A/N: So Maeglin wouldn't leave me alone. A few things got written, set at various stages of his life, in a completely random order. This is it, a story-arc spanning his rather interesting life...
A tale of Maeglin, Aredhel and Eöl, and their last days together in the forest.
Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me.
Stardusk
The sun never came to the forest of Nan Elmoth.
Long ago, the trees had grown tall and dark, their grasping branches winding together, shutting out the light. Since no light fell on the shadowed halls deep within the wood, telling the time was more a matter for guesswork than anything else. Work finished when it finished, or when the Lord of the forest ordered it so.
In the world outside, the sun had long set and dark star-strewn night was advancing over the plains. By the nagging ache in his muscles, Maeglin guessed that the work-day had dragged on for far longer than usual. The time of the annual feast at Tumunzahar close now, and Eöl clearly intended to impress his hosts with many gifts of iron and steel.
Maeglin looked behind, and there was his father, bent over his dark anvil, hammering a blade out for a short axe, later to be fitted with its handle of pine-wood. In the forge-light Eöl's dark hair, which he clipped at his neck for ease of working, shone dully in the dancing flames, and he muttered intermittently in a forgotten tongue as he worked. His back was facing his son, but Eöl had an uncanny way of knowing other's minds, just as Maeglin did, and giving his father reason to be suspicious might ruin his plans. So, he turned back to the task in hand.
It was boring work for him - he had made hundreds of horse-shoes over his life in Nan Elmoth. He longed for something new, for a challenge, to make something never made before. His father had forged two swords from a fallen star. He could do more, he was sure of it. If only he was not confined to the forest, if only he could learn more about the mountains of the land outside, search for a better ore than what the servants mined. If only his father had not forbidden him from the mansions of the Dwarves, which he deeply resented, he could be so much better. It seemed to him that Eöl was deliberately holding him back. Perhaps he was afraid that one day his son would surpass him. Maeglin smiled bitterly. Fine chance of that ever happening, confined to the forest like a caged animal.
Now the metal glowed brightly, and he removed it from the heat automatically to hammer it into shape. The motions were so familiar to him that he could allow his mind to wander, and he chose a happier path tonight.
The evening before, Maeglin had asked permission from his father to be absent from the forge, saying he needed to go to the iron mine, for supplies were dwindling in Eöl's house. Eöl was in an unusually compliant mood and had agreed, even offering to accompany Maeglin that they might talk about the gifts for the feast. Caught off-guard by Eöl's friendliness, Maeglin had muttered something about not wishing to trouble his father, and had left in a hurry, lest Eöl discover the truth of the matter. In his hand, he held the crushed bit of paper covered in his mother's elegant script. They were to meet, and steal a few illicit hours beneath the sun.
He had come quickly to the stables, and, checking that the stable-hand was not lurking somewhere in the shadowy outhouse, he untied two horses. His mother's proud white mare always came willingly, longing for the free plains and long grasses of her home. She was so excited at the thought of breathing the fresh air outside the forest that she stamped and snorted loudly, and Maeglin had to whisper soothingly to calm her and avoid being heard. His own horse was sleek and night-black, sired by his father's own. Maeglin was certain that Eöl had not chosen his son's horse by accident, but had not the time to think on that now. He took them both by the reins, and by secret paths he hurried to the place he knew his mother would be waiting.
Aredhel had been there, as promised. She was clad in shimmering white from head to toe, with a carcanet of pearls upon her dark hair. She smiled fondly at her son, and once again Maeglin was struck by her beauty. He yearned to see other women sometimes, for his mother was the only female in the land of Eöl. She would tell him tales of beautiful Idril who wore flowers and gold twined in her hair - Maeglin had laughed at this extravagance, for flowers were a rarity in the darkness of his home - but as he thought on it, it sounded very fair. He longed to see her, to perhaps touch this Idril's silky locks as his mother sometimes allowed him to do with her own. However, Aredhel had told him proudly that she was accounted the fairest of the maidens of the Noldor, and Maeglin was inclined to believe her.
Seeing his awestruck expression, she smiled. "I like to dress thus, for when I breathe the sweet winds outside this wood, I almost feel I am back in Gondolin." She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, her breath cool and sweet, strands of her dark hair quivering in the wind. He smiled, and handed her the white reins of her own horse. The beast stamped gleefully to be back with her mistress, and gave a soft whinny of pleasure as Aredhel climbed up.
"Lómion, you are late," she said, giving him a reproachful glance from the saddle. "I almost turned back. You must have had me standing here shivering for the most part of an hour!"
"I am sorry, mother," Maeglin said, mounting his own horse. He stroked its dark mane to calm it, for the horse picked up on his excitement. It had been a long time since he had ridden out, and he hungered for the sun like never before.
"You come straight from the forge, I see," Aredhel said disdainfully, wiping the dust and metal-grime from her hand where she had touched his face.
"I am sorry that I cannot be in such fair array as you," Maeglin said. "I told father I was going to the iron mine."
Aredhel laughed delightedly. "You are truly a child of mine, then! In the land of Bliss and Light, I would tell my mother and father that I was going to my lessons, when in truth I roamed the forests with my cousins Celegorm and Curufin. They used to be angry at me for decieving them, but I could always charm my way out of it." She beamed expectantly.
"I would never decieve you," promised Maeglin.
"I am glad of that," Aredhel said. "Now, let us flee! We must hurry from this wood, for I percieve you yearn for the sun just as I do."
He recalled little of the ride. They had turned North and crossed Celon, and as they sped towards the eaves of the forest, Maeglin caught snatches of stars through the gaps in the treebound roof. Aredhel had laughed gleefully as they came to the stream that marked the end of Eöl's land, and she spurred her horse on as they entered the wide country of the sons of Fëanor. He was content to let Aredhel lead, and buried his face in his horse's mane, feeling the wind in his hair, and imagining they were running away forever.
He remembered that cold hour of the early morning that they came to a halt at the very edge of the wood, and beheld the wide plain that was Curufin's land. The sun had not yet risen, and the land was bathed in the pale light that always came before dawn.
Maeglin looked upon his mother, and was struck by how small, how frail she looked. Even when she spoke, her voice carried a slight tremble. His heart ached, for he knew she was fading, day by day, slowly dying of a broken heart. Sometimes, the confusion of love for his mother, hatred of his father and the mixed-up teachings of both his parents drove him to paralysis, and he began to forget who he really was, the person behind the faces he wore to please them.
"This is the land of my cousin Curufin. He is a mighty lord, and dwells but half a day's ride across the plain. Shall we not visit him?" Aredhel said.
"Mother..." Maeglin started. "We cannot..."
"Oh, I know we cannot. But would you not like to? It has been long since I saw my kin, and I would show them how fair you have become." But her eyes wandered westwards, and Maeglin knew that in her mind she was looking out over Gondolin again. He wished he had his father's power of insight, so he could see it alongside her.
"Turgon my brother will be up by now," she said. "He always was an early riser. And in the palace, he will just be able to hear the morning salute. The archers of the Golden Gate blow their bugles in tribute every morning, just at sunrise. And Idril..."
But now the sun was climbing, tendrils of dawn sweeping across the plain, and the long grasses quivered in anticipation of the morning. Suddenly, the dazzling light broke the horizon, and Maeglin had to turn his face away from the penetrating rays. Aredhel looked to him in concern.
"I am sorry. I had forgotten that the light was too strong for your eyes. It is a small wonder, for you were born in the dark and see keener in the shadows than I. Do not worry! Soon you shall be able to look on Vása in all her glory. I learned to abide in the darkness, did I not?"
Yes. And no...
Maeglin turned again to face her. The light burned his eyes and tears threatened to spill down his cheeks, but he did not care.
"We will leave one day," he said firmly, "And you will lead me to Gondolin, the city of the seven names and six great gates, each more fair and mighty than the last..." He began to lead her away, slipping into the story that had comforted him as a child, and now it eased his mother as they turned back into the dark forest, and day turned into night. For a while, Aredhel had been the child and Maeglin the parent, and she had listened to his every word.
"Go on," she had said, "For I barely remember the splendour of Gondolin. This hateful dark dims even my memories of happier times. I feel that I am losing my mind. Tell me, Lómion, what does a flower look like? Can you hear the sound of a fountain?"
Maeglin shook his head.
"Forgive me," his mother said. "Of course you do not know, for you have never seen them." She smiled, if sadly. "Let us go home."
They had stopped out of sight of Eöl's doors, and embraced. "Was I wrong to speak so openly with you, Lómion?" Aredhel said. "You are grown so tall, so fair, you remind me of a great Lord of the Noldor."
"You may always speak openly with me, mother," he had said. They kissed and parted, and Maeglin had gone back to work beneath his father's suspicious eyes.
Suddenly, a loud clang interrupted his thoughts. Lassecant had brought down his hammer on the forge-bell, finally signalling the end of the work-day. Maeglin watched as his father's smiths laid down their tools with a grunt of relief, wiping the sweat from their blackened faces. Eöl stood by his foreman, taller and darker with more power in his stance.
"A good day of work, everyone. We will continue tomorrow," he said briefly, then returned to honing the axe-blade with long, smooth strokes of his glasscloth. He seemed totally absorbed in the work, and did not speak to his son, as he occasionally did when work was finished. Maeglin began to unstrap his gauntlets, rubbing at the rings of iron-grime that had accumulated around his wrists. He had removed his overalls and was about to leave, when his father's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You. Remain behind."
Maeglin obeyed, watching the other smiths leave until only Eöl, Lassecant and himself remained. A cold fear wound its way around his heart, and he felt certain that his father had found out that he had left the forest without permission. But how? He had been so careful!
However, the Dark Elf made no move to speak to his son, but bent over his work-bench, seemingly oblivious of Maeglin's presence. This was a favourite torture of Eöl's, and often as a child Maeglin had confessed his misbehaviour rather than risk his father's wrath. Sometimes the punishment was better than the waiting. But tonight, he decided, he would not submit. Something changed in him every time he saw the sun, and filled him with a reckless energy. Why should he not disobey his father? He was growing strong now, strong enough to stand up for himself at least.
Still his father did not speak, so Maeglin fixed his gaze on the horse-shoe, watching it turn from glowing orange, to red, to dusky black. Eöl nodded wordlessly to Lassecant, and the foreman quickly removed his apron and gauntlets and left, his loud footsteps echoing down the hall.
The forge fell silent, broken only by the sound of Eöl working the imperfections out of the blade, sweeping it rhythmically with the cloth. Maeglin knew Eöl hated to leave a job unfinished, and began to wish he had completed his own work. He had no desire to make Eöl more angry than was necessary, and he was certain to be angry.
Eventually Maeglin could bear it no longer, and he broke the silence.
"Yes, father? What did you want?"
His voice sounded small in the empty workshop, weaker than he would have liked. Nervously, he began to rub at the iron rings around his wrists, their pattern almost like chains on his white skin.
Eöl turned to his son, and his face was grim, the lines etched deep with iron-dust from his work. He did not stop working the blade as he spoke in his strange, harsh voice, accented strongly by the secret Avarin language of his youth. He held on to his old accent even when surrounded by Sindar elves, and still spoke their tongue imperfectly.
"Where were you yesterday?" Eöl said.
Maeglin willed himself not to betray the truth on his face, for Eöl would read it with ease. He spoke calmly, making his voice pleasant and smooth.
"At the iron-mine," he began. "Our labours have reduced..."
"You will tell me the truth now." Eöl said in a quiet voice, laced with danger. He laid the axe aside and approached his son. Maeglin braced himself, but Eöl turned aside, inspecting Maeglin's workbench. He picked up the horse-shoe, examined it, and thrust it back into the heat, working the tongs into the very heart of the fire. Maeglin watched his father's powerful hands taming the glowing metal in the heat of the forge, and imagined what it would feel like if one of those hands were to close around his neck. He swallowed, but said nothing. Perhaps Eöl would let the matter rest if he said nothing.
"You were seen leaving the stables with two horses, yours and your mother's. Surely an excursion to the iron-mine does not befit a lady's company?" he said, turning the shoe so it glowed a merry red. The forge hissed with approval at its master's expert touch, and flames licked at the edges of his well-worn gauntlets. Eöl muttered a few words under his breath, and the flames dropped, sighing softly at their master's word. When the metal was at the right temperature to be shaped, he removed it from the heat quickly. Maeglin watched as Eöl took a hammer, a larger, heavier one than he was accustomed to using, and beat down on the horse-shoe with such force that sparks flew from the anvil. When it was shaped to his satisfaction, the Dark Elf paused and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his wrist. He continued.
"And it is interesting, is it not, that you should have travelled South to the mine by way of the Celon? Your boots are flecked with river-mud. A rather round-about way, do you not think?"
Maeglin looked down in dismay. How could he have made such a clumsy slip? Now he had endangered his mother as well, for Eöl knew well that Maeglin did not know that way out of the forest, and Aredhel did. It had been the very way she had wandered in there herself, many years ago.
Maeglin said nothing, and Eöl turned his back on him, quenching the hot metal in a wide tank of water, filling the air with clouds of steam. The flames from the torches illuminated his hollow cheeks, and a strange light was in his dark, deep-set eyes. The angry hissing from the water subsided, and at last, he turned to face his son.
"You will remain in the forest, ion-nin. You will not ride North of Celon, nor will you leave the borders of my land, save in my company. You can find nothing but disappointment in the lands of the Kinslayers." He laid the tormented steel to rest away from the cruel heat.
"You may go now. If you see your mother, advise her for what I have told you."
Whether it was foolishness or anger that possessed him he knew not, but something made Maeglin look into his father's eyes, and for the first time, he saw. He saw a whirl of stars, bent and whispering trees above a dark pool. He saw a reflection in the water, a grim, noble face, black hair tightly braided in the fashion of a forgotten race. He saw chains and darkness, heard a voice deeper and more powerful than any among the Eldar.
He saw light, airy halls, tall pillars bound with leaves. There was laughter and music, and elves were dancing freely. All save one joined in the merry-making, and he crouched in a corner, seeking darkness, nurturing a black hatred for those that danced while he suffered. Then, a forest - a forest that shut out all light with a canopy of dark leaves. There was a house in the darkest depths of the wood, and there a family dwelt, bound by love and hate, jealousy and mistrust.
He saw the truth of the matter - he would never leave the forest while Eöl had mastery over him. Indeed, his father purposed to keep him shut away, and make him like himself - a dark elf, shunning the sunlight in favour of the fire-glow from the forges, hating the kin that he had never seen. While he submitted himself to Eöl's laws, he could never escape, and neither would his mother. It was this thought that made Maeglin cry out:
"And how would you know what I might find outside this forest? Have you not always shunned the light, hiding here in the darkness?" Eöl turned to him then, slamming the tongs down, with an expression of no less than fury. Maeglin did not care.
"You may have no love for my mother's kin, but you have no right to keep her or me from our own! You forced her against her will to abide in this dark wood, but you shall not restrain me!"
Before he could say any more, Eöl had slapped him hard around the face. Maeglin reeled, thrown off-balance by the sharp blow, and he thought he heard a cry - his? No, it was Aredhel's voice, silenced, and from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a gleam of white, fading into the darkness.
Or was it only a shade of his mother, part of her that was slowly dying, taken by force, cut off from the light?
Under his father's glare, Maeglin felt all the strength fade from his limbs, and he sank down to a stool in the corner.
For a while, neither Elf spoke. Maeglin struggled to regain what dignity he could, and pulled himself upright, the room swaying slightly around him. Eöl did not take his eyes off his son's face, and he wondered what his father could read in his eyes, and what was hidden.
"You are of the house of Eöl, Maeglin, my son," he said, his voice dangerously low, "and not of the Golodhrim. All this land is the land of the Teleri, and I will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of our kin, the invaders and usurpers of our homes."
He took Maeglin's wrists, his strong fingers easily encircling them, following the line of the ash residue from his gauntlets.
"In this you shall obey me, or I will set you in bonds." He paused, fixing his eyes on Maeglin's. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, father."
Eöl almost smiled. "Good, then." He shook off his battered gauntlet, and touched Maeglin's cheek, causing him to flinch.
"Put some cold water on that," he said. "Your mother is foolish. She will think that I have wronged you, when I am only trying to correct you. You understand, son of mine?"
Maeglin nodded in assent, and Eöl left him to himself, the untended forge-fire dying down with a quiet hiss. The steam began to clear, and - or was it but a vision? - his mother was standing there before him. She smiled gently, and approached him.
"Was he very angry?" Aredhel asked. She moved like a shade through the iron-tinged air, and touched her son's arm in concern. "Maeglin?"
He managed a weak smile, for he could not bear to upset his mother. "He was angry," he said. "We must be more careful next time."
"Oh, Maeglin." Aredhel said, her dark eyes shining with tears. "Must you always suffer for my selfish whims?"
"I would suffer the harshest punishment if it would make you happy." Maeglin said.
"Your suffering would never make me happy," Aredhel cried. She began to weep, her body shaking with great, racking sobs. Maeglin took her in his arms. Her dark hair tickled his neck as he held her, stroking her back until her tears had abated.
"Do not cry. We will leave one day... we will."
"Will it be soon?" Aredhel dried her eyes.
"Aye. It will. If you will lead me, I will come with you, and we will run away forever." Maeglin paused. "Just like you always wanted to. Just like we always wanted to."
Aredhel looked at him, her eyes full of trust and love. How could he refuse her now? Besides, already he was eager to see the bright sun again, to feel its penetrating gaze wash away the taints of Eöl from his skin, his blood.
"Go now." Maeglin whispered, releasing her. "You must ready some things, little things for the journey. See that the horses are good. When he is to take me to Tumunzahar for the festival this summer, I shall say that I have too much work to do here. I will seem to be willing to stay here, I will gain his trust. Then we shall ride."
Aredhel looked at her son in amazement. Never had she heard him speak thus. "You sound like one of the great among my people," she said. "How the folk of Gondolin shall rejoice at our coming!" With that, she hurried off, and Maeglin noted that once again she seemed tall and proud, and her step was lighter.
His cheek was beginning to throb. If he did not tend it, a large, ugly bruise would grow in the next few days, and there was bound to be talk among the smiths. He left the forge, following the stony path outside to the large tank where rain-water was gathered for use in the house. As he splashed water on his face, he swore to himself that he would get his mother out of Elmoth, somehow. Already he could hear the trumpets of Gondolin, heralding their return, to be heard far and wide. How Eöl would skulk in the shadows then, for no longer would he have the mastery over his wife and son. How the mighty of Gondolin would bow before Maeglin, son of Aredhel, and the prison of the forest would be a distant memory. All it would take was a little acting, slipping on a different face, and Eöl would be so pleased by Maeglin's change of heart that he would give him the freedom he needed to escape...
Smiling to himself, Maeglin turned back to the house and went in search of his father. The last flames sputtered and died as he walked away, the cold sound of his footsteps on the stone reminiscent of the forge's master.
End
A tale of Maeglin, Aredhel and Eöl, and their last days together in the forest.
Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me.
Stardusk
The sun never came to the forest of Nan Elmoth.
Long ago, the trees had grown tall and dark, their grasping branches winding together, shutting out the light. Since no light fell on the shadowed halls deep within the wood, telling the time was more a matter for guesswork than anything else. Work finished when it finished, or when the Lord of the forest ordered it so.
In the world outside, the sun had long set and dark star-strewn night was advancing over the plains. By the nagging ache in his muscles, Maeglin guessed that the work-day had dragged on for far longer than usual. The time of the annual feast at Tumunzahar close now, and Eöl clearly intended to impress his hosts with many gifts of iron and steel.
Maeglin looked behind, and there was his father, bent over his dark anvil, hammering a blade out for a short axe, later to be fitted with its handle of pine-wood. In the forge-light Eöl's dark hair, which he clipped at his neck for ease of working, shone dully in the dancing flames, and he muttered intermittently in a forgotten tongue as he worked. His back was facing his son, but Eöl had an uncanny way of knowing other's minds, just as Maeglin did, and giving his father reason to be suspicious might ruin his plans. So, he turned back to the task in hand.
It was boring work for him - he had made hundreds of horse-shoes over his life in Nan Elmoth. He longed for something new, for a challenge, to make something never made before. His father had forged two swords from a fallen star. He could do more, he was sure of it. If only he was not confined to the forest, if only he could learn more about the mountains of the land outside, search for a better ore than what the servants mined. If only his father had not forbidden him from the mansions of the Dwarves, which he deeply resented, he could be so much better. It seemed to him that Eöl was deliberately holding him back. Perhaps he was afraid that one day his son would surpass him. Maeglin smiled bitterly. Fine chance of that ever happening, confined to the forest like a caged animal.
Now the metal glowed brightly, and he removed it from the heat automatically to hammer it into shape. The motions were so familiar to him that he could allow his mind to wander, and he chose a happier path tonight.
The evening before, Maeglin had asked permission from his father to be absent from the forge, saying he needed to go to the iron mine, for supplies were dwindling in Eöl's house. Eöl was in an unusually compliant mood and had agreed, even offering to accompany Maeglin that they might talk about the gifts for the feast. Caught off-guard by Eöl's friendliness, Maeglin had muttered something about not wishing to trouble his father, and had left in a hurry, lest Eöl discover the truth of the matter. In his hand, he held the crushed bit of paper covered in his mother's elegant script. They were to meet, and steal a few illicit hours beneath the sun.
He had come quickly to the stables, and, checking that the stable-hand was not lurking somewhere in the shadowy outhouse, he untied two horses. His mother's proud white mare always came willingly, longing for the free plains and long grasses of her home. She was so excited at the thought of breathing the fresh air outside the forest that she stamped and snorted loudly, and Maeglin had to whisper soothingly to calm her and avoid being heard. His own horse was sleek and night-black, sired by his father's own. Maeglin was certain that Eöl had not chosen his son's horse by accident, but had not the time to think on that now. He took them both by the reins, and by secret paths he hurried to the place he knew his mother would be waiting.
Aredhel had been there, as promised. She was clad in shimmering white from head to toe, with a carcanet of pearls upon her dark hair. She smiled fondly at her son, and once again Maeglin was struck by her beauty. He yearned to see other women sometimes, for his mother was the only female in the land of Eöl. She would tell him tales of beautiful Idril who wore flowers and gold twined in her hair - Maeglin had laughed at this extravagance, for flowers were a rarity in the darkness of his home - but as he thought on it, it sounded very fair. He longed to see her, to perhaps touch this Idril's silky locks as his mother sometimes allowed him to do with her own. However, Aredhel had told him proudly that she was accounted the fairest of the maidens of the Noldor, and Maeglin was inclined to believe her.
Seeing his awestruck expression, she smiled. "I like to dress thus, for when I breathe the sweet winds outside this wood, I almost feel I am back in Gondolin." She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, her breath cool and sweet, strands of her dark hair quivering in the wind. He smiled, and handed her the white reins of her own horse. The beast stamped gleefully to be back with her mistress, and gave a soft whinny of pleasure as Aredhel climbed up.
"Lómion, you are late," she said, giving him a reproachful glance from the saddle. "I almost turned back. You must have had me standing here shivering for the most part of an hour!"
"I am sorry, mother," Maeglin said, mounting his own horse. He stroked its dark mane to calm it, for the horse picked up on his excitement. It had been a long time since he had ridden out, and he hungered for the sun like never before.
"You come straight from the forge, I see," Aredhel said disdainfully, wiping the dust and metal-grime from her hand where she had touched his face.
"I am sorry that I cannot be in such fair array as you," Maeglin said. "I told father I was going to the iron mine."
Aredhel laughed delightedly. "You are truly a child of mine, then! In the land of Bliss and Light, I would tell my mother and father that I was going to my lessons, when in truth I roamed the forests with my cousins Celegorm and Curufin. They used to be angry at me for decieving them, but I could always charm my way out of it." She beamed expectantly.
"I would never decieve you," promised Maeglin.
"I am glad of that," Aredhel said. "Now, let us flee! We must hurry from this wood, for I percieve you yearn for the sun just as I do."
He recalled little of the ride. They had turned North and crossed Celon, and as they sped towards the eaves of the forest, Maeglin caught snatches of stars through the gaps in the treebound roof. Aredhel had laughed gleefully as they came to the stream that marked the end of Eöl's land, and she spurred her horse on as they entered the wide country of the sons of Fëanor. He was content to let Aredhel lead, and buried his face in his horse's mane, feeling the wind in his hair, and imagining they were running away forever.
He remembered that cold hour of the early morning that they came to a halt at the very edge of the wood, and beheld the wide plain that was Curufin's land. The sun had not yet risen, and the land was bathed in the pale light that always came before dawn.
Maeglin looked upon his mother, and was struck by how small, how frail she looked. Even when she spoke, her voice carried a slight tremble. His heart ached, for he knew she was fading, day by day, slowly dying of a broken heart. Sometimes, the confusion of love for his mother, hatred of his father and the mixed-up teachings of both his parents drove him to paralysis, and he began to forget who he really was, the person behind the faces he wore to please them.
"This is the land of my cousin Curufin. He is a mighty lord, and dwells but half a day's ride across the plain. Shall we not visit him?" Aredhel said.
"Mother..." Maeglin started. "We cannot..."
"Oh, I know we cannot. But would you not like to? It has been long since I saw my kin, and I would show them how fair you have become." But her eyes wandered westwards, and Maeglin knew that in her mind she was looking out over Gondolin again. He wished he had his father's power of insight, so he could see it alongside her.
"Turgon my brother will be up by now," she said. "He always was an early riser. And in the palace, he will just be able to hear the morning salute. The archers of the Golden Gate blow their bugles in tribute every morning, just at sunrise. And Idril..."
But now the sun was climbing, tendrils of dawn sweeping across the plain, and the long grasses quivered in anticipation of the morning. Suddenly, the dazzling light broke the horizon, and Maeglin had to turn his face away from the penetrating rays. Aredhel looked to him in concern.
"I am sorry. I had forgotten that the light was too strong for your eyes. It is a small wonder, for you were born in the dark and see keener in the shadows than I. Do not worry! Soon you shall be able to look on Vása in all her glory. I learned to abide in the darkness, did I not?"
Yes. And no...
Maeglin turned again to face her. The light burned his eyes and tears threatened to spill down his cheeks, but he did not care.
"We will leave one day," he said firmly, "And you will lead me to Gondolin, the city of the seven names and six great gates, each more fair and mighty than the last..." He began to lead her away, slipping into the story that had comforted him as a child, and now it eased his mother as they turned back into the dark forest, and day turned into night. For a while, Aredhel had been the child and Maeglin the parent, and she had listened to his every word.
"Go on," she had said, "For I barely remember the splendour of Gondolin. This hateful dark dims even my memories of happier times. I feel that I am losing my mind. Tell me, Lómion, what does a flower look like? Can you hear the sound of a fountain?"
Maeglin shook his head.
"Forgive me," his mother said. "Of course you do not know, for you have never seen them." She smiled, if sadly. "Let us go home."
They had stopped out of sight of Eöl's doors, and embraced. "Was I wrong to speak so openly with you, Lómion?" Aredhel said. "You are grown so tall, so fair, you remind me of a great Lord of the Noldor."
"You may always speak openly with me, mother," he had said. They kissed and parted, and Maeglin had gone back to work beneath his father's suspicious eyes.
Suddenly, a loud clang interrupted his thoughts. Lassecant had brought down his hammer on the forge-bell, finally signalling the end of the work-day. Maeglin watched as his father's smiths laid down their tools with a grunt of relief, wiping the sweat from their blackened faces. Eöl stood by his foreman, taller and darker with more power in his stance.
"A good day of work, everyone. We will continue tomorrow," he said briefly, then returned to honing the axe-blade with long, smooth strokes of his glasscloth. He seemed totally absorbed in the work, and did not speak to his son, as he occasionally did when work was finished. Maeglin began to unstrap his gauntlets, rubbing at the rings of iron-grime that had accumulated around his wrists. He had removed his overalls and was about to leave, when his father's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You. Remain behind."
Maeglin obeyed, watching the other smiths leave until only Eöl, Lassecant and himself remained. A cold fear wound its way around his heart, and he felt certain that his father had found out that he had left the forest without permission. But how? He had been so careful!
However, the Dark Elf made no move to speak to his son, but bent over his work-bench, seemingly oblivious of Maeglin's presence. This was a favourite torture of Eöl's, and often as a child Maeglin had confessed his misbehaviour rather than risk his father's wrath. Sometimes the punishment was better than the waiting. But tonight, he decided, he would not submit. Something changed in him every time he saw the sun, and filled him with a reckless energy. Why should he not disobey his father? He was growing strong now, strong enough to stand up for himself at least.
Still his father did not speak, so Maeglin fixed his gaze on the horse-shoe, watching it turn from glowing orange, to red, to dusky black. Eöl nodded wordlessly to Lassecant, and the foreman quickly removed his apron and gauntlets and left, his loud footsteps echoing down the hall.
The forge fell silent, broken only by the sound of Eöl working the imperfections out of the blade, sweeping it rhythmically with the cloth. Maeglin knew Eöl hated to leave a job unfinished, and began to wish he had completed his own work. He had no desire to make Eöl more angry than was necessary, and he was certain to be angry.
Eventually Maeglin could bear it no longer, and he broke the silence.
"Yes, father? What did you want?"
His voice sounded small in the empty workshop, weaker than he would have liked. Nervously, he began to rub at the iron rings around his wrists, their pattern almost like chains on his white skin.
Eöl turned to his son, and his face was grim, the lines etched deep with iron-dust from his work. He did not stop working the blade as he spoke in his strange, harsh voice, accented strongly by the secret Avarin language of his youth. He held on to his old accent even when surrounded by Sindar elves, and still spoke their tongue imperfectly.
"Where were you yesterday?" Eöl said.
Maeglin willed himself not to betray the truth on his face, for Eöl would read it with ease. He spoke calmly, making his voice pleasant and smooth.
"At the iron-mine," he began. "Our labours have reduced..."
"You will tell me the truth now." Eöl said in a quiet voice, laced with danger. He laid the axe aside and approached his son. Maeglin braced himself, but Eöl turned aside, inspecting Maeglin's workbench. He picked up the horse-shoe, examined it, and thrust it back into the heat, working the tongs into the very heart of the fire. Maeglin watched his father's powerful hands taming the glowing metal in the heat of the forge, and imagined what it would feel like if one of those hands were to close around his neck. He swallowed, but said nothing. Perhaps Eöl would let the matter rest if he said nothing.
"You were seen leaving the stables with two horses, yours and your mother's. Surely an excursion to the iron-mine does not befit a lady's company?" he said, turning the shoe so it glowed a merry red. The forge hissed with approval at its master's expert touch, and flames licked at the edges of his well-worn gauntlets. Eöl muttered a few words under his breath, and the flames dropped, sighing softly at their master's word. When the metal was at the right temperature to be shaped, he removed it from the heat quickly. Maeglin watched as Eöl took a hammer, a larger, heavier one than he was accustomed to using, and beat down on the horse-shoe with such force that sparks flew from the anvil. When it was shaped to his satisfaction, the Dark Elf paused and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his wrist. He continued.
"And it is interesting, is it not, that you should have travelled South to the mine by way of the Celon? Your boots are flecked with river-mud. A rather round-about way, do you not think?"
Maeglin looked down in dismay. How could he have made such a clumsy slip? Now he had endangered his mother as well, for Eöl knew well that Maeglin did not know that way out of the forest, and Aredhel did. It had been the very way she had wandered in there herself, many years ago.
Maeglin said nothing, and Eöl turned his back on him, quenching the hot metal in a wide tank of water, filling the air with clouds of steam. The flames from the torches illuminated his hollow cheeks, and a strange light was in his dark, deep-set eyes. The angry hissing from the water subsided, and at last, he turned to face his son.
"You will remain in the forest, ion-nin. You will not ride North of Celon, nor will you leave the borders of my land, save in my company. You can find nothing but disappointment in the lands of the Kinslayers." He laid the tormented steel to rest away from the cruel heat.
"You may go now. If you see your mother, advise her for what I have told you."
Whether it was foolishness or anger that possessed him he knew not, but something made Maeglin look into his father's eyes, and for the first time, he saw. He saw a whirl of stars, bent and whispering trees above a dark pool. He saw a reflection in the water, a grim, noble face, black hair tightly braided in the fashion of a forgotten race. He saw chains and darkness, heard a voice deeper and more powerful than any among the Eldar.
He saw light, airy halls, tall pillars bound with leaves. There was laughter and music, and elves were dancing freely. All save one joined in the merry-making, and he crouched in a corner, seeking darkness, nurturing a black hatred for those that danced while he suffered. Then, a forest - a forest that shut out all light with a canopy of dark leaves. There was a house in the darkest depths of the wood, and there a family dwelt, bound by love and hate, jealousy and mistrust.
He saw the truth of the matter - he would never leave the forest while Eöl had mastery over him. Indeed, his father purposed to keep him shut away, and make him like himself - a dark elf, shunning the sunlight in favour of the fire-glow from the forges, hating the kin that he had never seen. While he submitted himself to Eöl's laws, he could never escape, and neither would his mother. It was this thought that made Maeglin cry out:
"And how would you know what I might find outside this forest? Have you not always shunned the light, hiding here in the darkness?" Eöl turned to him then, slamming the tongs down, with an expression of no less than fury. Maeglin did not care.
"You may have no love for my mother's kin, but you have no right to keep her or me from our own! You forced her against her will to abide in this dark wood, but you shall not restrain me!"
Before he could say any more, Eöl had slapped him hard around the face. Maeglin reeled, thrown off-balance by the sharp blow, and he thought he heard a cry - his? No, it was Aredhel's voice, silenced, and from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a gleam of white, fading into the darkness.
Or was it only a shade of his mother, part of her that was slowly dying, taken by force, cut off from the light?
Under his father's glare, Maeglin felt all the strength fade from his limbs, and he sank down to a stool in the corner.
For a while, neither Elf spoke. Maeglin struggled to regain what dignity he could, and pulled himself upright, the room swaying slightly around him. Eöl did not take his eyes off his son's face, and he wondered what his father could read in his eyes, and what was hidden.
"You are of the house of Eöl, Maeglin, my son," he said, his voice dangerously low, "and not of the Golodhrim. All this land is the land of the Teleri, and I will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of our kin, the invaders and usurpers of our homes."
He took Maeglin's wrists, his strong fingers easily encircling them, following the line of the ash residue from his gauntlets.
"In this you shall obey me, or I will set you in bonds." He paused, fixing his eyes on Maeglin's. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, father."
Eöl almost smiled. "Good, then." He shook off his battered gauntlet, and touched Maeglin's cheek, causing him to flinch.
"Put some cold water on that," he said. "Your mother is foolish. She will think that I have wronged you, when I am only trying to correct you. You understand, son of mine?"
Maeglin nodded in assent, and Eöl left him to himself, the untended forge-fire dying down with a quiet hiss. The steam began to clear, and - or was it but a vision? - his mother was standing there before him. She smiled gently, and approached him.
"Was he very angry?" Aredhel asked. She moved like a shade through the iron-tinged air, and touched her son's arm in concern. "Maeglin?"
He managed a weak smile, for he could not bear to upset his mother. "He was angry," he said. "We must be more careful next time."
"Oh, Maeglin." Aredhel said, her dark eyes shining with tears. "Must you always suffer for my selfish whims?"
"I would suffer the harshest punishment if it would make you happy." Maeglin said.
"Your suffering would never make me happy," Aredhel cried. She began to weep, her body shaking with great, racking sobs. Maeglin took her in his arms. Her dark hair tickled his neck as he held her, stroking her back until her tears had abated.
"Do not cry. We will leave one day... we will."
"Will it be soon?" Aredhel dried her eyes.
"Aye. It will. If you will lead me, I will come with you, and we will run away forever." Maeglin paused. "Just like you always wanted to. Just like we always wanted to."
Aredhel looked at him, her eyes full of trust and love. How could he refuse her now? Besides, already he was eager to see the bright sun again, to feel its penetrating gaze wash away the taints of Eöl from his skin, his blood.
"Go now." Maeglin whispered, releasing her. "You must ready some things, little things for the journey. See that the horses are good. When he is to take me to Tumunzahar for the festival this summer, I shall say that I have too much work to do here. I will seem to be willing to stay here, I will gain his trust. Then we shall ride."
Aredhel looked at her son in amazement. Never had she heard him speak thus. "You sound like one of the great among my people," she said. "How the folk of Gondolin shall rejoice at our coming!" With that, she hurried off, and Maeglin noted that once again she seemed tall and proud, and her step was lighter.
His cheek was beginning to throb. If he did not tend it, a large, ugly bruise would grow in the next few days, and there was bound to be talk among the smiths. He left the forge, following the stony path outside to the large tank where rain-water was gathered for use in the house. As he splashed water on his face, he swore to himself that he would get his mother out of Elmoth, somehow. Already he could hear the trumpets of Gondolin, heralding their return, to be heard far and wide. How Eöl would skulk in the shadows then, for no longer would he have the mastery over his wife and son. How the mighty of Gondolin would bow before Maeglin, son of Aredhel, and the prison of the forest would be a distant memory. All it would take was a little acting, slipping on a different face, and Eöl would be so pleased by Maeglin's change of heart that he would give him the freedom he needed to escape...
Smiling to himself, Maeglin turned back to the house and went in search of his father. The last flames sputtered and died as he walked away, the cold sound of his footsteps on the stone reminiscent of the forge's master.
End