#unapologetic maeglin apologist

[fistfuloflightning]

”You said the Vala in black is a mourner?” Maeglin looked up from reading through a handful of Salgant’s harp scores. A conversation from when the Lord of the Harp had first befriended a grieving , freshly orphaned young elf. When Maeglin had first learned more of the Valar than the brief words Aredhel could spare in Eol’s absence.

“Nienna is the Weeper, yes. She comforts those who have died. It is why she was invoked at the funeral.” There were lots of things Maeglin did not know about Noldorin customs, much of which Aredhel had simply neglected to teach him. But Salgant did not ridicule him for his ignorance, instead treating his never ending questions with patience. Even now he stopped his hands to give Maeglin’s question his full attention. “Though she is not the one to call the fëa once it has left the hroa. It is the Doomsman of the Valar who does that. Though there are those who simply refuse the call.” Salgant dropped his attention to the lathe before him, the mask he was shaping. The scent of cut cedar warmed the air. “Those who might not heed the call to Mandos, those who wish to remain Houseless—to say nothing of those who wish not to leave this land for one they’ve never seen.”

A surge of fear had Maeglin’s fingers almost tearing apart the parchment in his hands. He watched the older elf with wide eyes. Might not heed… “Will…will I be able to see Emel after she is reborn?”

But Salgant merely nodded as if there were no question as to Aredhel’s decisions. “I am sure of it. Should you die here—and I pray upon the grace of the Valar that you do not—you would also be called to the Halls of Mandos, where all the dead receive comfort and healing.”

Something tightened in Maeglin’s chest and he once more felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. He whipped his head away, ostensibly to examine the nearby masks Salgant had nearly finished for an upcoming festival, all tassels and gold and richly layered paints. “Is it…peaceful? In the Halls?”

Salgant gently set down the wooden mask he’d been shaping. He looked out the window at the plaza below, but Maeglin felt as if he was looking with those kind eyes at him. “I would imagine it is so. A place where you can lay your burden down. Where all pain and hurt is soothed away. At least, I would hope so.”

Maeglin remembered belatedly that Salgant’s brother died upon the Ice. Perhaps Salgant missed him just as much as Maeglin missed his mother. He dropped his watering gaze to the music scores in his lap.

A hand rested on the top of his head, patting softly. For a heartbreaking moment he could pretend it was Aredhel’s hand stroking his hair, as was her wont. But she was gone. And he wouldn’t see her unless the Ban was lifted and they could sail across to a world he’d never even dreamed of. She was so far away and Maeglin felt every inch of that distance.

So when Salgant pulled him into a hug, he went gratefully.

Snippet from an unpublished fic where Salgant adopts Maeglin

[twilightchild]

🕯️

Lómion looks at Maeglin mildly confused…

Is that me? Or am I he? Do I have a twin brother naneth never told me about? This is strange. Should I talk to him? Do others call him their little mole? I should talk to him…

@lanthanum12

[fistfuloflightning]

Hello, Grandfather. Hope you don’t mind company today.

[fistfuloflightning]

Can i request maedhros and maeglin pls pls i miss your art of them 🥹

The waiting was the worst part. The Feanorians were cleaning up stragglers from Doriath, too busy to keep a lookout for Maedhros. Only Maeglin remained planted at the edge of the camp, as he had been for several days now, with only Maglor as sporadic company.

The snow had whipped up, shrouding the skeletal trees of the forest and reducing the men to red-cloaked wraiths. Maeglin continued pacing, and as he turned once more, his eye was caught by movement at the camp’s edge.

Maedhros, emerging from the snow like a ghost. Armor discarded and his cloak wrapped tightly around him. A cry was torn out of Maeglin and he took off running, boots light on the snow. Up close, Maedhros looked haggard and worn, his scars more defined. But there was a spark of life in his grey eyes that Maeglin had never seen.

Maedhros’ cloak squirmed.

Maeglin gaped at the small bundles held tightly to Maedhros’ chest. A glimpse of two silver-gilt heads and disproportionally large ears. Elflings. “You found them?” he breathed, gripping Maedhros’ arm.

And that spark of warmth in his eyes fell on Maeglin. Joy. Victory. Peace.

“I did.”

[fistfuloflightning]

He [Maeglin] desired to look upon the Noldor and speak with the sons of Feanor, his kin, that dwelled not far away.

[fistfuloflightning]

Fire Water Air AU where fem!Maeglin is adopted by her cousin when Turgon drops the ball. Maeglin was taught only runes in Nan Elmoth so Idril took it upon herself to teach her tengwar and Noldorin customs and literally everything else Aredhel had been unable to.

thanks to @curufinswife for making me remember I need to keep working on this fic 😉

[fistfuloflightning]

Some banquet in Gondolin. Maeglin is not impressed.

[fistfuloflightning]

There is nothing stopping Eol from haunting Maeglin as a Houseless fea after his death. I don’t see him as someone who would heed the call of Mandos, someone filled with so much spite and malice—easy enough to latch himself onto the son he tried to kill/curse if only to ensure Maeglin died like he did.

[fistfuloflightning]

“I do all your dirty work. I believe I deserve some… compensation.”

[fistfuloflightning]

After Turgon drops the ball (and Eol) Salgant is the one to take Maeglin under his wing and pretty much adopts him. Years later, when the Seventh Gate is built, Maeglin constructs it so it sounds like harps when struck. It’s a gift to his foster father, not that he’d openly admit it (and actions speak louder than words anyway).

But Pengolodh is a petty bitch and casts Salgant as a coward and one who ‘fawns upon’ Maeglin, rather than a father who cared for and was loyal to his adopted son (even though it led to his own death)

[fistfuloflightning]

Maeglin seeing Fingolfin’s body after Thorondor brought it to Gondolin is the closest he ever got to meeting his grandfather.

[fistfuloflightning]

Maeglin gets left behind when Turgon ditches the Nirnaeth. He’s subsequently adopted by Fingon’s grieving people as his “son”. Guess looking just like your mom (and all your other Finwean relatives) can be a good thing. Being forced into kingship because there’s no one else alive: less of a good thing.

[fistfuloflightning]

Maeglin wears black because it’s as far from white as possible, and he wants Turgon to see him as himself rather than a replacement for Aredhel.

[fistfuloflightning]

Shirtless Maeglin for Reasons

[fistfuloflightning]

a kinslayer and a traitor, in good company