Maeglin's Choice by chrissystriped

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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.