He swept the chimney, replaced the dry-rotted leather of the bellows, sanded dings and scratches from the faces of hammer and anvil alike. He kept discovering tongs in strange places—one pair had evidently been used to knock down a wasp nest high overhead in the carved beams of Oromë's hall and abandoned up there when the wasps took it poorly. Another was being used in the bathhouse to pour water over hot rocks for steam. Maeglin crafted an elegant long-handled cup and took the tongs back to his smithy.
As he finished arranging his space to his liking and settled into a routine, Maeglin found there were still days when he couldn't get out of bed and nights when he woke from dreams of torture, his chest tight with panic. But when he didn't show up to meals, someone would bring him a bowl of creamy porridge or fresh-baked bread and cheese, and sit and chat about who'd brought in the best game or made the biggest fool of themselves on horseback until Maeglin was finished eating or asked them to leave. He would snuggle with his rats and watch them play silly games, or drag himself with a blanket and a sketchbook outside to sit in the filtered light beneath his favorite tree and draw things to forge on better days. More and more, better days came, and he slowly waded through the onslaught of requests for his work.
One morning he looked up and saw Celegorm leaning against the doorway, watching him. “Come and hunt,” he said simply. Maeglin set aside the sketch he'd been converting to a full-scale layout on his workbench and followed his uncle. He'd been turning down the constant stream of invitations, feeling out of place among the loud, boisterous hunters, but with Celegorm there the rest didn't matter. Oromë himself rode with them, along with several others, and Maeglin's heart soared at the sound of the Vala’s horn.
They separated a young stag from a herd grazing beneath ancient oaks, and gave chase, driving him toward two elves who’d gone ahead and lay in wait with spears. Coursing among the baying hounds, flying over fallen logs, Maeglin felt free and invincible, and when the stag fell, he joined in the wild cheer. Celegorm smeared blood over Maeglin’s cheeks, as Oromë had already done for him, and he kissed his forehead proudly. This must be what Naneth missed enough to leave Gondolin, Maeglin thought. Riding beneath limitless trees, laughing in the golden light. Being with people who know how to wrest life out of death, who understand that everything can't always be perfect and spotless and pure.
They feasted that night, and for the first time, Maeglin didn't feel the need to flee for the solitude of his smithy when Oromë passed around the ale. Everyone drank deep from a huge gilded horn that seemed bottomless, and the raucous, joyful singing began.
*
Lindissë came running into the forge one day as the leaves were taking on autumn hues and the air had turned crisp. “Maeglin! Aredhel’s on her way! She’ll be here soon!”
Maeglin set down the hot iron in his hand. “How much time do I have?”
“A couple hours, perhaps. You don't look happy. Do you not want to see your mom?”
“I…” He wetted his lips, thinking. He'd known this day would come, and whether he felt ready at any given time seemed more of a coin toss than to follow any logic.
“If you don't, you've got time to grab a bag and steal away, and no one will tell her where you've gone.”
“You'd do that for me?”
Celegorm silently slipped inside and saw that he'd already gotten the news.
“Of course,” she answered. “We take care of our own. You should know that by now.”
“But I'm not…surely she has a better claim to your friendship.”
“You can both be our friends, and we'll still help you. There's no reason you should have to endure a meeting you don't want. I think everyone’s had someone they couldn't see at some point. It's all right.”
Maeglin sighed.
“I'll just tell everyone you aren't here, okay?”
She ran off, and Maeglin hesitated, staring at the half-formed skewer he'd been hammering. Celegorm approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right if today is not the day. You have later. You have next time. She'll understand.”
“I want to,” Maeglin whispered. “I don't know if I can.”
“Whatever you decide, I'll back you up. You just let me know.”
Maeglin nodded. “I need some time to think.”
The hours passed slowly. He kept working, positioning each hammer blow with deliberate care, letting the focus demanded by glowing steel blot out everything else. When he noticed his hands were shaking, he stopped and cleaned up, but he was no nearer his answer. He scooped up Mithril and Onyx from their spacious cage just outside in the shade, and immediately Mithril began nuzzling his ear. He'd realized they could often tell before he could that his distress was approaching the critical point when he needed to step away before his throat closed up and he lost himself to fear. Celegorm had taught him how to reinforce their worried nudges until he could rely upon them. He petted Mithril and gave him a pumpkin seed from the little store he kept in his pocket.
Going back inside, he sat in a corner he kept clear near a window, curling up on himself and trying to breathe calmly. He was hidden here; the stones below him and surrounding him were safe and cool granite, and he ran his fingertips over the rough surfaces to keep himself grounded. On the high windowsill he'd arranged his sapphires, and the sun coming through them cast pools of blue light on the floor. He knew Eöl's words to him had been lies. He knew he could trust Celegorm and his judgment. But those words kept going around in his head relentlessly. “She doesn't want you. She never wants to see you again. You made her life miserable.”
“It's not true,” Maeglin whispered. He laid his head back against the wall. He was not going to run. He wasn’t. He'd managed to face Eöl and survive. He'd come back from the dead and managed somehow to stay. He smoothed Onyx's fur with trembling fingers. Maybe he should wash and find some clothes that weren't stained with soot. “I'll go in a minute,” he told the rats. “I should…should look nice when I see her.” But he didn't get up.
Celegorm poked his head in the door. Maeglin couldn't say how long he'd sheltered there. “Hey, Maeglin? You in here?”
“Over here,” Maeglin said softly.
“Oh. You okay?”
Maeglin shrugged.
“She's here. If you wanna see her.”
Maeglin closed his eyes and wished he knew what Vala he could pray to. “Yes.”
“I'll leave you guys to it, then.”
“No, wait! Don't go! Stay with me, please?”
“I thought…you’d want some time that's just family.”
“You're my family. Don't leave me.”
Celegorm smiled. “All right, then, I won't.”
He stepped outside and called to someone, and just like that, Aredhel was there, walking into his dim, sooty forge, dressed all in white like he remembered. Oh Valar. I was wrong. I can't do this. He hid his face against his knees and willed himself anywhere but here. A gentle hand alighted on his head, and he smelled the soft fragrance of lavender. “Lómion. I'm so proud of you.”
He shook his head, even as she pulled him into her arms. “I ruined everything.” He felt Celegorm's comforting presence as he sat beside him.
“You’re here. You're alive, and I know that’s a victory.”
He gave up trying to disappear and let her hug him. “You shouldn't. You'll get your clothes dirty. I--I've been working all day—”
“As if that matters. I've waited and hoped and waited some more, and I'm so happy to have you back.”
“You don't even know what I've done. What I didn't do. I am a traitor; they're right to hate me; I…” He'd looked up without meaning to, and he trailed off. He saw no hatred at all in her eyes.
“You can tell me, if you really want to. But Lómion, I love you, and there's nothing in Arda that could change that.”
He rested his head on her chest and wept.
“Do you remember when you came to the Halls?”
“As if in a dream. I remember you sang to me, and I couldn't speak for grief.”
“I didn't want to leave you. I'm so sorry I couldn't stay.”
“No. No. You had to leave when you had to. Please don't be sorry.”
“I wanted to be there for you. In Gondolin. You had to fight through so much on your own.” Her hand on his cheek was warm and soothing. He cried harder, but he could feel already that it would be all right. Everything was going to be all right. He pressed closer against her and fully returned her embrace. “That’s it,” she murmured. “You aren't alone anymore. There's time for everything now.”
He reached for Celegorm and pulled him into the hug too. “I'm not alone at all.” Celegorm grinned and ruffled Maeglin's hair, then leaned over and kissed Aredhel on her cheek. Onyx climbed up to Maeglin's shoulder, and Aredhel's eyes widened in delight.
“Who's your little friend there? Can I hold her?”
Maeglin smiled and wiped his very wet face. “This is Onyx, and she helped save my life.” He found, as he began his tale, that words came easier with the ones he loved.
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Table of Contents
Preface
Leaving the Halls
Berries and Bones
Steel and Stone
Sapphire and Gold
Blood and Black Wool
Pillows and Fur
Onyx and Mithril
Knives and Chains
Finding the Way Home
Afterword
