Chapter 28
The sun shone generously across the somewhat desolate fields of Shagerian, but it couldn't dispel the chill that lingered in Meereen's heart. Confined in the guest room, time seemed to freeze. Initially, there was restlessness, followed by a forced effort of composure. In this suffocating silence, fragments that had been previously ignored began to piece together clearly in his mind.
That sudden, almost eerie feeling of "familiar connection" with Maglor in the allied camp. At the time, it was simply the joy of a long-awaited reunion and a resonance of souls. Now, thinking back, that burning feeling of closeness was too overwhelming, too perfect, too perfect to be real. Glorfindel's eyes, filled with wisdom and worry, appeared before him, and the warning, drowned out by the emotion at the time, now rang out like a warning bell: "Meereen, beware of Maglor... His song sometimes has a power that even he cannot fully control."
Distance and time, like a veil, slowly peeled back. Away from Maglor's powerful, invisible influence, reason finally, with difficulty, overcame the magical fog that had once shrouded his mind. Meereen's heart sank. A cold thought rose uncontrollably: He had likely been unknowingly deceived by Maglor through some song or power of will! That friendship and trust was most likely a carefully woven illusion, designed to lure him willingly toward Himring, a fortress entrenched by the oath-cursed Fëanorion.
Then, the profound words Celegorm and Curufin had spoken while they had imprisoned him came together: "When Maglor comes..." Meereen clenched his fists. The truth was about to be revealed: when Maglor's magical entrapment plan failed, and Glorfindel and Finrod's interference prevented him from going to Himring on his own initiative, he had instead ordered his two brothers to use force to "invite" him. For the first time, Meereen felt a deep sense of pain and absurd irony at his own ability to soothe souls.
He had always cherished this gift of fate, willing to use it to heal the wounded souls of those who suffered, no matter who they were. But now, in Fëanorion's eyes, this power had become a tool to fight against the terrible curse of their oath, a panacea they desperately sought. And what left him speechless was that this power seemed to be subtly influencing this war-torn land, as evidenced by the words he had heard from Caranthir and the stubborn new shoots that had emerged.
Helping others is a good deed, but being forced to help someone you hate and who has imprisoned you? That feels terrible. The thought that his power might continue to benefit this land controlled by Fëanorion, and even attract more covetous lands, gave Meereen a headache.
Unfortunately, anger and disgust couldn't resolve the current predicament. Celegorm and Curufin were in the next room, and outside the door stood a heavily armored guard as silent as an iron tower. The vast, flat terrain of Shagelion lay before him. To the elven guards, with their exceptional vision, and their Fëanian master, a mere step outside the room would make him the most conspicuous target on the plain. The cover of a forest? The shelter of a mountain? None of that here. To flee would be to walk into a trap.
"Lie dormant..." Milin took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "We must let their guard down. We must find a chance to leave this room." As long as there was a gap, he believed he could find a chance to escape. Otherwise, when Maglor arrived in person, who knew where that captivating song would lead him? Although he was confident in his resistance to dark magic, it was clear that Maglor's magic was not dark magic, making it difficult for him to defend himself.
So Meereen began his "performance." He became unusually obedient, no longer attempting to argue with the guards, and silently accepted the food and water offered. When Caranthir arrived for his routine inspection, Meereen simply sat quietly in a corner, his eyelids drooping, like a lifeless statue. Caranthir's calculating gray eyes rested on him for a moment, then he quickly left without a word.
After a few days of being honest, Meereen began to make requests to the guards, his voice filled with deliberately suppressed fatigue and longing: "I need sunlight... I need to see the sky and hear the sound of flowing water. Being trapped in the stone walls for a long time will wither my spirit, which may not be good for the 'ability' you want to use." He cleverly hinted at the connection between his ability and his mental state.
Celegorm, as expected, looked irritated. He scoffed, "Even immortal, are you as delicate as other men?" But Curufin was lost in thought. Caranthir's observations on the resurrection of the land had clearly planted a seed in his mind. Curufin examined Meereen's pale face and finally nodded to the guards. "Take him to the stream. Keep an eye on him. Don't let him out of sight."
The bonds finally loosened. When Meereen felt the warmth of the sun on his face again and heard the gurgling of the nearby river, he nearly burst into tears, half overcome by the joy of regaining a measure of freedom and half by the long-suppressed resentment. He walked to the stream's edge, seemingly closing his eyes to enjoy the sunlight, but in reality, he whispered a prayer for the help of the Valar, especially Ulmo, the ruler of the waters, to listen to his plight and show him a way forward. The clear stream carried his whispers far away, as if carrying a faint glimmer of hope.
This release lasted for several days. Meereen became increasingly cooperative, even meditating by the stream, deliberately channeling his calm emotions, causing the earth beneath him to respond with a more pronounced vitality—a few tenacious grasses formed tiny buds where he often sat. This change did not escape Caranthir's attention.
During a dinner party where the atmosphere was not particularly harmonious, Caranthir mentioned to Curufin, "Have you noticed? The scorched earth burned by the Orcs by the stream that Meereen has been frequenting lately has revived exceptionally quickly, even blossoming. I've observed this for a few days, and it seems that when he's in a calm mood, the purifying or revitalizing effect is more pronounced." He paused, speculating with the shrewdness of a businessman, "Perhaps his ability affects not only the soul, but also the land, and is influenced by his own emotions."
Curufin set down his glass, his sharp eyes gleaming with a scholar's curiosity. He recalled the anxiety of Meereen's initial captivity and the slow recovery of the land. Contrasting this with the tranquility of Meereen and the rapid growth of plants in recent days, Caranthir's speculation seemed incredibly reasonable. An experimental idea formed in his mind. "That makes sense," Curufin said slowly. "It seems that keeping him in a relatively stable, even comfortable, state would be more beneficial to us." He was referring not only to the recovery of the land, but also to preparing Meereen for the impending arrival of Maglor's "guidance."
Based on this judgment, Curufin quietly relaxed his watch over Meereen. Although heavily armored guards still shadowed him and Celegorm cast a wary eye from time to time, Meereen was allowed to relax in a wider area around the camp, under the euphemistic pretext of "purifying the land of Orc defilement." Curufin even "generously" allowed him to leave the core area of the camp during specific times, but of course, he had to be under close supervision and was not allowed to approach any horses or any means of escape.
This was the opportunity Meereen had been waiting for. He suppressed his pounding heart, outwardly fulfilling his duties as "Purifier" with reverence. He would sit quietly for long periods on the scorched earth, his fingers gently touching the newly sprouted shoots, chanting soft, powerless songs. His steps began to move aimlessly around the outskirts of the camp, but his gaze, like the most sophisticated instrument, greedily scanned every inch of the terrain: where the guards might have blind spots. Although the elves' vision covered most areas, their attention always had blind spots. He observed where the soil was soft and easy to dig, where the streams were narrow or deep, easy to ford or hide, and where there were brief gaps between sentry shifts...
He had considered seeking help from the nearby human leader, Ulfang. During one of his "walks," Meereen deliberately wandered to the edge of the human camp. Upon hearing the news, Ulfang arrived. The tall, rugged-looking leader offered Meereen a superficial respect. However, as Ulfang approached and attempted to speak, an indescribable, faint scent of sulfur, decay, and a dark will emanated from him, like the tongue of a venomous snake. Though largely masked by the scent of human body odor and leather, to Meereen's keen senses and special gifts, it was as piercing as a drop of ink in clear water.
Milin suppressed his disgust and a hint of fear, maintaining a superficial courtesy. He responded briefly, then quickly left, using the excuse of needing to focus on purification. The thought of asking Wu Fang for help was completely extinguished. This would not only be courting disaster, but would also likely push him into another dark abyss. He could only rely on himself.
Every stroll became a frantic intelligence gathering exercise. Meereen mentally replayed possible escape routes and opportunities, calculating the guards' reaction speeds and assessing the elves' far-reaching vision, which far exceeded the limits of human vision. He needed the perfect chaos, a fleeting opportunity to escape the sight of all elves and escape into the wilderness. Time slipped silently beneath a seemingly calm surface, the shadow of Maglor's arrival gathering like a dark cloud on the horizon, weighing heavily on his mind. He had to hurry, to pry open this seemingly loose, yet in fact, sturdy cage before the elven singer arrived.
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