Chapter 31
A tense, chilling atmosphere hung heavy in the air of Shagerion. The Easterling's betrayal was like a plague, swiftly stamped out, but leaving behind a lingering taint and a chilling chill. Caranthir was busier and more sullen than ever. Like a precision machine, he ruthlessly handled the aftermath of the traitors—interrogation, isolation, and the redeployment of defenses. Each order was tinged with the cold fury of a fool. Curufin immersed himself in intensive interrogation of Ulfang and his closest associates, attempting to extract the last shreds of intelligence about Angband. The results were disappointing: Ulfang was little more than a pawn used and discarded by the dark forces, knowing little.
Under Caranthir's orders, living conditions in Meereen did improve slightly. He was no longer locked in a cramped room and could move around in designated areas of the camp, accompanied by Celegorm. Some of the elves of Shagelion, perhaps moved by his courage in risking his life to expose the traitor, or perhaps simply out of pity for the imprisoned, showed him a small amount of kindness. Occasionally, someone would share a small piece of freshly baked elven biscuit or a cup of warm herbal tea. This subtle warmth was particularly precious in the cold confinement, and it also brought a respite to Meereen's tense nerves.
True freedom remained elusive, and Celegorm had become almost a shadow. Though the fiery Prince Fëanorion was no longer as rude and overbearing as he had been at the beginning, and his eyes occasionally flickered with a subtle, complex emotion that Meereen attributed to his act of reporting, his very existence was a sturdy yoke. Celegorm, like a lazy yet ever-vigilant lion, kept Meereen's every move under his piercing gaze.
"Don't waste your time, little one," Celegorm said lazily one day as he watched Meereen staring at the distant horizon. His voice had a strange, almost familiar tone. "Just wait for Maglor to come. He is better at coaxing people than Curufin and I. You will feel better." He even reached out and pinched Meereen's cheeks with a bit of playfulness, which had indeed become a little rounder recently because he had nothing to do and was obsessed with cooking.
Meereen slapped his hand away, giving him a stern look: "Don't touch me." But inside, a chill lingered. Celegorm's affectionate attitude unnerved him more than his harshness. It seemed to confirm his earlier suspicions—that the longer he spent with Celegorm, the less torment he suffered from the terrible oath curse. This power was like a double-edged sword, bringing temporary peace while also making him even more valuable.
A few days later, Caranthir concluded the frustrating interrogation. As Meereen had expected, the result was that Ulfang knew little, a mere wretch lured by Morgoth's promises. Upon learning this, Celegorm said to Meereen with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "Does that fool still dream of being crowned king and nobleman by Morgoth after his deed is accomplished?" He paused, his gray-blue eyes searching Meereen. "Are all of you mortals so easily deceived by the sweet words of darkness?"
Meereen, who was experimenting with a new spice blend, didn't even look up from his words. His tone was calm, yet sharp, undeniably sharp: "The difference between people is sometimes greater than the difference between people and pigs." He paused and looked directly at Celegorm. "Even if I were human, I would say the same. Moreover, I am ashamed to be compared to the Ulfang. Betrayer is far more hateful and vicious than an open enemy."
Celegorm looked at him steadily, not responding immediately as usual, but only letting out an incomprehensible hum. His eyes were deep, containing too many things that Meereen could not interpret - scrutiny, a rare hint of recognition, and perhaps a subtle dependence that even Celegorm himself was unaware of, caused by the alleviation of his soul's pain.
This strange peace didn't last long. One day, Celegorm casually strolled over to Meereen, who was baking bread, and whispered, "Maglor has sent word. He'll be in Shagelion by the evening of the day after tomorrow at the latest." He looked at Meereen's instantly stiffened back, and an indescribable smile curved his lips. "Get ready, little one. Your 'good day' is coming."
Meereen's heart sank to the bottom of his chest. He forced himself to remain calm as he flipped the bread on the baking tray, but his mind was racing. He had to escape before Maglor arrived. Otherwise, if he were to be captured by that enchanting song again, he didn't know if he would be able to stay conscious.
Celegorm's surveillance was impenetrable, and Meereen racked his brains but could not come up with a plan to successfully escape from Celegorm's nose. Time passed quickly in anxiety.
On the evening of the day Maglor arrived in Shagelion, the setting sun painted the sky a brilliant red and gold. Celegorm, almost forcing Meereen to greet him, dragged him along to the camp gate. As Maglor's familiar, tall figure leaped from his horse, Meereen's heart began to beat uncontrollably. A strong, instinctive feeling of closeness washed over him like a warm tide, threatening to overwhelm his reason. He bit his lower lip hard, digging his nails into his palms, barely maintaining a semblance of composure.
Maglor's gaze fell precisely on Meereen. He showed a gentle and tired smile, walked forward, and looked at Meereen carefully: "It seems that you are doing well in Shagelion?" His voice was still like the most beautiful harp plucking, "I feel that your face seems to be fuller than the last time we met?" His tone was full of good-natured teasing, and his eyes swept over Celegorm, obviously thinking that his younger brother was taking good care of him.
Meereen forced himself to meet Maglor's gaze, his throat tight, and a cold "hmm" escaped his nose in response. Maglor raised an eyebrow slightly, seeming a little surprised, but said nothing more. He simply patted his shoulder, and the gentle touch burned Meereen like a branding iron. He knew this was only the calm before the storm, and Maglor wouldn't wait much longer.
That evening, to celebrate Maglor's arrival and dispel the shadow of the traitor's purge, Caranthir held a feast in the palace hall. The atmosphere was unusually lively, the long-suppressed elves finally finding an outlet for their spirits. Wine flowed like a stream, and the brothers Celegorm and Curufin, influenced by alcohol, linked arms and sang the ancient, passionate strains of Fëanorion. Their songs were filled with unbridled abandon and remembrance of past glory, yet also tinged with a subtle sadness. Even the usually restrained Maglor indulged himself in a rare moment, drinking far more than usual. Perhaps it was the final relaxation of his frayed nerves, or perhaps the certainty that Meereen was impenetrable under the heavy guard and the watchful eyes of his brothers, that he let down some of his guard.
Meereen sat in a corner, his food barely touched. He sipped his water, warily observing the scene like a nocturnal animal lurking in the shadows. His gaze darted between Celegorm and Curufin, who sang with rapture, and Maglor, whose cheeks flushed slightly and whose eyes held a hint of dreamy tenderness.
He calmly touched the Silmaril hidden in his underwear, and the warm touch calmed his confused mind a little.
When the feast reached its climax and Maglor finally became drunk and leaned back on his chair with one hand on his forehead, his eyes a little dazed, Meereen stood up silently. Like a wisp of smoke, he slipped out of the brightly lit and bustling hall quickly, following the shadows of the wall.
The cool night air lifted his spirits. He hurried through the familiar corridor, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The exit was just ahead, and freedom was within reach.
Just as he was about to step out of the side door of the palace and merge into the darkness outside, a low and calm voice sounded from the shadows behind him: "Don't hide, Meereen. I see you."
Meereen's blood froze instantly. He turned around abruptly, his heart almost stopping. Caranthir, the master of Shagerian, was standing there quietly. The moonlight outlined his thin and cold figure, and his gray eyes flashed with a penetrating light in the darkness.
It's over! Milin's heart sank into the abyss of despair. He subconsciously took a step back, his hand already on the dagger at his waist.
Caranthir made no move, nor did he call out to the guards. He simply looked at Meereen, his tone flat and silent, "You want to leave here, don't you?"
Meereen stared at him in disbelief, not daring to answer.
"I'm not here to stop you." Caranthir's next words rang like thunder in Meereen's ears. Meereen was completely stunned, looking at the lord who was famous for his cruelty and calculation in disbelief.
Caranthir ignored his shocked expression and spoke rapidly, his voice lowered and clear as falling ice beads. "Go west from here, through the path behind the stables, and you will see a three-way intersection. Take the one on the far left and keep going straight. Don't stop or look back. At the end of the road is an abandoned small dock." He paused, his eyes piercing Meereen. "Finrod and Fingolfin's men will be waiting for you there."
Meereen's mind went blank. Was Caranthir helping him? Why? Was this another trap? Countless questions flooded his mind, but his instinct for survival overwhelmed everything, and he had no time to think further.
"Go!" Karanthir shouted in a low voice, his tone leaving no room for questioning.
Milin no longer hesitated. Like an arrow shot from a bow, he rushed past Caranthir, bringing with him a gust of cold wind. He didn't even turn around to look at Caranthir's expression at the moment.
Rushing out of the side door, a saddled and restless horse was tied to the gatepost. Without a pause, Milin untied the reins, jumped on it, and gave the horse a hard kick.
Like a flash of black lightning, his steed bore him into the vast night, galloping westward, toward the direction Caranthir had pointed. The wind whistled in his ears, the icy air filling his lungs, yet it made him feel more awake and excited than ever before. Following Caranthir's instructions, he found the hidden path, and when he saw the three-way fork, he took the leftmost path without hesitation.
The road stretched in darkness. An unseen amount of time passed before Meereen felt his mount begin to pant. Finally, a faint sound of water and a faint glow of light reached him. He spurred his horse down a small slope, and a dilapidated, simple pier appeared before him. On it, the banner of House Fingolfin fluttered. Several small boats were moored on the shore, and on the shore stood a dozen fully armed elven warriors.
"Meereen!" A familiar and surprised voice sounded.
Meereen reined in his horse and nearly fell off. He looked up and saw Finrod's handsome, worried face trotting towards him.
"Finnrod!" Meereen's voice was choked with sobs after surviving the disaster.
Finrod hugged him tightly, with such strength that it seemed as if he could rub him into his bones and blood: "Thank the stars! Thank the Valar! You have finally...finally left that place!" His voice was full of genuine gratitude and relief.
After hugging him for a long time, Finrod finally let him go and looked carefully at his slightly haggard but still energetic face: "Are you okay? Have they..."
"I'm fine," Meereen shook his head, breathing rapidly. "It was Caranthir... he let me go, told me the route, and gave me this horse." He quickly repeated what Caranthir had said to him at the palace gate.
As Finrod listened, the excitement and joy on his face gradually faded, replaced by an extremely complex expression. His brow furrowed, his eyes filled with confusion, vigilance, and an indescribable understanding. He was silent for a long time before he slowly spoke, his voice carrying an unprecedented solemnity: "Meereen... just a few days ago, we did receive a secret letter. It was unsigned, but the messenger claimed to be from Shagerion. The letter requested that I personally bring trusted personnel to this abandoned dock tonight to escort an important person away... The letter also emphasized the importance of secrecy and that no spies of the Fëanorion family should be alerted." Finrod looked into Meereen's astonished eyes. "I thought it was some unidentified sympathizer, or that you had found a way to pass on the message yourself, but I didn't expect it to be from Caranthir himself."
Finrod looked in Shagerion's direction. His profile was unusually serious in the moonlight. "Why would he do this? Simply because you exposed the traitor? That doesn't align with Caranthir's character. He let you go for a deeper, more complex reason... a reason we cannot yet fathom."
Meereen shook his head. Caranthir's behavior was a great mystery, shrouded in the joy of seeming salvation. But somehow, he had escaped.
"Whatever his reasons are," Meereen took a deep breath and looked at Finrod, "let's leave here now."
Finrod nodded, his eyes regained their firmness: "Yes, leave first and get on the ship." He decisively commanded the warriors to board the ship quickly.
The boat slipped silently away from the dilapidated dock and headed out onto the wide river, leaving Shagerion and the danger and mystery it represented behind, temporarily, on the dark shoreline behind. Meereen stood at the prow, gazing back at the land that had devoured his freedom and ultimately released him, a mixture of emotions. Finrod stood beside him, his gaze deep into the distance, evidently still pondering the storm lurking behind Caranthir's puzzling "gift."
Shagerian, Banquet Hall.
When Maglor regained consciousness from his brief drunken stupor and subconsciously looked for the familiar figure, he discovered that the seat in the corner was already empty. An ominous premonition instantly gripped him.
"Where is Meereen?" he asked Celegorm, who was still singing beside him.
Celegorm glanced around with drunken eyes: "Huh? He was just here... maybe he went out for some fresh air?" He didn't care too much.
Maglor's heart sank. He rose immediately, ignoring his brothers' questions, and hurried out of the banquet hall. His powerful senses spread out like an invisible net, but he could no longer detect the unique and warm scent of Meereen. Only a faint trace of him disappeared in the cold wind on the west side of the palace.
Maglor stood at the empty palace gate, the night wind ruffling his long, dark hair. He didn't roar in anger, nor did he immediately order a pursuit. He simply stood there quietly, gazing towards where Meereen had vanished. Those eyes, once enchanted by countless souls, like a sea of stars, now held only a bottomless sense of loss, a bitter feeling of being fooled, and a void bordering on despair.
He had lost him again, this time at the moment he'd thought himself safest. His carefully crafted plan, one that would use gentleness and strength to slowly guide Meereen to understanding and willingly help them, had been utterly thwarted before it even began. The cold night wind blew through his robes, seemingly extinguishing the last flicker of hope within him. He slowly closed his eyes, and for the first time, he clearly felt the cold shackles of the oath and curse, tightening around his soul again, bit by bit, as Meereen retreated.
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