Maeglin's Choice by chrissystriped

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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.

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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.