Chapter Text
Irisse ran, she ran out of the woods that tried to hold her, away from the chains against her spirit that tried to bind her down. She ran towards the safety she had always known, and always loved, no matter how angry she should be. That nurtured anger had sent her into Nan Elmoth, and she would not make that mistake again. Irisse ran quietly when Orcs were about, she ran full out when it was daylight and the way was empty and she was alone, she ran until her feet bled and her legs ached, she ran until she was clutched against a strong chest, and she felt the press of dog against her side, and lips upon her brow, and she could stop running. She was home.
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Maeglin ran. Out of the forest, away from Eöl, who was enraged that his wife had left, but also that she had tried poisoning him while she did. Maeglin was sad it hadn’t succeeded, because Eöl’s anger had seen the inside of their cottage destroyed, and as Maeglin had been inside that cottage he had not left unscathed. He ran to the city Ammë had spoken of, the hidden one where Eöl could not find him. The secret paths she had occasionally reminisced over, thinking him busy with his toys and not listening. But Maeglin had ears as sharp as his eyes, and he carefully saved ever bit of information, as if he knew one day it would matter.
Maeglin ran, and he did not begrudge his mother her run for he knew, always, that she disliked him, her son. He had watched the other elflings with their ammës and listened to their conversations. He knew they had some bond that held them tight and close, one his Ammë did not have with him. He had heard the servants talk of how she barely moved for weeks after birthing him, how another had to come in and feed him what milk she had left after her own child had suckled. How only Eöl fed his fea, which was why he was so pale, and smaller than he should be. Although the lack of abundant milk in his first years was also, it was said, to blame. And that lack of bond made him an intrusion into her life instead of a beloved child.
Eöl had been happy, at first. A child was a gift, and a son was a heir. But Eöl loved his wife and what brought her misery brought him also misery, and as the years went on and her burden grew her resentment became his. Oh, he wasn’t a monster. Yet. He fed Maeglin’s fea, enough so the child didn’t fade. Most of his care was from the servants, and quickly the small, quiet child learned to hide in his room, or out in the forest. To walk quietly and bring little attention to himself, and to avoid his Ammë’s notice. Oh, she wasn’t cruel, she didn’t yell or hit, she would just look at him with eyes that filled with a quickly hidden disgust, and while she might button a jacket or find him a piece of bread and cheese for lunch or answer a question, the annoyance she barely hid somehow hurt so much. He could feel something in himself reach out towards her, hoping, and getting slammed away.
Years later he realized his fea had never stopped reaching for her, even if her’s had him locked out. The healers had told Eöl he was suffering from a fea sickness, that he needed more people to fed and support his fea, surely his mother….”Will he die?” asked Eöl. They explained that he wouldn’t, but it could make him weaker. “Then he’ll learn to live with what he’s got.” was the response, and that was that.
When Maeglin made his mad dash he was hoping hidden walls would keep him safe, and that he would find family who could love him as he saw other elflings loved. Maybe even these wonderful bonds…He had one with Eöl, but the past few years it had thinned and he felt only discontent and disgust from his Adar. But in Gondolin he had an uncle and a cousin so surely they would love him, if his Ammë hadn’t spoken badly of him. He knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him, but he could live away from her, and he was self-sufficient now, she didn’t need to mother him, so she was still free.
It would work out, it would be fine, he would be safe, his family would love him, Eöl would never find him. Maeglin ran, not knowing how horribly wrong about everything he was.
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Celegorm looked across the table at his wife, his wife! That she had returned to him was a miracle he did not question. “I’ve a letter from Bard Ethel, they are having a celebration for Fingon has chosen a heir. We are to attend and pay respects.”
“Fingon? A heir? How is that possible?” Irisse asked.
Celegorm studied the letter, “Ah, your brother Turgon appeared again! He made apologies for his treason, paid wereguild for his theft, and brought to your father a child that Fingon has claimed. Huh, I didn’t think he’d stray after Elenwe, although he could have adopted a child, I suppose.”
“No, why would he give a beloved child away? Maybe he did stray, and a child was made…better to have it out of his city, and then he can pretend to still be a paragon of virtue.” She thought it over. “Of course we should attend, and pay respects to our new prince. I’ve not seen my brother in a few years, and my father as well, it will be good to see them again.”