In My End Is My Beginning by Lilith

A Vain Pursuit

Prompt: “A vain pursuit from its beginning, maybe, which no choice of mine can mar or mend.” (The Two Towers, Book III, Chapter 1)

Follows the events seen in chapter 10, Mairen considers how she may have become caught in her own trap.

 

Seated before the fire, Mairen watched as the dawn approached warming the grey half-light of the earliest morning hours into the warmer and richer shades brought by the rising sun. She turned and looked at Tyelperinquar where he slept still. He lay on his side, as was his habit, his head pillowed by his cloak and one arm resting where she had lain beside him. In sleep, his face seemed — not younger, not that — less reserved and less guarded with more ease upon it. In sleep — in true sleep, perhaps, he had been able to set aside some of his burdens, put away his guilt, and allow his ambition to rest, at least for a little time. She wondered, watching his steady, shallow breath, what he might have been had his father not asked him to come to Beleriand and had he not followed. Less troubled, perhaps. Less guarded, maybe. But, perhaps, less driven too. She was not entirely sure, given his father’s nature and his father’s father’s, but she knew it mattered little. He had come, and here he lay before her. 

She turned back to the fire and slowly began to move, turning her head from one side to the other and then tilting it in order to stretch her neck. Sleeping on the ground, she thought, even fairly soft ground, padded by a bedroll and blankets, did tell in sore and stiff muscles and slow, awkward movements. She rose slowly to her feet. Moving carefully in order not to disturb him, she pulled the blanket from around her shoulders, shivering a little as the cool morning air touched her skin, and, folding it, set it against her pack. Then she pulled a fresh tunic from her pack, slipped it over her head and walked in the direction of the stream. 

She slipped the tunic off and placed it on the branch of a nearby tree, the roots of which descended bent, knobbled and twisted into the water. Kneeling, she rinsed her face quickly in the running water and allowed the cool water, sourced far higher in the mountains still ahead, to bring her fully awake. Then, as she knelt and as the ripples her hands had made began to still, she looked at her own reflection in the clear stream. Her face remained the same serene mask she’d shaped not long before journeying first to Lindon and then to Eregion. Her skin was pale and clear, her features perfectly symmetrical and the lines of her bones elegant. Only her eyes, wary and watchful as a hunting cat’s, revealed the unease she felt. She remained still, feeling that uncertainty, noticing it, and accepting it, and then watched as the guarded look began to fade from her eyes. She stood and, still moving slowly and carefully, began to wade slowly into the water. The water seemed to grow colder, almost certainly grew colder as she ventured from the bank towards the center with its swifter current and deeper channel. She felt the press of the moving water against her body and the softness of the silt of the bed beneath her feet. She closed her eyes, steadying herself against both and against the memory, far more treacherous than the current of this mountain stream, of warmth in the night, hands gentle where he’d touched her, and a presence gentle and bright with her. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, looked towards the mountains and saw their snow-capped peaks stained orange and pink by the rising sun. The mountains, she knew, marked the boundary of this realm and the beginning of the long road to the East, to lands she loved and in which she had spent many years. 

There were times, Mairen thought and this was one, when she wished that things were not as they were, when she wished that she had not come to Eregion with her desires and her plans. It was not often, but still, from time to time, the feeling came upon her, powerful and unbidden, and she wished it. She wished that she and he might forget their beginnings and the legends surrounding them. She wished that they might pretend that they knew nothing of the greatness of the world. Thinking this, she laughed softly as she stood in the clear water in the cold morning light. She knew it was impossible. Neither she nor he would be content with the ordinary. They both wished to reshape the world, albeit quite differently, and, together, they had the ability to do it. This journey was proof of it; its destination was, after all, the first of the many projects they’d planned to reshape life in Ost-in-Edhil. But her awareness of this did not prevent her from wishing as she had before, as she did now and as she would, no doubt, again that it might be different, that she might persuade him to go with her away from Eregion, across the mountains, further to the East, to lands where their histories were not well known and where they might start anew, as she’d once counseled the witch-girl, Melyanna’s daughter, about her own lover. 

But she was no more likely to take her own advice than the witch-girl, but, sometimes, like the witch-girl, she wished she had for she found herself, even as Lúthien had prophesied, caught in a trap of her own making. 

For a trap to work, she’d once told one of the Men allied to her cause as he had shivered in terror of the image of Eilinel she’d created to trap Gorlim, it had to seem so real its creator could believe in it. Deception, of necessity, had to have an element of truth to it in order for it to be believable and thus succeed. Of course, the most careful balance had to be struck; the element of truth must not outweigh the illusion, and the creator, of course, needed to maintain the necessary detachment to know and feel the difference. Her greatest feats, her most clever stratagems, her own survival in the service of Morgoth, even, had depended upon this practice and she had, without fail, executed it flawlessly, not once falling prey to the illusion she’d cast or the trap she’d laid.

Until, now, she thought drily, slowly beginning to turn and to move across the current towards the water’s edge. Until Eregion. Here, too, it had seemed simple. Arrive in the guise of one of the Aulënossë, use her skill and her knowledge to gain their trust. Provide them with the tangible benefits of what collaborating with her might achieve. Make use of the ambition of the Mírëtanor and the guilt of its leader.

And, of course, she thought, climbing out of the stream and drawing the tunic over her head as she settled on the bank, this was precisely where she had begun to fall into her own trap. In order for the trap to succeed and for her to achieve the ends she sought, she had needed to know the one who led the Mírëtanor well. She had needed to know him better than any other. It had been necessary, and, for a time she’d thought, if she happened to enjoy it, if his company was desirable to her, then that was an unexpected, although temporary, benefit.

As she ran her fingers through her hair, teasing the tangles from it and then, slowly, beginning to plait it, she considered how quickly she had come to know him. In some ways, it was hardly surprising. She had made him her study. It had been essential. She remembered how he had challenged her and, in so doing, how he had made a challenge of himself, questioning both her intentions and her abilities within moments of their meeting. She had not been surprised to have her purpose challenged. After the disastrous encounter at Lindon, she had expected it and was prepared. But she had not expected him to challenge her skill. Gil-Galad had not nor had his herald, despite the witch-girl’s blood flowing in his veins. Only one of their council had, a quaint and cantankerous fellow named Erestor, but she gathered from the response to his inquiry that he challenged and questioned everyone. But then no one in Lindon was of the House of Fëanor and none had the skill of its last descendant. Still she had bridled at his questioning, angry that he, no matter who his father or his grandfather had been, dared to question her talent and her wisdom when she had been the most celebrated of the Maiar of Aulë and the most feared of the servants of Melkor.

But that, of course, was immaterial and the line of questioning sensible for he was not to know who she was and who she remained, and so she had schooled her features into careful compliance and had drawn upon the desire she had, central to her plans and to her being, to bring order and progress to Middle Earth. It had resonated and he had agreed to allow her a trial to determine whether she might remain. She had expected that to be easy. She had been certain her strength and ability would persuade him quickly, but it had not. He hadn’t relented and she found, in this strange peculiar frontier outpost of a third-rate elven king, herself facing one of the most challenging tests of her aptitude and her being. Melkor had not bothered to challenge in this way; he had seen her talent and had sought her for it. Aulë, too, had known her abilities and sought to push them. Tyelperinquar demanded that she prove herself. He had questioned her. He had demanded she demonstrate her understanding and mastery of each matter she claimed to grasp and each technique she claimed to know. He demanded she prove the basis of each theory she put forward and show the foundations of the curwë she claimed to possess. He had continued to push her and to challenge her day after day and then week after week until, finally, both of them worn to the point of exhaustion, he had bowed his head in acquiescence and offered her the position of master in his guild. He had then asked her, with more humility than she’d expected from this proud man, if she would continue to teach him, even as she worked with him to shape the future of their guild. She had been surprised by the degree to which she had savored that offer. She had told herself that it was because she had fooled him and passed the first and most critical test. But she had lived long and self-deception was a danger to her plans, and so she had admitted that she had grown to respect him, however grudgingly, for his determination and his proficiency and for the passion and the drive he possessed. 

Once he had accepted her, she had expected to occupy the role of teacher and of guide, and so, for the most part, she had. Tyelperinquar had quickly set to learn what she would teach him, and he had insisted that his fellow smiths learn from her as well. If any of them had harbored doubts about her, he had silenced them quietly and effectively. It had been what she had hoped to have and then it became more. Despite having known his family by reputation and by deeds of war, she had neither expected the speed with which he had absorbed her instruction nor had she anticipated the ability he had to ascertain the implications of her thought and to develop their applications. Despite her intention and against her expectations, he had moved very swiftly from student to partner in her work. If he remained junior in stature to her, then it was as it should be. But she had discovered that there were areas in which he would eventually outstrip her own skill. It had bothered her. She’d had no rival for ages. But he had seemed to little in advancing himself at her expense and had seemed only excited when an innovation of his own had pushed her to continue to learn and to grow that she accepted, again grudgingly, the partnership between them. Not only did she accept it, but, equally grudgingly, she came to value it. She was better for working with him, far better than she had been before. 

When she had first come, they had spent little time apart. He had offered her space within his home to live. It was a kind offer to a newcomer, but it also served to allow him more opportunities to observe her and to ascertain her character. She hadn’t minded. It suited her purpose too. It allowed her access to his materials and to his household. It allowed her to grow familiar with him quickly. This was necessary for her designs to succeed. It was also, though she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, enjoyable to be near someone whose conversation she enjoyed and whose company, even when he was busy and quiet, she found pleasant. That enjoyment combined with the growing awareness that the lord and lady of Ost-in-Edhil disapproved of this unconventional household almost as much as they disapproved of her own presence had led her to establish her own household. She’d understood the danger in growing too close to him as she had also understood the danger in permitting certain assumptions about the nature of her relationship to him. It would be far too easy to dismiss her skill or to deny her talent if she were believed to be the lover of a man they knew to be great. The awareness of those dangers ensured that she maintained a careful distance. That, along with the knowledge that his suspicions, so carefully allayed, were likely to be rekindled were she to act upon the attraction she believed they both felt and invite him to her bed. 

And yet, though she’d sought distance, they continued to grow closer. It was true, she thought, finishing her braid, that their own habits ensured a little distance, some necessary space. He preferred to rise earlier than she. He also chose to begin working shortly after he’d arrived at the Mírëtanor whereas she preferred to review the previous day’s work and resolve any lingering concerns or questions. Still they arranged time so that they might discuss their findings and to work in the smithies together. They also spent time outside the forge together. They often chose to eat with one another, finding it easy to seek a meal from one of the vendors in the sizable market located near to the guild or at a tavern on their way to their respective homes. She’d noticed and she suspected that he had as well how easily conversation flowed around their shared meals. 

Given their shared work and her designs, she continued to know him better, and, as she did, the desire she felt between them grew, bolstered, as it was, by the hours spent together and the affection beginning to develop between them. They had remained very careful, though. They had been slow to act upon it, though his hand often lingered upon her and though she felt the echo of his touch long after he’d moved away. She had, nonetheless, continued to be drawn closer and had learned still more. She had discovered that neither of his hands was dominant but that he was comfortable using both equally. She had learned the rhythm of his step. She had discovered what had given him the long, thin scar that ran along his left forearm as well as the shorter but thicker one that cut across his ribs. She was able to identify the crooked smile he offered when she praised his work and he was both pleased and embarrassed that he was pleased. She knew too when he had worked too long and with too little true sleep because his right eyelid began to droop more than his left. She understood that a single cease between his eyebrows signaled concentration as well as frustration was also signaled by his hand pressing at a temple. She had learned that he retreated quickly into formality when emotion, whether joy or sorrow, anger or grief, began to threaten him. She knew all of these aspects of him and more. But so too could anyone, mortal or otherwise, had they chosen to study him. She had her reasons. She had her plans. 

She had continued to delve more into the study of him. She had learned that he shared her own tendency to become deeply engrossed in his work so that he neglected the business of the city and avoided the social gatherings someone of his stature was expected to attend. She’d worked to correct those tendencies. She had carefully begun to encourage him to attend each and every council meeting and had coaxed him to attend the many concerts and gatherings within the city although she knew he would prefer to remain in the halls of the Mírëtanor. She had pushed him to take a more direct role in the city’s governance where he had previously ceded that responsibility to the lord and lady of the city. She’d done it at first because he needed to know the city and its hinterland well, and he was, of course, the easiest conduit for such knowledge. She had continued, even after she’d made the necessary connections, because he had proven better at this role than she had hoped and because she had enjoyed his success more than she cared to admit. 

Over time, as they’d worked more closely with one another and as their plans had become more ambitious, she found that the respect she felt for him had grown steadily and the attraction had remained steady and constant too; both had allowed for the the growth of very great affection, quietly, slowly and utterly unlooked for. She had found that she had begun to look forward to each workday and every shared tasked. She waited, patiently, at the end of each day for each shared meal, beginning to invite him into her home to share them there. She had begun to tell him stories he’d enjoy and searched for clever tales to make him laugh. She’d done it, she had told herself, to cultivate his interest further still. But, then, she had, one day or another, watched him, smiling and laughing over some foolish tale she’d told. She realized that there was more ease in his face than she had seen since she had arrived and she felt, unbidden and unexpected, a similar ease within herself. She wondered at it because she had made no great advancement in her plans. She had gained no new skill and acquired no unfamiliar knowledge. Why then did she feel this way? She had dismissed the feeling, but when it returned a second time and then a third and a fourth, she was no longer able to ignore the feeling of ease and of comfort she felt. Digging deeper, she understood that it was this, this shared time and companionship, from which it derived. She observed herself very carefully for another few days and then admitted that the knowledge of him, essential to a task designed to make use of him and no more, had become much more than that. She had continued to learn him so thoroughly because he had come to matter to her simply for himself and not for the his value to her plan. Considering this, turning it over in her head and in her heart, she grew deeply uneasy, perceiving too late that the trap she had laid for another had begun to close around her too.