Chapter Text
“Congratulations.” Celebrimbor extended a warm smile and another full glass of wine towards Galadriel, who was leaning against one of the tables and watching the goings on around the banquet hall. The dancing would go on for hours yet and she felt the need for a respite if she was going to steel herself for the livelier tunes and party games that inevitably ensued later into the night after much more drink had been consumed.
Gladly, she took the wine goblet from Celebrimbor, who then raised his own, waiting for her to clink glasses. “To what are we toasting?” She asked.
“Yours and Lord Halbrand’s bond. It is a fortuitous match.” Another deep-creased smile emerged, accompanied this time by a slight raise of his eyebrows and a nod to their glasses.
A shy curl pulled at Galadriel’s lips before she cheerfully kissed her glass to his. “Hannon le. I am very lucky.”
“He watches you as though the world would burn before he let harm touch you.”
Galadriel smiled again, more wistfully this time. “It would.”
“Yes, indeed the two of you seem very happy, if I may be so bold.” The arch in his brow exaggerated further.
“You may not.” Galadriel tried to hide an embarrassed smile by sucking her cheeks in and glaring playfully at her cousin. “Our apologies if we caused a stir, it was not my intention, at any rate, to do so.”
He waved her apology away. “Don’t be ridiculous. Love is something to be celebrated, although it did redden a few cheeks among some of the more reserved among the guests. Besides, it seems the crowd is quite taken with your Maia.” Gesturing to where Mairon was sitting and conversing with Corwin on the far side of the room, Celebrimbor gave a nod to the onlookers (of purely elven persuasion) who were eyeing him up – mustering the courage, no doubt, to ask him questions of how Valinor fairs and whether he might be convinced to dance with someone other than Galadriel.
She pursed her lips in amusement at how Mairon made a point not to look at any of them in the eye lest he encourage one to come over. “He’s possibly regretting making his fána quite so handsome at this current moment in time.”
“Perhaps.” Celebrimbor chuckled in agreement. “But he managed to catch your eye, so perhaps not. You have yet to explain how you met.”
“Oh. Have I?” Galadriel did her best to keep her eyes steady, still looking across the room at Mairon and pretending to be too love struck to pay the comment any mind. She hoped her cousin had not noticed how her grip had tightened on where her hand rested on the table-edge. But when the silence stretched and Celebrimbor continued to watch her expectantly, she knew she would not be able to wheedle out of answering. “We met in the southern foothills of the Ered Engrin. He was travelling southward following a band of orcs that had come down out of the Forodwaith. I - similarly - stationed myself there, having heard rumours of orc activity in the North.”
Galadriel paused as she weighed up how much of their meeting she could get away with telling. Better to keep to as much truth as possible, with a few tactful tweaks.
Celebrimbor patiently waited for more.
She attempted a bashful smile to try and lighten the significance of her story. “Oh, it’s nothing remarkable – he sought shelter after being on the road for a long time, and I was able to provide some. He revealed who he was to me when he realised I was an elf.” She adopted a wicked smile then. “The rest is not something I am prepared to share in decent company.”
“Ah, quite right! Well, needless to say you have both been lucky in your path to finding love. He seems a good man, if he can be called that – and has been very helpful so far. This mithril prospect… it is certainly intriguing. He assures me it may possess the qualities I have been looking for in which to craft something that will help us. His knowledge… is rare.” Celebrimbor’s voice softened. “It would be a tragedy not to make full use of it.”
Galadriel did her best to force a smile. “He is certainly a master of his craft – like yourself cousin, you will get on well.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. And he is a man of his word, I take it? He will return once you have concluded your business in the South?” It was not quite a question. And as he finished it, a strange shadow crossed his face; his features drew sharp, and something hungry woke in his eyes. His gaze lingered a fraction too long. Not on her - but on Mairon.
Though the hall was warm with music and candlelight, a chill slipped beneath her skin, whispering caution. “…Yes, we both will.”
“Good! In that case, I would be happy to lend you the soldiers you need to hasten your success.”
Galadriel released the breath she was not aware she was holding – relief overpowering whatever the strange feeling was from before. “Thank you, cousin, that is most generous. We will make sure to repay your kindness.”
“No need – just come back in one piece.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward Mairon.
“Both of you.”
The pang of caution returned at the way he stressed both. She had meant only that she would be at Mairon’s side when they returned - but Celebrimbor’s emphasis suggested something else entirely: that their return mattered to him only if Mairon were there. That he wanted it assured.
“We’ll do our best.” Galadriel forced a smile, nodding a little. “If you’ll excuse me, cousin.” Without waiting for a response, she placed her glass down and headed off towards an open corridor to the right of her that led to the washrooms, hoping that perhaps a splash of cold water would cease her skin from prickling.
***
“Are you not going to take any of these fine elven maidens up on a dance?” Mairon pushed a mug of ale towards Corwin as he sat down on the bench, positioning himself outward and resting his elbows on the table-top.
Any misgivings Corwyn had about Mairon’s reveal as a Maia seemed to dissipate quickly with the food and the flow of ale, and for the moment, all appeared well.
The boy somewhat awkwardly dragged the tankard further towards him and took a sheepish sip, watching the women over the rim of his mug who had gathered in the corner and were coyly glancing their way. “I don’t think it’s me they’re looking at.”
“‘Course it is.” Mairon scoffed, “they know I’m off the market, so who else better to lust after than a handsome young warrior from the north.” He clapped Corwin on the back and shot him a heartening smile.
A disbelieving laugh escaped the boy’s mouth. “Warrior?”
But all Mairon did was nod in return.
Looking again, this time Corwin spotted a couple of younger elf-maidens giggle and turn away when he caught their eye – emboldening him to shuffle in his seat and sit up straighter as he smiled their way. He had not noticed the sly wink Mairon had given them.
“What do I say to them?” Corwin asked, nervously worrying his fingers around the handle on his ale.
“Not much – just ask them for a dance.” He leant himself further back on his elbows and watched Galadriel on the far side of the room leave Celebrimbor and take herself down the corridor to the wash rooms. “If they’re anything like my elf, they’ll do most of the talking.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Tell them about how you got that scar on your cheek – women love a tale of daring and bravery.”
Corwin grimaced. “It’s not exactly a battle wound…”
“No, but you won that fight - before I dragged you off the bastard, that is. My advice? Keep it vague, there’s nothing that’ll keep a woman coming back for more than a good mystery.”
“Is that how you got Galadriel?” Corwin flashed Mairon a mischievous grin, to which Mairon thumped him playfully on the upper arm in reply, pretending to put him in his place.
“Yes, actually. Though she was cleverer than most. She saw through a lot of it…”
And some of it she didn’t.
The smile had dropped from Mairon’s face and a pensive crease crept into his brow. He looked longingly towards the corridor she had disappeared down.
“Halbrand? You alright?” Corwin looked about, unsure what to do or say at this sudden turn.
Taking a deep breath, Mairon turned fully to face the boy, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. But in doing so he failed to notice Éargstan follow Galadriel out of the room.
“Y’know what, forget everything I just said. Don’t be mysterious or boast any bravery, and if anyone asks about your scar, just tell them the truth. Be yourself. If they like you, they’ll find out who you are eventually anyway and you’ll only look like an idiot for pretending. I was lucky that my elf stuck around – there would have been plenty who wouldn’t.” He squeezed Corwin’s shoulder then to emphasise his point. “You’re enough, Cori, I promise you that.”
A crooked smile stretched along Corwin’s mouth, accompanied by an appreciative nod. “Can I lie maybe a little bit and say the man was twice my size?”
“Ha!” Mairon barked, returning to his languid position from before. “I suppose that’s harmless enough.”
“I didn’t mean to…” Corwin’s voice had dropped suddenly and a tinge of guilt laced his words.
Mairon simply stared at him sideways and raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for the rest.
“Strangle him, I mean. Warcwyn. He just… he makes me so angry.”
Mairon noted how Corwin’s fingers had curled around the handle of his mug and were wringing out the metal, his knuckles turning white.
Interesting.
“After everything he’s done, all the death on his hands – Bailid, Shyâl… my mother… and the rest. He still walks around as if he deserves…” Corwin struggled to get the rest of his words out, instead settling for frustrated growl instead.
“We all know what he deserves.” Sighed Mairon sympathetically. “But justice rarely arrives on its own.”
“Then why is he with us?!”
“Because we’re already outnumbered. As much as I hate to admit it, we need every sword we can get, and myself and Galadriel can’t be seen to be making decisions that will weaken us. But Cori,” Mairon squeezed his shoulder a little harder and made sure Corwin looked him in the eye – his gaze stalwart. “Don’t tolerate his insults. If he tries to come at you again, stand your ground. Predators grow bored when their prey stops flinching. You never know, he might get weary of being challenged all the time and leave the mission of his own accord. Believe me, if he does, few would mourn it.”
Then-
Something strange.
Mairon felt the air stir - faintly. Restless.
For a moment, the hall seemed to dim - as though a cloud had crossed the lanternlight.
‘MAIRON!’
A scream tore through their bond.
His head whipped round toward the wash-room corridor.
“Galadriel…”
In an instant, Mairon did something he had not done in an age.
He vanished.
Leaving only startled gasps and a rush of air in his wake.
***
Galadriel watched the water in the basin slowly settle – droplets silently falling from her face where she had splashed herself, creating rings on the surface and colliding as they expanded.
“We have the soldiers… that’s all that matters.” She whispered this to herself while watching her reflection for a moment more, staring herself down. With another outbreath she straightened up and patted herself dry with one of the hand towels hanging from the rail beneath the sink, then headed out of the washroom.
Not a moment after stepping back into the corridor was she forced back inside.
With a vice like grip on her wrists and surprise getting the best of her, she stumbled backward – her lower back slamming into the hard edge of the basin she had just used.
Then-
Lips.
Foreign. Ale and bile. Rough. Smashing against her own.
She squealed - scrunching her eyes shut and pinching her lips inward, doing her best to lean away.
No. Look at him, Galadriel. Assess the threat.
Her eyes flung open again, recognition hitting like a blast of ice.
Warcwyn.
His mouth was clumsy and insistent, slobber coating her chin while the weight of him pinned her against the sink. Her feet were losing traction on the polished marble floor with every inch she was bent back.
When suddenly – clarity.
He’s no match for you.
She drove her palm into his sternum – with no anchor to the floor she shoved hard with all the force she could muster.
His bulking mass fell clumsily against the door frame, ricocheting off it and twisting to the ground.
She would have to jump over him to make her escape, and despite the stench of ale on him, he was recovering fast.
She leaped.
But no sooner had her feet touched the ground did a biting pain tore at her scalp.
Her head snapped back. Lecherous fingers tangled in her hair - yanking.
She did not scream aloud.
The cry ripped through their bond like a blade through silk.
‘MAIRON!’
Her feet slipped. The marble cracked against the back of her skull. Light burst white behind her eyes.
She cried out.
Her feet were scrabbling for purchase while the rest of her was dragged back through the washroom door.
But then-
Mairon.
He stepped out of nothing just outside the washroom. Eyes blazing and without a second thought, he quickly bounded past Galadriel.
His fist caught Warcwyn beneath the jaw in a brutal upward arc.
Blood burst from his mouth. His head snapped back - red striking the white ceiling in a violent slash.
Warcwyn’s legs crumpled underneath him, his head barely missed the edge of the basin.
But Mairon was not done.
With a growl, he picked the man up off the floor with no more difficulty than if he were a sack of grain, and flung him back out the door and down the length of the corridor. The door itself, nearly torn from its hinges.
The man landed with a heavy thud, rolling several body lengths more.
Like a fell beast, Mairon prowled down the corridor after him – a terrible spectre of reckoning come to exact violent retribution. Roaring his intent: “Don’t you ever fucking touch her!”
A wave of shocked gasps, the scraping sound of chairs being pushed back, and hurried footsteps followed Mairon’s words. A gaggle of onlookers had begun to form at the other end of the corridor, peering in.
Galadriel had gotten to her feet and had managed to stagger down the passageway a little. She braced herself against the wall to her left, watching on as her lover caught up with the man who tried to make her his own.
When Mairon reached him, Warcwyn was already crawling, attempting to flee the implacable wrath he had stirred.
Clasping hold of his scalp, Mairon pulled him up by his hair, wrenching a hoarse wheeze from him as his body stretched upward, straining a cracked rib or two.
Mairon yanked him onto his tip-toes so he could look him dead in the eye, spitting out his words with a poisonous hiss. “You will never lay your hands on her again.”
But Warcwyn simply spat out another mouthful of blood to one side – a defiant gloat in his eyes. “That’s for her to judge.” An insidious smirk crept across his mouth. “Perhaps she liked it.”
Anger flared.
Mairon roared again, this time kicking Warcwyn square in the chest and with such strength as to send him flying into the banqueting hall.
The crowd parted quickly.
With nothing and no one to stop him, Warcwyn careened into the middle of one of the tables so heavily that some of the wooden planks split. He lay in a crumpled mess of limbs and splintered wood, his body still instinctively coughing up blood even in his unconscious state.
“I will kill you!” Mairon pursued with dogged fury.
The crowd was too stunned to do much other than retreat out his way.
But Celebrimbor’s voice broke through the din of whines and wails “Peace! Spill no more blood in this house, my Lord Halbrand!”
His words went unheeded as Mairon broke through the small throng of guests that were brave enough to step between the two men. On his way he seized a flaming cresset mounted on a wooden stand. Snapping off its base with his knee, he strode forth, holding it aloft like a blazing javelin - a raging madness in his eyes and ready to skewer this man who would defile the only pure thing in his otherwise hideous existence.
He raised it high, eyeing up Warcwyn’s chest like a whaler aiming a harpoon.
Another step.
His weapon poised to strike. His hatred quickening his blood.
He drew it back, ready for the throw.
Then-
“Halbrand! Stop!”
Her.
He froze.
Caught perfectly between obeying his love and exacting revenge - his missile was still high above his head. Lips pressed together in frustration, nostrils flaring with held back rage. Muscles straining, shaking with opposing resolve.
“Put it down, my love.” Her words were calm, coaxing as they echoed through the hall.
All other voices had fallen silent.
Mairon stood over Warcwyn, looking down at his crooked form that made no effort now to defy him. His chest heaved, hating the idea of letting the wretch live.
“Halbrand…” A gentle hand came to rest on his forearm above him, guiding his arm down with only a little resistance. “Let it go.”
His words seethed through his teeth, still unable to tear his eyes away from the man. “How can you ask me that?”
All stood watching now - the tension in the room sitting upon a knife-edge.
Another soft, warming palm reached for his outer cheek, turning his face towards her and meeting his eyes with the tranquil light of a silent ocean at dawn. “Because I love you,” she said softly. “And I will not watch you damn yourself for him. I do not ask that he go unpunished. But please, my love, do not destroy yourself just so you can destroy him.”
Mairon’s spirit was still far from quelled, and he searched her face now, eyes locking on to the pink rash around her mouth where Warcwyn’s coarse beard had rubbed the skin raw. It was only then he also noticed the small trickle of blood that had been smeared across the back and side of her neck by her hair.
A seething twitch rippled through his cheek, his jaw set square and an urge to hurt Warcwyn surged once again. “He marked you.” His fingertips brushed at her lips before straying to the blood at her neck.
“I know.” Galadriel closed her eyes slowly in agreement, cupping his face with both hands now and pressing her forehead to his, whispering. “Peace… What’s done is done. Let others see to his punishment while you tend to your beloved, hmm? Will you do that? For me? I have a headache that needs seeing to, and only my Maia can heal me. I need him with me, not locked up in a cell in place of the man he killed.” Her voice lowered then, whispering so only he could here. “Choose me.”
A long, anguished sigh pressed through his nose while he rocked his forehead a little against hers in acceptance.
The cresset dropped from his hands.
Gently, he curled his fingers about hers and peeled them away from his face, making sure to plant a thankful kiss to one of her palms as he did so. But he did not let go, instead he held them tight against his chest, as though they were his anchor tethering him to reason.
He looked about to find Celebrimbor, shame upon his brow. “Forgive me, Lord Celebrimbor, for displaying such violence under your roof. I request this man be held under lock and key until he sobers up, and while we consider a more fitting punishment for his assault on Lady Galadriel.”
Celebrimbor studied Mairon for some time, his lips pressed into a thin line while he drew in a long, grounding breath. His eyes flicked to Galadriel – to the sore patch around her mouth and where her hair was matted with blood. Finally, his gaze drifted over Éargstan, who was slowly coming to. He winced at him sceptically, before meeting Mairon’s eyes once more and nodding grimly. “It shall be done.”
“Thank you, my friend. I hope my actions here tonight have not sullied my ability to call you that.” Mairon curled an arm around Galadriel’s waist. “If you’ll excuse us, I would like to tend to my elf’s needs.”
“Of course.” There was a wariness to his tone that did not go unnoticed by Mairon.
Damn.
***
“I can wash my hair perfectly fine on my own.” From under her brow, Galadriel shot Mairon a sardonic look while holding out her hand for the soap.
Mairon responded with a dramatic sigh. “Alright,” he yielded, passing her the bar. “I just thought you’d like to be looked after.” He was knelt at the side of the bath with his tunic sleeves rolled up, his forearms resting on the edge of the tub.
“I’m fine.” Her tone was more even than frustrated, but she snatched at the bar anyway to prove a point, then began lathering up her hands and running the suds through her hair where he had healed her. She massaged the back of her head particularly vigorously before dunking her head under the surface.
The clear bathwater turned to subtle rose as the blood was washed out.
He watched the water cloud, and his jaw tightened.
When Galadriel resurfaced, she noticed how Mairon was looking at it, chewing on his cheek and swirling the tips of his fingers through the water. She pinched his index finger from below the surface, causing him to stop. “I am alright, I promise.”
He exhaled heavily through his nose. His mouth twisted and he did not look at her. “But he touched you… I should have been there.”
The memory flickered - the taste, the weight, the hands.
She forced it down.
He needs anchoring.
“You were there.” She took hold of his full hand now, squeezing just enough to try and reassure him. “And you made sure he didn’t take it any further. That’s all that matters.” Her other hand rose out of the water, and using her fingertips, she tilted his chin up so he’d look at her. “You can’t be everywhere at once, or protect me every second of the day. Nor would I want you to. It’s not your job to look after me.”
For few seconds Mairon said nothing, but stared at her hard - his eyes flicking earnestly between hers. “Yes, it is.”
Galadriel tilted her head with a kindly pity, studying him for a moment with curious eyes before leaning in, grazing her nose against his and placing a soft, thankful kiss upon his lips. “Thank you for coming when I called.” She drew back only slightly, their noses still glancing each other.
“Always.” He whispered, his fingers rising to gently cup her chin – a promise that he would keep her there, lest she thought about pulling away.
“Be thankful it was not another orc wound.” Her voice softly teasing.
But in response, he only frowned. “This act was no less evil.”
The words hung in the small space between them, suspended there like a hung corpse, swinging.
The silence stretched on.
Eventually, her words cut the rope. “No. It wasn’t.”
Mairon’s face twisted in a new bout of anger. “The idea of him touching you…”
“I know.” Taking his face in both hands, she pressed her forehead against his – her eyes scrunching shut as she remembered the taste of him; the way it still turned her stomach. “I know.”
Neither of them could be sure how long they stayed there. The shiver that ran through Galadriel as the water cooled was what eventually made them stir.
“Mairon?” Her voice barely above a whisper.
“Mmm?”
I want to forget.
“Take me to bed.”
With the smallest of nods, he smiled faintly, reluctantly pulling away to fetch her a towel from the rail behind him. Then taking her hand, he helped her out the bath and wrapped her up, pulling her in for another embrace and running his hands over the towel up and down her back. “I’ll get your night gown.” But before doing so, he planted an earnest kiss upon her brow, an unspoken vow that he would not be long.
Galadriel smiled, even though she lamented his warmth and the reassurance of his hold – both seeping away as he went through to the bedroom. She concentrated on drying off, and in but moments he returned with a white, satin chemise that he helped slip over her head as she threaded her arms through. Then, without a word, he scooped her up and carried her with sturdy arms through to the other room, gently placing her upon the bed as one might lay a shawl made of gossamer - careful not to break its threads.
One by one, he blew out the candles.
Then, pulling his tunic over his head, he kicked off his boots and rounded the bed while she slipped herself between the sheets. The last thing he rid himself of was his trousers before joining her under the duvet. Collecting her in his arms, he felt her cling to him. For all her assurances that she was fine, she clutched at him so tightly it was as though she were trying to climb inside his very being, to burrow beyond the reach of the roughness, the stench, the hands - the cursed blade of elven memory.
So, he held her fast within the strong anchor of his arms, against the steady predictability of his heartbeat. Before long, he sensed her breathing had evened, the tension in her body slowly melting away - though her fingers remained curled tight against his skin, as though sleep itself would not pry her loose.
“Mairon?” Galadriel’s voice was teetering on the brink of dreams.
“Yes.”
“Hold me like this forever. Don’t let me go.”
“I would unmake the world first.”
***
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Galadriel’s eye snapped open with a start.
Instinctively she clutched at where Mairon should have been, but she only scrunched up empty sheets.
Panic flared, heat rushing to her cheeks.
The banging came again. Persistent.
Then-
“I’ll get it, calinya.” Mairon emerged from the wash room, he had donned some loose trousers and a sleeping shirt at some point, and was drying his hands on a towel - looking altogether a picture of calm despite the urgent knocking at their door.
Watching him cross the room, grateful that he was there and she was safe, she settled her breathing.
Mairon opened the door, but not enough for her to see who was there. Whoever they were, they did not wait for Mairon to ask what was the matter.
“Lord Halbrand.” His voice seemed distressed. “You and Lady Galadriel are required, quickly. There has been an… incident.”
“What kind of incident?” Pressed Mairon.
“I am not permitted to say.” The voice replied a little nervously. “Only that Lord Celebrimbor has asked for you to join him at the holding cells.”
Mairon’s eye narrowed though his gaze had dropped, as though he had already guessed what had happened. “Thank you, we’ll be there shortly.” With that he closed the door and turned to Galadriel. Both of them swallowed down an uncomfortable breath, exchanging a grim, knowing look.
They swiftly dressed and hurried out of their room and down the stairs. It was still dark – the morn still a few hours away, late as it was into the autumn. Exiting the outer door to the guest wing, they crossed a courtyard and down another set of wide stone steps. The guest quarters and banqueting hall was sat atop a flat, raised hill. Half way down, another terrace opened out with a tall fountain in the middle. Its waters caught the moonlight, gleaming a steely blue against the inky backdrop of the night sky.
This might have been a beautiful night. Lamented Galadriel as she led Mairon across the terrace.
The descent split into two arcing staircases - they took the left. At the bottom they took the street directly in front of them. The streets narrowed as they descended down the hill - stone closing in, sound swallowed by shadow. Eventually, at the end of an alleyway, they came out onto a cobbled street that ran parallel to a long, wide bridge above them that connected the workshops of Gwaith-i-Mirdain with the market place. Directly in front of them, lay the entrance to a dark tunnel that bore its way under the heart of the bridge. On either side, stood two sentries, awaiting their arrival.
Crossing the street, they fell in behind the sentries who had each taken a torch from the walls.
The tunnel breathed damp air at them. Their footsteps echoed too loudly.
Their route turned right down another passage way, where they felt the ground slope steeply downward and into the bowels of the underground catacombs.
After descending another set of stairs, the sentries parted and took position on either side of the passageway atop a set of smaller steps, where voices could be heard down the tunnel beyond.
Taking the lead, Galadriel went on, down the steps and into a passage whose walls were punctured with a row of barred archways on either side. A column with a sconce individuated each of the cells.
Half-way down, Celebrimbor stood ashen-faced, conversing quietly with two more guards. When he saw them approach he dismissed them, but instead of leaving this lower tunnel, they walked further down it, positioning themselves on the right, two cells down.
“Cousin,” Galadriel began, with Mairon in tow only a couple of steps behind. “What has happened?”
He sighed gravely in response, motioning into the open cell to the left of him. “See for yourself.”
Galadriel picked up her pace, gathering up her skirts and half-jogging the last few steps. When she turned into the cell she was unsure of what to make of it.
Éargstan lay on his side.
For a moment, she thought he was merely unconscious.
Then she saw the floor.
His tunic was no longer whole.
Red had soaked through, leaving the body a bloodied mess upon the flagstones.
Gasping in horror, she stepped back, slamming into Mairon’s chest as he came up behind. He grabbed her upper arms to steady her, looking over her head at the wretched sight beyond.
Galadriel winced.
She had no love for the man, especially after the events earlier in the night, but his killing had been brutal.
The wounds were not random.
The killer opened him methodically - widening, deepening, returning to the same place again and again.
Whoever did this knew how to ruin a man.
Galadriel swallowed thickly, leaning into the steady rise and fall of Mairon’s chest. “Who did this?”
Celebrimbor did not answer. He simply stared at the two of them for a second before canting his head and signalling with his eyes at the cell just down from them and across the way – the one with the guards outside it.
They both tentatively walked down the passage, until the full cell came into view. Within, was a figure hunched on a stool, and would not look up. His hands were stained red.
“Cori…” Galadriel stepped quietly up to the bars, her hand seeking to touch one - and then recoiling, as the truth settled in her chest.
He did not look up at his name. Instead a sob burst through, as though he had been trying to hold it in.
Mairon settled himself against the bars, leaning with one shoulder and looking down at his hands as he began picking at his fingers.
Galadriel motioned to one of the guards to bring over another stool from further down the passage so she could sit eye-to-eye with the boy.
“Corwin.” The shock had left her voice now, replaced by something more commanding. “Corwin, look at me.”
But all he could do was shake his head, still buried in his hands.
“Corwin, if you don’t tell me what’s happened, we can’t help you.”
A few more sporadic sniffles were hiccupped out before finally, he raised his head. His face was soaked from his tears, red and puffy, and the sorrow in his eyes could have struck even the hardest of hearts.
Galadriel bent her head, softening her features into something gentler, coaxing. “Please, Cori – what happened?”
“I… I wanted to see him. I didn’t mean to bring a knife. I didn’t.” Corwin’s words were interspersed with moments where his mouth made shapes but no sound came out, as though it pained him to speak.
“Start from the beginning. Please.” Galadriel was determined to be as patient as she needed. She would get the story from him, even if it took all night.
“I… I came to see him. I wanted to know why he did it – why he attacked you.” Although he was still wracked with guilt, he looked her in her eyes then, still capable of showing sympathy for what happened to her despite himself. “I wanted to confront him, to tell him exactly what he is – a twisted piece of shit that only ever hurts people. I wanted to spit in his face and have him not be able to do anything about it…”
“Alright, that’s why you came, but the knife… you said something about the knife?”
“I thought about it.” His brow knitted as though he were struggling to remember. “About bringing one. I saw it in my belt, hanging over the back of the chair in my room, and I thought I’d better take it. But then… I thought, what would be the need? He’s behind bars, he can’t hurt me… so I left it. I swear I left it.” He implored at Galadriel now to believe him, scooting his stool a couple of feet towards her. “I don’t even remember taking it out my pocket, but somehow it was there, in my hand and then…”
Mairon’s gaze flicked up sharply - then away.
“It was like… like I was watching myself… like I wasn’t myself.” Corwyn began to sob again, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was recalling.
Galadriel’s eyes turned glassy, dropping a little, and a slow crease threaded its way across her brow. Not an instant later, and with a deliberate blink of her lids, her sight sharpened again – casting away the wayward thoughts.
Mairon was still leaning against the bars, holding his left hand with his right and massaging his palm with his thumb - back and forth, back and forth - as though smoothing something invisible. His jaw was set, and he had a troubled brow.
Corwin was still gulping in air in fits and starts.
“Take a breath, Cori. Go back. How did you even get in here? Where were the guards?”
“Guards?” The question seemed to offer some clarity, as he suddenly stopped crying while he tried to piece together what had happened. “There were no guards.”
The silence that followed fell heavier than an axe.
Mairon’s thumb stilled against his palm.
Galadriel and Celebrimbor all shared a glance.
“The sentries have been on duty all night, my lord.” Assured one of the guards.
“I don’t remember seeing them.” Corwin frowned, “I don’t remember seeing anybody. It didn’t seem strange at the time. I wasn’t too sure where I was going, but I made my way down here. I came across no one on the way.”
“Is there a change of guard at all?” Mairon finally piped up, having been silent since they entered the cells. “Perhaps he slipped in between shifts?”
Galadriel looked over to him, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as a small shiver ran down her back. But as Celebrimbor broke in, the feeling dissipated as quickly as it came.
“There is one,” Celebrimbor replied, “At midnight. But the guards should not have relieved themselves until their replacements showed up. It is highly unusual for there to have been such a gap in the changeover.”
“We can review the guard’s movements later.” Galadriel was eager for Corwin to finish his story, shooting them both a look before fixing her focus back on the boy. “You found the cells, and Éargstan, then what happened?”
“I told him what he was. Told him if they ever let him out I’d hunt him down. He wasn’t going to get away with it, all of it…”
“And what did he say?”
“He welcomed it. Said he’d relish the chance at beating me bloody again. He said… he’d happily send me back to my mother, piece-by-piece into the afterlife… I screamed at him, called him a bastard. Tried to grab at him but he was too quick. He caught my wrist and yanked my arm so that I headbutted the bars. He had my throat then. I tried to get him off but he was too strong… and then… before I knew it I was…” The horror-filled gasps had returned, and Corwin was gulping down air at an alarming rate. “I was stabbing him… again and again and again. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I…”
He was hyperventilating.
“Stop Cori – breathe, I need you to breathe.” Galadriel did her best to calm him. “Daro. Hosto dîn. Thîr.” She managed to reach far enough through the cell to take hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly as she tried her best to ground him. “Thîr… that’s it… Thîr.”
It took a few moments but Corwin was able to settle himself again – the elven words washing over him like a summer breeze through a meadow.
Mairon shifted his weight and resettled against the bars.
Galadriel wondered why he was not saying much, or even looking at the boy. He did not once ask Corwin if he was hurt. Or why he did it – if Éargstan had left him any choice. Or anything at all.
Only hours ago he had been a tempest.
Now he was stone.
Perhaps he is too disappointed.
“Halbrand.”
The call of his name got him to look up at Corwin.
“You told me… you told me to stand my ground. Not to take his shit. You said I’d be doing everyone a favour if I did.” Desperation quaked in Corwin’s eyes as he accused Mairon, who responded with a stern side-long stare.
“I meant in a fair fight. And I never told you to kill him, Cori – do not twist my words. And you didn’t just kill him. You gutted him. Over and over.”
Galadriel flashed an accusatory frown Mairon’s way. ‘He knows what he did – he’s tearing himself apart because of it. There’s no need to remind him.’
Mairon made no reply. Instead he made a small gesture of shrugging and rolling his eyes slightly, and went back to worrying his hands together.
The boy’s eyes slid downwards to the floor, all fight gone from his voice. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I don’t know…” Galadriel answered in a desponded whisper. “Elven laws do not extend to violence among men. But…” She glanced sideways to Mairon, and then Celebrimbor, looking for… what? For support? For them to corroborate that their elven laws would not cover this? She returned her gaze to Corwin now, who looked just as he did the day Cedric fell. Reduced to no more than a boy again in the aftermath of another tragedy he blames himself for, facing down the haunting truth she was about to unleash.
She wanted to reach for him.
She did not.
“You’ve done a terrible thing, Corwin.”
For a moment, there was nothing from him – a cold silence as the words sunk in, before his expression broke in anguish.
“I know.”
He crumpled then, head curling towards his chest as if he might crawl inside himself – his body convulsing sporadically with each cry he let loose. One of his hands had grabbed hold of the bars, wringing the metal so tightly his knuckles went white as the rest of his body sank to the floor.
“I’m sorry, Cori.” It was the only thing she could say, though she knew it would do little to ease his guilt. “We’ll come back on the morrow once we have decided the best path.” She gave him a squeeze on the shoulder before rising from her seat.
The three of them then made to leave – a solemn mood soured the air as they climbed the first set of stairs.
But when they reached the small landing where the sentries still stood, Galadriel seemed to have already decided. “We should send him back north, let Brynneth and the rest of the north-men decide what to do with him. If you would spare but two more soldiers to escort-”
“Soldiers?” Celebrimbor stopped in his tracks - an incredulous look on his face. “Galadriel, I will be lending no such soldiers. For this or for your purposes in the south.”
“But… you said… at the feast-”
“I will not put elven lives at risk for those who would murder in my realm. Under my roof! I am sorry but men…” He was beside himself. “We invite them in, and blood follows. Men are violent, covetous, untrustworthy. I knew this before tonight but still, I thought… perhaps they might have changed. But I see now they cannot. They are utterly undeserving of our help.”
Galadriel grabbed hold of his arm, imploring him to reconsider. “But cousin-”
“No!” He ripped his arm away from her. “They will have to face the orc threat themselves. I will not align myself with such vengeful hatred. The elves will endure. Must endure. That must be my focus.”
Mairon attempted to assuage him. “Lord Celebrimbor, if I could just-”
“No!” Snapped Celebrimbor, “Servant of the Valar or not, you will not display such violence in my house and expect me to do your bidding.”
“My help preventing the fading of the elves is contingent on lending us those soldiers!”
“Then I shall triumph without your help!”
With that, he stormed off up the taller flight of stairs and up into the night.
Stunned, Galadriel turned to Mairon, who was staring at the floor. His mouth hung open and his lower jaw was off-set in anger. When he flicked his gaze back up to her, the despair in her eyes softened him instantly – pity and sorrow welling up for his elf who was close to tears.
‘Mairon…’ She rushed to him, collapsing in his arms in a fit of crying. It had all been too much.
‘I know… I know, calinya.’ He smoothed her hair with one hand and held her close with the other.
Fuck.