I own nothing.

"There's blood."

That much was apparent to Maeglin the moment his father emerged from the trees. He sensed his father's tired mind before he saw him, heard the crunch of footfalls on the snow. The moment Eöl had shuttered the doors of his mind was the moment Maeglin knew that he was aware of his presence, and that Eöl showed no surprise to see his small son standing outside the hall in the snow only confirmed what he had thought.

Maeglin smelled blood; the frigid air was not enough to mask the coppery scent. A few red drops stained the snow. When those two words passed Maeglin's lips, Eöl hid his left hand under his cloak. Without looking at him, he muttered, "It's no concern."

Maeglin frowned up at him. "I can go get Mama." Aredhel always told him that cuts needed to be cleaned; she probably knew what to do about them, if she knew that much.

"There is no need for that!" Eöl snapped. Maeglin stared at him, wide-eyed, and perhaps Eöl realized how he sounded and how he looked, for he drew a deep breath and shook his head. "Do not trouble your mother with it, Maeglin," he said quietly. "You know she has no love for the cold. She's probably sleeping."

He had a point. Maeglin had never known his mother to have any liking for winter. Since she had broken her ankle a few years ago, she limped in cold weather. Her pale face would twist hideously when she tried to put her weight on that leg during the winter; even though the broken bone had long since healed, even though she had no trouble during the summer, Maeglin could see that it plagued her. She spent much of winter inside, trying to keep warm.

It did not strike Maeglin as odd that Eöl did not want Aredhel to know what had happened, whatever it was that had happened. But he was curious; his father had been gone for a very long time, long, untold hours, melting into the darkness and giving no indication of when he would be coming back. "What were you doing?" Maeglin asked curiously, staring up at him.

"Checking our defenses."

Well, that only raised more questions. "How do you do that?"

For a long moment, Eöl stared at him appraisingly. His left hand—the hand that had been dripping blood on the snow—was curled around his sword hilt. Not Anguirel, never Anguirel; that sword always stayed inside. Maeglin didn't understand why; he thought that one was nice. It sang sweetly, certainly. For the first time, Maeglin felt a stab of pain not his own, the pain his father felt putting pressure on the cut on his hand. Eöl stared piercingly at him, and it was all Maeglin could do not to squirm.

"Do you know how the Queen of Doriath protects the borders of Region, Neldoreth and Nivrim within that land?" Eöl finally asked, an indecipherable expression on his face.

Maeglin shook his head. "No, Father."

"The Queen conjured a barrier that bars intruders from entering those forests in Doriath. I have created something similar to that. She did so through song, as many do, but—" Eöl removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and cast a brief glance at his visibly bloody palm "—there are other ways this can be accomplished."

Maeglin knew none of this. His father told him little of the world beyond Nan Elmoth, and what his mother told him were wistful tales of far-off places that neither of them could reach, not of their overlords in Doriath. He didn't think that Aredhel had ever been to Doriath. Another question rose to the surface of his mind. "How does it work?"

Eöl smiled thinly. His dark eyes gleamed in the dusk as he said, "The barrier functions as a maze of sorts. Anyone who wanders inside without permission will become disoriented and hopelessly lost, unable to find their way out. It's useful for trapping the Enemy's ilk."

That made sense, Maeglin supposed. He knew that one wasn't supposed to go into certain rooms and chambers within the hall if they didn't have permission. It seemed only fair that that rule should be applied to entire lands as well. But as he thought about what his father told him, there was something in Eöl's explanation that bothered him. "Father… What about Edhil?" he posed hesitantly. "What if Edhil get caught inside the barrier?"

"If you've set up a trap while hunting, and you've caught an animal, do you let it go?" Eöl responded matter-of-factly.

Maeglin didn't know what to say to that.

After his father disappeared back inside the hall, Maeglin lingered outside. He stared into the gloomy forest beyond. Even with the ground lightened by snow, even with snow falling from the branches, the branches crashing to the ground, it was still the same shadowy place he had known. His mother spoke of an open sky filled with light; he had seen it in her mind. And she wandered these forests constantly, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of that fantastical sky herself. But Maeglin saw the unending dusk of Nan Elmoth and saw nothing unusual.

He tried to imagine getting lost in the forest, and never being able to find his way back home. Aredhel got lost sometimes. Eöl was usually able to find her; if not, she eventually wandered back home herself. But Maeglin had never gotten lost in the forest himself. He could always find his way home with ease.

He tried to imagine it. Growing unsure of his surroundings, getting turned around, not knowing which way to go, and wandering until he became nothing but a shadow himself, insubstantial with no form and no way of ever finding his way home.

Would he become like that, if his father's enchantments ever snared him?

Maeglin shuddered, and hoped not. He cast one last glance out into the forest before going inside, and told himself that he would never be snared in such a way.

Edhil—Elves (singular: Edhel)