Hope fluttered in his chest, and for a moment the intense desire to vomit all of the bile in his stomach lessened (it would be yellow; it wouldn’t be the first time emptying his belly on the ground in front of him, and thankfully it wasn’t in front of the Ainur).There was no time to congratulate himself internally for his cleverness. The threat that Morgoth made, hopefully made casually but he had no desire to find out, made his heart stop as his mind imagined rather gruesomely that claw puncturing fabric and skin and bone. The elf’s mouth gaped as he shuddered again at the thought – if he wasn’t careful, it may be a likely end.
He didn’t miss Morgoth’s observation – how could he know how young he was? Though I may be fully grown, how can he perceive that I am one of the youngest in Gondolin? Maeglin swallowed back the welling of fresh saliva in his mouth so that he could answer clearly. Feeling successful thus far, he knew he had to continue convincingly, and that Morgoth followed the intended line of questioning gave him enough hope to inject confidence into his voice.
“A moment ago, you gave it away. Do you take the defensive or the offensive? You have no plan. From what I have been told about you and how your forces operate – you act when you have a plan. But you have none, and I would not need to be a close councilor to Turgon in order to know what I know."
Do not divulge that! he chided himself. Blinking, he continued on. No need to keep Morgoth waiting… “And what I know is that the Crissaegrim offer no path or pass into the valley. You have no plan because there is no way in.”
"And yet, does my good eye deceive me?” Melkor leaned forward mockingly, scrutinizing the young elf in the beam of his stare. “It seems to me there is at least a way out of the valley… or else have the Eldar learned to fly?”
Behind Maeglin, the Dark Lord’s lieutenant stirred unbidden, placing a heavy hand full of mute warning on the elf’s neck.
"Make no mistake, little mole; you buy seconds of your life with this news. Tell me more. Tell me Turgon’s plan of attack, if indeed you are his close advisor.”
The hand on the boy’s neck moved to his hair, pulling it back taught with a snap.
"Tell me everything, and there may yet be some reward I could give you.”
The elf swallowed so thickly that he was certain Sauron behind him could feel it through his hand. A horrifying realization froze his body and though he was sweating, he suddenly felt as though he’d been doused into a river whose source was the snowmelt from the Eastern mountains. Maeglin shivered and clenched his teeth to prevent them from chattering.
A small sound leapt from his throat, which was now bared with his head pulled back. It was a whimper, an ugly, ungraceful sound that openly declared his fright and alarm. Maeglin felt shame tear down his fragile walls of bravado. Without that, he felt weak and powerless.
It was unwise to doubt the threat that came before whatever promise of reward, but to pass along this information would mean endangering his mother’s brother’s beloved valley… He hadn’t thought this entirely through, or considered everything…
“R-reward? B-but…” Mouth dry, Maeglin licked his lips before continuing. He needed time to think this over-!
“G-give me some time to consider, at least…”
Melkor made a blithe, untroubled gesture with one gauntleted hand, laughing sweetly.
“Of course, of course! Take all the time you need. Lieutenant–”
And the Umaia, whose hard fingers threatened to choke the boy whose throat had uttered such a tantalizing noise of distress, straightened in answer.
“–Please take our guest to the Realgar Hall, and bind him over a geyser vent. Let him consider his options while the flesh of his hands boils off the bone. And Beloved, make sure that he is comfortable! I don’t want to rush his decision."
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