Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Release

Maeglin glanced out from his hideaway, wary as ever of being seen.

As exposed as he might feel here, he had no real cause to regret following the girl with the light. Whoever she had been, she was neither orc nor thrall. Following her had led him to a wide, spacious hall, with other elves coming and going.

As astonishing as it had been to see them, it had also been far too many people for him. After so long alone, he could no more imagine being surrounded by so many than he could imagine himself flying. He did not understand how they were there, much less how the fortress of the Enemy could be so light and fair, even if by some unforeseen chance Belegurth had at long last been defeated. Would the Belain not have ripped it down, and freed all the prisoners?

In a state of confusion, he had found a place to hide himself, a small anteroom that seemed to be long unused, from which he could observe others. Thus far, he had managed to remain unseen himself, but he was not certain how much longer such luck could last. Careless confidence in his safety had been his undoing once before, and Ondolindë with him.

If anyone actually looked for him, he would not be able to avoid notice. Occasionally the thought frightened him, but not enough to go back into the dark. Not without need. Maybe not at all. He’d only managed it the first time because he’d been so terrified that it had seemed better than the alternative. Besides, he told himself sternly whenever he had worried himself too badly on the subject, who would think to look for him?

He was not sure how long he had been there. Not as long as he had been in the dark. That much he felt to be true. But he had no way to mark the passing of time here anymore than he’d had in the darkness. At times he simply enjoyed the space and the light. But more often he peered out from the narrow windows, observing the other elves, trying to work out who they were, and what this place was.

Most of them looked like his father’s people, a few of them more Evair, a very few Noldor. He might have been able to tell more had he been able to pluck up the courage to speak with any of them, but he did not trust himself that far. If they spoke among themselves, it was not loud enough for him to hear.

He had seen the girl with the light several times since she led him here. She came and went freely enough, though she was the only one who seemed to use the door that opened when she wished it. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was one of the kindred of Melian or if there was something else at work that the door appeared for her alone.

Once or twice, at quiet times when there were no others about, he had tried to examine the door. It was almost like the days before he’d been taken, when he could think and work. But he’d had no luck – when the girl with the light was not present, neither was her door. As far as he had been able to discover, that stretch of wall was no different than any other. To find out more, he’d have to talk to the girl.

He had attempted more than once to work up the nerve to approach her, for she clearly knew more about this place than he did, but what would he say? Even in his head, he could imagine no way to introduce himself that would go well. Who would wish to speak with the betrayer of Gondolin, a prince of the Noldor who had been unable to live up to Prince Maedhros’ fine example?

He did not deceive himself that he would be known as anything else. Sauron and Belegurth would have been only too happy to reveal his weakness. They had destroyed everything else, why leave his reputation intact? Probably even Itarillë hated him now. (He had to believe Tuor had kept her and Eärendil alive. Not there was much Maeglin could do to him if he hadn’t – the mortal must be long dead by now.)

Whoever the girl was, she was well-liked. The elves he observed were always pleased to see her and speak with her. That was the other reason he had not tried to approach her – as far as he could tell, there was no reasonable chance he would be able to manage it unobserved. Too many others looked eagerly for her appearance, and sought to claim a few moments of her attention.

If she refused to converse with him when it was just the two of them, he felt he could bear it, but not the shame of public scorn and the revelation that he had been concealing himself among more worthy folk. He would surely be ostracized, and it would be no more than he deserved.

He had all but given up hope in that quarter when it happened.

The girl with the light had come again, though he did not think it had been very long since her last visit. But this time was different.

She left – but her door did not close properly behind her as it usually did. It remained open. The other elves in the hall seemed content to go about their business, almost as though they did not even notice it. None of them so much as glanced at it.

Maeglin could not restrain himself. Not when he could see sunlight – real sunlight, not the weaker, filtered version that was the closest thing to it that existed here – beyond that arch, and hear birds singing. He was drawn irresistibly to the door, like iron filings to a magnet.

Birdsong was a sound he had not heard since he was captured. If the birds had still sung in Ondolindë when he returned as Sauron’s prisoner, he had no longer been able to hear them. Nor, he realized as he came closer – moving more swiftly as he did, suddenly fearing the door would close before he could reach it – had he noticed things like the blue of the sky or the warmth of the sun.

He nearly fled back to his hiding place when the Balan appeared. Whichever of the Powers it was, it could not be Belegurth, he reasoned. The elves here now were not the miserable, damaged creatures they had been when the Enemy ruled here.

Even so, he was frightened. Melian would have been one thing – and he suddenly very much wanted to find her. She might understand what had happened, and perhaps she might be able to help him. But this one was entirely unknown to him.

Maeglin had a choice to make.

Had he stopped to think about it, the sensible decision would doubtless have been to go back to his sanctuary, to wait patiently for another opportunity. The girl with the light came often enough that this would surely not be the last time she forgot to seal her door properly. The next time he might be quicker.

But his feet, and perhaps something deep in his fëa, gave him no time for logical thought. They carried him over the threshold before his mind could muster logical arguments. It was a form of flight – hasty, without any courage whatsoever in it. But it was also a flash of hope, not unlike the first time he’d seen the girl with the light.

He made it just in time – he landed in an undignified heap, his confused and weakened legs giving out, leaving him sprawled just outside very solid walls.

The door was gone.

He looked around in bemusement. He was no part of Beleriand that he knew. Even allowing that there must have been enough time for the land to heal, it was nothing like he pictured the country anywhere near Angband to be.

That was when it hit him.

He could feel again.

Whatever spell Sauron had placed on him at the end in Ondolindë had broken now that he was no longer within the Enemy’s fortress. He felt the ground beneath him, the air around him, and the sun on his face. He could smell the fresh, sweet fragrance of the grass, and hear the chatter of not just birds but animals and insects nearby.

It was all so alive.

To his surprise, Maeglin found himself weeping.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, sobbing with sheer relief at finally feeling himself a part of the world again. These were not the elegant, artistic tears he’d seen occasionally in masques in his uncle’s hall , but ugly, shuddering sobs that felt like all the feelings he’d been holding back all this time needed to come out now that he knew he was no longer in danger.

He wept so long that his tears began to panic him. He hadn’t cried like this even after his parents had died. Surely there could only be so many tears to shed? How much could a grown elf cry? Eventually, the unexpected storm of emotion tapered off, and after a few moments more to pull himself together, he thought he should move.

He should try to make his way to his kin.

With Gondolin gone, that meant Doriath, assuming it yet stood. Though if the Enemy had been defeated, it might well have a new name now. He had to believe that Menegroth had endured, but with no Enemy in the north, it would have no need for the Girdle. It would no longer be the Fenced Land, but the Free Land.

His breakdown – which, oddly, he felt the better for – meant he had lost sight of the girl, had she still been visible when he first passed out of her door.

Maeglin looked around, more curious about his surroundings now that he was starting to feel some confidence that he was safe and well.

After so long in darkness, and then in a hall where all color seemed muted, everything around him was impossibly bright. It was a green country as far as the eye could see, with gently rolling hills giving way to groves of trees in the distance. He could make out no sign of other elves, but the wall at his back carried on to the horizon in both directions. He thought it ran north and south, or very close to it, but he might not have oriented himself correctly.

Perhaps this was the Ered Mithrin? Or had he been carried far enough that it could be the Ered Luin? How big were the caverns of Angband?

He had no way to know. He would have to pick a direction and walk, and trust he would either find some clue as to where he was or cross paths with others who could tell him more.

Where to go?

He looked around again, and his eyes were drawn back to the trees.

Trees! There had been a few carefully tended stands in Tumladen, but nothing like the groves in the distance. That was enough to decide him. He wanted to be among trees again.

He looked down, belatedly wondering about his clothing. He hadn’t thought about it once all this time. It could not be the armor he had been wearing when he fell from the walls of the city – he didn’t believe anything he had worn then would have survived the landing. He’d probably been lucky if he’d had even rags left by the time his unconscious body came to rest.

He found that he was garbed in a loose tunic of a soothing gray, thankfully something simple as his father’s people preferred rather than the more complicated garments of the Noldor. His feet were bare, letting him feel the grass and the dirt, but he was wearing leggings, sturdy but soft.

He wondered when they had been given to him, not to mention by who, and why he couldn’t recall it. Sauron certainly wouldn’t have troubled about leaving him naked. Sauron had enjoyed leaving him naked.

He pushed the memories away. He might have voluntarily locked away much of the better parts of his life in his failed bid to protect his cousins and their city, but that was no reason he had to dwell on the worst part. (He often told himself that, and sometimes it even worked.)

There was sunshine here, and he could see trees. He focused on that, letting them fill his mind, crowding out everything else that threatened to undo his fragile balance. Then he set out for the nearest grove.

He reached the trees just before sunset, which was as well given that his legs were exhausted. He hadn’t moved so much since Gondolin. He touched the nearest leaves with shaking hands.

These trees were a variety he had never seen before, with silver-grey bark and golden flowers, and they were fond of elves. He could feel that he would be safe among them.

He found one with branches large enough for even one kin to both Nolofinwë and Thingol, and the height to show for it, to make himself comfortable, and curled up.  Though he had meant to watch the stars, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep almost at once, soothed by the gentle kiss of starlight on his face.