Chapter Text
Ever since he had been in Angband, Maeglin knew that Sauron and Morgoth must have done something to him. Yes, he had been promised to rule Gondolin as its lord and Idril as a “reward” for revealing where the Hidden City could be found, but the truth….
He had never wanted Idril in that way . He had longed for a bond between cousins akin to what Aredhel had told, like between her and the Sons of Fëanor, between uncle Fingon and Maedhros, between uncle Turgon and his cousin Finrod.
But his attempts to create such a bond had been rejected from the very start. Idril did not want his company, viewed him suspiciously whatever he was near. Like he was a strain of ink on a beautiful painting, ruining it. Like his very existence was undesirable, the blood in his veins from his father Eöl somehow made Maeglin tainted.
And uncle Turgon….
How could Maeglin ever feel truly comfortable around the very King who had ensured that he was truly orphaned within a day of losing his mother? Yes, Eöl had killed Aredhel though that poison, and deserved punishment for ir, but Maeglin had always known when his father had spoken the truth, undenied:
If Gondolin turned out to be a cage in which Aredhel had sickened with time, then there was a very strong possibility that she would want to leave again.
And now well over a hundred years later, Maeglin knew that Eöl had not spoken merely for Aredhel, but for their son too.
Like for Aredhel, he had grown restless with time as he was forbidden to leave Gondolin, Turgon proving to be a even worse jailer as Eöl, at least, had allowed his son to join him on journeys to the Dwarves and letting him see a little of the world outside Nan Elmoth. Even knowing the dangers which were to be found, Maeglin had wanted to return to Nan Elmoth, just once, just once, to see whatever his childhood home had destroyed in the Battle of Sudden Flame as the Siege of Angband had been broken.
But the worst of all?
Maeglin knew that the Elves of Gondolin would believe that he had willingly betrayed the Hidden City, and that a twisted, unhealthy desire for Idril was part of his supposed betrayal.
Not the result of months-long torture, whose scars Sauron had hidden under a a glamort. Not the horrors of seeing Angband from the inside. Not Sauron casting a spell on Maeglin, so he was unable to reveal the truth.
And now, as the Hidden City was burning around him, that same spell controls his body like a puppet, not Maeglin himself. His hands move on their own to grab hold of Eärendil and Idril, trying to throw the Half-elven child off the cliff and dragging her with him. Tuor arriving with his drawn sword to save his family….
“We will make your name cursed forever, traitor!”
And Maeglin knew that he would be unable to stop this from happening, just like he allowed death to come.
If I remain in the Halls forever, maybe I can at least not be around them anymore.