Child of Shadows
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/22314088.
Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
Gen
Fandom:
The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Relationship:
Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Maeglin | Lómion, background Celegorm/Oromë, unrequited Maeglin/Idril, Eöl & Maeglin | Lómion, Aredhel & Maeglin | Lómion
Character:
Maeglin | Lómion, Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Námo | Mandos, Eöl (Tolkien), Huan (Tolkien), Oromë (Tolkien), Aredhel (Tolkien)
Additional Tags:
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Huan is a good boy, Masturbation, Hunting, Wilderness Living, Past/Imagined Dubious Consent, Animal Death, Suicide Attempt, Recovery, Stalking, Rats, Service Animals, Gaslighting, Eöl is a creep, Re-embodied elves
Stats:
Published: 2020-01-19 Completed: 2020-04-07 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 22861
Child of Shadows
by Harp_of_Gold
Summary
Maeglin finds no peace in the Halls of Mandos, so Námo sends him to seek it in the living world. He's broken and haunted by the past, and he never wants to see his father again. Celegorm knows what it is to live with the shadows of the dark things he's done. Aredhel was always dear to him. He hopes taking her son under his wing will be good for them both.
Notes
This story is in the same continuity as Build Up A New Us, but also can be read as a stand-alone.
Leaving the Halls
“I hate you! I hate you so much!” His mother was gone, and all the nightmares came rushing back. Maeglin’s fists hammered against Námo’s chest. The Vala didn’t try to stop him. “You had him here, you had him locked away, and you let him go! He never could have hurt me if not for you!” He broke down crying, and Námo folded him gently in his arms, wrapping him in cool stillness.
“I know, child. I’m so sorry. The Dark One is gone now. Defeated. He’ll never hurt you again.”
Maeglin slid to the floor. “I want him gone from my head. I don’t want to remember.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give you that. But in time, it can get better. There are others who know what you’ve suffered. Come, let them talk with you. They want to help.”
Maeglin shivered and shrank away. “They don’t know. They didn’t kill everyone who ever loved them.” He turned and pressed his face against the cold stone wall. He couldn’t tell what kind of stone it was. Even in Angband, he’d had that comfort. Námo laid a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away. After a while, Námo got up and left him alone.
*
The tapestries seemed to grow closer and closer, as if they’d swallow him whole. Maeglin cowered on the floor, his arms over his head, trying to hide from the burning city, the white towers crashing down. It didn’t help; he still knew it was there. He could taste smoke and marble dust in the air.
A gentle hand came to rest on his head. “Dear heart. I’m here with you.”
Maeglin looked up. It was Nienna. He curled up in her arms and let her hold him. Her tears fell on his hair. It felt easier to breathe, somehow, as if so long as she wept, carried his grief for him, he needn’t weep as hard himself. “Please make them go away. The tapestries. I don’t want to see them anymore.”
“You can leave this room whenever you want. You have to will yourself away. I can’t will it for you, but I'll stay with you while you do.”
Maeglin considered this. He knew it to be true; he knew it in his bones, or whatever passed for them. He remembered why he had ended up here in the first place. He deserved to see what he had done. And he didn’t deserve comfort. He pulled away from her; he didn’t will himself elsewhere. He cowered and cried. Nienna might have tried to say something to him. He didn’t listen. She wept.
*
Maeglin did learn. He found the corners where no Maia would try to comfort him or call Námo for help. He taught himself to shrink into shadow until he hardly heard or felt or saw a thing. He discovered if he was very still and very quiet and slipped outside himself, as he had done once or twice in Angband, he could even stop his thoughts for a time. And that was almost like not existing at all.
*
“Maeglin.”
He looked up but did not respond. He’d managed to avoid Námo so long he'd hoped he’d been forgotten.
Námo sat beside him. “You haven’t found any peace here.”
“I don’t think I was looking for peace.”
“Yes. That’s a problem.”
Maeglin leaned his head back. “Why should I? Why try for something I can never have?”
“What makes you think you can't?”
Maeglin didn't bother answering that.
“Do you want to live again?”
“No. I will stay here forever. Unless you have a way to kill my fëa too. In which case I’m angry you didn’t tell me sooner.” The words felt empty even as he said them. He wasn’t sure he remembered being angry. It felt like it took a lot of effort.
“Some do choose to stay forever. But if you choose that, I want it to be because that’s what you truly desire, because you’ve found your place here, not because you can’t see any other way. If you stay, I want to see you join the circles of your family. Your ancestors. There are elves who woke at Cuiviénen, whose world is gone, who don’t want a part in what is now. There’s your great-grandfather Finwë. They sit and sing and tell stories, and have love and companionship with one another. They would welcome you.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“What do you want, Maeglin?”
“I want to rest. I want to know nothing. Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“There are halls here devoted to rest, and yet I do not see you enter them.”
Maeglin had seen them—rooms full of soft cushions and softer singing, fëar who sat in silent contemplation, looks of ecstasy on their faces at whatever unseen wonders they explored. Those who lay dreaming, wandering in sweet memory they willingly shared, holding hands with their loved ones. He shunned them assiduously. Only nightmares lay that way for him.
“If you’d let them, my Maiar would help you. I would help you. Introduce you to people. Hold you when you're scared. Lead you into better dreams.”
“They’ve tried. I don’t want their help.”
*
“I’m not sure this is the best place for you anymore.”
Maeglin wished Námo would stop hunting him out.
“You should be with those who love you, and the ones you want aren’t here.”
“There were precious few of those. I don’t think there are any now.”
“Isn’t there anyone you want to see again?”
“Idril,” Maeglin said promptly. He knew it displeased the Vala; maybe he’d go away.
Námo sighed. “Is there a reason you won’t let yourself heal? Something out there that pulls at you? I’ve learned that for some, the path that seems clear to others doesn't fit. For most, there’s healing and rest here, and then they’re ready to live. For a few…you need to live again in order to heal. Finish something you left undone. Reunite with someone you can’t be without. Atone for something you can’t forgive yourself. Maybe that would be better for you. Think about it.”
*
Maeglin thought. He found himself pacing corridors he hadn’t visited in ages. Staring at tapestries. Hanging on the edges of gatherings—never letting himself be seen, but looking for someone, anyone who might remember him, who might treat him with the scorn he expected and remind him why he hated everything. He started running his fingertips over tiny woven details, wondering what it would be like to walk in Tirion, so like Turgon’s designs. He explored years of history, watching as his dear Celebrimbor built his own city and lost it to Sauron's treachery, as little Eärendil’s sons parted ways, one to build a nation and one a hidden haven that he fought to keep safe. He saw the exiles slowly return. Did he truly want to walk among them? No. They would hate him too. But he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. If he didn’t have to do anything for it…if Námo would just let him go… His mother was there. There were stones, and iron, and something in him hungered to touch, to seek, to make.
This time he sought Námo. “I want to live again.”
*
Maeglin opened his eyes. As Námo had promised, it was sundown, and the last rays of light were bearable. He’d steadfastly refused to give the Maiar any names of people he wanted to meet him; he should be alone. Just as he wanted. He stretched cautiously. The shadows of pain that had haunted him since Angband didn’t exist in this new body, but he suspected they would only need a nightmare or two to take root. He looked around. A forest grew not far from where he’d emerged. And—staring at him from across the field—no.
The pale, dark-haired elf approached him. A figure from nightmares that began long before Angband. Maeglin struggled to his feet, unsteady and afraid. Eöl didn’t speak until he stood close enough to reach out and touch his son.
“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again. It was quite a surprise to learn of the Vala’s mercy.” The last words dripped with disdain. Maeglin wondered why he’d chosen to live in the land of gods he’d spurned. “You’ll be glad to know my home is ready to welcome you, and in time, I’m sure I can forgive your ungratefulness and treachery.”
No. This can’t be happening. Maeglin wanted to flee, to cover his ears, to do anything to shut out the reality about to consume him, but he was frozen to the spot.
Eöl grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a stiff embrace. Long fingers pressed his face against his father’s chest. He remembered those fingers. Striking him, striking his mother. Squeezing his throat when he slipped and spoke a word of Quenya. He tried to jerk away, but Eöl gripped him tighter.
“Let me go! Leave me alone!”
“Is that any way to speak to your father? You are my son still, no matter how much you’ve spat upon your blood. Come, we’re going home now. I only want to care for you; there’s no need to make a fuss. You know as well as I you’ve nowhere else to go. Who would take you? I’ll forgive you tearing our family apart, but I doubt anyone will forgive the loss of their pretty little town.”
Maeglin went limp and stopped resisting. He was right, of course. He blinked away tears.
“That’s it.” Eöl led him toward a pair of waiting horses. “I want what’s best for you, for our family. I know it’s hard, when you’ve just gotten here, and everything’s so confusing. I know part of you wants to run from your problems. Don’t worry; I’ll keep your wings well-clipped so you’ll never be lost.”
“No, please no, I don’t want to go,” he sobbed, letting Eöl pull him along, yanking him up like a recalcitrant toddler when he stumbled.
“Hey, now.” Maeglin’s head shot up. Where had this elf appeared from? He blocked their path, arms crossed. “Is he bothering you, kid?” This was addressed straight to Maeglin, who managed to nod.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Kindly get out of the way. This is my son, and he’s no business of yours.”
“I think he is my business. Let him go.” The stranger’s hair was the color of starlight, his braids hung with bits of bone and feather. He was dressed in leather and fur, and his thickly muscled arms were bare and covered in tattoos. A huge wolfhound stepped up beside him and growled.
Eöl unsheathed a slim black blade, and Maeglin drew breath to shout a warning, but the stranger was quicker. He twisted Eöl’s wrist and forced him to drop the knife, then with one smooth movement had him on the ground. Pinning his hands, he pressed a knee into his chest. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna let you up, and you’re gonna get out of here. I won’t stop the kid if he wants to go with you, but you’re not gonna make him. Understand?”
Reluctantly, Eöl gave a terse nod, and the stranger released him, watching him like a hawk as he scrambled to his feet and backed away.
“Kid?” Maeglin shook his head and hid behind the stranger. “I guess there’s your answer,” he said to Eöl. The elf scowled, but he mounted his horse and disappeared into the forest. “I doubt he’s gone far—” The stranger turned toward him, but Maeglin gave out. He sank to the ground, trembling and sobbing. His lungs refused to draw breath. “It's all right, that’ll pass. You take your time; you'll feel better again.” The stranger sat beside him, but he didn’t try to touch him, to Maeglin's relief.
The gigantic hound lay down and crawled towards him, waiting a little distance away until Maeglin reached for him. The hound rested his head in Maeglin’s lap, and he dug shaky fingers into his fur. That felt good, and after a moment he curled around him, hiding his face in the soft fur and holding tight. Slowly his breaths grew easier. When he could speak again through his tears, he looked up warily. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Your momma Aredhel sent me. She’s…a sister to me.”
Maeglin went down the list of his uncles, but he'd met Fingon once, and this elf didn't look like any description of Argon he’d heard.
“Er…I’m your uncle Celegorm.”
Maeglin’s eyes widened. “Then…you’re…”
“Son of Fëanor. And a kinslayer, if that’s what has you scared.” He drew back a little, as if to make it clear he wouldn’t stop Maeglin if he wanted to escape.
Maeglin laughed wildly. “Like that even matters when I’ve done so much worse. You saved me. What…what now?”
“I’ll take you with me. Then I’ll get you to your momma—she was afraid that bastard would show up, or she would’ve been here herself.”
“No.” He’d longed for her in the Halls, but now that he was here… “I don’t want her to see me. Not after…after…” The taste of marble dust filled his mouth, and he broke down sobbing again. Everything felt so much more, solid and final and unbending. Too sharply real, too dangerous. He wondered how anyone stood it. He’ll leave me, he realized, but he couldn’t stop crying. No one wants a crybaby. Or a traitor. No one wants me. For the first time in long ages, he didn’t want to be left. He clutched at Celegorm’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t go, I swear I’m not always like this…”
“Hey, it’s all right.” Celegorm eased him into his arms and rubbed Maeglin’s back gently. He’d forgotten how good a simple touch could feel. “You’ve had a hard time. It’s okay to not be okay. You can be not okay for just as long as you need, and you don’t have to feel bad about it. Got it?”
Maeglin nodded, though he wasn’t sure he believed it.
Celegorm didn’t stop the soothing touch, though Maeglin could feel his tension and vigilance. “I wanna take you somewhere safer,” he said after a while. “Can you get on a horse for me?”
“I don’t think I can sit a horse by myself,” Maeglin admitted. His body was still shaky, and the thought of holding himself up made him dizzy.
“That’s fine, I’ll hold you. Think you can trust me that far?”
Maeglin raised his head, and Celegorm wiped the snot and tears from his face without a second thought. “Yeah. I trust you.” It was easier than saying ‘I don’t care what happens to me, as long as my father isn’t doing it,’ and he wasn’t sure there was much difference anyway. Celegorm scooped him up as if he were weightless and set him on the back of a pale horse he thought might be golden in the light. Behind him Celegorm swung into the saddle, and whistling for his hound and the second horse he’d brought to follow, he rode among the trees. Overhead, Maeglin could see stars peeking through the branches. He’d forgotten how beautiful they were.
