For a moment Lómion felt young again, the shadow of his past falling over him as enchantments fell away, revealing those subtle changes which hid his true face from the world. The shape of his eyes, the sharpness in his features that he'd softened to be less recognizeable, the scars upon his face that he had earned from Morgoths lair. Nerves balled up in his chest, tying his tongue for a moment as he watched Elronds face carefully. In his mind he was in those first years after the fall of Gondolin, afraid of being found, looking over his shoulder in worry that someone would know him and kill him for what he had done. He could hear Ithilwen take a deep breath, though she never had anything to hide for herself, forgotten completely in all of the turmoil...
Now it has come to it. Lómion thought, heart thudding in his chest, no turning back now. Even though he was still unsure how to say it. He huffed and looked to his sister, who returned his look with evident anxiety which she slipped beneath a supportive nod and a gesture for him to get on with it.
"I am Maeglin," The name bit like blood and rust, so disused and despised he could not hide the edge of disgust in his voice at its utterance. "The son of Eöl. Commonly known as the craven coward who betrayed Gondolin to Morgoth, who tried to kill your father, and was thrown from the walls---by your grandfather." The final words had broken his voice for a moment, and though he looked at Elrond, it was not Elrond that he saw, but the face of Tuor looking down at him in anger as his foot met air and he plummeted to the rocks below. That face like the sun the last thing he'd seen, the thing that made his words feel both alive and distant, and his voice like memory and death. "In short, the story got it wrong, and by some curse or... miracle... or perhaps the twisted humor of the Valar, I survived. Ithilwen here," he gestured to his sister. "Then kept me alive by the means of her skills in healing learned at Idrils side."
He cleared his throat and took a step back, steadying himself on his feet as Elrond came back into focus, just in case he wanted to swing.
"I had no desire for deception, but I knew that the likelihood of anyone allowing me another chance to redeem myself would never happen as long as I was myself. Perhaps it was selfish, but I wanted to atone in some way for everything that I had done... and it was the only way that I could think of." He crumbled then, down upon his knees before Elrond, knowing that even though he had never hurt his friend, his friend still embodied in legacy those he wished he could beg forgiveness from. "I have long been sorry for what I had done, and set about to make amends. It cannot change any of it, but at least I have tried to do far better, and though I cannot ask... nor do I deserve to be forgiven... I may at least hope to save more than I betrayed."
He sat back upon his legs, looking up at Elrond as he surveyed his own broken soul. There were so many shards, so many things he could not forgive himself for, that now that all was exposed he realized that there was a fear that no matter what he did in contrast that it would never be enough. The good of Amarthdír would never cover the sins of Maeglin. The blood that was on his hands dripped with every breath he took still walking on this earth, and the cries he heard amidst the fire of the White City would never fade from his ears.
"... I can understand if you do not want me here." He quietly finished, looking at Elrond as himself again instead of Turgon... Idril... Tuor... Eärendil... his mother. "I would not either if I were you."
