Chapter Text
A striped carnation rests in his palm, petals lightly speckled with blood. Maeglin hunches over behind a secluded wall outside of the palace, staring at the innocent flower as he tries to catch his breath. The prickle of pain that remains in his lungs even after the prominent urge to cough fades reminds him that the flowers have simply shrunk back, but not for long.
He watches discreetly as a group passes by the wall that hides him, not noticing him. Idril is with them, her child in her arms and laughing with her husband. Not for the first or last time that day, Maeglin hates himself for still somehow wanting her, even though he knows that she is happily married. The flowers have bound him to a love that he can never act upon. He will never even try to break up a union and besides, he can never force her to be in a relationship with him. He resents the husband, but can’t even hate him because he is not a bad man. The only one he hates is himself. The flowers that bloomed in his chest only added insult to injury. Killing him with an unattainable love and forbidding him from moving on...the Valar have a cruel sense of humor.
Once he is sure that he can move without coughing up a lung, he tosses the flower to the side and continues on his way to the forge, making himself not look up at Idril for any amount of time he is behind the group. Looking will make the flowers surge and he can’t do that. He is already late for his work.
He is pleased when he finally gets his hand on his hammer and can vent his feelings on the precious metals laid in front of him. Carefully, he crafts the start to a beautiful golden bowl with a rim set in gems. He imagines it being placed for his uncle, Idril, perhaps the handsome and noble Lord Glorfindel and a small smile crosses his face. Even though he would rather do anything other than admit it, his greatest wish is to be acknowledged...appreciated...and having that bowl set to high and noble use would be everything he could ever ask for.
The hours pass quietly and quickly until they screech to a halt and Maeglin is jerked into the present moment by Idril’s voice. A sense of dread in his stomach uncurls as he glances up and catches sight of her golden hair. Three other heads of blond hair accompany her and he inwardly groans at realizing that not only is Tuor and their child there, but so is Lord Glorfindel. The respected elf is protective over Idril and always looks at Maeglin with a warning, making the much younger elf want to shrink back. Even now, without their eyes on him, he feels self conscious of his own dark hair, which makes him that much more recognizable in a crowd.
He tries to focus on his work again, but pauses when he feels a slight cramping in his belly. He discreetly places his hand where the pain is and realizes that it is a telltale sign of his heat approaching. Flowers and heat don’t mix well, to say the least. This will be the first heat he has with the flowers in his lungs and he dreads it with a fierce surge of emotion.
Distracted by his thoughts, he doesn’t realize that he is staring without thought at Idril’s group, not even registering who it is he is looking at and realizing his mistake too late. He swiftly glances down again but not before he sees the intense glare of Lord Glorfindel. A swoop of dread passes through his stomach. He hadn’t meant to stare…but Glorfindel wouldn’t know that. Hoping that he could avoid a confrontation by not looking up again, he raises his hammer again.
Idril and her party spend an hour in the forge, remarking over several newly crafted items. Maeglin can’t help but watch when he sees Idril pick up one of his own creations that he is most proud of. A gorgeous gold necklace with rubies, emeralds, and onyx, a creation that had taken nearly three months to complete. He does not know if he’d made it with anyone else in mind, but he’d crafted something that he himself would wear in a heartbeat if the society around them didn’t deem it unfit for a Lord, even an omega, as it isn’t very subtle. It is quite exquisite, even if he does say so himself.
Idril looks up at that moment and spots him. Her usual look of annoyance at him slides over her face, but she glances between him and the necklace she holds. Before the fiasco where his secret love for her was revealed, she’d managed to tolerate him well enough and she knows the mark of his handiwork. She also knows the look of pride he gets over his creations. Her look turns to disgust and she drops the necklace to the ground, moving instead to examine a sapphire circlet that was made with far less skill than he possesses. He cannot tell if the stab to his heart is from her obvious rejection or the mishandling of a creation that he loves so much. He hates seeing it on the ground, but is afraid to go pick it up while she stands there. No one else pays it any mind. Glorfindel simply frowns at him and Maeglin looks down, unable to focus on his work anymore.
Idril, Tuor, and Earendil leave with the rest of their party soon after, but Glorfindel remains behind, chatting with a forge-master. Maeglin risks coming out from behind his worktable and bends to gently lift his necklace from the ground. He feels like weeping when he sees that someone stepped on it when the group left, crushing one cluster of gems and almost completely separating it from the rest of the necklace. He can fix it; if it broke then it obviously is weak forge work...but looking at his prized creation all he wants to do is curl up in the corner of the workshop and cry. He has to gently cough to try and dislodge a clump of flowers surging in his lungs. Unfortunately, as soon as he makes the noise he immediately senses the intense burn of Glorfindel’s eyes on him. Cursing inwardly that nothing, absolutely nothing is going his way that day, Maeglin quietly stands and retreats back to the corner of his workshop, setting down the necklace carefully.
He has no time to do anything else, however, as a pair of calloused hands grasp his shoulders, yanking him out of the forge and against the outer wall with swift strength only befitting the strongest elves. Glorfindel’s eyes, blue as the sky above, scan him in a harsh and unforgiving way. Maeglin feels particularly small and insignificant under the weight of the alpha’s scrutiny.
“What will it take for you to leave her alone?” Glorfindel asks in a tone that is too controlled, his deadly calm voice a warning that he is far angrier beneath the surface. Startled and more than a little afraid of the alpha elf, Maeglin simply gapes in response. “Is there nowhere she can hide from your eyes? Why do you have to stare at her?”
“I- '' It is hard to speak, considering the force with which Glorfindel holds him against the wall, but Maeglin swallows and tries again, “I was only lost in thought...I did not mean to stare…”
“Really? And what was so thought consuming, hmm?” Glorfindel seems less than likely to let him go anytime soon, waiting for an answer.
Maeglin isn’t about to tell him about the flowers. He can’t handle more disgust--or worse, pity. Or even worse, disgusted pity. So he selects the second topic that had been on his mind, even though it makes him shy. “My-my heat.” He responds softly, knowing the range of elven hearing and not wanting to alert anyone else to a private matter. Glorfindel can still hear him. “It’s coming early…the signs surprised me…”
Glorfindel’s hold loosens slightly, as if startled by the reminder that Maeglin is an omega. Most people tend to forget, which can get quite awkward at points. He doesn’t tighten his hold again, seemingly slightly more unreadable now. The older elf says in an even tone, “This is not the first time you’ve stared.”
“I try not to look at all.” Maeglin says, perhaps a little too honestly. Glorfindel just looks at him, waiting for him to continue. The younger elf shifts uncomfortably. “Look, no one needs to tell me where I stand. I know my place here and I know how you, Idril...how everyone sees me. I would never try to break up her union, or make any advances, or anything. It’s just...feelings don’t go just because someone hates you, or they disgust yourself or others, or have no chance of being returned. I try not to look at her because I don’t want to make her uncomfortable and everything’s easier to bear…” Maeglin can’t stop the flow of words, baring his soul to an elf that makes no secret of disliking him. The rush of emotions accompanying his confession causes the flowers to surge forward, him barely being able to stop the coughing fit that will surely hit at some point soon. He blinks and tries to refocus. “Sometimes--when I’m not focusing on something, not working, I get lost in my own head and I’ll come back to myself and realize that I’ve been staring at a pillar, or my uncle, or Idril, or even sometimes my workbench. I just...space out.'' He doesn’t think he has to explain the second half of their time in the workshop; surely Glorfindel understands about the necklace.
And indeed, the other elf doesn’t bring it up. His face is thoroughly unreadable and emotionless, but he looks at Maeglin as if he is a particularly interesting puzzle. The minutes tick by and the coughing fit swells, not wanting to be suppressed. Maeglin can’t help the stab of fear that washes through him when he realizes he is still trapped. It brings back memories that he’d rather forget.
It seems like a long while later when Glorfindel steps back, finally releasing Maeglin. The omega sags but can’t move much more than that, afraid to jostle the pressure in his lungs. The golden-haired elf doesn’t speak, but no longer looks at Maeglin with straightforward malice. He seems more...contemplative. He simply gives a slight bow of the head to the dark-haired elf and then moves back inside the forge.
As soon as he is out of sight, Maeglin can’t hold it in any longer. He crumples, clutching at his chest as he coughs hard enough to render staying in any form of upright position impossible. It feels like forever, but is likely only a minute before he feels a hand against his back and someone trying to assist him. At the same time, the bloom that decided to block his airway dislodges and falls into his waiting palm, splashed more than speckled with blood. Maeglin stares at it for a long moment as he attempts to catch his breath. The disease is spreading quickly, too quickly.
He suddenly remembers that someone helped him and he twists his head around weakly, shoulders sagging when he realizes that the elf assisting him is none other than the Lord of the Golden Flower. The older elf is staring at the flower in Maeglin’s hand, looking as if the puzzle that he’d been contemplating as he left has finally been solved.
Maeglin feels a rush of anxiety at the thought that his shame is known by another and tosses the striped carnation into an empty barrel nearby, trying to shrug away from Glorfindel. The other elf doesn’t release him, but his grip isn’t harsh. There is no disgust on his face, and strangely enough there is a lack of pity. He seems…sorrowful, instead.
“You do not watch after her in lust or obsession. You do not aim to steal her.” Glorfindel looks at him with an expression that says he now understands what the omega said to him earlier. “Even if you wished to move on, you cannot.”
“I wish for it to end.” Maeglin confesses quietly, unable to sit there in silence as the other elf waits for a response. “I’d give anything, but…” The omega snorts abruptly. “The Valar didn’t decide that rejection, that being shunned, was enough. Instead I’m doomed to wait out a disease that will kill me all because I…” He can’t say the word ‘love’ and Glorfindel does not ask him to.
“But...there are some operations. Sometimes the removal of the flowers is successful.”
“Sometimes. At what cost? Weakened lungs, your voice almost destroyed, the shame of the cost of your unrequited love spread throughout town and kin? Risk of infection and death, even among the Eldar?”
“All of that is better than a slow death from suffocation.”
“Maybe if you have something to live for.” Maeglin can feel tears spring to his eyes and he furiously blinks them away, not needing to sob himself into a snotty mess in front of one of the most respected Lords of Gondolin.
The elf is quiet for a long moment. “You have nothing to live for?”
“For the love of the Valar,” Maeglin bites out miserably. “I am hated here. I am hated for the existence of my father and blamed for the death of my mother. I’m shunned for being the onyx among the gold. I am loathed for a love I cannot control and ignored or hated by the only family I have left. All I have is my horse and my forge. Tell me what exactly I have to live for!” His voice rose towards the end and Maeglin shuts his mouth, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable even though little likely got through the noise of the forge. That is another sign of his approaching heat, along with the mix of fear, anxiety, and relief that there is an alpha looming over him.
The golden elf is silent for a long time, but his grasp loosens. Too drained to move, Maeglin stays where he is, feeling less trapped now that there is no hold on him. He wants to know what’s on the alpha’s mind, what is working behind those blue eyes that watch him so intently. He does not know what Glorfindel will say and that makes his stomach churn.
Finally, Glorfindel speaks, tone soft. “Your heat approaches, yes?” Maeglin, surprised as he is by the sudden reference to the conversation before, only nods. “The flowers...they will only make it worse if you spend it alone.”
Maeglin wishes he has the courage to lie and say that he does have someone, if only to not seem so lonely. And indeed, Glorfindel gives him that opening. But he finds himself bitterly stating, “I have no other options.”
“Surely-”
“Can you think of one who would want me?” Maeglin snaps and the warrior is quiet. Maeglin struggles to his feet, still shaky after his coughing. Glorfindel assists him to his feet. Maeglin wants nothing more than to run back inside the workshop, or even better yet, run back to his rooms and hide in his nest. But something keeps him next to the alpha, wanting desperately to know what is going through his mind. Even knowing that he most likely won’t find out, there’s another reason he stays and eventually opens his mouth.
“Please, do not say anything to anyone else.” Maeglin can’t look at the golden haired warrior but can tell that his eyes are on him. “I...I cannot have my deepest shame known by those who despise me.”
Glorfindel opens his mouth, then shuts it. Finally, he sighs but nods. “I will respect that. Your secret remains with me only.”
“Thank you.” Maeglin hesitates for another minute, then makes himself move away and into the workshop. He doesn’t see Glorfindel again that day and gets no more work done, instead staring gloomily at the necklace in need of repair for many hours.