“Yeah, that does tend to destroy your ability to do things for yourself.”
“Like you can talk.”
“Do you see any servants out here?”
“You can't tell me the great prince Fëanor didn't have servants.”
“Oh, we did, but you see, my father had this wild idea that his children ought to know the basic skills of daily life. I was damn glad of it too, when we got to Beleriand.”
It occurred to Maeglin that Celegorm might not want to speak of his father any more than he did, and further that he ought not to anger his only source of assistance. He didn't think he could survive right now alone. Celegorm had chosen a rock from his bundle—Maeglin recognized flint—and was flaking bits off. Tiny shards flew from his strikes, carefully aimed away. Maeglin crawled closer and watched silently over his shoulder.
“Are you making a knife?” he asked at last.
“Yep.”
“From stone.”
“You got a problem with that, kid?”
“No!! It's just…the Green-elves always had knives like that, and I wanted to learn to make them, and…my father said it was worthless to spend time on that, when we had steel that was so much better. I’d…really like to learn.”
“Oh.” Celegorm brightened a little. “I can show you. I've always had plenty of good steel around; even now my little brother’s constantly making stuff he wants me to test, and I still have a blade Atya made me that Ammë held onto for me all these years. But there's something satisfying about knowing I can walk naked into the woods and find everything I need. This knife? This is freedom.”
Maeglin couldn’t help staring. “You…you have a knife by Fëanor himself?” His earlier resolve was entirely forgotten. The elf might have been a monster, but he was the best smith who ever lived.
Celegorm's lips quirked into a smile. “Sure do. You wanna see it?”
“You have it here?!” Maeglin squeaked in excitement, and Celegorm’s smile grew into a broad, easy grin.
“Come on, then.” Going back inside, Celegorm opened his trunk and dug down to the bottom. He pulled out a sheathed hunting knife and handed it to Maeglin, who turned it over reverently, drawing the blade and inspecting its elegant curve with fascination.
“Do you think it's some weird twist of fate, that the greatest smiths are always the worst people?”
Celegorm stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Don't talk about my father like that.” He took back the knife and rewrapped it in a silk covering before tucking it away.
“But…” Maeglin was confused; he hadn't meant any offense. He'd intended solidarity, if anything. “You’re defending him, after what he did to everyone who crossed the Ice? To you and your brothers?”
“Do you see me standing here accusing you of shit without knowing the whole story?”
“I…I thought…the histories…I thought you were like me. I mean,” he hastened to add, realizing how bad that sounded, “your father. Must have been like mine.”
“My father was nothing like yours. He loved us.” Celegorm’s voice dropped to a low and dangerous register.
“But he made you swear the Oath,” Maeglin whispered, terrified but unable to stop himself.
Celegorm walked out without another word, into the pouring rain.
Maeglin stared after him. He felt sick; he started to shake. He should've known better; he should've kept his stupid mouth shut; now…where would he go? Should he be gone before Celegorm came back? Would it be all right to take some food? He didn't even know where he was or where he could find other people, cities, somewhere to get help, or work, or… He should have considered this sooner. Started a plan, asked for information, stockpiled some supplies that wouldn't be missed. Celegorm was nice enough, he was sure. It was his own fault he was like this. He'd never been able to speak without eventually causing offense. He thought of the trackless forest, and Eöl somewhere waiting, and people who would recognize him and run him off without a thought. It was too much for him when just getting up in the morning took all his strength. He sank down on the furs and wondered what Námo would say if he showed up again. He knew his lack of action was its own decision, but he couldn't make himself take either escape. He curled into a tight ball. Celegorm could kick him out when he returned; until then he pulled a heavy bear pelt over himself and hid from everything.
A steady thunk, thunk, thunk roused him. Maeglin stumbled to the tent door and peered out. The rain hadn't stopped, but it had lightened a bit. Celegorm stood with his back to the tent, throwing his stone knives at a target he’d marked on a tree. His hair and his clothes were soaked. Maeglin bit his lip. Celegorm had been kind to him; even when he’d made him angry, he hadn’t hurt or threatened him. He didn't want him out there suffering. Celegorm retrieved his knives, and when he started a new round, Maeglin took a deep breath and went out to him.
“Celegorm?”
He jumped and swore; his knife hit a full inch shy of the mark. “Vána’s tits, you startled me.”
Maeglin lowered his eyes and backed up. “I just…I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t trying to be an ass, it just…I…I'm sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn't know any better. I shouldn’t’ve lost my temper. I hate how everyone keeps repeating stupid shit about him, but it's not like you can do anything about what you were taught. I'm sure that snotty asshole Turgon had some strong opinions. How could he not? His poor wife…” Celegorm sighed. “I'm not mad at you, okay? I just needed to cool my head.”
Maeglin nodded mutely.
“You shouldn't stand out here in the rain; you'll get soaked.” Celegorm pushed him gently back towards the tent. He built up the fire, and when he’d toweled off and changed into dry clothes, he brewed some fresh tea and handed some to Maeglin. It was just beginning to dawn on him that somehow, the crisis had passed, and he wasn’t being forced to leave.
“So…I don't want to give you the wrong impression,” Celegorm began. “I've done a lot of fucked-up shit. We all did. And a lot of it, there's no excuse for. I don't deny that. But…there were a lot of strong emotions, and a lot of awful things going on, and…we did what we thought we had to.” He covered his face with his palm. “No. I shouldn't say that. We knew it was wrong, and we decided our loyalty mattered more. Our family. And yeah, Atya made some terrible decisions. But he never had to push us into them; we'd've followed him to the ends of the earth. I mean, we did. Because we loved him. And…he was so broken over it, in the Halls. What we'd been through for him. I’d’ve forgiven him then if I hadn’t already.
“He was never cruel to us. He never raised a hand to any of us. As a child, I felt a bit like the odd one out. My brothers were all geniuses, and here I was, running around in the woods. But Atya would tell me we were all brilliant in our own different ways, and I'd understand mine eventually, and that he was proud of me already. And he'd ask me about what I was doing, what tracks I’d spotted, what tricks I was teaching Huan, and when I got into long rambling stories about the best herbs to cover my scent or a new style of arrow I was experimenting with, he'd listen just as intently as he did to Maglor's compositions or Caranthir’s math problems. I guess what I'm trying to say is I always knew he loved me and accepted me, and it hurts when people assume that the times when he messed up were all there was to him.”
“I can barely imagine that,” Maeglin murmured. “What it would be like. Only one thing mattered to my father, and I was required to excel at it, and I was still never good enough for him.”
Celegorm squeezed Maeglin’s shoulder, then glanced at him closer. “You’re shivering; let me grab you a cloak.”
Maeglin accepted the thick wool Celegorm draped around him; it was comforting, though he didn't think he was really cold.
“You still want to try your hand at flintknapping? Take your mind off this shit?”
“Can I?”
“Course.” Celegorm brought his supplies over and showed Maeglin how to hold the flint and shape it with precisely placed blows. Flake by flake, the afternoon grew lighter.
Sapphire and Gold
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Outside the tent a loud whooping rang through the glade. Maeglin groaned and rolled over. He didn’t want to get up; he didn’t want to be awake at all. It didn’t seem worth the effort. But the shouting was more than he could sleep through, and it was interspersed with laughter and cries of “Good boy, Huan!” Finally Maeglin stuck his head out to see what the racket was. Celegorm's bare chest was spattered with blood, and his arms were slick with it. A small deer hung from a tree, stripped of its skin, in the process of being butchered. Celegorm was tossing bits of organs to Huan, flinging them high so that Huan could jump to catch them. Maeglin wouldn't have guessed the huge dog could move with such lightning-fast grace.
“Hey, you feel like giving me a hand?” Celegorm had caught sight of him.
To his surprise, it sounded like a real question, but Maeglin decided it was best to agree regardless. “Sure, I'll be there in a minute.” He pulled on a shirt that was already too stained to ruin and straightened his bed before joining him.
Celegorm handed him a knife, and Maeglin tried not to look at him too closely. The traces of blood on his teeth were unsettling. “We’re gonna dry a lot of this in strips; can you cut it like this?” He demonstrated, slicing off thin, narrow lengths of meat. Maeglin’s weren't as neat, but after a couple of tries, they were almost as thin. “Great! I'll get a roast started for later. Hope you like venison; we’ll be eating it for a while.”
Maeglin decided there were worse people to work beside. Celegorm tried a couple of times to draw him into conversation, but when he saw it wasn’t happening, he shrugged and whistled or sang softly to himself. Huan had flopped down on a little rise where he could watch over the camp without raising his head. By midday, Maeglin's fingers were cramping, and a blister was forming at the base of his first finger. He paused and stretched his hands, imagining how long it would take to harden them to a hammer again and wondering if he cared enough to do it. Wincing, he picked up the knife.
“Nope. I shouldn't’ve let you go so long in the first place; I saw that look.”
“I…I'm fine. I can work.” His father had made him work until his hands bled often enough that he'd thought nothing of doing it to himself later. He'd worked through nights, sleepless, ignoring pain, for no better reason than to distract himself. This was child's play. “I'm not so tired that I'll slip; promise.”
“It's not a matter of whether you'll slip. I want you stop well before that point. I don't want you hurting yourself.”
“But there's a lot more…”
Celegorm was reclaiming the knife from him. “Take an actual break, and then you can start stringing these up. You're gonna need a while to work up to what you could do before. You have to be kind to your body and let it adjust.”
Maeglin snorted at that. He didn't need kindness or expect it. But he saw that Celegorm was adamant, so he washed up and lay beside Huan, nibbling some bread wrapped around a piece of venison toasted over the fire. When he came back, Celegorm had almost finished carving up the deer. They sprinkled salt and spices on the venison strips and threaded them on string, hanging them from the trees over a series of small fires banked with green wood that billowed smoke.
“There's a good swimming hole down the river a bit,” Celegorm told him as he tied off a knot. “You should go check it out, cool off.”
“What about you? You’ve been working longer and harder than I have.”
“I gotta watch these fires. You go first; I'll take a turn when you're done.”
Maeglin wandered down the river—more of a large creek, really—until he saw a deep, clear pool, and he quickly stripped and jumped in. The cold water was a welcome shock after the heat of the day, and the sun shining on his skin through the leaves contrasted pleasantly. He found himself splashing around, just enjoying how it felt, playing in a way he hadn't in perhaps a very long time. That thought made him self-conscious, and he grabbed a handful of sand to scrub himself clean.
Light caught on a pebble, and he plucked it out, turning it in the sun. It was a striking translucent blue, and though worn from being tumbled in the water, still recognizably hexagonal. Maeglin felt a slow smile spread across his face. Though he wished for his favorite loupe and his set of gems to check its hardness against, it was unlikely to be anything but a sapphire. He set it carefully in a hollow between two roots, and after poking around until he found the gravelly patch it had probably come from, started combing through handfuls of rocks. He found another, smaller and a lighter blue, before Huan’s barking reminded him he didn't have all afternoon. With a huff, he finished washing and scrubbed out a bit of blood from his shirt. He scooped up his gems and headed back, preparing himself to be scolded for taking so long.
Celegorm didn't look upset. He grinned. “Nice out there, huh?”
Maeglin nodded.
“Find something?”
Realizing too late his fist held in front of his body was a dead giveaway, Maeglin opened his hand and held them out.
“Pretty. Are those something special?”
Maeglin was flustered for a moment. “Uhh. They're sapphires? At least I think they are; I’d need a test or two to confirm.” The thrill of his find overtook him, and words kept coming. “There's likely a good alluvial deposit that these washed down from; I’d love to explore the river and see if I can find some promising sites for panning. Even just where I was.” He rolled the largest between his fingers, wishing again he had the tools to evaluate it more closely.
“What do you need in order to do that?”
“What?”
“For what you said. I haven't seen you get that excited about much of anything.”
Just that cursed knife, Maeglin thought.
“It's a good look on you. Tell me what you need; I'll make it happen if I can.”
“Well…some kind of pan. Maybe a trowel. It's really low-tech mining, honestly.”
“Have a look through the dishes; see if one will work?”
Maeglin smiled “All right. Thanks.” He kept an eye on the fires, feeding them and occasionally turning the big roast. There weren't many dishes to consider; most of them were round bowls, sized for one person to eat from. He was sitting morosely, prodding the fire with a stick when Celegorm came back, wringing water from his hair.
“Any luck?”
“They're too small.”
Celegorm lowered a pack from a tree. Maeglin had thought it held only food, raised to keep animals out. Setting aside several parcels, Celegorm triumphantly pulled out a shallow, dented platter made of beaten copper. “What about this?”
