[Durelin]

It had been two weeks since Maegisil had arrived in the camp of Elves and Dwarves, and he had found it to be a strange mix. There were warriors from Lorien and Lindon, as well as a few from Eregion; the refugees were a combination of both elf-men and elf-women, with a number of young children; and then there were the Dwarves. It was strange to see them all traveling together. Though both the Elves of Eregion and those of Lorien had lived fairly closely with the Dwarves, trade, travel, and a common enemy often bringing them together. But there were few instances when all three of these people were found in one place, much less when those from Lindon spoke directly to a company from Khazad-dûm.

And so the next fourteen days included many a new experience for all, though Maegisil did not find that he could delight in it. Sairien spoke to him of how it cheered her to see such harmony among the groups, talking of how it was ‘good from the bad,’ and something that could give them hope. But the former Counselor had trouble really hearing her words. He spent most of his time with his wife, abhorring the presence of anyone else, as it most often meant informing them of Celebrimbor’s death, or any number of things concerning Ost-in-edhil and its fall. Why they consulted him on such matters, he was not sure.

It was after these long two weeks of moving that what Maegisil considered to be the defeated army passed beyond the Hollin Ridge. Toward where, he did not know. He had heard from few about an actual destination, and it was his only question for several days that he chose to ask whenever anyone attempted to question him. There seemed to be so much confusion, and Maegisil was not used to being out of the loop. As much as he despised the idea of lords and counsels anymore, it was strange to not be among those in Elrond’s tent every evening, discussing further plans.

But then an evening came when the Herald again summoned him, as he had been upon his arrival. Their first talk had been brief. Maegisil had barely spoken, and Elrond had realized quickly that the elf needed time before he would be able to speak at length about Eregion’s downfall. The few words he had said were out of anger, and though the elf-lord had passed them off as the bitter tongue of a tired and grief-ridden man, Maegisil knew he would never regret them. His feet were heavy as he arrived at Elrond’s tent, and when the guards let him in, he was in no mood to waste his energy on even simply the pretense of a bow. He sat almost before the lord motioned for him to.

“I understand that it must be hard for you, my friend,” Elrond began after a deep breath; he looked weary, and his dark flowing hair looked wind-blown, “to bear to see the doom of your own city. And you have been bitter; you have despised and rejected all those who have tried to console you.”

Maegisil looked him straight in the eyes with a blank stare. And I am about to again, he thought, prepared to leave if the elf-lord did not move on to something more important.

“I am not here to console you, though, Maegisil,” Elrond continued. “I finished my part in that on the first day of your discovery by my scouts. Now, I am here to demand answers from you, mírdan, as the Herald of the High King Gil-galad.”

Maegisil practically scowled at the elf-lord. “Yes, great Herald, you are from far away Lindon; you are supposed to be my kin; you abandoned my people to their death. I owe no respect to you, Elrond. I owe you no answers.”

The other elf leaned back in his chair and eyed the former Counselor. His face was of stone, no longer as cool as before, hardened and sharpened by anger. “You will tell me why you sit here now, speaking with me, and the Lord Celebrimbor does not.”

Maegisil gripped the arm of his chair hard, his knuckles turning white. He waited in silence for several moments as if he were waiting for a moment when Elrond wasn’t looking, and he could escape. He felt a twinge of fear for the first time in what felt like forever. Would he ever be able to tell the truth? He suddenly grew angry with himself for cowardice, and felt defiance rise in him. The elf-lord before him could do nothing to him, but yes, he would know the truth.

“Given the choice between the lives of my wife and myself, and the life of Celebrimbor, I chose. And I feel no regret for my decision.”