The Crow and the Swan by SonOfMandos

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Chapter 3

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“Lady, if we don’t move now, we increase the risk to be attacked by Morgoth and his minions,” said Tuor. “Trolls, Orcs, balrogs, dragons…”

“I know this,” replied Idril.

She, Tuor and Maeglin were sitting around a table on the balcony of her personal quarters. Tuor always called her ‘Lady’. If it were usually cocky, flirty, almost affectionate, this day, it carried the colours of arrogance.

“Then why aren’t you doing anything? As a princess, you hold power, do you not?” countered Tuor.

“I simply cannot request hundreds of thousands to pack their bags and march through the mountains,” said Idril. Her tone was even. “I need to make a plan.”

Tuor crossed his arms and sighed loudly. He tapped his foot on the ground with impatience. “A plan? Really? The world is unstable. Improvisation is what will get out of the situation. If there were to be a plan, the Lord of the Seas would have provided one.”

“Improvisation isn’t always the answer,” said Idril. “Last my people improvised, we lost many. Too many.”

Tuor rolled his eyes. He addressed Maeglin, who was playing with the sleeves of his robe, shifting uneasily under the tension of the argument. “And you? What do you say?”

“I,” Maeglin cleared his throat. “I think we should go, but…”

“See?” Tuor gestured at Maeglin, victorious. “Finally, someone with good sense!”

“I will not send my people to a certain death,” retorted Idril. “We can’t go on like this. This is not how things work.”

“’This is not how things work,’” repeated Tuor, his voice raising with each word. “’This is not how things work’? Elves say this all the time, as if they knew better than everyone else. Who in Middle Earth do you believe you are to know how things work?” Angry, he stood up. “What do you know of the way things are, you who spent your life between those white walls?”

“Shut your mouth immediately or it’s my fist that will hit it.”

Maeglin stood and grabbed Tuor by the collar. Behind him, his chair fell.

“Maeglin,” said Idril.

“Whose uncle was slain by Gothmog? Hers. Whose grandfather was crushed by the Dark Lord himself? Hers. Who, do you think, crossed the Ice and witnessed her people and her mother die before her eyes? Her,” snapped Maeglin. His tone was murderous.

“Maeglin,” warned Idril.

“Didn’t it occur to you that her skin glow? And you know why? Because she’s seen the Light of the Trees. She’s older than you and me, older than the fucking sun and the fucking moon.”

Tuor gulped.

“If there’s someone who knows what the world is like, it’s her.” Maeglin leaned in, his breath coming in short bursts against Tuor’s lips. “When you die, you will reach the Creator. There’s nothing for you to fear. She is doomed by the God of Death, she can’t-”

“Lómion, that’s enough.”

Maeglin froze. Idril’s cold fingers tightened around his wrist. Her voice left no place for rebuttal.

Shame washed over Tuor. He had overlooked who Idril truly was and entertained the idea she was a beautiful, naïve, golden Elven princess, sequestered in her white tower, like in the tales of the people of Marach. He had heard of the deeds of evil in the Undying Lands and the coming of the High Elves. It never came to his realisation that Idril was one of the rare Light Elves that had marched through the Ice. In his mind, she was born in Beleriand.

“I’m sorry,” the Man whispered. “I’m really sorry, I never wanted-…” He lowered his head and turned around. “I shall go.”

“We’ll talk later,” replied Idril.

The door closed with a hollow sound.

“You let him go,” Maeglin said with disbelief.

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t right.”

“What?”

Maeglin jerked his wrist away from Idril’s grip. “What he said was wrong, and you let him go? Without him apologising?”

Idril sighed. “He was angry.”

“He insulted you! He was wrong, and I won’t let anybody lack you respect!”

Idril sat on her chair, sighing again, a shallow breath of defeat. “He feels trapped.”

“That’s no excuse for-”

“Use your head and try to understand!”

“But it’s wrong! What is there to understand, anyway? He insulted you!”

“Maeglin,” Idril countered, firm. “He is disallowed to go beyond the mountains. He likes working on the farms because it gives him a sense of freedom. Think about it: he is a Mortal and a messenger of Ulu who cannot leave. It’s no better than being sentenced to jail. He expressed his frustration.”

Maeglin stared. “So that’s how you see it.”

“I do.” She shrugged. “The situation has been on my mind for a while.You want to go too.”

“Yes, I’ve made my position clear,” replied Maeglin. “But that’s not-”

“You wanted to leave before Tuor delivered Ulu’s message,” Idril cut him short.

Maeglin’s eyes widened. “How…?”

Idril motioned for him to sit back on his chair. Her cousin stood still. “Gondolin welcomed you with a tragedy. You were alone and now you have us, but…,” her gaze wandered. She sighed again. “It was only a matter of time. When you can hunt in the woods, you go; when you can explore the mountains to gather minerals, you go. Just like Tuor, you move around and change places.”

“That’s my job,” he retorted. “That’s hardly a proof.”

“Look,” Idril said, her fingers tapping her forearm. “We left Valinor to come here in Middle Earth. We wanted our independence. Your mother left the city to meet her cousins, but mostly, she couldn’t handle to stay in the same place forever. She came back for your sake, but it’s clear you both belong to the woods.” She smirked. “Sacrificing our freedom isn’t who we are. It’s in our blood to do what we believe is right, should we cross the world on foot.”

“Why doesn’t Uncle want to leave if freedom is so important?”

Idril closed her eyes as if she were searching for the very last remnants of patience she had left. “Sit,” she said. Maeglin obeyed. She started, “My father is aware of the dangers that await us once we cross the mountains and Ulu’s circle of protection. He doesn’t want to risk it for his people. He wants to offer his citizens a good life until we can’t escape our curse anymore. People are tired and ready to enjoy the calm before the storm. Our end is inevitable.”

Idril’s face was unreadable. Maeglin waited. Something at the back of his mind told him if he kept silent, she would reveal her deepest thoughts.

He was right. She spoke after a few moments of stillness.

“However, I believe we must try.” She stared at him with the eyes of a hawk. “I will need your help to execute my plan, and then, I will set you free.”

“Your plan?”

Idril raised her hand. “One thing at a time, I’m not finished. I will cover for you when you go. If the Eagles deliver your letters outside the mountains, they can carry you too.”

Maeglin was speechless. His cousin was more observant than he gave her credit for. She always wore an absent expression, an expression of someone lost in their rêverie. Her clumsiness and lack of awareness of the world around her turned to be a deception.

“You aren’t the only one who entertains a correspondence with our Fëanorian cousin,” Idril’s lips pursed into a mischievous grin. “I requested him not to tell you about it, and I can see that he respected his word.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Maeglin breathed out.

“What for? Writing to Tyelpë?”

“No. For doing me a favour and helping me to go when it’ll be time.”

Idril became serious again. “It’s not a favour. I’m simply redeeming my deeds. One day, you will leave the city and I will free your way.”

“Deeds? What deeds have you done? You’ve always be good—to me, to your people.”

“I’m no longer the kind and innocent child I used to be.” She shook her head. “You will hate me after my confession. I will never blame you for it, I would do the same.”

“If it’s this horrible, then don’t tell me,” exclaimed Maeglin. “I’d rather not know than to hate you.”

“I’d rather you know the truth than not,” she retorted. Idril considered him. “Will you let me?”

Maeglin pondered. “Is it really this awful?”

“It is.”

“Then go,” said the smith. “I’m listening.”

“Alright…,” she inhaled sharply. “My father didn’t want to execute him. He said he wasn’t himself, but possessed by dark magic, and that my aunt perished because she succumbed to the Doom. I disagreed with him. I was angry that he had stolen my aunt and had taken her away from me forever.” Idril closed her eyes. “It was me who sentenced your father to death.”

When she opened her eyes, there was nothing but the vast horizon and the soft breeze against her cheeks.

 

***

Maeglin didn’t speak to Idril for a week. He escaped to his small cabin in the woods to recover from the shock. He thought of bringing Tuor with him so he wouldn’t be alone, but he decided against it. He couldn’t imagine himself cry in front of his friend and reveal everything that had happened, not that Tuor was never made aware of the history of the city.

When he came back, he held Idril in his arms, much to her surprise—and to his. She was the sister he had always wished to have. He had not fully forgiven her, but could not erase her from his life either. It did not matter to Idril who never expected forgiveness from anyone, save from perhaps Eru. Maeglin had agreed to stay as long as it took to complete his cousin’s secret project, a tunnel through the mountains.

One day, he was skimming through a book in Turgon’s library, and his uncle asked him, “Did she tell you?”

“How do you know?” responded Maeglin, startled.

“I simply do.” Turgon offered nothing further than a smile.

He and Galadriel, Aredhel used to complain, were more akin to each other despite sharing no parents. It made the smith wonder what else his uncle knew.

 

***

“I’m sleeping here. Goodnight!”

“This is my bed.”

“Yes, and?”

“Tuor,” groaned Maeglin.

Tuor had showed up at his door, uninvited, had rushed to his room without preamble, had taken his short off and had crushed heavily on the bed. At least he removed his boots, Maeglin thought gingerly.

“What do you want?” said Maeglin.

“I came to end this little thing we have going on,” confessed Tuor. “It won’t change anything, all things considered, since we, hm, sucked each other off, just once and that was last summer.”

Maeglin frowned. For a reason he could not tell, he felt annoyance irradiate in his chest. “Care to give a reason?”

“I’m going to marry Idril.”

“You what?” Maeglin yelled.

“I knew you would react like that,” said Tuor. He propped himself on his elbows. “Let me explain.”

“You’re sure I will-” Maeglin burst.

“She’s pregnant.”

“She’s-” He stopped abruptly, his fist raised in the air. It fell against his thigh like a lifeless body.

“It was an accident, we didn’t know it would happen.”

The Sinda blinked. “An accident,” he repeated with a dark voice. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not!” protested Tuor. “It happens among the Edain when we don’t use contraception. Idril being an Elf, we assumed it would be safe without, but we were wrong.”

“So you’re telling me this wasn’t premeditated?”

“It was not.”

Maeglin rubbed his forehead, knowing he would end the evening with a headache. “Sweet Araw…,” he muttered. “What did my uncle say?”

Tuor shifted and rolled on his side to face the wall. “He wasn’t too impressed about it, and I’m being generous. Mentioned certain plants used for abortion, but also said he would make sure the baby never lacks anything if we keep it.”

Despite being greatly annoyed by the news, Maeglin sat on the edge of the mattress and patted Tuor’s thigh. “Whatever happens, I will support your decision…”

The Adan lifted his head to glance at the smith over his shoulder. “I sense a ‘but’.”

“But,” Maeglin nodded, “don’t touch my cousin! Hurt her and I’ll skin you alive! Don’t smile, I’m really mad!” He slapped Tuor’s thigh to prove his point.

 

***

Months passed, Idril’s stomach shyly took a round shape, and the wedding ceremony, if festive, was nothing to the coronation ceremony that took place shortly after. Gondolin had a new prince. Turgon regretted the circumstances of their isolation—he wished nothing but to rub in his cousins’ faces that he had officialised friendship between Elves and Men.

Eärendil was born, and the city was festive again. Idril and Tuor were, however, too tired by the new responsibilities of parenthood that came with sleepless nights to celebrate. A crying and stubborn baby that demanded all of their energy was enough.

The baby grew quickly. Not as fast as Mannish babies, but quicker than Elvish babies. He had the qualities of both races and, to Turgon’s amusement, the flaws too.

Maeglin stayed until the secret passage through the mountains was finished. Eärendil was four, then.

It was night and he had gathered his most precious belongings and farewell letters to his staff and family. Thorondor was waiting for him in the woods.

He heard muffled sounds. He was certain he had closed the gate at the entrance of his house. He paid attention to the noise. The door burst open.

“Maeglin!”

“Tuor?”

“Idril told me you were leaving. Like this, no goodbye’s. Why?”

“I’m sorry,” said Maeglin softly. “I have no time to explain but I left you a letter.”

“Maeglin,” Tuor walked up to him. “What do you think you’re doing? Have you lost your mind?”

“No, it was planned. I’m really sorry.”

Tuor grabbed his forearm. “We said we would go together.”

“I never agreed to such a thing.”

“Why? Tell me it’s not true. It’s a joke, isn’t it?”

Maeglin gulped. He heard the bell of despair ring underneath the anger of his friend’s voice.

“You can’t leave,” Tuor continued. “You can’t leave.” He took Maeglin’s other arm. “Please, wait. I know we should leave before Morgoth attacks us, but all these years have passed and nothing happened. Wait another year. I know I used to urge you to leave, but…”

“No,” the Sinda countered. “Now is better precisely because there’s peace in the outside world. Ulu always delivers his messages before wartime.”

Tuor breathed deeply, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. “Does your uncle know?”

“No. He’d refuse.”

“It’ll hurt him.”

“I know,” said Maeglin.

“Eärendil too. He’s a child, he won’t understand.”

“Don’t bring Eärendil into this.”

Tuor’s grip on Maeglin’s arms tightened. “What will I tell him if you don’t say goodbye? He’ll cry your name.” Seeing that Maeglin hesitated, he pursued, “That’s why I’m asking you to stay one more year, just a year.”

“Thorondor’s waiting…,” the smith whispered.

Tuor, lost, let him go. Maeglin hugged him. “It’s not forever. We’ll meet again, I promise.”

He kissed the Man on the cheek and left his home.

 

Maeglin never saw Tuor once more.