[Durelin]

Maegisil had been the looking for a way to escape since he entered the Lord's tent, but now he found himself a little more pleased with being there. Elrond had not seem to shown any change in emotion when Maegisil told him the truth of the death of Celebrimbor, but the former counselor noticed that his hands were clenched much more tightly on his chair. Maegisil smirked. It felt good, for some reason, to see some sign of fear, shock, pain...any uncomfortable feeling, in the appearance of the elf-lord. But there was such a small hint of it. Cool, blank expressions, empty tones, haughty disposition...Maegisil wondered what would happen to all of that if Elrond was in the place of Celebrimbor a month ago. For a moment he could see the lord looking as haggard as the deceased, and doing the same: nothing.

“Lord Celebrimbor was faced with many decisions. Because of those, I was faced with my own, and I chose accordingly. Tell me, Lord Elrond, what would you have done?”

His tone was mocking, and his words biting. He once again turned the elf's title into a joke, but again the lord did not laugh. Rather, Elrond's hands tightened a bit more, his knuckles pale. His teeth seemed to be gritted now, most likely in an attempt to keep himself from bursting out in anger at the elf across from him. It seemed that if he let himself go just slightly, he would rise from his seat with sword drawn, prepared to strike Maegisil down, who was only smiling more. Maegisil found it amusing the way these lords felt there was some kind of brotherhood among them, when all there may have been was some of the same blood. The old houses were gone now. The Elven kingdoms had already begun their slow downfall; Eregion was at an end, and Maegisil wondered who would be next. Even when all prospered, the King had no dominion over anything beyond Lindon. Gil-galad was simply a name in Eregion. Celebrimbor may have known him, but Maegisil doubted there was ever a strong bond between the two, particularly after centuries miles apart. No, Celebrimbor had been a craftsman, an artist, a lover of beautiful things. But he was also a lord. And to Maegisil, that meant he was a fool. Whether it was simply due to the person, or the position, he was not sure.

“First you must tell me, Counselor Maegisil,” began Elrond, his tone almost as cool as ever, with only a bit of edge to it, “how exactly you were given this ‘choice.’”

Maegisil practically bared his teeth at the lord at hearing the title before his name. He slouched more in his chair. “I was given a choice, by a creature of the Servant of Morgoth, the commander of the armies that slaughtered my people. I could save my life and that of my wife, or the life of my lord.”

“Why was it that you did not try to save your lord?”

“You make it sound so simple, Lord Elrond.”

“It is a simple question of whether or not you care for your lord and your land.” The Herald of Gil-galad was now clearly growing more and more furious with every moment that he had to see Maegisil's defiant stare, and hear his scornful words. It was so simple to him. It was a simple matter of life or death, for he was a lord. He could have been in Celebrimbor's place; he knew it.

“Lord and land, or love and family. Those who abandoned you, or those you had abandoned. Those are the things that I had to choose between.” He rose up in his chair, and though the lord did not shrink back physically, he saw many things in those grey eyes that he did not like. “Is it really such a simple choice, Elrond? What would you have done?”

The lord seemed about to speak, still in his rage. But then it seemed Maegisil's words reached him, and he sat back more in his seat, in silence, leaving the question unanswered, as it should have been. Maegisil rose to leave, and found himself unhindered. He hesitated for a moment, and it seemed Elrond had found one more thing to say, just in time.

“You really are so much like Celebrimbor used to be, if you have not yet realized it. Were our places exchanged, I would follow you as my lord without misgiving,” he paused, but the mírdan did not turn to him. “Perhaps what I see now is where the elf I knew escaped to.”

Maegisil hurried out of the Herald’s tent, daring not to look the lord in the eyes again, lest he see his own shining with tears.