Torches flare, casting flickering shadows across the dank halls. Heavy footsteps echo off the stone walls. A rat darts through iron bars. Maeglin kneels on the ground of his cell, awaiting the approach of his captors. Hands bound behind his back, the cuffs chaff at his wrists and Maeglin shifts in discomfort.

Just his luck that his secret forages out of the city for ore led to a chance encounter with the servants of the Enemy. It was a risk he took, venturing out with news that Morgoth had spies combing the mountains. However, like his mother, Maeglin eventually grew restless, discontent to only remain inside its walls. Not heeding the laws of Turgon which prohibited all Gondolindrim from leaving, he was taken prisoner by Orcs and brought to Angband.

From tales he knows that the Elven thralls of Morgoth rarely see the light of day and escape is a futile endeavour. He is aware of how resistance is punished. He does not wish to share in their fate.

When the footsteps reach the door of his cell, Maeglin already have words planned.

"Save thy whips and thy blades. I yield." Maeglin relents, dejected and defeated. He stays in his position on the ground. He almost feels contempt for himself for how easily he gives up. "I have great knowledge concerning the city of Gondolin that the Dark Lord would rejoice to hear. This I offer to him."