Chapter Text
It went well enough at first, thankfully: Maeglin was courteous, and Salgant's family intimidated into uncharacteristic quietude. His father Halatirno apologized for serving only lobster, as they had not known to expect guests, and Maeglin assured him that lobster was a delicacy where he had been raised. Salgant wished for his niece Hyalmeche to be more circumspect about eyeing Maeglin's dark hair and eyes, at least while her husband was also at the table, but Maeglin ignored that as thoroughly as anything else he did not care for.
It was after dinner - Maeglin sitting uncomfortably while Hyalmeche and her husband washed the dishes - that the trouble arose. Salgant's father asked, very reasonably, what had brought Maeglin to Formendessë, and Maeglin looked instead at Salgant.
Salgant looked at his family. They were watching him expectantly; Maeglin had turned his gaze to the fire. Salgant looked down at his tea. He thought about vanishing into the night, about dying of exposure on the mountains or throwing himself into the icy sea and returning to Mandos. He quashed the thought ruthlessly: his family would be heartbroken, and Maeglin would be left to tell Turgon. "I haven't told you everything about Hecellubar," he began. "I told you that I was of some service to Lord Turukáno, and went with him to Nevrast. I did not tell you that in Nevrast, he was visited by the Far-Sighted, and told to build him a city, high in the mountains, hidden from all but Manue. Turukáno named it Ondolindë; we called it Gondolin. "
Someone made a quiet sound of realization; it may have been Talangan. Salgant did not look up. "I had a position of great responsibility," he went on. "We prospered for some time. The Lady Irissë, Turukáno's sister, left the city." Salgant could hear Maeglin stiffen, drawing himself up straight. Salgant ignored him. "She made a poor marriage, and returned to Gondolin with her son Maeglin. She was killed in a terrible accident shortly after they arrived."
"This is not your best storytelling, Salgant," Maeglin muttered.
Salgant raised his gaze just enough to glare at him. "Tell it yourself if you like." His mother hissed a reprimand at him for his rudeness, and Salgant winced. "...We went out to battle, the one that no one speaks of because it was so terrible. We held the rear-guard... Afterward, Lord Turukáno sent messengers across the Sea, despite the Balai's curse. Each year, he sent them, and each year they did not return. Turukáno was much beloved of the Far-Sighted," he added as his father made a noise of disapproval. "And in the four hundred ninety-fifth year of the Age, the Far-Sighted gave back one of the lives he was offered, and another messenger besides."
"Tuor," Maeglin growled. He did not care for long tales, and this story was close to him.
"Tuor son of Huor," Salgant agreed.
"I know that name," his niece's husband said, startled. Billino, Salgant remembered, was from Avallonë, and would have more news from his family there.
"Go on, yonia," his mother urged, when Salgant would have stopped.
"He spoke in Ulmo's voice, and he reminded Turukáno of that doom, and bade us abandon the city we'd built. His advisors could not come to agreement about it."
"It seems straightforward enough," Billino objected. "You had warning, and at no small price, it sounds."
"Oh, not hardly," said Salgant's mother hotly, and his father hid a smile. "Don't you remember the story of Formendessë? I know Hyalmeche told you. The Terrifier roared against our shores and said that it was too dangerous, we would die so far from Aman, that he'd see to it himself if he had to. I remember that, Billino, I heard him say he would grow coral on our bones!"
Billino quailed beneath her gaze, saying meekly, "Yes, Mirewen," as though she were like to turn him out into the cold spring air. Maybe she would; it was almost warm enough.
Maeglin was watching this exchange with great interest; Salgant, who had grown up with the unexpurgated version of the story, wondered what the summary sounded like to him. "This explains so much," the prince commented. "At least about the shouting match you and Glorfindel had..."
"You heard that?" Salgant asked, distracted; they had been in the corridor outside the council chamber, as he recalled. Salgant had the notion that drowning them all and sending them to Mandos could very well be Ulmo's way of hastening them home; pious Glorfindel had disagreed vehemently.
"Salgant. Everyone heard you. The Eagles heard you."
"'Glorfindel?'" asked Salgant's father.
"One of the Vaniai," Salgant explained briefly. "Another adviser. He counseled obedience."
"Ahh, well, Vaniai," his father said dismissively, as though that settled everything, and perhaps it did.
"But what did Turukáno decide?" his mother demanded, as though Salgant could have forced Turgon to make the decision she wanted.
"We stayed," Salgant said, and she nodded in satisfaction.
"We fortified our defenses, but I can't say we did rightly," Salgant admitted. "One of our number had been unlucky in love, and had taken to wandering beyond the borders of the protected lands. He..."
"It was me," Maeglin said abruptly, clipping each word. "Salgant, don't lie to your family. It was me. I disobeyed King Turgon's laws and went out alone in the mountains. I was captured and brought to the Enemy, and he took Gondolin's secrets from me. He sent me back-"
"He sent back," Salgant interrupted, his bard's voice easily drowning out Maeglin's, "a puppet wearing Maeglin's face, who took control of his House and followers. I was one of those who listened to his counsel when Gondolin was assaulted at last. And I," he faltered, "when the city began to fall..."
"Salgant was not to be found," Maeglin said into the gap. "He sent his forces to the Lesser Market, but he was not with them, and no one heard tell of his whereabouts. Gondolin fell soon after. Turgon had no chance to see justice done, and now he has sent me to bring him Salgant."
Salgant put his face in his hands, so that he would not have to see them, and nodded.
There was a long silence.
"We'd like to speak with our son alone," Salgant's father said at last.
"Hyalmeche, Billino, come help me brush the dogs." Tacollien, his brother's nearly-silent wife. "You, too." That must have been to Maeglin. Chairs moved around the table; Salgant half-expected Maeglin to protest being ordered around so peremptorily. He didn't. The door opened and closed. That left his brother and his parents. Chairs moved again.
Warm arms wrapped around Salgant's shoulders, and he leaned back, closing his hands around his father's arms and squeezing his eyes shut. He breathed deeply, trying not to sob aloud. His mother put her roughened hand over his.
He did not know how long they stayed like that.
"Yonia," his father said quietly, "it's all right. We're with you. We'll always be with you. Open your eyes, it's all right."
Salgant obeyed, blinking hard, and saw his little brother frowning. Talaganto said, thoughtful, "It does explain some of the things you've screamed about."
"...I don't scream," Salgant protested, and he didn't, he had mostly stopped going out into the hills for that.
"You do when you're asleep," Talaganto informed him. "You don't remember? We've started taking turns singing to you. Seems to help."
"Talaganto," his mother said firmly, "Mind the rigging." Her determined expression was the same one she wore when they were caught in a storm at sea, and Salgant took no small comfort in it. "Now, Sallo, tell us what you need. We can borrow Tili's little skimmer and have you leagues north before the night's out. You could stay up there until it's safe. Or we could take this, this Golodo up north and leave him there, for that matter."
Salgant was already shaking his head. "I'm going with Maeglin. I owe that to Turgon. It was... unforgivable, what I did. I swore to serve him, and I didn't. I have to face him. I owe him that."
"Should we go with you?" his father asked, and Salgant stiffened in horror.
"Please don't. Ossë's briny balls, no. I'll be with Maeglin, I won't be alone."
"He's a friend, then?" his mother pressed. "I thought he was just a messenger."
Salgant took a moment to admire Maeglin's abrupt demotion from 'prince' to 'messenger.' "He's a friend. Yes. It's a good sign, I think, that he came," he mused. "Turgon really could have sent someone else."
"So Toa shouldn't feed him to the dogs?" Talangan asked.
Salgant laughed helplessly, a little hysterical. "Oh, stars, she's making him help, isn't she? Oh, at least he's not wearing black as he used to... No, they can come back in, I'm well enough." He wiped at his eyes, wishing he were as stone-faced as the young Maeglin had been when he came to Gondolin. The worst had happened now. His family knew, and had not thrown him aside in disgust. Salgant doubted they understood the true depth of his failure, but they had never seen Gondolin or Turgon, and knew almost nothing of war. They didn't truly know, but at least he'd spoken the words to them.
Talangan must have said something to Tacollien, because the door opened to admit Maeglin. Billino and Hyalmeche stayed outside with Tacollien; she must have gotten them to help her finish brushing. Maeglin was already carrying a full bag, looking wary and a little overwhelmed. He was, Salgant could not help but notice, covered in white fur, and his dark clothing showed it very well.
"Ah, Toa got you too," Salgant commented, and got up. His parents and brother still looked at Maeglin with caution - less, Salgant thought, for his capture by Morgoth and more for his current task, but Maeglin would not see it that way. "How did you find the dogs? She's very proud of them."
"They're... remarkable," Maeglin said neutrally. As Salgant showed him where to put the bag so that Tacollien could wash and card it, he muttered, "I thought we were being charged by wargs. Fluffy wargs."
Salgant, still giddy with relief, smothered his laughter. "You know, now that you bring it up... No, they're only dogs. Horses fare poorly in the winters here."
"I am not even surprised that you ride them, Salgant, what does that say?"
"A sign of your perceptive nature?" Salgant tried. "Here, I imagine you'll want your own bed." He drew Maeglin after him into the bedroom, digging into the piles of furs and folded blankets for the best of them.
"You imagine rightly," Maeglin said, but then hesitated, a strange expression coming over his face. "If I don't wake before your family rises... tell them just to call my name. I don't... wake well... when touched."
"My brother just told me I scream in the night," Salgant offered. "I hadn't even known."
Maeglin took the offering for what it was, shooting him a grateful look. "You don't wake yourself? Salgant, I'm fairly certain I saw you sing down an entire reinforcing wall in the Nirnaeth."
"That is not the same thing," Salgant protested; he was not sure how well he'd take being teased by anyone else on such a shameful matter, but he couldn't summon any offense in light of Maeglin's own admittance.
"If you say," Maeglin said, and so Salgant was arguing the finer points of songs of power as they rejoined his family. The morrow would bring a journey and the days afterward would bring justice, but this, for now, was well enough.