, and Maeglin patted his arm. “I don’t know. But they’ve always come back, haven’t they?”

“Yes, but… I have a bad feeling. Every time they sail away, I fear they won’t. Father is searching for something I’m not sure he can find.”

Maeglin sometimes saw the same longing on Earendil’s face that had been on Tuor's every time he stayed to long on land. He wondered if Elwing knew about it.

“They will come back”, Maeglin said firmly, if only because he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Idril again.

Chapter Seventeen

Read Chapter Seventeen

The sea was rushing under the keel of his ship, wind swelling her sails. He stood at the helm, guiding his ship towards the west, where he hoped to find his parents. He ’d tried to find them for so long, but every time he tried to sail west, he was pushed back by storms. But this time… he realised there was light around him and when he looked down he saw that he wore the Nauglamír.

“ Find us”, a voice called from the west, deep and resonant like the depth of the sea. “You have won a great battle, but Morgoth is still not vanquished. Find us, your people cannot win this war alone. Find us and something good may come of it.”

Earendil woke with a start. Elwing made a protesting sound beside him as he sat up and rubbed his face. He didn’t think for a moment that this had been a normal dream. This had been a Vala’s message. Ulmo wanted to find Aman and he’d shown him the means. The Silmaril held great power.

Earendil looked at the jewellery box, where Elwing kept it. She wore it only rarely. She’d told him it tired her to have the Nauglamír around her neck. But her people thought it was bringing them luck and plenty, so she wore it at the beginning of the sowing season and at the feast at the end of harvest.

They still lived at the land point close to Balar, although they also spent a lot of time travelling up north with his father’s people. Earendil thought it important to stay in contact with the leaders of the villages who’d taken him as their lord. It would have been easier, if the Doriathrim could have been persuaded to move to Nevrast, but they refused to live under the rule of a noldorin king. They suffered Earendil, but he knew they saw Elwing as their ruler — he was only her consort.

Earendil smiled down at his sleeping wife. He was alright with that, he liked to think they were equals. He wondered what she’d say, if he told her that he needed to take the Silmaril to sea. Would she understand it? She was very possessive of the thing. Earendil himself felt ambivalent about it. He could understand why she was attached to it, considering the family history, and when it shone on her chest, she looked beautiful — but it was a terrible beauty that made him shiver. To him, she was much more beautiful without it.

And he’d also never forget how the twins had clung to his legs, trying to hide from her, when they’d seen her wear it for the first time — they hadn’t recognised her as their mother. He knew that had broken Elwing’s heart a little, she'd kept it locked away since then.

Elwing opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Come to me, love, I’m cold.”

Earendil embraced her, smiling as she snuggled into him.

“I’ve had a dream”, he said softly, licking his lips.

“Mmh.” Elwing rubbed her eyes. “A dream?”

“A dream about the sea, about travelling west.” Earendil hesitated to continue. “I… heard a voice. I think it was Ulmo. He told me to find them, so Morgoth can be defeated. I… I wore the Silmaril in my dream I think, I need it to find the way west.”

“No.” Elwing said. “No, Earendil, I love you, but I can’t give you the Silmaril!”

“Let’s talk about it in the morning”, Earendil answered.

Elwing sighed, but she didn’t argue. Despite his words, Earendil lay awake for a long time, it was already starting to dawn when he finally fell asleep again.

 

They had left the twins with Elwing’s old nurse — who was always happy to take them for a few hours — and were walking along the shore of the lake beside the village they were currently staying in. Elwing knew the look on Earendil’s face as he watched the waves.

“You are leaving again, don’t you?”, she said, failing to keep the strain from her voice.

“The sea is calling me”, he answered. “Elwing, I’m sorry.”

‘And what about your children’, she thought. ‘Will you let them grow up without a father.’ But she swallowed the words. Earendil hadn’t set foot on a ship since she’d told him she was pregnant and she’d often seen how hard it was for him to deny the call of the sea.

“About my dream…”

“No, Earendil.” Elwing stopped and looked hard at him. “I won’t let you take the Silmaril to sea.”

“But if it might help me find my parents?” There was pain in his eyes and Elwing didn’t have the heart to tell him that his father was likely dead by now — Tuor had already be old when he and Idril had gone missing at sea.

“I understand that”, she said gently. “But the Silmaril is all I have left of my family. I can’t just give it away.”

“Yes, of course.” Earendil kissed her hands. “It’s just… I feel so strongly that it is the key to… if not to my parents, then something else. Ulmo never delivered on the promise he gave my grandfather.”

“Turgon doesn’t seem to be worried about that”, Elwing countered. “You and me, we perceive the passing of time more like Men do. If elves experience it so differently, think of how little time must have passed in the eyes of the Valar since your people abandoned Gondolin and chose to free Hithlum.”

“Maybe.” Earendil’s eyes had strayed North. “But Morgoth doesn’t sleep and we can’t fight him alone. We might be able to hold Hithlum for a while, but not forever, if he sets his mind on us. Grandfather stuck his neck out in attacking the Easterlings. Ulmo made a promise, they have to help us.”

“There is still the Doom on the Noldor.” Elwing shuddered, thinking of the things that had led to it.

“And they have suffered for it.” Earendil looked at her. “I know what you see in your nightmares, my love, but shall people, who were not even born when the Doom was spoken, suffer for the sins of their parents? I can’t believe the Valar are that cruel. Someone has to tell them.”

“I wish you wouldn’t think it had to be you.” Elwing embraced him. “But I won’t hold you. Come back to us.”

“Always.” Earendil kissed her gently. He did not ask for the Silmaril again.