“Tyelko's going to be insufferable. I didn't really think you'd like them.”
Maeglin glanced up. “I love them. Thank you so much.”
“They’re not meant just to be pets. They know already they’re here to help you however you need, and you'll have our assistance training them. They can't do the same tasks a dog could, but they can keep you company and always be near, and we thought you wouldn't have much trouble with people wanting to touch them.”
A lopsided smile stretched Maeglin's lips. “They might even keep people from trying to get too close at all. That's perfect. That's so perfect. I wish I'd thought of it myself.”
*
Maeglin named the black rat Onyx and the white and grey one Mithril, and the next few days he could almost call happy. He set up their cage with spaces to nest and to climb, but they spent little time in it. They liked to ride on his shoulders, especially when he had treats. But he kept thinking how little Eärendil would have squealed and begged to see them, too young to have learned to associate them with Morgoth and the plagues he used them to spread among the Edain. He wondered if Idril would have liked them too. She'd been fond of her songbirds, and gentle with the small and meek. Perhaps she'd have looked on them kindly with those deep and sparkling eyes, as he'd always wished she would on him.
Maeglin sat by the fire one night with Mithril curled up asleep in his lap. “Would you tell me about you and Lúthien?”
Celegorm put his hand over his face. He took a long time to answer. “That’s really not something I wanna talk about.”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry, forget I asked.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Well…I don't know of many people who…you know. Wanted someone who didn’t want them back. Or…anyway. Who fell in love with the wrong person and realized it too late to let go.”
“Is this about your parents?”
“No. I…I know they were happy for a while. At first. I was just…thinking about Idril a lot, lately. I dunno. Maybe it’s not the same at all. You seem so perfect with Oromë.”
“Well…yeah. I loved Oromë before we ever left Valinor. But then…you know what all happened; it’s in the histories. I was pretty sure I’d never see him again, not in the flesh, anyway. Blood-frenzy in battle or on the hunt was the closest I’d ever get to touching him again, and…I wasn’t exactly saving myself for a day that wouldn’t come. So when the opportunity showed up…it was a good match, politically. Finally force Thingol to think about the rest of us and help us win the damn fight? Think how different the Nirnaeth would’ve gone, with Doriath backing us. I wanted that. And Curufin couldn’t marry her; he already had a wife he’d left behind. And, y’know, she was hot. And powerful. Smart. Everything I like. She got along with my dog. So it wasn’t exactly a hardship. I don't think it was love though. In the way you’re talking about. It’s not something I’m proud of, just so we’re clear.”
“But she didn’t want you. She loved Beren.”
“That’s right,” Celegorm said, undoing one of his braids and pulling a bone bead off. Blood was caked in it from his hunt earlier.
“Would you have…have…taken…?”
“Would I have raped her, you mean?”
Maeglin nodded.
The silence was heavy and thick. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Not kicking and screaming, but if I could’ve manipulated her into it to seal a marriage she didn’t want and get us that alliance? Yeah. I would’ve. I’d’ve told myself it was better than letting her get killed on that fool quest of hers, that it was best in the long run for everyone, but…that’s what Curufin would’ve called ‘factors in our decision-making’ and Maedhros would’ve called ‘fucked-up bullshit excuses.’ He always was the most decent of us.”
He rubbed his eyes, which had gone bright and watery. “When it comes right down to it…I’d stopped caring. I couldn’t even say whether I’d stopped thinking of others as people or stopped thinking of myself as a person, but no one else mattered to me, either way. All I wanted was to get the Silmarils so I could lay down that whole fucking mess, all the mistakes and the pain and the tragedy, and walk into the wilds and never look back. I’d’ve done anything for that. I murdered people for it. I betrayed my friend’s trust. I hate what I did. I’d turned into something horrible. Maybe I still am. I don’t know if I’ll ever be done clawing my way back from that.”
“I don’t want to be horrible,” Maeglin whispered.
“Neither do I.” Celegorm started rebraiding his hair, having worked out most of the blood. “Does any of that help at all?”
“I don’t know.” Mithril squeaked in protest, and Maeglin realized he’d been squeezing him with shaking fingers. He let go, and the rat climbed up to nuzzle his chin. He stroked him more carefully, grateful for his warm presence. “I heard what they were saying about me in the Halls. That…that Morgoth offered her to me, and that’s why I gave up the city.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“He did. Or Mairon did, anyway. He said…he could make her love me. And…I wanted that. I really did. But I knew it wasn’t what she’d chosen; she’d already made up her mind about me a long time before, and she didn’t want me. She wouldn’t want that, even if he had some way to do it. Some way that wasn’t just torture. Does it even matter if that’s not why I gave in, when I wanted it and gave in anyway?”
“Shit, Maeglin, I’m no good at these questions. I think what’s in your heart matters, and the effects your actions have on people matter too. That’s all I got.”
“I know I didn’t do right by her before.” His voice was very small. “I kept pushing, trying to get her to notice me, to give me what I wanted, and then…I realized that more and more, when I thought of her, I was thinking of things…he would’ve done—taking her away from the people who distracted her from me, keeping her just for myself, trying to…to make her accept me—and I looked in her eyes one day and saw that she was scared. That killed me. I never wanted that. I never wanted to be like Eöl. I tried to just…cut her off, as much as I could, but I still loved her and wanted to be near her, and…I don’t know. I’m sure I came across as cold and demanding and haughty and whatever else they call me. I didn’t know what to do. I threw myself into work. Stopped talking to her when I could avoid it. I didn’t even understand how bad it was between us until I had Eärendil in my arms, with the battle all around us, and I realized she thought I wanted to kill him.” He buried his face in his arms, curling up and sniffling.
“If you don’t mind me asking…what did you want with her kid?”
“I wasn’t gonna let him die! I’d asked Mairon how many people I could spare. He promised me two. Two plus the bearer of Morgoth’s token could pass through the ranks of orcs and balrogs and go where they pleased. So I grabbed up Eärendil before anyone could hurt him. I’d just shown her the token, and she wouldn’t even let me finish. It was supposed to go to Tuor. He was supposed to get them both out. I guess she did that without my help. She wouldn’t even let me explain.” He shuddered, remembering the long fall he’d spent so much of his life imagining and dreading. “I want to tell her I’m sorry. Do you think that’s awful of me? Wanting to see her again at all?”
“I…would give a lot if I could apologize to Lúthien. I don’t think it’s awful. Not if you mean it and aren’t using it just to get near her.”
“Oh. I guess you couldn’t, after…”
Celegorm shook his head. “She’s just gone, forever.” This time Maeglin put an arm around his uncle. He’d craved that kind of death for so long, something that would take him away from this world completely. He didn’t think he wanted it now. Celegorm chewed at his lip. “Thingol…exacted his due on her behalf. But it isn’t really the same. And…shit. Her grandsons died because of me, and I couldn’t fix that or apologize for it either. If you want my advice…you ask first and make sure she's willing to see you. Then you take that chance if you get it, and you don’t fuck it up with half-measures or excuses.”
Maeglin nodded silently.
Knives and Chains
Chapter Summary
Content warning--graphic torture scenes
Maeglin was walking through the dim forest of Nan Elmoth at twilight, hand in hand with his mother. Purple flowers hung in thick festoons from branches overhead. Aredhel had to duck to pass under the vines. A bruise on her cheek was as purple as the blossoms that thickened the air with heavy, sweet fragrance. Maeglin winced and looked away. There had never been bruises before he spoke his first word of Quenya. Before he asked when he could meet the brothers and cousins she told him about in bedtime stories. They came to a wider space between the gnarled trees where they could see a few stars twinkling palely above them. Her white gown shone in their light. Aredhel knelt, the sword she wore at her waist knocking against the ground, and she sang until a velvet-furred mole poked its head up and allowed them to touch it. Little Maeglin had laughed in delight, enchanted, but the Maeglin watching now gazed into his mother's face and saw weariness and sorrow beneath her smile.
He heard a dog somewhere barking, deep and full-throated, and it broke the hush of the darkness until the dream faded around him. His eyes were damp as he returned to the waking world. He missed her as much as if a part of himself were gone. It would be so easy to reach out and end that pain… He imagined her eyes on him, filling anew with sorrow—disappointment—even recrimination at all the evil he had done. No. That would be more painful still. But…what of her pain? If she missed him as much as Celegorm seemed to think…if her sorrow at being parted was more than her sorrow at his deeds… He didn't know. He couldn't know. He curled into a tight ball and wept, until Onyx’s soft chattering reminded him he had little lives to care for. Opening the cage door, he let both rats out, and they climbed over him, checking his hair and the furs and anything that might have changed in the night. They settled against him, cuddling and licking at his fingers, and he pulled himself together enough to get up and feed them.
A distraction would be much better than moping around all day, he thought. He'd noticed some good-sized rocks near the creek that were probably chert, and he decided to hunt them out. He might as well practice his flintknapping while he had so little else to occupy his mind. Sticking his knife in his belt and taking a few strips of jerky to eat on the way, he waved good morning at Celegorm, who was cleaning his horse’s tack, and started in the general direction of the rocks, with Onyx riding on his shoulder.
He reached the creek and walked along the bank. The day was pleasant and dim, for which he was grateful. He hadn't bothered to cover his eyes in a while, but the brightest days were still a bit painful. It looked like it might rain later. This section of the creek seemed unfamiliar, and he wondered if he'd already passed the spot he was thinking of. Surely there’d be more flint, even if he had. He glanced back toward camp. He didn't think he'd come too far. A little further, and then if he had no luck, he'd go back. The forest seemed to press closer, and Maeglin realized he'd left the creek behind. Strange. I never meant to leave it. He turned toward where he thought it should be. After several paces, he was facing the same trees again, only closer. No. No no no no no. He'd stepped into the locus of someone's power, and he was being funneled toward them with every step he took. Eöl had found him.
Maeglin froze in place, thinking fast. Eöl would have noticed his presence the moment he stepped into the trap. At best, several minutes ago. If he kept walking, he'd be led inexorably to the center of the maze. If he hid here, Eöl would soon find him. There was no good way out. Maeglin worried at his lip. Onyx had caught his fear, and was shifting anxiously. He lifted her down from his shoulder and petted her soothingly. “I wish I could speak to you like Celegorm can,” he whispered softly. “His enchantment would never notice you.”
He wondered how different a rat's mind was from his own. He'd always been especially gifted at osánwë, but he'd never tried it with an animal. He took a deep breath. This wasn't Morgoth; there’d be no pain. No violation. He filled his mind with the image of Celegorm—not just his face, but his laughter; his hands passing out food; the scent of him, horses and evergreens and leather. To that he added himself in danger and a sense of urgency, and holding those ideas together, he tentatively reached out. He felt Onyx’s surprise and curiosity as he touched her, and felt the change as she took in his thoughts. “Please find him,” he whispered as he set her down. She scurried off, and Maeglin rose. He wasn't going to give Eöl the satisfaction of hunting him down while he cowered. He stepped onto the path that opened before him and went to face him.
*
Eöl sat on the lowest bough of a wide-spreading beech, twirling a knife blade between long, nimble fingers. He sheathed it before he looked up and acknowledged Maeglin. “I'm glad you've finally come. I only want to talk. Don't you think your father merits that much consideration?”
“I'm here because you herded me down your path and trapped me, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise.”
“You'll hear me out, though? I've been so anxious after your…mishap. I want to know that you're well.”
Maeglin wondered for a moment if he meant it, then decided it didn't matter. “You see that I'm standing. And you’re disobeying the Valar’s order. Leave now and don't return.”
“Just listen. Just for a moment. I know we've had our differences, but I want to put all of that behind us. I'd like you to think about your future. You know you aren't going to be welcomed by most people. That's not me being cruel, that’s how it really is. I've got a lovely little house in the woods. It'll remind you of home. The good old days.”
Do you even know how much I came to hate that place? Maeglin thought, but he held his silence.
“I've built us a wonderful forge. I thought of you from the start. I hoped you'd rejoin me someday. It's got every tool you could ever want. The perfect place to create. We’d be together.”
Maeglin felt inexplicably drawn in. He could see it in his mind, days of friendly work side by side, a space meant for him, already arranged as he liked best. What is this? Working under him was misery. He noticed, almost too late, the tendrils of power twisting around the words, carried on faint notes of Song. “No. Let me go.”
“I've missed you so much. You know you'll have nothing if you refuse. You'll find only heartbreak and despair. At least with me you'll always know how much I care for you.”
A soft growl rose in his throat. He'd resisted Song before, and he could do it again. “If you really cared about me, you'd want me to be happy. You'd want me to make my own choices. Even if you didn't like them. You wouldn't try to shut me away and force me into the little mold of the son you wanted me to be.”
