Chapter Text
"The Mind -- the Spirit -- the Promethean spark,
The lightning of my being, is as bright,
Pervading, and far darting as your own" - Manfred, Lord Byron (1817)
He decided to let Galadriel do most of the talking.
It was not as though he wanted to be in Doriath anyway, so far from their island. But they could not ignore the power vacuum of Angband any longer.
The elf had a hand buried in the fur of one of her werewolves.
We need to make a display, Mairon, she had told him two nights ago. He had kissed her shoulder.
You just don’t want to be too far from your pets.
Still, she was right. The beast was lumbering, fierce and sharp-fanged. The guards at the gates of Thingol’s hall looked nervously between Galadriel, her lover and the wolf.
He saw one of them narrow his eyes beneath his ridiculous ornamental helmet. Were it not for Galadriel’s ever-present determination to rule Doriath without the need for conquest, he would suggest simply taking this city by force. It was guarded exclusively by green boys, ones who had never had to defend themselves because Melian’s magic was the true source of their safety.
Galadriel smiled at him, adjusted the pauldron of his armour.
“They are nothing, my love,” she whispered against his lips. His hand played gently with the little wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. Already it was growing. He wondered, idly, if she would decide to grow it out again now they were likely returning to war. He wondered if it mattered.
A cough from behind Mairon disturbed them. Finrod was stood, waiting to walk in with them. The elf was dressed resplendent and fine as ever -- ostentatious gold robes, a sword he was certain was there simply as decoration at his hip. The elf looked at the pair in their matching armour.
“Are you ready?”
Galadriel kissed her brother’s cheek and squeezed his hand.
“I have been ready for centuries, dear brother.”
Finrod rolled his eyes. Perhaps he knew his sister well enough after all.
The silent guards opened the gate, letting the small party through.
Mairon let the elves go ahead, content to walk through the sea of gawking Sindar elves at his own pace. He wanted to keep an eye on them, anyway.
He saw the way they looked at Galadriel, heard the gasps of shock and horror that they could not disguise with a polite cough. Some even wept at the sight of her hair, as though it were a tragedy rather than a choice. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
She killed a god. She saved me and turned a god to ash and none of you deserve to even look upon her.
How dare you?
Galadriel's blue eyes were grave when she saw his expression. Don't. He made a show of hesitating for just a beat too long. He wanted her to know that if she were to nod… He would gladly bring her their heads. He let go of his sword hilt.
Still, it was clear that they were not the only ones to realise the importance of theatricality. The Teleri king made a fine show of his own. Clad in resplendent green robes, Thingol’s straight silver hair seemed to shine in the moonlight. Mairon was reminded of a bird, puffing up his plumage to prove himself the better mate. He remembered the looks of the Teleri and Sindars…they had clearly made their choice of ruler.
They were also foolish.
Thingol never looked more pathetic than that day. He had never liked the elf-king -- too preening and vain.
He rejoiced too much in Melian's choice of mate, as though it meant he was selected by Yavanna herself rather than the maia who stood beside him.
Galadriel looked rather unimpressed stood next to Mairon, her armour making her look broader, more intimidating than the elven king.
He had not seen Melian in an age, but the maia looked much the same as ever. Tall and proud and beautiful, her dark hair waved down her back like a cloak of midnight. Her dark eyes pierced his, and he could feel her consciousness prodding at his own.
She was searching for a weakness. Trying to unite the maias in their agendas as their elves squabbled. He fortified his mind further, locking her out.
Melian raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Thingol made a very grand show of himself. He strode across the dais as he welcomed the, the elf king paused with a derisory stare at Mairon, delegation .
It was only after the siblings exchanged a look that he invited them through to discuss their affairs.
"Your…" The elf king paused again, awkward. "Werewolf --"
Galadriel smiled sweetly.
"He can wait outside with your guards, no? I can assure you he's very well trained."
The beast looked adoringly at his mistress.
The guards to either side of Thingol looked decidedly displeased. Mairon, on the other hand, thought his lover decidedly genius for insisting on bringing her pet.
The discussions over how, exactly, to handle the chaotic stirrings out of Angband were endlessly circular.
Finrod pointed to the settlements of men near the fortress who bore the brunt of the skirmishes, Thingol demurred on interfering outside his own borders, and Galadriel fumed, biting out information they had learned from their orc spies.
Treacherous elves, overly ambitious orc generals and mercurial men were the ones leading the gangs, squabbling among themselves for control over Morgoth's forces.
He kept silent, resting his chin in his palm on the table, and flicked his eyes to Melian. They did not need any mental connection between maia to communicate.
Your husband is a coward, he thought with a glare at Thingol. Look at my elf, the maia's eyes softened as he looked to his lover. Brilliant and fierce, she was. So much more than any of her kin.
He looked to Melian again, trying to convey his annoyance in his stare.
We will defeat these forces and have a new army under our command with or without your participation. Help, or leave.
She pursed her lips, irritated.
He knew she understood his meaning without the need for words between them.
The maia slammed her hand on the table. Thingol was immediately silenced.
“I am tired,” the words were bit out from Melian as she glared at her husband. “It has been two years since I have seen Lúthien, and all for your vanity.”
Thingol looked chastened at the mention of their daughter.
“Why must we leave our borders to see her again? Especially when our guests clearly have such valuable information on her whereabouts.” His pale eyes pointedly stared at the elf siblings. Mairon had not met the half-maia, but he had heard enough stories to understand that no one could make Lúthien return unless she wanted to, not even Finrod or Galadriel.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Galadriel said. He couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. Finrod glared daggers at Mairon.
“I think we should be rather bored of pretences, don’t you?” he told his lover’s sibling.
Galadriel herself froze, her eyes going to his in warning.
Trust me, he tried to convey.
“If the issue is the location of the fair maiden I am sure that, given sufficient reason to do so, we can come to…” he paused. Galadriel was not the only one with a handle on the importance of theatricality. “An agreement.”
The rulers of Doriath paused.
“So this is your game revealed at last,” Thingol said, his voice low. “Seduce my ward and kidnap my daughter?”
Mairon laughed.
“My game is that we took care of Morgoth after your millennia of inaction and incompetence. My game is that it should not be on us to deal with overly ambitious orc generals who need to be put in their place,” he paused. “My game is that Galadriel and I are quite at ease in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and I’m not entirely certain that you can say the same.”
He looked pointedly at Melian, who pursed her lips. Thingol looked in alarm to his wife, confused as to what Mairon meant. The maia felt himself grin, even as Galadriel looked at him curiously.
I promised you Doriath, my love.
Melian looked decidedly unimpressed with him. He had felt it the second he came to her barrier -- the flaws in it, the gradual weakening of the magic. She looked apologetically at her husband.
"The magic in this world is precarious," she said by way of explanation. "When Morgoth fell, I let mine slip, perceiving the chief danger had passed."
She paused, looking rather embarrassed by her failings.
"A decently competent wizard could more than likely pierce our border," she said. Her eyes flicked to Mairon, and the implication was clear. The other maia was certainly a competent wizard. And his famed wolf-queen's army of beasts and orcs would complement her brother's own forces more than adequately. Particularly so once the rebelling orcs of Angband were inevitably subsumed into her command.
He felt Galadriel's warm fingers curl around his thigh in approval. He preened at the pride in her touch. Even Finrod looked faintly amused.
"I think that rather changes matters, does it not?" Galadriel said, syrupy sweet, like a coiling viper, like a wolf cornering her prey.
Thingol's lips thinned with a glare at his wife. His jaw clicked.
"Fine," he said. "We shall begin negotiations."
Mairon grinned. His wife was not the only wolf.