There was a sudden silence around the table. The boy watched his own hand reach out and push the silver and glass salt cellar closer to Eöl’s plate.

"Thank you, Maeglin." Eöl scooped up salt in the little horn spoon and sprinkled it delicately over his stew. He resumed eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

After a moment, Aredhel found her voice. She smiled a little too broadly at her husband and son. "So you have finally chosen a name for our child, Eöl," she said. "This is wonderful news. I shall have to organize a naming ceremony. It will be strange, since the child at such a ceremony is usually a newborn, but we shall manage. I will make a new suit of clothes for . . . Maeglin, did you call him? And I will invite your valet, of course. I know you would not have any of my family present. . . perhaps you will tell me where your family dwells. . ."

Eöl blinked at her, a puzzled, angry expression on his face. Aredhel fell silent and stirred the stew in her bowl.

"We have no need of a naming ceremony," Eöl said. "That is an affectation of the Noldor. I have chosen a name for my son, and I have announced it. He is Maeglin. I do not see that any ceremony is necessary." He took a bite of stew and chewed decisively, as if to signal that he would tolerate no more discussion on the matter. Aredhel sighed and began to tear her chunk of bread into small pieces.

The boy raised a spoonful of meat and broth to his mouth, but could not bring himself to eat it. After a moment, he returned it to the bowl and poked at a floating chunk of celery with his spoon. Eöl glanced over at him.

"Eat your dinner, Maeglin," he said. "You will have a full day tomorrow."

Obediently, the boy choked down some of his stew. When he had eaten half of what was in his bowl, he looked up.

"I am full," he said shyly. "May I please be excused from the table?"

Eöl peered into the boy’s bowl and raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Are you sure that you can eat no more?"

The boy nodded. Eöl sighed.

"Very well. You are excused. But you may not have anything to eat should you wake hungry in the night. You must learn to eat when food is set before you."

"Yes, Ada. Goodnight, Ada. Goodnight, Nana." Without even kissing his parents goodnight, the boy fled to the safety of his own bedchamber.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, he flung himself down on his bed and sobbed. For a long time, he did not even understand why he wept, but gradually, his thoughts became more coherent.

Ever since he had been old enough to understand, he had known that he had no real name. He had never felt the need of one before; Eöl addressed him affectionately enough as "child," and there were no other children in Nan Elmoth with whom he could be confused. Aredhel sometimes called him "Lómion," but she had impressed upon him that this name was a secret that they could only share when Eöl was not around to hear. Once, when he had been very little, he had asked Eöl for a name of his own. Eöl had smiled indulgently, picked him up and settled him on his lap.

"You must be patient, child," he had said. "A name is the most important thing that an Ada can give his son, and I wish for you to have a name that suits you in every way. One cannot rush these things. I am waiting until I know the perfect name for you. When I know it, I will tell you, and then you will have the best name of any Elf in all Arda."

Ever since that time, the boy had waited for the special moment when Eöl would assemble the family and the few old servants who still lived near them, smile proudly at his son, and bestow a name upon him. Nana would smile and embrace them both, and the servants might applaud politely. He had not wanted to receive his name casually over dinner, as if it was something that he ought to have known all along. And he had not wanted the announcement to provoke angry words and sullen silence between his parents.

Through the wall, he could hear Aredhel angrily rattling dishes and cutlery in the basin as she washed them. Eöl would be sitting in his chair next to the lamp, reading and pointedly ignoring Aredhel’s noise.

The boy rose from his bed, undressed, and pulled on a sleeping tunic. He folded his day clothes carefully and laid them on a chair, then moved to his wash basin to wash the tears from his face. As he finished, there was a knock on the door. He looked up as Aredhel entered. Without a word, she took him in her arms. He clung to her and trembled, but did not make a sound.

"I am sorry, Lómion," she murmured. "He should not have done that. I know that you have wanted a real name for many years, and to fling one at you as he did was astonishingly cruel. I will have words with your father about it."

"Do I have to keep the name, Nana?"

"We will see. I will discuss it with your father. Do you want to keep it?"

He considered the question. "I do not know. I do not know if I like it or not. Do you like it, Nana?"

"Maeglin. It is an interesting choice. Let me see. . . ‘Maeglin’ is ‘sharp glance.’ I must say, it does describe you, and it is hardly unflattering."

"But do you like it?"

Aredhel pursed her lips. "I have not decided yet. In and of itself, ‘Maeglin’ is a perfectly fine father-name. But to me, the most important thing is that your name should fit you. If you are comfortable being Maeglin, then I will like the name. But if bearing that name causes you grief, then I will not like it."

"Maybe I will get used to it." The boy put on what he hoped was a brave smile.

"Perhaps." Aredhel kissed his forehead. "However, nothing is decided at the moment. I will talk to your father. Do not worry. We will find a solution to this." Her arms tightened briefly around him, and then she left the sleeping chamber.

The boy sat down on the bed, at a loss for what to do next. He knew that he ought to lie down and go to sleep, but he did not think that sleep would ever find him that evening. Through the wall, he heard Aredhel's voice, speaking too softly for him to make out her words. Eöl's deeper rumble answered her. They spoke thus for a few minutes, while the boy waited, wondering if his fate was to be decided that evening.

Suddenly, Aredhel’s voice came loudly and clearly through the wall. "What? Eöl, he is a child, not a sword or a piece of smithcraft!"

"He is my son, Aredhel," Eöl snapped back. "He is my son, and it is my right to give him a name of my choosing."

"Your son, but not your property!"

The boy blinked back a fresh round of tears. As he did so, he caught sight of his reflection in his black galvorn mirror. Suddenly, the face that looked back at him seemed to belong to a stranger. He went to stand before the mirror to investigate, and tried to ignore the argument on the other side of the wall.

"My son, Aredhel. I will name him what I please. If he were a baby, we would not be having this discussion. I fail to see why we are having it now."

"We are having it precisely because he is no longer a baby. He is grown enough to have a will and a character of his own. You must take those into account."

"I did just that. ‘Maeglin’ suits his character perfectly. He is an observant child. He notices things —"

"That is not the issue, Eöl!" There was a sharp sound, as if Aredhel had slammed her fist down on the table, as she sometimes did when she was very angry. "He is old enough and wise enough now that you cannot exclude him from his own naming. You wounded him deeply when you flung that name at him as if it were nothing more than a rag to clean his face."

"I do not have to answer to a child for my actions. Maeglin is my son. I am his father. Everything he has -- the clothes on his back, the food in his mouth, the breath in his body -- derive from me. I do not need to answer to him in the choice of his name."

The boy stared into the mirror, and the dark face inside stared back at him. It was a thin, peaked face, with eyes swollen from weeping. It had grown longer in recent years, though it still retained some baby roundness about the chin. It was framed with tendrils of dark hair that had escaped from the leather thong tying it back. He wondered if the face could belong to someone named Maeglin.

He heard Aredhel's voice through the wall again after a moment of shocked silence. "Everything he has? The breath in his body? Eöl, do you speak such foolish words on purpose? Your contribution to his begetting was a moment of pleasure. I carried him in my body for a full year, and I labored for hours to bring him into the world. He is as much my son as he is yours, and I will not sit back and see my son hurt at the hands of one who should love him!"

"I do love him, Aredhel; how can you think that I do not? He has wanted a name since he was old enough to know what a name was. I have given him one."

"You withheld a name for years out of your own pride. Now you toss him a name as you would toss scraps to a dog, save that you would show the dog more consideration, and you call that love!"

The boy wrapped his arms around his body and trembled. In the mirror, Maeglin's face screwed up, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"I think you are jealous, Aredhel. I think that you fear that I love Maeglin more than I love you."

"You never loved me. You wanted my body, and you snared me with your spells."

"From the moment I spied you wandering lost in the woods, I loved you. I loved you and desired you for my wife. I love my wife, and I love the son she has given me."

"You trapped your wife, and you have given grave insult to your son. I do not believe that you love either one."

Eöl's voice took on a silky, dangerously smooth edge. "Then I will prove it to you, Aredhel. I will prove my love for you this night!"

"You will not. Eöl, remove your hands from my -- oh! Ooh. . . Eöl, I mean it, I --"

"Let me prove it to you, Aredhel. Let me prove my love."

The boy's stomach churned. Maeglin's expression changed to one of deep distress. The boy did not want to look at Maeglin any more and turned the mirror to the wall.

"Eöl! Oh! Eöl. . . ooh. . . you do not love me. You should be speaking with your son, not. . . ooh. . ."

"But I do love you, Aredhel, Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of Gondolin. I will love you forever. And you love me."

"If you do not go in to your son this instant, I will leave you."

"Do that. You will come back. You always come back."

Aredhel moaned, and the boy knew that they were kissing again, fiery savage kisses that looked like they were attacking each other with tooth and claw. He did not want to think about his parents kissing each other like that. He did not want to think about Maeglin who now lived in his mirror. He did not want to think about anything. With a choked cry, he hurried to his bed and lay down, burrowing his head into the pillow and pulling the covers up over his ears to shut out the sounds from the main room. Safe in his nest, he let his tears come. Eventually, he fell asleep.

When he woke, it was mid-morning, and the sun shone full in his face through the window. He wondered why he had been allowed to sleep so long; usually, Aredhel would come to wake him in time for breakfast. He remembered the ferocious quarrel of the night before and decided that he did not want to face the morning. However, as he turned over and pulled the covers higher around his shoulders, his stomach growled. A pang of hunger shot through his body, and he thought about the bowl of stew he had not been able to finish at dinner.

With a sigh, he sat up and climbed out of bed. He washed slowly and combed his hair by touch, not wanting to look at Maeglin in the mirror. When he could delay it no longer, he cautiously opened the door and peered out into the main room.

No one was there. His place was set at the table, and when he moved to investigate, he found last night's stew warmed over, a chunk of bread, and a note. The note was written in his father's hand.

He ate the stew slowly, mopping the bowl with the bread. The meal sat heavily in his stomach, but at least he was no longer hungry. He carefully washed his dishes and wiped them, then went to the forge.

Eöl looked up when he entered and nodded politely to him. "Welcome, Maeglin," he said. "Put on an apron and come here. Your apprenticeship starts today, and we have much to do."

The boy slipped the heavy leather apron over his head and pulled on the gloves that Eöl handed him. "Where is Nana?"

Eöl shrugged. "I do not know. It is not important. She will return."

"When?"

"Perhaps this evening, or perhaps in a few days' time. Hold this steady." Eöl removed the blade he had been working on from the forge where it had been heating. He set it on the anvil and clamped tongs around it. The boy grasped the tongs to hold the blade still.

"You are not worried about Nana?"

Eöl swung his hammer and began to beat the blade thin. "Ah," he said. "I forget that you do not understand this. I suppose you were too little to remember the last time this happened."

"The last time?"

"I believe you were about a year old at the time, perhaps a few months older. Your mother and I quarreled, and she left for a few days."

"Oh." This was news. "Who took care of me?"

"I did. Nana returned, and that was the end of it."

The boy stared at the glowing red blade. It flared and sparked when Eöl hit it with the hammer. "Do I have to keep the name Maeglin?"

"Yes. I gave it to you, and one cannot simply discard a name given by one's father."

The boy took a deep breath. "But Nana said --"

"Enough!" Eöl swung the hammer hard, and the impact on the blade sent a painful shock up his son's arms. "I will hear no more argument from either you or your mother. Maeglin you are, and Maeglin you will remain. You are my apprentice now, and you will do as I say. Use your sharp eyes and observe how the metal of the blade changes as I hammer it."

There was no more discussion. Eöl worked the blade slowly and steadily, explaining the properties of forged steel to his son and demanding that the boy repeat them back to demonstrate his understanding. After they had heated, hammered, and folded the blade several times, Eöl placed it on a rack to rest and picked up a heavy war axe.

"One of the Dwarf-lords from the next valley left this for repairs," he said. "I have completed the repairs, and all that remains is to hone the edge. It is not a difficult task. Come. I will show you how to do it." He pulled the cover off of the grinding wheel.

By the middle of the afternoon, they had completed the work on the Dwarf axe and paused for a quick lunch. When they finished eating, there was a knock on the door. The Dwarf who owned the axe had come to claim it. Eöl greeted him and placed the axe into the Dwarf's hands.

"You have done well, Master Eöl," the Dwarf said. "It even comes back with a keen edge."

Eöl bowed. "That is the work of my son and apprentice, Maeglin." He pulled the boy forward and prodded him to make a polite bow to the Dwarf. The Dwarf smiled into his beard.

"Is that so? I did not realize you had a son, Master Eöl. Well, Maeglin looks to be a fine lad. If he grows to be as fine a smith as you are, then we will be fortunate indeed."

"He is a clever boy," Eöl said, ruffling the boy's hair. "I think that he will learn well and prove to be an able assistant."

"Indeed." The Dwarf bowed and placed a sack of coin in Eöl's hand. "Thank you for your labor, Master Eöl. It is a pleasure to meet you, Maeglin. I hope that I will see more of your work in the years to come. At your service."

Eöl smiled. "At yours and your family's."

The Dwarf turned and walked away down the path. Eöl reached into the bag the Dwarf had given him, took out a coin, and placed it in the boy's hand. "That is for you. You have done well this day."

The boy looked at the coin curiously. He had never had money of his own before. "What will I do with this?"

"Anything you like. If I were you, I would keep it somewhere safe. When you have collected enough coin, I will take you to a market day in one of the towns nearby, and you may use your coins to buy yourself something nice."

"Oh. Thank you, Ada." Unsure what to do next, the boy cautiously embraced his father. "I love you, Ada."

Not unkindly, Eöl detached the boy's arms from around his waist. "This is not the proper time and place, Maeglin," he said. "In the forge, you are my apprentice, and I am your master. It is time to resume our work. I will show you how to use a soldering iron now. It is not a difficult task, and once you have learned it, you will be a great help to me."

When the day's work was finally over, the boy's entire body was sore. He returned to the house in silence and ate the food that Eöl put in front of him without argument. After dinner, he was astonished to realize that he was too weary to go outside and roam in the forest under the stars. Eöl settled down to read, and the boy played quietly indoors. His heart was not in his games, however, and after a while, he rose, kissed Eöl good night and went to bed. He lay in the gloom, exhausted, but too troubled to fall asleep.

Aredhel returned later in the night. The boy heard his door open and heard Aredhel's soft footsteps as she entered the chamber to check on him. He wanted to sit up and let his mother embrace him, but he remembered what Eöl had said about how she had left when he was a baby. He lay still and feigned sleep. Aredhel's smooth, cool hand brushed over his hair.

"I love you, my Lómion," she whispered. She bent down and kissed him, then tucked the covers around him and left. The boy thought miserably about the beauty of Nan Elmoth in the twilight and how he had been too weary to play that evening. His muscles ached. And even though his mirror was still turned to the wall, he felt sure that, inside it, Maeglin was laughing at him.