Celegorm snorted. “Kid, he's been here through the worst of it. Trust me, he doesn't care how you look. I just want you to be able to feel a bit more like yourself.”
“I've been keeping you away from him, haven't I?”
“Not really. I mean, I'd've chosen to help you even if it did mean being separated a while, but I go off alone for weeks at a time anyway. I like time to myself. Time to hear my own thoughts. Makes it that much sweeter when he and I come together again.”
“Then I've been keeping you from your solitude.”
“You must be unstoppable when you pick a goal that isn't tearing yourself down. Just as stubborn as your mother.” Celegorm finished the single long braid that fell down Maeglin’s back and tied off the end. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Maeglin ran the silky black hair through his fingers. “Don't you ever miss just being around people?”
“Sometimes. Then I go hang out with the Hunt, or I make the trip to Tirion and spend some time with my brothers.”
“I see.”
“Do you miss other people?”
“No. I like being alone.” The words came to his lips with ease, despite not being true. After a moment, he decided perhaps Celegorm had earned his honesty. “There aren't a lot of people I feel comfortable around. Never have been. I wish there were.” He could sense Celegorm's concern and pity without even looking up and instantly regretted speaking. “Sorry. You don’t need to listen to me wallow.”
Celegorm opened his mouth but paused, as if he wasn't sure how to answer. Outside, hoofbeats drummed the earth and stopped short, but before he could panic, Maeglin heard a cheerful shout. “Ho, Tyelko!”
Celegorm's face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet, beaming like a child who’d just been promised cake. Cautiously Maeglin peeked out and saw the Great Hunter leap down from his horse and scoop Celegorm into his arms, lifting him off his feet with the strength of his embrace. He caught Maeglin watching and smiled. “Maeglin! How goes it? I have news!” He beckoned for Maeglin to join them, and Maeglin reluctantly emerged and sat beside Oromë on a grassy rise while Celegorm took charge of the horse.
“I’m glad to see you up and about. How’re you feeling?”
Maeglin shrugged. “My arm’s better, I guess.”
“The rest will come with time.” Oromë studied him thoughtfully. “I've spoken with the other Valar, and after hearing about what you and your mother endured at Eöl's hands, they've agreed his current actions toward you are threatening. He's been warned not to seek you out or approach you in any way.”
“I…suppose that's good, but…” Maeglin hesitated, afraid to contradict a Vala. “You understand that won't stop him, right?”
“I do. It seems he has his mind set on you as his quarry. If—when—he breaks the command he's been given, he'll be banished to the little stretch of forest he calls home. But until then, we must be watchful and wary. Your uncle and I are going to keep you safe. Don't fear.”
Before he could stop himself, Maeglin grabbed Oromë's shirt, pulling him close. “You can't let any harm come to Celegorm because of me. That matters to me more.” Looking at the fabric crumpled in his hand, he let go as if he'd been burned.
Oromë leaned in and laid an approving hand on his shoulder. “Celegorm knows what he's about. But I take care of my own. You needn't fear for him either.” This close, Maeglin was overwhelmed with Oromë's presence. The smells of birch sap and evergreens, of horses and sweat and leather mingled and surrounded him, though scent was a poor way to describe something he felt in his bones. It reminded him of being wrapped in Celegorm's arms, and for a moment, he could breathe, despite feeling so exposed in the open.
“There’s something else I’d like to discuss,” Oromë began as Celegorm came back and sat with them. “I know Huan's been a great help to you.”
Maeglin nodded. He couldn't imagine the last few days without Huan's steady presence at his side.
“I’d like to bring you a dog of your own. Not a young puppy; one who's old enough to work, to learn how to be there for you. To calm you when you’re afraid. To guard you when you’re alone.”
“I…” Part of Maeglin wanted to say yes, but his mind was throwing up a hundred reasons why he couldn't accept. “I don't know. I don't think I'm a dog person.”
Celegorm raised an eyebrow at that. “If you're worried about care, or training, or…not being here to look after one, I'll be around to help. Or to find another home, if that were necessary.”
“It's not…I just…” He swallowed hard. He hadn’t entertained many thoughts about a future he wasn’t sure he'd ever have, but he made himself look ahead now. “If…I don't want to live alone in the forest forever…I know you can just walk into courts and the chambers of kings with a gigantic hound at your side, but…I couldn't. I’d feel like I stood out. Attracted too much attention. And…if it weren't big enough to intimidate people…they'd think it was cute. They'd want to pet it all the time. And…that's a different kind of attention, but I couldn't handle it either.”
He glanced up, afraid they'd be laughing at him, but both Celegorm and Oromë were nodding encouragingly. They looked attentive and sympathetic, and he drew a deep breath and went on. “And then…if I ever were to…to try and…make some kind of amends to Turgon…and his people…” He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, hiding his face while he tried to keep his breath slow and even. “I don't know what that might look like, and if I were used to having a dog with me, and then I couldn't, when I needed it most…”
“I don't see any reason he'd do that to you—”
“But you can't know,” Maeglin interrupted.
“But it bothers you, and that's good enough,” Celegorm finished. “I'll have to think about this.”
*
Maeglin decided that with Oromë there, being outside wasn't so terrifying, and so he sat, leaning against a tree, watching a pair of crows squabble over a berry patch, while Celegorm and Oromë cooked together over the fire, jostling each other and stealing kisses and laughing about it. When night fell, he lay awake a long time, wondering what had possessed him to think of facing Turgon. He couldn't do it. There was no point imagining it. And Celegorm had insisted he shouldn't have to. But if anything was to exist on the other side of this—if there was some future where he didn't give up and die, where his father didn't drag him away to a life of misery, where he managed to find the strength to live among others once more—the simple fact was that the only way forward he could see lay through Turgon. He couldn't avoid him forever.
“Oh fuck, Oromë, yes!”
Hellfires of Angband. Maeglin pulled his pillow over his head. They must have waited until they thought he'd be asleep, and it was obvious they were trying to keep their volume down, but they hadn't gone off that far, and Celegorm…clearly wasn’t the quiet type. His moans quickly grew less restrained, and they mingled with low, throaty growls that must've been Oromë.
“C’mon, harder—fuck!”
Maeglin gave up on the pillow. It wasn't enough. At least it sounded like they were enjoying themselves. He allowed his thoughts to stray to Idril and all the pleasures he’d hoped to offer her someday. He wondered if Tuor was still making her happy as he never had. She chose not-me long before she chose him, he reminded himself harshly as his jealousy rose. He flopped onto his side and tried to block out the sounds once more. It was almost unbearable to hear their easy joy, when he knew he'd lost the chance of having that kind of closeness with anyone, even if he could somehow blot out his feelings for Idril. No one would take the Traitor of Gondolin to their bed.
Finally the moans and cries ceased.
“…just don't like it. I don't see the signs, whatever. But not a single bird or squirrel felt like warning me? It doesn't feel right.”
Maeglin went from desperately trying to sleep to fully alert in an instant.
“He walks softly, and the trees love him.”
“Are you not Lord of the Trees? Does he have so much favor with you?”
“You know it's not so simple. My personal protection is on you here, but I can't take away the respect he's earned from the forest. He’s ancient and cunning, and he knows well how to bend the wood to his will. You'll have to remember you can't count on anything but your own senses.”
Well that's not comforting at all. Their voices went on, but Maeglin didn't try to make out the rest. If there was more to worry about, he didn't want to know.
Onyx and Mithril
“How far is it safe to go?” Maeglin asked Celegorm, his pan dangling from his fingertips. Being sick of lying around had finally outweighed the daunting prospect of doing anything. Oromë had disappeared again after spending a day or so helping Celegorm with tasks around camp and prowling through the little territory they’d claimed, and while Maeglin had told himself he would stay in the tent and not risk showing himself, he could no longer keep it up.
“You’ve got about a quarter-mile radius from here. Around the edges the enchantment will be weaker, but unless you and he somehow turn up at the same place at the same time, that shouldn’t matter.”
“Okay. So a good stretch of the creek should be fine?”
“Sure. Take Huan with you.”
Maeglin nodded and headed that way. Huan trotted to catch up and quickly outpaced him. The mossy banks felt pleasantly soft under his bare feet. The creek ran clear and invitingly, falling over boulders into little pools. Startled frogs leapt off the rocks, plopping into the water with fat round splashes as he passed. But as he began sampling gravels, digging down to the bedrock and emptying crevices to check what had been trapped, working steadily upstream, it became apparent that nothing was there to be found. He hadn't come up with so much as a single fleck of gold.
He dragged himself back to camp as the sun was setting, exhausted and disheartened. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d come home empty-handed from a day of prospecting, but never had he run through all his options and had nowhere left to explore.
“No luck?” Celegorm asked when he caught sight of him.
Maeglin shook his head. “How far did we come from the old camp?”
“I dunno exactly. Forty or fifty miles, I’d guess.”
“Are we even in the same watershed?!”
“Maeglin. I don't know anything about rocks and ores and what washes from where. But I do think it's more important to put enough distance between you and Eöl than it is to be near your gem deposits.”
“It is. Of course it is. Sorry.” Maeglin wiped the sweat from his face. “Just. I feel so…useless without a pick or a hammer in my hands. Empty. Aimless. I—I'm sorry.”
“Hey. It’s all right.” Celegorm steered him to the fireside and heaped a plate for him of trout and baked tubers. “Do you want my thoughts, or do you need time to be angry and frustrated about it?”
“Both?” The trout was rich and tender and melted in his mouth, and there were little golden chanterelles with it. Maeglin closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the taste and the warmth and the way it filled him. “What are you thinking?”
“So correct me if I'm wrong, but the reason you don't want to ask Tyelpë or Curufin if you can work in their forges is that you're afraid they'll think badly of you, and you care too much for their opinions to know it for sure.”
Maeglin nodded cautiously.
“How about people whose opinions don't matter to you? It's not large or fancy or well-equipped, and you can't do your gem cutting or your fine goldwork there, but there is a little forge out back behind Oromë’s lodge. It mostly gets used for straightening out bent spearheads or grinding nicks out of hunting knives, but—”
“I could do those things,” Maeglin whispered.
“I'm sure you could, and way better than any of us. And I reckon if you were keeping folks’ gear up in style, they'd be happy to feed you and make sure you had iron to mess with. Wouldn't have to rely on me if you didn't want to, though you're always more than welcome. And there's good maps, and people who can help you track down your gems and ores if you tell them what signs you're looking for.”
“And they won't know who I am?”
“Can't promise that. But the Hunt aren't judgmental folk, and I don't think we have anyone from Gondolin, except once in a great while.”
“I think…maybe…” It seemed just enough within the realm of possibility that he could entertain the notion, prodding at it, testing how it felt. Of course everyone had heard his name and the stories by now. He didn't want to hide who he was. But Celegorm was right; he could weather some disdain from people he’d never known or been desperate to please. People who had nothing against him personally, only on principle.
“There is a catch. Your momma does ride with us at times. Might be hard to hide from her once she gets wind of where you are.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure he felt the same instant revolt he had before at the idea. The depths of his sorrow when he lay dying without having seen her had never entirely left him, and he couldn't face that again.
Celegorm kept his eyes on the fire, sparing him the misery of revealing his pain. “You know,” he said gently. “She sent me because she cares about you an awful lot.”
“I—I'll have to think about it,” he stammered, and fled into the tent.
*
An empty cage was bound to Nahar's saddle when Oromë rode up again. Maeglin looked up from the hide he was scraping, but didn't rise. The repetitive task was soothing, and he didn't want to hear how everything was just fine. Nothing had changed, and it wasn't fine so long as he couldn't go anywhere for fear of alerting his father and bringing danger down on himself and the only friend he had in the world. Oromë approached him anyway.
“I've brought you something, Maeglin. Since you didn't think a dog was right for you. Now, you don't have to take them if you don't want, but I do ask that you give them a chance.”
Maeglin was growing interested despite himself.
From somewhere under his cloak, Oromë produced a pair of rats. One was a satiny black, and the other was white with patches of blue-grey. Maeglin's eyes widened in wonder.
“I know it's a little strange, but they're very intelligent and affectionate animals, and I think it's worth trying to look past—”
“They're for me?” Maeglin interrupted breathlessly.
Oromë grinned. “They’re yours.” He passed them gently into Maeglin’s outstretched hands, and for a moment, he forgot everything else, absorbed in their soft fur and twitching noses and tiny ears and toes. They were curious and unafraid, sniffing him and exploring, letting themselves be cradled and petted and kissed on the tops of their heads.
