Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's amazingly created world nor do I make money off of it...


Ch 5: Grey Area

The dungeons of Menegroth were more comfortable than the dungeons of Angband, but a dungeon was still a dungeon. Makalaurë paced back and forth and back again in agitation as dark memories threatened to consume him. His shoulder throbbed still, his heartbeat pulsing in the abused muscles. He clenched his hand, fingernails digging deep into his palm. He relished the pain as it kept him somewhat grounded in the dark, damp room. Soon that wasn't enough. He could feel the panic gradually constricting around his throat, slowly suffocating him as it claimed his mind. He tried pacing faster, but that made the room shrink even smaller. He breathing grew shallower and shallower.

"Sit, young one, before you make yourself dizzy," a soft voice commanded. Makalaurë jumped in surprise, pent up emotions making him tremble slightly. There, standing in the corridor just beyond the bars of his cell, was Melian. Makalaurë had been so preoccupied that he hadn't heard her approach. Not wanting to anger the Queen of Doriath, Makalaurë tensely settled down on the low cot he had been provided. The panic didn't leave, but it did abate a bit. Melian watched him shrewdly.

"It was brave of you to come," Melian finally said, "Brave or foolish; though which it is has yet to be fully revealed."

Silence fell again, broken only by the steady drip of unseen water.

"How long were you held before you were rescued?" Though Melian's voice remained soft, Makalaurë still flinched at the question. He met her unblinking gaze, unsure of how she was expecting an answer. The guards had taken his notebook, not that would have helped much in this situation. He felt something brush his mind.

He instinctively drew away from the intrusion, bracing himself for the pain that would come as the result of one of the Ainu forcing themselves into his mind. Morgoth had done it more times than he could count, leaving no part of Makalaurë's mind untouched. He would gather information and memories. If he deemed what he found important enough or, as more often the case, if he was feeling spiteful, he would mercilessly rip them from Makalaurë's mind leaving gaping holes in his memories.

Even still there were things that he had no recollection of. Fëanor's death, Finwë's face, what Valinor looked like before the trees were destroyed, the circumstances leading up to Alqualondë and Losgar, and almost everything with his mother, for example, were all memories that were gone. If he tried to recollect those thing, he drew a blank every time. Not wanting more pity, he had hid this from his brothers and thus far they didn't suspect anything.

That was one reason he avoided ósanwë as much as possible, only using it if there was no other choice and only if he initiated contact. The gentle presence that pressed against his mind stilled and withdrew slightly at his fear. Melian's face remained impassive at his resistance. After realize he had no other choice, Makalaurë reluctantly opened his mind, praying that the Maia meant him no harm. He still kept on his guard, retreating into himself as far as possible incase she turned vicious.

'Almost thirty-two years.' He answered in response to her earlier question. A slight frown creased Melian's face at his answer.

"Does it still hurt you?" she asked, nodding towards his maimed arm. Makalaurë hesitated, not wanting to admit weakness.

'Yes.' He shifted so that his right arm was tucked closely to his body and out of view. The uncomfortable position aggravated his aching shoulder.

"You are very brave and strong to have survived what you did," Melian said thoughtfully.

Blushing with shame, Makalaurë dropped his gaze to his hand. It was fisted in the thin, itchy material of the cell blanket, knuckles white from the intensity of the grip. He forced his hand to relax, letting it fall limply in his lap.

'I didn't feel brave or strong then and I don't now.'

"And yet you came all this way. Didn't you fear retribution? And what about your brothers, do you think they will be forgiving?"

'I...I...I didn't think of that.' Makalaurë admitted, shifting again. Melian's questions were making him uncomfortable and he was realizing just how poorly though through his plan was.

"Why did you come?" She probed.

'I came with the hopes of talking with your husband. His band on my mother-tongue is driving some of my brothers to war. I fear there will be another kinslaying and I wish to avoid that.'

"What would you have us do?" Melian seemed genuinely curious.

'I've seen enough blood and death for a life time. Please work to find a compromise. My brothers are proud, but they can be reasoned with.'

Melian started to withdraw from Makalaurë's mind before asking one last question.

"There is one other thing I must know, do you regret Alqualondë?"

'Without a shadow of a doubt. I will admit, I don't fully recollect the events surrounding what happened nor why we did what we did. Morgoth took… anyway, what I do remember horrifies me beyond belief. I know it still haunts my brothers too.'

Melian considered his words for a moment.

"I will see what I can do," she said before leaving with a rustle of her dress.


Quenyan names:

Makalaurë/Laurë/Kano/Kanafinwë = Maglor