Part 7 The Betrayal

Tuor and Idril approached the King with some apprehension, but they clasped each other's hands for strength and resolve. They had decided to announce themselves to him privately and they were not entirely certain how he may react.
"Ah, my golden children," Turgon greeted them with a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Father..." Idril struggled.
"We have come to announce that we intend to get married. We ask for your blessing," Tuor said simply.
They braced themselves. Turgon was speechless for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and let out an unmistakable shout of joy. It startled the new couple. Then Turgon embraced them both.
"This is wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "We shall have a wedding such as never been seen before or shall be! We should hold it in the Great Market! There shall be music and dancing..."
He continued on and on with his plans. Tuor and Idril were pleasantly surprised. They had half-expected rage and rejection rather than joy and acceptance. But Tuor had already proven himself to Turgon simply by finding Gondolin. He was Ulmo's Messenger, and Turgon remembered the words Huor had spoken and understood them completely now.
From you and from me, a new star shall rise.
Besides, Turgon knew he could do nothing to prevent such a coupling from occurring even if he tried. Thingol had done everything in his power to destroy Beren, his daughter's mortal lover. All his plotting merely backfired and he lost his daughter forever instead. Turgon sincerely loved Tuor, and so high was he in his favor that he would not deny him even the hand of his daughter. It was also the first time that when he looked into her eyes, they appeared hopeful and happy instead of aloof and sorrowful. He was grateful that Tuor had inspired that.
The King announced the wedding to the whole city, and the people were jubilant. Weddings were always a matter of import and celebration, but this was to be the wedding of Turgon's only child, their beautiful Princess Idril, to Tuor whom the people had quickly grown to love. They speculated already upon the children the couple might produce. It was rumored that Beren and Luthien had a son of Three-fold race whom they had named Dior and made Thingol's heir. Half-Elves, it seemed, could choose their own fate. Would Idril's children choose to become heirs to Turgon? what would a Half-Elf look like? They considered it a matter of pride that soon they would be blessed with such a union and unique child. The mingling of Men and Elves would bring color and variety to the kingdom.
Maeglin could not believe the news at first. He had hoped he had threatened Idril enough that she would have stayed away from Tuor. It seemed he had only frightened her, sabotaged himself, and encouraged her more than ever to pursue Tuor. Now there was no chance in heaven or hell that Maeglin could win Idril. Tuor was mortal and would die, but Idril would live on and carry his memory long after he was dust if she had his children to cling to. Most maidens of the Eldar never sought another lover once their husband was dead or bonded with another in such a way. They did not love as mortals loved. They cherished instead their children and looked forward to the day that their mate was reincarnated. Idril had never been one to seek many lovers. She may decide to become mortal herself and age and die to follow Tuor beyond the Sundering Seas as Luthien had chosen to do. Then she would really be lost forever. Maeglin was enraged, heartbroken, and jealous.
The marriage also threatened his own political power and relationship with the king. Idril may be Turgon's only child of his body, but she had otherwise been a weak candidate for the throne compared to Maeglin. She was female, and though her gender was not an obvious crutch, there had never been a single Queen that rules soley on her own among the Eldar. Not even in Doriath. Melian the Maia was considered a powerful queen. She guarded the realm with her magic, had shared her wisdom with the people and especially to her husband. But she had married into the role, had never marched in war, and often advised her husband and allowed him to make the final decisions. He did not always listen. Idril had gone many years without involving herself too much politically or even socially at court. She had never expressed very much interest or ambitions about becoming Queen. On the contrary, she was reluctant and afraid to rule in her youth. She had never courted powerful Elf-lords that would prove valuable partners, domineering ones that would probably inevitably become the true power behind the crown, or even insipid minor lords to serve the purpose of a stud to produce heirs. It was not even known yet if Idril could bear heirs.
The Eldar often found it difficult to reproduce. They enjoyed bonding, but almost all of the Eldar were infertile. Most couples only had one child after centuries of hard work. On rare occasions, such as the case of Feanor and Nerdanel, they might produce seven within a few decades. The usual rule was that the Elf maid was willing, eager, and her courses coincided with the act. Elf women produced a certain finite number of eggs that released when they willed it. The male also had to be willing and eager and produced less seed than human males. Because the chances were so low, they required much more discipline, timing, and care. Sometimes they were overcautious. They waited for the perfect mate, then waited for long intervals of peace. They considered it careless to have children during times of warfare and crisis. 'Accidental' births almost never happened. Young Elf couples told themselves they had all the time in the world for children. Only royal families really required the assurance of children. They above all others were encouraged to have as many children as possible and to choose among them the most capable heir to the throne.
Maeglin's birth had been unnatural. Aredhel had not become a wife and mother wholly willingly. Eol had seduced her aggressively with a dangerous mix of drugs and brute force. He used deceit to make her feel safe and to create a platonic bond. He used powerful drugs to make them both fertile and to confuse Aredhel's senses. He used force in the act itself and to keep her prisoner. The Eldar were ever uncomfortable about the subject and too ashamed to admit one of their own could engage in the twisted and tragic crime of rape. They simply explained in their history that Eol had used 'enchantments' to seduce Aredhel. No more was ever written or discussed. Maeglin wished his father had taught him the secret of such drugs, especially the fertility drugs. It would have made Eol wealthy indeed if he had made a potion of it and sold it. So many more children would be running through the streets. The Eldar would not have simply diminished in number and therefore weakened. He might have sold it to the Dwarves too but their problem was not infertility. They simply had too many sons and female births were rare. Eol had guarded the secret jealously. He valued his secrets more than treasures, much like the Dwarves. There was no way he would ever aid the Noldor in anything and he felt betrayed even by his own kin.
Aredhel had come close to discovering the secret, Maeglin suspected, but never fully grasped it. Instead she managed to reverse the effects of whatever it was the Dark Elf inflicted upon her. She was a Huntress, not a healer or as obsessed with plants and herbs as Eol was, but being a child of Nature she knew a good deal of herbology and made herself sterile. Over time, she could even resist his mind altering poisons too. Maeglin had no proof, but he always suspected that his father had given her small pinches of some mysterious drug to make her more docile. In the end, it was his psychological hold upon her was far worse. If Aredhel had lived and wed Engner, the one she had truly loved, they would have never had their own children and she may have never fully recovered her old self. She was only a shadow of the strong, bold, confident maiden that once had been.
It was questionable whether or not Maeglin would ever have a family of his own either, which put him at a disadvantage now. Idril had recently become much more involved in politics thanks to Tuor's encouragement. She had quite a voice and was more popular among the small folk. If she produced a child, especially a male child, Maeglin was most likely doomed. He had no children. He had no wife. He had even stopped courting maids. He was liked well enough by the mob, but he was becoming less popular. He had as many enemies at court as he had allies.
The wedding took place upon the eve of Spring. It was remembered as a day of great joy to the Golodrim and also to Idril and Tuor. As Turgon had insisted it was held at the Temple of the Gods with lavish ceremony at dusk with a rowdy feast in the great market that night. The ceremony was smooth and solemn. The Golodrim sang hymns as Turgon presented his daughter to her groom. They clasped hands and exchanged vows. As the people sang softly and Turgon made a speech and asked for blessings, Tuor and Idril had eyes only for each other. They smiled and when they were pronounced, they exchanged a long, lingering kiss to the delight of the crowd. The Market was lit with hanging lamps. Every minstrel played as the Golodrim laughed and clapped and danced in circles, rows, and pairs. Each stall was filled with delicious food and wine instead of water filled the fountains for the occasion. One long table was placed in the center for the bride, groom, and most of the royal household.
There were many toasts, japes, tears, demands, gifts, and congratulations. Turgon was the most boisterous of them all and beamed with pride. Engner was as proud as though Idril were his own daughter. Voronwe clapped Tuor upon the back. Everyone was in good spirits save for one person. Maeglin was carrying on badly. He drank more than anyone else. Though he toasted to the bride and groom, his tone was mocking and he did not swallow. When no one was glancing he spit it out. He made cruel jests about Tuor's manhood and what was expected of him in the bedroom. He aimed similar jokes at Idril, pointing out and complimenting the curves of her body. Most laughed and excused him because he was drunk. But there were other drunkards and even some of the most seasoned lost their heads a little. Maeglin had held his liquor well in the past. His own men were embarrassed and apologized for him. Maeglin did not even want to be there, but it would have been highly suspicious if he was the only citizen of Gondolin who was not at the wedding. His hatred and jealousy threatened to explode at any time. His japes became more venomous and tasteless. Engner was watching him carefully.
"A kiss!" someone shouted. "Let us see a kiss!"
"Kiss! Kiss!" soon the entire crowd took up the cry.
Idril blushed and covered her face. Tuor took her hand, his eyes twinkling eagerly.
"Shall we give them what they want?"
"What they want or what you want?" she grinned.
There was a roar of laughter and the couple complied and kissed passionately. There were cheers but the crowd was not satisfied. They wanted to see them dance now. Maeglin could stand no more. He wanted to vomit. He excused himself and apologized to Turgon who simply nodded in response. Everyone could see that he was way too drunk and was doing right by all accounts. No one really noted the Prince as his Moles escorted him away, not even Idril. For now, his shadow was not over her. She was with Tuor, and to him, the warning of Ulmo seemed faint and far off.

The next year the Golodrim erupted into celebration yet again when Idril gave birth to a son. The newlyweds had wasted no time, not only because of Tuor's mortality, but because both Tuor and Idril inherently sensed that Gondolin's time was short as well. The news elsewhere in the world was grim. Nargothrond had fallen and Doriath had been destroyed from within. Luthien and Beren's son Dior was trying to restore the Hidden Kingdom, but the famous lovers had disappeared from the face of Arda, and with them went a great deal of hope, especially for the Sindar. The Goldorim were disturbed by such tidings but remained confident that their beloved city would forever be immune to such disasters.
They named their son Earendel. He took after the Noldor and looked very much like his grandfather King Turgon. Even though both his parents had golden hair, his was dark. Idril's eyes were gray, Tuor's green, but their son had eyes of deep blue. He was fair of face and form and had Turgon's laugh. Even as a babe he had a hearty, boisterous laugh. He carried himself with the grace of his mother and she suspected he had inherited some of her foresight. But he was drawn to water as his father was and from his early years was fascinated with his father's tales of Mankind, Ulmo, and the Sea. The first thing he did when he learned to crawl was to crawl straight toward the fountains. Idril was terrified that he would drown until she realized he could swim like a minnow and laughed as he splashed about. After that, the whole family had their own private fountain and swam together.
Turgon loved all members of his family, but Earndel soon became the apple of his eye. He was proud to be a grandsire, pleased that the child looked so much like him, and was convinced he was a child of prophecy. The infant was uncommonly sweet and beautiful and seemed to love Turgon equally. The mere sound of his voice made him laugh. Having an infant around again, Turgon decided, was a blessing. But Earendel was growing fast. Turgon feared if he so much as blinked, the babe would be half-grown. He thought of how he had taken Idril's childhood for granted and felt ashamed.
"I swear the boy doubles in size every week!" Turgon exclaimed when Idril placed him in his lap. "I would very much like to see him more often."
"Very well, milord," Idril said with a smile. "That would be better for everyone. I can catch more sleep and Earendel adores you."
"I would very much like to see more of you as well, Idril," Turgon said with all seriousness. "You and Tuor could move your apartments closer to my own chambers within the palace. Then I could see my family daily, as I ought to."
"That is a sweet gesture," Idril knitted her eyebrows. "But then you would find it impossible to regain the time you had for your work, the city, yourself. If we lived so close, Earndel may wake you in the night with his crying or Tuor and I if we should have disputes. It would cause you undue stress."
"It would be an honor to be part of your life, Idril; the one you go to for advice, for comfort, for companionship. I feel I cheated you and you deserved better."
"How did you cheat me?"
"I could have been a better father. For too long, I was angry with myself for your mother's death. I was even angry at her. A small part of me warned that taking her from Valinor was a mistake....

Maeglin was angry and it was one of those days where his anger consumed him. He took a walk about the palace and considered going down into his forge until he spotted Idril from the balconies. He watched her from afar.
She was playing with her son in the fountains, wearing a simple white dress and was knee deep in water. She was pulling Earendel gently about the waters, dipping him, cooing and laughing as she allowed him to try to float and splash his little arms and feet. The babe howled with laughter and then howled again, but his pitch and tone had changed drastically. He was hungry. There was a team of attendants to aid her. She had accepted them only after her father insisted. She was grateful for their company now that she had come to realize that even the best parents needed help once in a while. In this instance, however, she knew exactly what do to. She had come to recognize the unique cries that a baby made when they needed food or sleep or had wetted. She sat near the edge of the pool and began nursing using a cloth to cover herself and the baby. He was soaking wet and shivering, yet he loved the water so much.
Tuor arrived and kissed his wife lovingly. Then he stepped into the pool with his son, wondering if the babe could somehow sense the presence of Ulmo as he had when he was a young child. If his son had been born with the Sea longing, he may be miserable if he remained in the city for long. Perhaps he would grow up to be the first Mariner King. Perhaps he would be called by Ulmo for some special task as Tuor had been. Instead of being called to wander the waters of the Sea or to slay a dragon, he had been tasked to find the Hidden City to be a simple messenger. And to wed an Elf-Princess. He would never have never guessed such would be his fate and suspected that not even the Valar had known either. They knew the Music, but not the Method or the Message of the One. However, as strange as it seemed, it had worked out for Tour and the Sea longing for the moment seemed cured as he splashed playfully at his wife and son.
Maeglin could not watch any more. He decided to venture out to the Echoriath alone so that he could calm his rage and plot some way to regain his formal glory. While he was out there he hoped to find a new claim of mithril or some other precious metal. The stone had always sang to him ever since he was a child. He attached no deity to it, but it was a comfort to him nonetheless at times to remain surrounded by the singing stones. The people might speak more positively of him if he brought more wealth into the city. They spoke only of Earendel and the recent announcement Turgon had made: That Idril was the official heir and her son after her. It ruined his chances of becoming King.
Turgon was convinced that Earendel was a Child of Prophecy thanks to Huor's words and that the boy would choose the Twilight of the Elves, not the Doom of Man. He was certain that if the Valar saw this mingling of Races it would strengthen both the Eldar and Mankind and the Valar would see and revoke the Doom of Mandos. He seemed to have forgotten Maeglin. He had become much closer to Idril.
She should be mine, Maeglin thought to himself. It should be my own babe at her breast. Her claim should be mine. Is it not just as conceivable that my son would be a child of destiny? A child born of pure blood rather than mixed? A child whose father would at least live long enough to see the fruit of his seed grow and ripen? Oh, Idril, what do you see in that mortal?
He found it just as maddening to watch Idril kiss and cuddle her baby as it was to witness passionate kisses between Tuor and Idril. If he had been allowed one moment alone with the brat, Maeglin would have strangled him in his crib. He laughed at the irony when Tuor named Maeglin the babe's godfather. He was so incredibly oblivious to Maeglin's true feelings and so eager to befriend his wife's kinsman he had announced it after Turgon pronounced the child an heir. A quick glance at Idril revealed that she was not pleased with the impulsive decision, though her expression was so subtle only his sharp glance caught it. Maeglin could not refuse the damnable honor, and so he held the child in his arms and made sure to shower him with the proper gifts.
Perhaps he could take advantage of Tuor's blind trust. His father Eol had taught him of poisons and the less obvious ways to use them. He had vowed to himself once that he would never stoop so low, but the idea proved more and more tempting every day. He had to be very careful that the poison could not be traced back to him. It was not so strange for mortals to grow ill and die with little to no explanation. It was not uncommon for Elf-children to fall ill and perish either. He wondered if he could poison a cloak and give it to Tuor or seek some plague infested blanket to give to Earendel. He could even find a way to drug Idril, not to harm her, but to destroy her child. The ill effects of the drug would pass into her breast milk and Earendel would suck whatever poison it contained, sparing Idril and condemning the child. With both husband and son dead, even the strongest of mind and body could crack. Idril would be vulnerable and might seek warmth and comfort from anywhere...
Suddenly an arrow screeched through the air. Maeglin caught it in his swordarm. He let out a cry of rage, too shocked to even feel pain. It was then that Orcs crawled out from between stones where they had been hiding. Maeglin scowled and drew his sword with his uninjured arm, wishing he had trained more often with it. It felt clumsy and awkward and his swordplay suffered greatly from the handicap. He counted the Orcs and observed their gear. There were three score and armed lightly for stealth, but what little they had would prove affective. They were much smarter and more skilled than the average Orc. They were dangerously close to Gondolin and had not been spotted and killed by the Eagles.
Maeglin knew he had little chance, but he was no coward. He fought bravely and managed to kill one of them and injured several others before he was overwhelmed. He cursed himself for wandering so far alone. For once, his paranoia and assassins would have served him well. The Orcs tied his hands and legs and argued furiously about what to do with him. They stripped him of whatever valuables he had. Then they inspected him and saw that he was muscular and strong. He might make a good thrall. Others demanded to avenge those he had slaughtered. These Orcs were scouts, not slavers. Dragging along a captive would slow them down or blow their cover. Unless the prisoner proved more valaube than they imagined, they may have no choice but to kill him.
Maeglin listened to their debating and knew if he allowed them, he would be slain sooner or later. He refused to lose control. He refused to be a victim. Perhaps he could manipulate them. He was determined to outsmart the Orcs.
"Know you not that I am Maeglin nephew to Turgon?" he said.
"What is that to us?" they growled in response.
Maeglin laughed, "Do you Orcs know nothing of your enemies? I am Prince of the Hidden City!"
"You are a liar trying to save your own skin!"
"Oh, am I?"
"The Hidden City is a place made up by you fairies to give hope to th weak and to stir rebillion in thralls."
"Is it?"
Maeglin began to describe the city, giving them no details that would betray its secrets but prove that he at least had extensive knowledge. He described the great fountains, some of which fired into the air over thirty feet. He described the walls of polished white stone and gave their dimensions and their thickness. He boasted of the uniforms the soldiers wore and of Turgon's rod and sword. He described the beauty of Idril Celebrindal and the other maidens of Gondolin. As the Orcs listened, they became envious and more and more angry. He made the city sound so glorious and fair. They thought of Angband, their Master's city that sounded pale in comparison. They did not want to believe him. Surely there was no greater city than their own. Their captive was exaggerating and spinning webs of lies. They drew a cruel looking axe.
"Spill my blood and it will cost you dearly!" Maeglin cried. "You fools!"
"So long as you are dead and this meeting unheard of, it will cost us nothing."
"Take me to Morgoth then," Maeglin blurted out. "Let him decide if I speak the truth!"
"Do you have a death wish, Elf?"
The Orcs were perplexed. None of their captives had ever requested to be brought before Morgoth, and the Orcs refused to mention their Master by any name but only by title.
"If I had a death wish, ape, I would have let you use that axe. You WILL take me to your Master and you will treat me according to my station. No doubt Morgoth will reward you. In the meantime, I will remember every insult, every cut and bruise. I will remember all! You would be wise to treat me well. If nothing else, you will gain a talented smith. The sword I carry and that you took was made by my father. The armor I was wearing is my own handiwork. Now let us speedily be on our way. Cut the ropes about my ankles and I shall keep a better pace than the lot of you."
"You make many demands, Elf. Too many. No doubt you would set a fast pace as you try to run off!" the Orc spat in his face. "Until you prove you are worthy to breathe our air, you'll get no special treatment!"
Maeglin was relieved that for the moment he was alive, but a new dread was in his heart now. What had he been thinking when he asked to see MORGOTH! He felt ashamed that he had even described the irrelevant details of Gondolin, the sorts of things his mother had told him as they sat before the fire long ago in the shadows of Nan Elmoth. He should have let the Orcs use their axe. He had only delayed his fate and endangered the last of the Hidden Kingdoms and all those he loved. Simply by capturing him the Enemy now knew that they were closer than ever before to finally discovering the city itself.
Was he a coward? No, he told himself. He had betrayed nothing yet. There may be an opportunity to escape upon the road. But such a chance never came. The Orcs kept him bound and guarded at all times. They did not return his clothing or equipment and never rested. It grew more overcast as they drew closer to Angband. His captors need not worry about the sun anymore. Maeglin watched the sky, hoping that the Eagles would come to his rescue. But Thorondor and his ilk must have flown south for the season. Maeglin's last hope was crushed and his anger replaced it. He had always felt that the Golodrim relied too heavily upon the feathered race.
By the time they reached Angband, Maeglin's feet were cut up and bruised as were his wrists and ankles from the ropes. He was shivering and ill from the long exposure to the elements with no food or water. He was thoroughly humiliated and terrified. He was dragged through the Thrall Vaults before he was brought before the Iron Throne in case he was not frightened enough. Most of the Elves were worked so hard that they had aged like mortals and were mercilessly beaten if they so much as paused. The maidens were kept elsewhere and were used not as thralls of labor but instead as breeding mares to keep the Orc population replenished. Maeglin was one of the first to learn that terrible secret.
Morgoth was a horror to behold. He was gigantic in stature and covered head to toe in cruel iron armor. It was hard to believe that he had once been fair. When he chose to become part of the Marred World, he was forced to take a physical form and chose to be terrifying. He still wore the Iron Crown but had placed a diamond in the empty socket where the third Silmaril had once been before it was stolen by Beren and Luthien. He covered his face as well save for his deadly eyes. Only two people upon the earth had proven they could withstand his piercing gaze: Luthien and Hurin.
"I have been told that this sniveling worm wishes to sell out the secrets of the last remaining Hidden Kingdom for his life!" Morgoth sneered. "Is it so?"
Maeglin knew what his fate would be if he refused to break his silence. He would be tortured by the Balrogs to the point of death then slain or put with the other miserable thralls. He could not let that happen.
"Oh, Melkor Master of Arda, you have only to command me, and I shall do as you command. I am no enemy of yours, but your servant."
"Thou art the son of Aredhel and nephew of King Turgon and a traitor and rebel by birth!"
"There are some among the Eldar that worship you in secret and live amongst the others in fear. I am not Noldoli, but Telerian through my father Eol the Dark Elf. When my mother brought me to the Hidden City, it was to convert me from his ways. After Turgon had him executed when he rightfully pursued us, I had no choice but to remain and to live as one of them or suffer the same fate. I am my father's son still."
His words were twisted and vile. He knew it was so even as he said them, but something possessed and bewitched him. His will to survive had taken control. His loyalty to Turgon and Gondolin was forgotten. He was able to claim kinship to the father he had always hated and to praise and flatter Morgoth with minimal effort. A small voice inside him screamed against it. He should rather curse the Dark Lord and keep his lips sealed forever. He should endure his torment and die with honor. But the voice was weak and faltering by the moment.
Morgoth was suspicious. The last time he allowed himself to be seduced by flattery and charm, he had lost a Silmaril and the fairest of all maidens had slipped from his grasp. He was impressed that Maeglin used his ancient name Melkor and that the Elf seemed more than willing to cooperate. So eager was he to destroy the last true stronghold of the Elves that he was feeling generous enough to spare Maeglin from torture and more, especially after Maeglin's pronouncement:
"I know the secrets of Gondolin. I will tell you all, for it profits the both of us should Turgon fall and the Noldor set straight for good. I ask for so little, and you gain so much. If my bonds were cut, I could start drawing maps."
Morgoth was so overjoyed that he had Maeglin's bonds removed. He was robed in riches and given food, wine, and treatment for his wounds. Maeglin drew detailed maps, described the numbers of the armies. He told of the weapons, the names of generals and other leaders and everything else the Dark Lord wanted to know.
"You have done well, Elf," Morgoth said. "For this, you shall be spared."
Maeglin was relieved, but he realized at once that was not enough. Now that he had truly betrayed Gondolin, nothing else mattered. He might as well request whatever he desired.
"I could remain here and labor as a miserable thrall. I could craft you poisons and weapons and armor, or I could return to Gondolin and act as your spy and infiltrator. I am close to the King," he explained. "To be frank, Turgon is a fool. He would never suspect me. I can prepare the city for you, spread fear and doubt, even shed blood if need be. I would ask only for what I deem reasonable as a reward."
"What reward wouldst thou require?" Morgoth decided to humor him.
"Lordship of Gondolin upon Turgon's death or capture. The city shall be ruled in you name, but not obliterated off the face of the map. I plan to build it anew and make it greater than it was before."
"What else?"
Maeglin took a long draught of wine before he answered, "You may slay or enslave any maiden of Gondolin save one. That would be Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon. No harm shall befall her. Should she be captured, she is to be delivered to me promptly."
A quick look into Maeglin's eyes revealed to Morgoth his thoughts and the Dark Lord slowly smiled and his eyes danced, "Thine own cousin? How very... interesting. Anything else?"
Maeglin took another drink, "Aye. There is the matter of her son and husband. I want them destroyed."
Morgoth laughed maniacally and said, "It shall be so! Thou shalt prepare the way for my armies and in return thou shalt rule it as a fiefdom of Angband. Tuor and Earendel shall be burned and Princess Idril will be delivered to thy arms."
Maeglin quivered at the thought. Hatred for Tuor and desire for Idril had led him all the easier to his treachery. The small voice that had held him back was gone now.
"Return to the Hidden City now, Elf," Morgoth said. "Act as though nothing has happened and continue to report every year to one of my scouts. You shall serve me still by convincing Turgon that all is well and the threat is gone. Gather others of like mind. Put weaknesses in the walls and in the people wherever thou canst and prepare the way for the Fall of Gondolin. I hope that thou can keep up pretenses."
"Believe me, I have worn a mask and hid my true self all of my life."
"Know this," Morgoth's tone became menacing. "Should thou fail to report or if the city is somehow forewarned, I shall know of it. Then thou shall be sought out and given to my Balrogs to be tortured daily for the rest of eternity! There is nothing worse than a turncloak that double crosses his Master."
"You have no need for such threats, my lord," Maeglin answered. "You have given me more than I was ever promised from any one else. I am yours."
Morgoth pierced him with his eyes and read his heart to remove all doubt of his loyalty. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that what Maeglin claimed was true. He had given his heart and soul to Morgoth. He willingly served Morgoth now and forever.
"I was told that thou was mining for ores alone in the mountains when captured. So that your long absence may be explained, I give thee these riches."
A sack of mithril, gold, and other precious ores was cast at Maeglin's feet. It was full to near bursting.
"My Master is indeed generous," Maeglin grinned.
"Indeed. Is there anything else before I send thee on thy way?"
"Oh yes!" Maeglin remembered suddenly. "I would like the same Orcs brought to me that dragged me here."
The Orcs entered, no doubt expecting some sort of reward. Maeglin drew his sword and glowered at them.
"Do you remember that I told you I was a valuable prisoner and you all laughed and did not believe me? Well, I serve the Master now. You will recall as well that I would count every grievance of mine against you? Well, I remember every bruise and fall. When I asked for water, you merely spat in my face. When I asked for food, I was kicked repeatedly in the stomach to make the pains of hunger worse. I asked for rest, I was licked with the whip."
As he spoke the Orcs began to whimper and tremble. They cried out to Morgoth for mercy. The Dark Lord merely watched with mild interest. Maeglin struck them down, butchering them until their black blood pooled upon the stone and nothing moved.
"Shall I give thee Men to escort thee back to Gondolin?" Morgoth offered.
"No," Maeglin replied. "I much prefer the company of Orcs."