Archive of Our Own

Scratch, kick, let gravity win

Like fuck this, let gravity win

You can leave it all behind

Even the devil needs time alone sometimes 

You can let it all go

You can let it all go

It’s called freefall

It’s called freefall

Freefall- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

As he stared across the edge of the cliff, Maeglin wondered if he could take that step himself and save some poor elf the tragedy of being kinslayer. He didn’t think he had the courage, the selflessness needed to do so, for despite his misery here in his prison he dreamed desperately of escape, of a mine shaft leading to air free from fear and threats, of finding uncles and cousins and even a grandfather, all out there, beyond the stark walls of Gondolin. Death would sunder him from all hope…yet what hope he? 

He was unloved. Deeply unloved. To his parents he had been an intrusion into a happy life. Oh, he remembers early day, toddling around and Ammë laughing and Atto holding his tiny hand to help him balance. Early days in the forge when his small hands couldn’t use tools and he’d be seated on a stool to watch Atto work wonders with metal. It had seemed magic, to shape such delicate pieces with hammer and chisel and fire. And ammë would carry him through the forest and introduce him to the trees and show him mushroom that were safe and ones that would poison and the tracks the small deer made as the moved through the woods. 

But he was not interesting enough to hold their attention long, and he quickly learned to stay silent and still because being invisible was better than the disappointment in their eyes when he fumbled with a craft that they were masters at. He practiced with his bow away from home, alone. He went to the forge during the day, while Eol slept and taught himself how to heat the metal, how to shape and hammer and cut. He’d spend mornings in the heat, and afternoons in the woods, with his basket and bow. In the evening he’d leave his basket with mushrooms and wild onions and garlic, piles of greens and sweet fruits in the kitchen and hide in his small bedroom. Sometimes they’d call him to dinner, sometimes to come help with preparation and he’d slice small potatoes or peel carrots and for a few hours he’d belong. Sometimes he’d just sit by his window, staring into the dark, listening to them laughing while his stomach rumbled. He took to keeping some dried meat and hard cheese in his room, just a small bit that would go unnoticed, for a hungry night.

Then they went off to their room to be alone and he would sit at the window, staring out, wondering if there was a world out there he could find, one where he fit. And so when the arguments started, with Ammë wanting to visit family and Eol insisting it was too dangerous, to wait until the days were longest and orcs would be limited to the shortest night hours, but Aredhel refused to wait, Maeglin hoped she would bring him. Maeglin had climbed out his window to sit beneath theirs, he often crept around the walls of the house to listen in. Many things he didn’t understand, but this he did…they wanted him to stay with his Noldor family. They were going to leave him. Oh, Ammë called it “fostering”, said he was old enough to learn his duties and since Fingon would never have children of his own Maeglin would do as his heir. She couldn’t teach him those lessons as she refused to learn them in her childhood. There was guilt over Turgon, who Maeglin knew was a brother to his mother, he of the secret city, but Eol insisted that it wasn’t safe, Turgon would never release her again and they would perish in that stifling place…

Eol was right, after all. Ammë had left and taken Maeglin with her, the unwanted child to foist off on someone else. And then they were trapped. His mother’s eyes had been crazed, he saw madness in her when Turgon insisted they stay, and when Eol was told they could abide in the city or die in the city Eol had turned to Aredhel as if to say “See, behold how my words were true. Had you listened we could have all lived but your stubbornness has doomed us all.” Maeglin knew his father picked up his spear to save him, knew enough of his son that imprisonment would be his end, and as it sailed through the air Maeglin only wished he had seen more than a forest and a cold city…and then Ammë, her eyes mad like a wild rabbit caught in snare, stepped into the spear.

The people of Gondolin talked of how their princess had loved her son so much she had given her very life to save him…but Maeglin knew she had stepped before the spear to escape. Her version of a leg gnawed off, the freedom death offered she leapt into, knowing her beloved would be following. Of her son there was no thought, that Maeglin knew. He was part of what she had needed to escape from.

And of Eol? His bond to his wife breaking had him crazed, his last words to Maeglin as much a suggestion as a warning, for regardless of the actual words what Maeglin heard was, “When this gets too much and your freedom is what you crave, you have an out here. Follow us. Follow me, for I am your father and you will come to me, eventually. Destroy this place if you can, avenge us.” And deep in his heart Maeglin feared he was right. That he would destroy this place as he had destroyed his parents, as he had lost his first home. He would destroy it and end up over the cliff.

Turgon had been charged with his care, but Turgon was a king and kings didn’t give palace tours or keep a grieving elfling company or spend time teaching an elfling customs or history. Idril was asked to arrange things, and she had abhorred him from the start. Eol might be dead and gone and out of her reach, but the son was right here. The dark elf son, full of enchantments and cruelty to kill her aunt. For she blamed Maeglin for his mother’s death, as if he had thrown the spear himself. She found him repulsive, his smaller size and his slowness in learning and his awkwardness. Oh, she arranged for clothing but he didn’t know how to wear the silk and lace and gems that would appear in his room, and the few times he reached out to ask got him contempt “You still need help dressing? Aren’t you too old for that!” The servant had sniffed in disapproval and strode away. “Why would you order clothes you don’t even know how to wear?” and he’d order simpler clothes, so he could dress himself.

Turgon would look at him at family dinners, once each week, and sigh heavily. “Maeglin, you may have lived plainly before, but here you are a prince and should dress as one. I should assign you a valet…” but one never would be assigned, and so new, complicated clothes would appear in his room, with layers and ties and he knew there was a system to it, he’d even try a few times and rushed back to his room when he saw servants hiding their giggles at him, knowing he’d gotten it wrong again. He’d match colors wrong, tie things wrong, layer them wrong. Finally he asked the tailor for Sindarin style outfits in the dark colors he preferred, and though he felt Turgon’s disappointment and feared it, he didn’t think he’d be thrown off Caragdûr for not dressing well. He didn’t think so, as he hadn’t so far.

The food here was so different, the spices wrong and much hotter, the flavors strange. Most was barely palatable. Not that he ate much at the palace, dinners with King Turgon were once a week, otherwise he supposed he was to eat alone. Turgon had said to join him any night in the family dining area, but the few times he tried had been awkward, Idril had ignored him, he could only take small servings and could barely eat those. The servants would rarely serve him alone, for Idril oversaw the palace and so the servants answered to her, and gave to her their loyalty, and what she loathed they loathed. 

He had make some simple jewelry pieces and found a stall on one of the lower levels that would buy them, and with that coin he’d purchase bread and hard cheese and maybe some sausage, a few fruits or vegetables, and that would sustain him

It was not lost on him that it was not different from his childhood. Oh, he supposed he lived in a palace instead of small forest cottage, but he was still sitting alone in his room, eating bread and cheese. Hoping if he was enough he would be invited to join a family.

Technically he was an advisor to Turgon. Technically. He did do research, but his position was administrative. And unnecessary. He had little real world experience in anything but choosing mushrooms, little knowledge of Gondolin and no knowledge of the workings of a city. Eol had a small group of retainers that lived in Nan Elmoth, two forge workers, a cook and hunter, four farmers that tended vegetables and herbs in a series of small plots since woods and farmland didn’t really go together. A few that cleaned and organized and occasionally traveled to trade. Some others that lived in the woods but had little enough to do with him. Maeglin didn’t rule them, barely knew them, had never been privy to the working of their small community. 

Maeglin did fine, he adjusted, he might not be experienced but he was smart and capable and, once he mostly learned to read the Quenya that most of the library was written in, he was able to delve into the political treatises and city planning and farming books and at least appeared to make sense, even if he constantly felt like he was barely afloat. Drowning.

He remembered falling into a river…really a stream, swollen with heavy rains, but to his child’s eyes it seemed a huge and mighty river, and he wasn’t supposed to be so close but he saw some wild greens near the bank and slipped on the wet rocks, and the water with greedy fingers pulled him under as he struggled to get his head up to take a breath. He was almost at the point of quietly sinking, his arms and legs so tired from treading water, his lungs aching from his time below the surface, when he felt arms come around him and lift him up. He just cried, he couldn’t even wrap his arms around Eol, he was so spent, but he was saved and cried from fear and pain and relief. Eol, of course, just dumped him a few feet from the edge and glared.

“Have I told you to never go near the water without an adult nearby? Have I told you to be careful? I shall not tell you again, I suspect almost drowning is a lesson alone, you foolish child, I thought better of you. You are banned from the forge for a half year, as untrustworthy as you have shown yourself. Get yourself together, and wait until you are dry before coming home, your Ammë doesn’t need to worry about your self.” And Eol just…left. Just left him there, shivering and crying, and the look on his face was contemptuous, although as a child he only knew it was angry. And he also knew that Eol forever treated him differently, from that time. That was the moment Maeglin showed himself to be less than his father expected, and he never recovered the easy peace that had existed before him. Eöl forever after kept a close eye on everything he did, where he was. Trust had been broken.

He had even once heard his mother insisting she wasn’t ready for another child, and knew Eol wished to replace him, he was poorly forged and the heat of the fire wasn’t enough to smooth over his flaws. It made Eol throwing a poisoned spear at him almost a relief, as he knew Eol had often wished he didn’t exist.

He had learned, though. He learned that one mistake is unforgivable, that less than perfectly within expectations is dangerous. And now he was sat with an uncle who had no compunctions of throwing an elf off a cliff and a palace of Lords only too willing to follow his orders, and servants happy to report any of Maeglin’s missteps. Really, not different from Nan Elmoth, just on a larger scale. He existed on the whims of the leader, and the leader’s thoughts were alien and changeable. His job was to keep up, to predict what was needed from him and to be whatever was expected. That his King found his work in the forges acceptable was a relief, had he been banned he might have already thrown himself from the edge of Caragdûr.

But things were going wrong, and the longer he looked at the cliff the more he felt called to it.

He had designed a jewelry set for his mother, and though only half done upon her death he completed it, for her, for her memory. A whole matching set: circlet, necklace, brooch, bracelet, hairpins. He thought to gift it to King Turgon, but then it would just sit in the treasury room, and his works weren’t for gathering dust.

So he thought to gift the necklace to Idril, who had also loved his mother. Maybe a way to bridge the distance between them, to begin a friendship. But before he could even explain who he had made the necklace for, Idril had thrown it to the ground and told him he was disgusting and stormed away. He had been devastated, he had poured himself into his work and to have it hated so much hurt him deeply.

Then he heard the rumors, that he had asked to court his cousin, that he had tried to force his courtship on her, that he tried to enchant her as his father had done to his mother. Apparently Noldor customs were even more different than he knew, and he had badly misstepped, but now he couldn’t even get his cousin alone to clear things up. The last time he tried, Glorfindel had grabbed him and pushed him away, and that elf terrified him. He was the one who had thrown Eöl off the cliff’s edge, and Maeglin knew he was waiting for the sign to throw the son off the same cliff.

And now Maeglin had walked himself right off. The King will be furious when the rumors reach him, and Maeglin had little doubt that he would soon be told. He thought to escape, but they would chase him down, they would never let him go.

It was hopeless. He was hopeless.

——————

Elsewhere in the Hidden City:

Turgon sighed. “My daughter, do you remember that Maeglin was raised outside of Noldorion culture? Crafting tradition and gifting traditions can be very different. Rog is Sindarian, why not ask him about gifting within his people before accusing your beloved cousin?”

Idril fumed. She did not like that cousin of hers, but she knew she would obey her father in this. “Of course, father, as ever you are wise. I shall go now.”

As she marched off she was convinced there would be little difference, elves were elves and Rog, and other elves that had joined them after arriving, didn’t seem to make such errors. 

It took several long minutes to make her way to the House of the Hammer, where she was ushered into a shaded and cool part of the gardens, with several benches and a low table where a tea tray was being set. A few moments later strode Rog, some soot still on his shirt.

“My Princess!” He gave a courtly bow, “I welcome you to my house! Excuse my dress, I was told this was very important and an emergency, so I did not take time to change.” He sat across from her and began pouring the tea, offering sweeteners and lemon.

After their tea had been poured and fixed and they had exchanged a few pleasantries, Rog spoke, “Please, Princess, share with me in what ways I can be of service. I ask that you share your concerns.”

“Rog, I have a dilemma, and father suggested you might offer insight. I think I have the right of it, but wish to be sure.” She placed down her tea cup and rose, to pace.

“A few days ago Maeglin came to me, and asked for a private meeting.” She glanced over. “I know you know I was not best pleased, for I have confessed before that I do not think kindly of him, but he is my cousin, so I agreed to meet.”

“And this meeting was a problem?”

Idril sighed. “My father thinks Sindarian and Noldorion customs are different enough that Maeglin’s gift to me was a simple misunderstanding.”

Rog nodded, “And you do not think so, but are checking anyway. So what was this gift?”

“A necklace, one obviously crafted by him.”

Rog just stared flatly.

“He crafted me jewelry. Obviously a problem.” 

“He is a smith. He crafts jewelry. That’s what he does. That’s almost all he does. What exactly would you expect him to craft you? A sword? Hinges for your door? A handful of nails? Did he say anything when giving you a gift he took the time to make himself?”

“A necklace! Jewelry is for courting, especially a necklace that fancy and decorated. Had it been a simple pendant I could forgive it, but a necklace like that? That is for courting, and he is both my cousin and too young.”

Rog just looked at her. “And what did he say about it?”

Idril huffed. “Nothing. I shoved it back at him, told him it was disgusting for him to give me such a thing, and walked off. I would not tolerate being so insulted!”

Rog sighed. “Idril, if it had been a courting gift you should have considered that he was both your family and a child, and reacted with compassion and understanding. I have heard stories of you following Glorfindel around and insisting you would marry him, did he call you disgusting for such?”

Idril’s cheeks blushed as she hung her head, “I was younger than Maeglin, a small child. But no, they indulged me and it fell away as I aged.”

Rog nodded. “Where in a small forest realm, isolated from all, would Maeglin have had a chance to play at love? This was a moment for kindness, Idril, of soft explanation and gratitude for a compliment. You are centuries his senior.”

But even worse, Idril, Sindarians do not place such value on jewelry. Jewelry doesn’t help us avoid orcs, or hunt, or hide in treetops. Our smiths craft useful goods, weapons, fastenings. Jewelry is rare, and is gifted between close friends, family, and yes, occasionally as part of courting, but rarely to initiate it. We usually use words to explain ourselves, we don’t depend on subtleties like the Noldor for communication. Likely Maeglin has spent weeks on this, maybe trying to bridge whatever distance he feels between you. You’d have known if you had asked. But no, necklaces have no particular signal for courting rituals.”

He continued, “In addition, Princess, calling his handmade gift to you disgusting,even if you were referring to the act of the gifting rather than the piece itself, is…beyond rude. If you had come today with some fancy glasswork you made and gifted it to me, and you were proud of your work and eager to share it, and I shoved it away and told you I found your gift disgusting…”

Idril looked down. “Oh. I see.” There was a rather long pause while she considered Rog’s words. “He’s asked to talk again but I’ve been avoiding him. I suppose I shall have to, now.”

“Idril, this hate you have for your cousin, you need to stop. He’s a child who lived a very sheltered life, yes he’s awkward and shy. But you hate him because you hate his father, and that is unfair. To both of you. He needs family, deserves family.”

Idril stood. “Thank you for the information and the talk. I’ll see you next week at council.”

Rog just sighed watching her walk away. He turned to go find Maeglin, if Idril shared her thoughts with anyone the gossip would have quickly made it way through the palace, and Rog knew the poor boy was already struggling with the servants. Maybe he’d invite the boy over for a few days, work on a project together, get some food in him. Child was too skinny, maybe people had forgotten that age, where children gulped down twice as much food to fuel their growing bodies. Putting down the tea he wasn’t drinking, he set off.

————————————-

Glorfindel really didn’t know what to do about this, so he headed off to Ecthelion to talk it out and get ideas. Lucky he was in, and Glorfindel was quickly shown to a sitting room, where Echthelion was eating off a tray while going through papers. 

“Fin! Welcome! Come in, come in, here, share my cheese and have some juice and join me! This paperwork was boring me to tears!”

“Ecthelion, I’m here with a problem I hope you’ll help me solve.”

“No.” Echthelion sat down heavily. “No, I do not want to even hear a word if it’s about Maeglin. You and Idril are obsessed, and not in a healthy way. Poor child walks across the square and you two decide he’s secretly sending messages according to which bricks he walks over. It’s madness and I want no part of it! You both imagine slights, get yourselves angry about it, and then can do nothing because it was all imaginary so you come and grumble to me. I’m done. No interest.”

“We do not do that!” Glorfindel awkwardly recalled when he had been concerned that Maeglin was passing secret messages via the birds he fed in the gardens. “Okay, we maybe do a little bit of that. But Echthelion, this is different. I promise.”

“Oh, did the child step on your toe? And now you want to challenge him to a duel in the town square? Or even better, in the throne room!”

“No, this is serious, and real. I promise! Please!”

I’m going to regret this, but go on…”

Fin took a breath. This had to be quick or he’d be shut down. “Maeglin tried to initiate courting with Idril, who was appalled and obviously told him no, but Maeglin keeps trying to talk to her. I told him today to leave her alone, but he’s bothering her but he is also our Prince, so I’m unsure how far I can go in warning him away.”

“Are you joking? Is this a joke?”

“No! I even caught him trying to get her alone, he was insisting she talk to him. I took his arm and told him to leave her alone. I think, even if he goes to Turgon, of course the king is going to protect his daughter over Maeglin.”

Ecthelion just stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward. “Okay, tell me everything. Every single detail. I’d almost guarantee, based on previous events, that there’s a misunderstanding somewhere, I just need to find where.”

“Idril came to me, very upset. She said that Maeglin had asked for a private audience, and when the two were alone he presented a courting gift. She said no and told him to keep his gift and walked away. After a few days he started asking to meet her again. She’d say no, and he’d wait a few days and ask again. She finally told me, and earlier today I was with the Princess when Maeglin came over and again asked to speak privately with Idril. She said no, and I took his arm to guide him away, and I informed him that he needed to just leave her alone.”

“Nienna wept. You put your hands on the prince?”

“No! Well, yes. But no! You make it sound like I struck him! I only gently touched his arm in my hand to guide him to the side. That’s all! Not hard! Not grabbing. Just…guiding. Guiding hands, not angry hands.”

Ecthelion’s face was buried in his hands. His muffled “You put hands on the Prince” just hung in the air. What else could Glorfindel even say?

“Forget that…”

“Forget you putting hands on the prince. Sure. Why not. Everything else makes so much sense. Sure. Go on then, if that isn’t what brought you here, if having mauled the Prince isn’t your concern, what is?”

“Look, I’m concerned with keeping him away from Idril. I can’t always be there to step in. I need ideas on how to keep him from bothering her. Come on, you always give good advice.”

“If you need to keep him occupied, why not see if Saglant is ready to court him? I see him looking all the time and he’s one of the few lords Maeglin even tolerates. Huh, maybe I need to speak with him? Give him a push?”

“No! No. That’s impossible. Saglant would be poorly fit with Maeglin. And I probably should apologize about being sharp with him, maybe if I just explain things he’ll understand. If he’ll even listen to me. Whenever I try, Maeglin barely talks to me, he always looks past me and when we must speak he keeps his answers short as possible and only asks questions required during council sessions. I can’t get him alone to even apologize.”

“Ah, so you’re doing to Maeglin what you have accused him of doing to Idril?” Echtelion steepled his fingers. “Very interesting, indeed. Do tell me more of Maeglin’s behavior?”

Glorfindel felt himself blush. “I am not harassing him. I just wander over, greeting everyone at the council meetings.”

“As one does.”

“Exactly! And then, as I’m wandering around the room, occasionally I also pass by Maeglin. So of course I’ll stop to greet him and see how he’s doing.”

“As one does.”

“I knew you would understand! And Maeglin just looks at me like I smell bad. And I checked, I don’t. I made a point of bathing right before the last few meetings, and then I thought he hated my perfume so I didn’t use any, and I even checked with my laundress if she used any scent in my laundry, but she didn’t. I checked everything and removed all scents and perfumes.”

“As one does.”

Exactly! And then I…”

“No. Not exactly, because, and I say this with great love because you’re one of my best friends: no one does this. No one. I have heard a lot of romance stories and I have never had anyone as utterly boneheaded as you so pathetically infatuated with someone I suspect he’ll never, ever even get close to.”

“I’m sure someone has done th…wait, why  won’t I ever get close to him? I’m a great person!”

Ecthelion sighed. “For the same reason he avoids me, probably. If you hadn’t noticed he even tries to avoid addressing us directly in council, instead of talking to us he’ll say ‘and regarding the proposal Lord Ecthelion presented’ and then tear it into tiny pieces until I just give up even arguing and rewrite the whole thing. I will say my proposal and request writing skills have greatly improved. But it’s obvious he does not like us. And as he does not like any of the lords or council members, to be singled out says something.”

“And what does it say? We’ve never done anything to him! Except try to greet him occasionally, but that's just being polite. What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Glorfindel. Do you remember when he and Aredhel first came to Gondolin?”

“Yes.”

“And do you remember Aredhel dying, and Eöl being sentenced?”

“Yeeees?”

“And do you remember who held Eöl and dragged him up to the top of Caragdûr? And then pushed him off?”

“Yes, of course, not likely to forget!. What of it?”

“Do you remember Maeglin was a child traumatized by watching his mother be killed in front of him? Being made to come with us and watch was cruelty. Remember how I suggested we let the child stay back and grieve but Turgon, and a number of other lords, including you, insisted he would want to see justice done? So Egalmoth went and escorted the child up, right behind us?”

“Yes. I don’t see your point.”

“Glorfindel, do you remember that Eöl was Maeglin’s father? The one remaining parent he had? That a parental bond had just been snapped and instead of giving him time to grieve and heal we dragged him up a cliff so he could watch us shove his father off that cliff and suffer the snapping of a second parental bond, in public, with his father’s murderers watching?”

“But, he killed Aredhel!”

“He was Maeglin’s father and only remaining parent. Maybe Eöl deserved death, although I don’t remember such exceptions for kinslaying ever existing. Maybe we should have just jailed him, I don’t know. I do know that if someone killed any family member of mine, for any reason at all, let alone in front of me, I would never look at them again without seeing that. There is no forgiveness I could offer, Glorfindel. You could tell me over and over that it was justified, I might even agree it was, but I would never want to even be in the same room with the person, let alone play nice and polite.”

“I…Turgon told me to. I thought he’d want to see justice done for his mother.”

“He was a damn child, Glorfindel. A child who had lost his mother and immediately after her passing we threw his father off a cliff and made him watch.” Ecthelion shook his head. “It’s why I avoid him, and don’t speak to him, and leave him alone. Unlike you who harasses him constantly and is infatuated with, I’ll remind you again, a child. He’s not even a full yen old!”

Glorfindel looked down at his hands. He felt some shame for never even considering this would be an issue, and of course it would be! Of course it would be, but oh, Glorfindel thought Maeglin was beautiful, and when he heard the boy tried to court Idril he was so angry and hurt. 

But now he worried, he still needed to find a way to have Idril left alone, and a way for himself to stop thinking of Maeglin, or a way for Maeglin to forgive him.

*************

Maeglin made his ways to his room. Not the guest room in the place, which he hated. He’d spent his first week in Gondolin locked inside that room, terrified of leaving in case Turgon had him grabbed and thrown off the cliff, not knowing where anything was, where anyone was, and not even knowing anyone to ask. 

After the first months, he realized he’d be having solitary meals in his room. Again. That he’d be forgotten about, again. He’d gone to find some bread and he realized he had no funds, he’d not needed any in Nan Elmoth and if his Ammë had brought any with her he didn’t know and didn’t want to ask. Fortunately he’d discovered the House of the Hammer and Turgon approved of him spending time there, so it was easy to make simple jewelry or plain kitchen utensils. He found a few stores in the lower markets, where palace folk never went, that would buy his crafts. After a few years the jeweler had married, and the room above his shop was available for a nominal rent. Maeglin quickly moved his few important things and abandoned the palace, though he was almost certain that no one had noticed. 

Turgon had mentioned him taking over his mother’s suite in the family wing, but no one had shown him where the family wing was, and he hadn’t asked, just stayed in the guest room. Eventually he moved into the small square room, far from the palace. He made jewelry, plain kitchen tools, small toys for the few elflings who ran around the lower squares. It was almost happiness he felt, he sometimes thought. Among strangers who may never know he was supposed to be a prince. Who didn’t know his real name.

Maeglin had made a small home there, in that small room. It was simple, as his room had been in the forest. There was a small forge he could use when the shop was closed, and he could store his food and few possessions without worrying about the servants going through his things.

If he didn’t need to go up so often for council meetings and weekly dinners he’d so pleased. To just lose himself in the forge, come home and sleep, and just do that again and again. A simple life. Perhaps he should ask his king to step back from his duties. Maybe this mess up with Idril was a blessing, he could explain his awkwardness and unsuitability for royal life and ask to become a simple smith. Turgon might think he’d be moving under Rog at the Hammer, and he could spend some days there, but not all the smiths lived there. Maeglin could be as free as possible. 

Maybe even stay with the mining crews and further explore the surrounding mountains. Get as far from the city as possible. He knew some shafts were stopped before they reached open air, many were old and ignored. If he could collapse a mine behind himself, they were forever collapsing, why would anyone think he’d be on the other side? They wouldn’t search for him if they didn’t know he was gone. It would be days, maybe even weeks, before it was noticed.

Maybe, one day, he could lose himself in the mines and quietly dig his way to freedom. One day.

He jumped up, washed his face and hands, and hurried to the palace. Turgon would be in his office this evening, a perfect time to ask. 

***************

Idril wandered home. She really didn’t want to apologize to Maeglin but she knew her duty. There was no rush, maybe the next council day, which was several days away. Who knows where that difficult boy was? 

She was still sure the necklace had been inappropriate. It was covered in gems, that was not a simple gift to a cousin, no matter what Rog thought. 

That’s fine, she could handle Maeglin, this was her home, not his Her city, not his. He would regret embarrassing her like this.

***********

Maeglin arrived at his uncle’s office, the jewelry set he had made for his Ammë in his hands, within a lovely wooden box he had commissioned from one of the other craftsmen.

As he knocked on the door he felt himself hoping this went well. He needed something in his life to go well, just one small thing. This thing, let this happen and he’d never wish for anything again. Never complain. Just…please.

“Enter!”

Maeglin pushed open the door, and closed it behind him, then made his way before Turgon’s desk. He waited at the seat until Turgon waved a hand, “Oh Maeglin, sit, sit! You stand on such ceremony! Please, save me from these reports!” He closed the file he was working on and gave Maeglin his full attention. “I’m so pleased you’ve sought me out!”

Turgon stifled a sigh. The child was in those dark clothes again, plain as a pin. Not even a circlet to denote his rank. Hair just braided into one long plait, no braids of his house, of his mastery, of his family. He needed to speak to him about this, it was very sloppy and one of the reasons the courtiers gossiped about him so much. But only after Maeglin tells him why he came. Maybe they could share dinner this evening, and he could bring up the braids and clothes after a relaxing meal.

“My king, I come to offer an apology and hopefully supply a way to make atonement for my clumsiness.”

“Uncle, my dear nephew. We are not at court, you may address me as Uncle.”

Maeglin paused. “Yes, well, Uncle. I have come to make restitution.”

Oh, the child looked so nervous. Was this about the mixup with the necklace? He thought he’s sent Idril off to correct things? He’d be quite vexed if she hadn’t.

“I made a set of jewelry, you see. I thought to gift it to you, but it was not your style or proper colors. Of course, Uncle, you would have graciously accepted it, but it would have sat in the treasury. I thought instead I could gift a piece to Princess Idril, and if it were well received I could gift a new piece every few years, until the Princess…”

“Cousin, Maeglin. We are not at court, you can address Idril as cousin.”

“Yes, well, I thought if it were well received I could slowly gift my cousin additional pieces until the set be complete. Unfortunately it was not well received, to my shame, and so I have angered the Pr…my cousin greatly, also to my shame.”

“Nephew, I believe there was a great misunderstanding. Perhaps if you explain the meaning behind the gift you might find my daughter more receptive to your gift.”

“While I am sure my cousin would be everything kind and gracious, it is a poor craftsman who forces a gift on someone. The necklace would forever be tainted with the memory of that first gifting and the animosity it raised. That my awkwardness and poor communication caused my cousin such anguish is to my everlasting shame.”

Maeglin placed the box on Turgon’s desk and opened the top. Turgon gasped and looked at an absolutely enchanting set, white stones glittering in even the dimmer candlelight of his office. He imagined the pieces under the chandeliers of the ballroom, twinkling like the stars.

“Maeglin, this is exquisite. You made this? I knew you were a smith, but this?” He held the necklace in his hands, it was silver vines that seemed alive, flowering with the small white gems. The matching circlet was equally beautiful, and the shelf the two sat on raised, and he saw more pieces, arm and wrist decorations, more necklaces to drape, earrings, various long chains of what must be body jewelry, even some hair pieces: beads, clips, and pins. “I have seen the works of the greatest of smiths, have worn pieces made by Feanor himself, and I say to you, you are as close to his equal as I have seen. To be so young and have such gifts! Maeglin, I fear you are wasted doing administration for me!”

Maeglin blinked. He had not expected that. Not at all. He knew he was good, but to be compared to Feanor? That was not something uttered lightly. And by one who had known the elf? Had worn his creations? That was the highest of praises, and maybe the perfect opening?

“Uncle, I thank you for your kind words. Please, accept this set with my apologies for so bothering your daughter, my cousin. I had offered this in good faith, but I misstepped and caused her pain instead. Please accept this and if you choose to gift it to Idril, perhaps she will find joy in a gift from her dear father where she could not from her cousin.”

Turgon put the necklace down. “Maeglin, this is a gift fit for a king, indeed. But it is too much for what was merely a miscommunication. No insult was given, you need not hand over what was lovingly and carefully made, no restitution is needed. My dear nephew, you are family, this is unnecessary.”

“Uncle, I beg you accept my gift to you. It has been rejected once, I could not bear for it to be rejected again. I had started this set before we arrived here, and brought the small pieces with me. I was making it for my Ammë, you see, the white stones for the White Lady, and since I cannot gift it to her I ask that you accept this in her stead. Idril can wear it or not, perhaps one day your granddaughter will wear it. But please, let it stay in the family for all the love I have for my Ammë was forged in those pieces.”

Maeglin waited to see how that was received, he perhaps overdid it, but he really needed this to work. He remembered Eöl telling him how he bargained his masterwork, one of a pair of matching swords, for ownership of Nan Elmoth. Maybe his own masterwork could buy him freedom as well.

“Oh nephew!” Turgon wiped at his eyes. “This is a most precious gift, and I will accept it from you, and it shall always remind me of my sister and the love you have for her.”

“Uncle, I thank you.” Maeglin took a breath, slow in, slow out. This was the part that mattered. “I wish to also discuss a topic that is difficult for me to broach.”

Turgon sat back. “Yes nephew, of course. Please, tell me your troubles.” That Maeglin was finally opening up to him pleased him. The child was so closed off, of course to be expected with such a monster for a father. The years of patience, of just being there and letting the boy come to him, was finally seeing results.

“As mentioned before, this gift caused Idril great upset. I know it was merely two different understandings crashing together, but things have not been easy between my cousin and I for many years now. She has made it clear,” without thinking Maeglin rubbed his arm, where bruises from Glorfindel were rising, “that she would feel happiest were she to avoid me all together.”

“Nonsense, she’ll get over this tiff.”

“Uncle, it is clear that my cousin carries much dislike for me. Just as the necklace, if given by me again, would always carry negative memories, so it seems my person also carries negative memories, sad ones of losing her dear aunt, and anger, too. I make her uncomfortable by existing, and Uncle, it is most unfair that Idril should be made so in her own home.”

“It is most unfair that you should be made so in your home, Maeglin. It is obvious you have been avoiding the palace the last few days. After Idril told me of the situation, and I sent her to Rog to learn the customs of the Sindar, I watched for you, I was hoping to speak to you, you see. And you were not to be found in the palace. Did you stay at the House of the Hammer to avoid my daughter?”

“Uncle, I did try to apologize directly, but each attempt made things worse, so I did indeed stay away. I think, Uncle, if I may be so bold, that it may be best that I should spend more time away from the palace. As you said, I am wasted here doing administrative work. You were fine before my arrival, and you have plenty of close councilors who can provide the support I offer with more skill. I am best placed at a forge, and I think this conversation has made it clear that I belong other than the palace.”

“It would allow me to make other creations, to benefit my family and this city, and improve my craft. As well, it would allow Idril to walk within her home freely, avoiding me entirely. I know Rog has room for more smiths, and there is always work to be done. If it please you, Uncle, my skills may best suit you elsewhere.” And Maeglin stopped, he had laid things out, it was now for Turgon to decide.

“Nephew.” He paused. “Prince Maeglin. This is your home. This palace, this city, this is your home. Your place is here, by my side, learning from me. Should something happen to me, you are my heir.”

Maeglin almost choked. What! His heir! “My king, your daughter should have that honor, I am not fit to fill such a role.”

“Nonsense, where is this coming from? You are my nephew, of course you are fit! Did my daughter do this much damage in so short a time?”

“Uncle, this has been a long time building. May I be honest and blunt?”

“I would hope you would always be such with me.”

“Uncle, I am not well received in this city. The courtiers almost to a one despise me. I am not Noldo enough, my Quenya is terribly accented, my tengwar only passable, and I am just learning these skills of politics. I was not raised in a court, I was raised in a cottage in the woods, and it’s obvious. I do not fit here, not well. Idril just has the ability to be more open in her dislike, but I hear the gossip. There are those who go out of their way to ensure I hear the gossip.” he bitterly added.

“I would never be accepted as King. They accept me as a Prince out of love for you, and love for my mother, but not for love of me. Idril would be a wonderful Queen, but I could not fill that role. Nor, if honesty is what you ask, would I be happy in such a role. Being a prince requires much study, and I do not enjoy court life, I find no pleasure in politics. At the forge I find joy. Crafting a delicate piece of jewelry, polishing a gem, these things I do well, and find happiness there.”

“The palace is wasted on me, fancy clothes and complicated braids are not for me. Please, let me craft. Everyone benefits, all things would run more smoothly. Uncle, I ask this boon. Please.”

Turgon sat back. This was not what he expected. He had hoped Maeglin coming to him meant the child was ready to move closer into his family, would be more accepting of his role. Instead Maeglin wished to leave the palace altogether. But maybe this was still a chance.

“ I think, at least short term, this isn’t a terrible idea,” began Turgon, although he secretly thought it was a terrible idea. “but having you outside the palace would cause me worry. I’m used to having you close and being able to keep an eye on you.” He didn’t understand the rather dry look Maeglin gave him, perhaps the boy didn’t realize he was looking out for him, he remembered being young and feeling like his parents didn’t allow him any freedom…oh, of course! This is normal growth. He remembered Idril pushing for her own house, and within twenty years she was living back in the palace. This might be the most normal thing Maeglin has ever done. Yes, this is a good idea. “So I need to insist we have dinners at least twice a week. Once the same family dinner, but the second, why not leave it between us? Less formal, and we can talk more easily.”

Maeglin could barely breath. This was happening! This was actually happening! “I can agree to that, and a quiet dinner between us sounds like a brilliant idea, Uncle.”

“I need to speak with Rog, ensure he has space for you. And to think of the ramifications. Perhaps come back tomorrow evening and I can give you a final answer? Join me for dinner!”

Maeglin started to rise. “Yes, Uncle, I will return tomorrow. Thank you for your consideration and kindness.” He gave a half bow and turned to leave. 

“And Maeglin, thank you for coming to me right away.”

“Of course Uncle.” Was his last words as he slipped out the door.

************

Rog had finally stopped by Turgon’s office, hoping he’d know where his nephew was, only to be sat down and asked if Maeglin could come and join his House for a few years.

“Is this about the Idril thing?”

“Partly. My daughter has made things difficult. I believe Maeglin is also of an age where he wishes to try for some independence. I was considering granting him his own house, and placing him as head of the miners guild, but he seemed opposed to a position of leadership, and he may just be young for it.”

“I’ve heard high praise of his work with the miners, although his skill as a smith is unmatched. I may not be one, but three of the greatest are my family, and I’ve been exposed to their work since I was a child.”

And then Turgon had opened a box on his desk and started taking out pieces and…oh. Oh! “This is Maeglin’ work? He did all this? I knew he was working on something but I had no idea. This is skill beyond any in my house.” Rog carefully handled the delicate circlet.

“So will you take him?”

Rog stared at the jewelry some more. “Turgon, I think my answer must be no.” He held up his hand, “listen to me, please. Look at his work. I have nothing to teach him. Exchange ideas? Two equals talking? Yes. But I cannot bring him him under me, I suspect he surpasses me and definitely surpasses any other smith in my house. To bring in a child with such skills and place him above all? They would accept that as a Prince, but as a smith? The boy deals with enough resentment as it is, give him his own house, so he can step away and shine on his own. He can smith as well as mine, we won’t run out of work, and there are more asking to apprentice then I have master’s for. And the miner’s guild could use more support, and we need the ore.”

“And he will have a home outside the palace, but still be honored as a prince, still attend council meetings, still be a part of palace life!. A perfect compromise!”

**********

Maeglin went home with a lighter heart. This was really happening, he’d be released from the onerous palace duties he hated, he’d be able to avoid the council and the Lords, all of whom he hated, and avoid the palace and all it’s people, from the servants to the King. All of whom, if Maeglin was being strictly honest with himself, he hated.

And now he would be as free as possible as a prisoner in these marble walls.

**********

The next night saw Maeglin leaving the palace with slow steps. He stopped in the garden, at the first bench he passed. It had all gone so wrong. So terribly wrong. He didn’t know where he had erred, but somehow he had and instead of freedom he was being more tightly wound in chains. A House! Turgon was making him head of a house, and placing the mining guild beneath him. The leader was an elf at least a few thousand years older than Maeglin, who wasn’t even a yen, the guild would never accept his rule. It would be a disaster.

And a House needed followers. Not just the guild, but followers. Stewards and cooks and retainers to care for the house and organize it, accountants. Sculleries and pages. He had no one, no one to entrust such things to. No one he would trust to share space with him and not report back to Turgon.

Because that was key. He was doomed, and Turgon knew it. Turgon had heard his doom, pronounced by his own father. His doom, which said ‘here you shall fail all of your hopes’. And he had. He had dared to have a hope and it had fallen and shattered like bone at the bottom of Caragdûr. Even a small hope should not succeed where Eöl had damned him thus. 

And so why should Turgon offer to Maeglin any of his hopes? They would be destined to failure. Better to hasten his end, before he takes down the city with himself.

“Maeglin, cousin.” Idril happened upon him, and sat next to him on the bench. “I have looked for you this day.” She waited, but when the moment grew long and Maeglin did not answer, she continued, “I wish to offer my apology for my harshness with you these few weeks past. I misconstrued your intentions upon offering your gift, and instead of accepting with grace I reacted with anger, unbefitting our stations and our kinship. I hope you accept my deepest sorrow for my behavior.”

Maeglin stared long at the bushes before him. “An apology is not needed, Princess. I presented you with something unworthy, which caused you great hurt. I can no more change the results of my 

actions then can I call back a receding tide. Instead I offer my own apology for disturbing you so, and my overreach in trying to force my apology upon you when you made clear you had no wish to hear me.”

This was all because of her. Because he was stupid-headed enough to think a necklace, a disgusting necklace, one worthy of being thrown on the floor would be accepted at a gift. It was an unworthy gift for his cousin, and it was an unworthy gift for his uncle. It was a wonder his uncle had accepted it at all, but he was gracious. His masterwork was not enough to buy his freedom, as his father’s had.

He had tried to make peace and instead was being buried with duties he would fail. And in failing those duties he would be doomed. He felt his eyes grow wet and blinked hard, the time for tears had long past, they did him no good now.

“I have just come from uncle,” Maeglin needed to tell someone, anyone, “he has said he wished me to be a lord in deed as well as name, and so has offered me a house of my own naming, and the guild of miners to be brought under my banner. What think you of this, cousin?”

Idril stilled. “He was offered you a House? I was almost 400 before I was give a House. He resisted me asking for such a thing for years upon years, insisting I was too young. It seems you are younger yet more capable.” she finished bitterly.

Maeglin nodded to himself. This confirmed it. Uncle wasn’t giving him the command of a House because he had earned it. His own daughter was more than double his age. No, Turgon was setting the stage for Maeglin to walk to his destruction.

Idril heard not his thoughts but saw his nod. “So you think you are more capable than I?” she angrily demanded. “How dare you.” 

He felt the slap as a sharp shock where time stopped and the world took a breath. He raised a hand to his cheek, blinking in the gloom of evening as Idril stormed away. He laughed to himself, seems their fragile peace couldn’t last more than a moment. Until now he had not been physically struck in Gondolin. But he had no doubt more would come. 

His arm started throbbing to remind him violence would be coming from two sides. Yes, Glorfindel and his harsh hands. Hands wrapped around Eöl’s arms, hands pushing, pushing, pushing and down Eöl fell, so far down, so many seconds until a soft noise was heard and there was just pain as a second bond in two days ripped him apart.

Maeglin stood and walked into the city, down into lower quarters to his humble room, the room he wished to spend his life in. He had planning to do, and he had to be at this mines in the morning.

*********

The next council meeting was over when Turgon stood. “I have an announcement to make! Everyone, this I say informally, as we will have a formal ceremony in a few months when things are closer to finished, but I am so proud to announce that my nephew, Prince Maeglin, has been awarded his own House, and shall have the Guild of Miner’s attached.”

Maeglin stood to the light applause. “I thank you, My King, my uncle, for the trust and faith you show me.” He swept into a deep bow, and the applause grew. 

As he sat Turgon went on, “I hope you, my lords, will all offer assistance to my nephew while he designs his House, and organizes it, and staffs it. I have offered my architects to draft several designs, and Ecthelion, of course you will design fountains and baths, and Glorfindel, you can help with the gardens. Also staffing, you’ve a knack for such things. As we progress all of you will find ways to assist, and I know my nephew will do amazing things. To Maeglin!”

“To Maeglin!” the crowd cheered.

Maeglin nodded and rose, hoping to hurry off, but he was waylaid by Glorfindel who rushed over. “My Prince, perhaps we could take a few moments for you to tell me and flowers or plants you most desire to find in your gardens. Mayhap over tea? Or a light lunch?”

“Yes, my boy, go with Glorfindel! He can also describe much of the staff you’ll need” Turgon slapped Glorfindel on the back and the two shared a grin.

Maeglin gave a much tighter grin and nodded. “Of course, uncle. Glorfindel, we can step to the balcony here, if you wish.”

“Nonsense, go eat! Glorfindel has an amazing cook, you’ll want someone like her.” Turgon urged them onward.

Glorfindel stepped forward and offered an arm, “my Prince! I humbly ask your presence for lunch at my House.” He held his breath, hoping this would work. 

Maeglin stepped forward and took his arm, his smile tight and small. Glorfindel set off happily, humming a tune and all but skipping, as if his great inane brain was filled with fluff and sunshine. The lout.

And to his ridiculous House of the Golden Flower they went, wherein they settled in a small sitting room. They sat in silence, awkwardly, until a servant brought in a large tray and settled several platters on the table, and placed an empty setting before each. 

“May I make a plate for you, My Prince? We have a delicious curried chicken, rice, some vegetables roasted with garlic and lemon, and I have a cool white wine or a light juice mixture of sweetened lemon with crushed strawberries and raspberries.”

Maeglin nodded and in short order they were both eating. “So have you had a chance to think of what you want the grounds to look like?”

Maeglin put down his spoon. “May we speak candidly, Lord Glorfindel?”

“Of course, My Prince.”

“Why are we having lunch together?”

Glorfindel looked puzzled. “Well, the king suggested it.”

“My uncle would no more arrange a lunch for me than he would a horse ride to Doriath. He has never once in the years I’ve been here arranged such a thing.”

Glorfindel looked shifty.

“You have been clear in your distrust of me and your active dislike of my person. On behalf of Idril, whom you are close friends with, you laid hands on my person, against my will, and made threats upon me not a week gone by.”

“And now you offer me an arm and parade me around the city and bring me to lunch? What really is happening?”

Glorfindel sighed. “I spoke to Turgon…”

“I see.” Maeglin interrupted him. “I see, indeed. So my uncle and you made this plot to get me to lunch. And the long plan? Because the king would not involve himself in a prank involving lunch. So there is a long plan.”

“I was hoping you’d become friendly and be willing to spend more time with me.” Glorfindel admitted.

Maeglin sat with his thoughts for a moment. “You hoped I’d leave Idril alone and focus on you. Did you think to woo me?”

Glorfindel had a surprised look on his face. Not the shock kind of surprise, the “How dare you think such a thing” look. This was an “Oh no! My plan has been discovered!” kind of surprise.

Maeglin nodded, this confirmed everything. Turgon was hoping Glorfindel would get close to keep an eye on him, and Idril was hoping Glorfindel would keep him away. And Glorfindel would enjoy the petty kind of cruelty to lead him about and then humiliate him at an opportune time. That Turgon would be so involved did hurt him in a way he thought he had protected himself from. 

He stood. “I thank you for your lunch, Lord Glorfindel, and the generous offer of assisting me with the gardens. I shall take time to think of what blossoms I wish in my garden. I can see myself out.” 

**********

Glorfindel flung a soft pillow across the room. Damn it! He wasn’t sure what that face meant, there towards the end, but Maeglin had made clear that he was not interested in him at all. Not even the slightest. He looked miserably at the plate that was barely eaten, the juice that hadn’t even been sipped. Maeglin wouldn’t even share a simple meal with him. 

Ecthelion was right. Ecthelion was usually right, and he was right in this. Turgon had been delighted by Glorfindel’s interest, and when he’d hesitantly brought up Eöl and his role in it, Turgon dismissed him as being pessimistic. “After all, he is fine with me.” was his answer.

But Glorfindel had watched Maeglin closely during the council session, and especially when Turgon made his announcement, and he wondered if Maeglin was indeed fine with his uncle.

And now he owed Ecthelion a dinner and the planting of a kitchen garden, and even worse, he’d have to admit how wrong headed he’d been in pushing this lunch on Maeglin.

**********

Maeglin had work to do. Things to arrange. He set out to write a list, and instructions. Then he wrote a letter.

**********

The next council meeting was notable only by Maeglin’s absence. As it ended Idril walked over to her father. “And where is my cousin? A lord of a House cannot just miss council meetings.”

“Daughter,” Turgon sighed, “I thought you had made peace about the necklace?”

“About the necklace? Yes. Reluctantly. About my cousin? I shall not.”

Glorfindel and Ecthelion came over, with Saglant and Dullion following.

“Is Maeglin well?” Turgon gazed at Glorfindel, he had so been hoping the Maeglin would respond positively to his overtures, Glorfindel was one of the best of them, and he could not imagine anyone he would trust his nephew with more. Maeglin always seemed lonely, and Turgon thought…but no, Glorfindel felt that Maeglin had no interest. Well, Saglant had also indicated an interest, maybe that was the way the winds were blowing. As long as Maeglin found happiness.

A page bowed before him, and handed over a letter. “Your highness.”

“Yes, yes. My thanks.” He glanced at the lettering and tore it open, it was from Maeglin! He read it quickly, then read it again. “I don’t understand? Did he run away?”

“What!” “I wouldn’t be surprised!” “How dare he!” 

Turgon thrust the letter towards Glorfindel, “Please, read this and tell me it does not say what it says.”

The letter read

I grow weary of my prison, and the doom upon me grows heavy, and I find anticipation of such a thing coming to pass darkens my fëa until I feel nothing at all. And so I shall feel nothing when I save you from another kinslaying, my king. When I save your lords from such a stain upon themselves, done for love of you. I shall save you the burden and join my father, as he said I would. And your daughter will be free of me, and your lords, and your city made safe, and I shall be free.

Glorfindel hands trembled as he raised damp eyes to Turgon. “My king.” he whispered, “my king.”

Turgon turned, “We must find him. My nephew has taken ill and we must find him.” They hurried after him to the family floor where Turgon threw open the doors of Maeglin’ suite, only… “What is this?” His voice boomed. 

The room was untouched since his sister’s stay, over a yen ago. There was a light layer of dust, but otherwise it had been maintained as she had left it. “Call one of the house servants, Idril.” 

She paled, but did, and hung her head, knowing what was to be revealed. The main house servant and her assistant both entered a few moments later. “My nephew does not stay in these rooms.” Said Turgon.

The housekeeper looked around, confused. “No, he does not.” she agreed.

“Where then lives my nephew, my heir, Prince Maeglin?”

She curtsied awkwardly, “Sire, for several years he stayed in the rooms he was first assigned to, but these last few years he stayed less and less.”

“Bring me.” He ordered.

And so they all went downstairs, to the guest quarters. Turgon looked about the small, cold, empty room. “My nephew stayed here. For years.” Turgon’s voice was flat and cold. “Who did I assign to show Maeglin his room’s where he belonged? Daughter? Who did I task with showing her cousin to his rooms? And to help him decorate it?” Turgon turned to Idril. “Did you not tell him?”

Idril turned her chin up. “I did not. I was grieving my aunt, whom I loved, and when he never mentioned it I thought it must have been settled while I was distraught.”

Turgon turned and walked out of the room, out of the palace. They followed him up, up, up to the top, to Caragdûr. 

There at the top they found Maeglin’s circlet, on the ground. Footsteps in the dust, at the edge. And the wind whistling through an empty space where Turgon hoped to find an elfling perhaps bereft and sorrowed, but alive to be grasped and held.

Glorfindel fell to his knees and wept against Ecthelion’s leg, though he felt him shaking as well. Idril looked confused. “What has happened, I don’t understand. What has happened? Where is Maeglin?”

Finally Turgon grabbed his daughter’s hands. “My daughter. My dear. Maeglin has left us, and he shall not return this side of the sea.” As her face crumpled she fell forward into her father’s arms, weeping. Turgo just patted her back, “Oh my dear. My daughter.”

“I don’t understand?” That was Saglant. “He was pushed? Should we not alert the guards? There is a kinslayer loose in the city! Should they not search?”

“I know who they are, Saglant.” Turgon sighed and rested his head on his daughter’s, voice heavy with regret. “They know who they are, and will suffer much for it.”