A Hundred Miles Through the Desert - Chapter Thirty Seven

[starspray]

Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: T
Characters: Sons of Feanor, Elrond, Feanor, Daeron, various others
Warnings: n/a
Summary: After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.
Note: This fic is a direct sequel to High in the Clean Blue Air. 

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As nice as it was to sit under a tree and listen to the birds while he worked, one clumsy step of Huan’s was all it took to get a great big muddy paw print all over two pages of notes, and for Maglor to decide tables were nicer than tree-shade. “Mind if I join you?” he asked Maedhros, peering through the open window of his small studio.

“Did Huan eat your draft?” Maedhros asked, glancing over his shoulder. Maglor had not been quiet about his displeasure.

“No, just walked all over it. So, can I?”

“Of course you can. You don’t even need to ask.”

Maglor didn’t really write much over the course of his stay at Nerdanel’s house, in spite of his efforts. He ended up watching Maedhros work instead, and talking to him about the painting and about other everyday things. They made some vague plans to go through the piles of boxes taking up the empty portion of his studio, all brought from their old house in Tirion, but Maglor didn’t have the heart for it and suspected Maedhros didn’t either. He spent a lot of time with Calissë in Mahtan’s woodworking shop, and with Mahtan and Ennalótë, catching up as he hadn’t gotten the chance to do in between his arrival in Valinor and his going to Lórien. He got to know Isilmiel a little too, though she was absorbed in her own work—whatever passion Elessúrë was worried about her finding, it seemed she’d stumbled upon it. Celegorm wasn’t quite so enthused about either stone carving or knitting, but he seemed to like doing something. Maglor was glad to see it; it grounded him in a way that he’d been missing before.

Celebrimbor also lingered. He was in between projects of his own, and seemed determined to befriend Maeglin, who in his turn seemed bemused by the very idea, though not opposed. Maglor wasn’t quite sure what to make of Maeglin, though he recognized the weight that he seemed to be carrying on his shoulders. It was a very familiar one. Aredhel had been corresponding with Fingon and Gilheneth, and when she announced that she and Maeglin would be leaving to visit them, she included Celebrimbor in the plan.

“I’m surprised you stayed as long as you have,” Daeron remarked.

“Are you?” Aredhel laughed. “This is a much more relaxing place to get used to life again than Tirion would be.”

Daeron snorted. “I cannot imagine what you expect to find in Tirion if you find this company relaxing.”

“No one’s making you stay,” Celegorm said.

“Just because I don’t find you relaxing doesn’t mean I don’t find you amusing.”

“It’s more relaxing than I would have expected, true,” Aredhel said. “But Findekáno and Gilheneth’s home is promised to be much quieter.”

“It’s lovely,” Nerdanel said. “I’m told it’s built in the style of Lindon.”

“It is,” Celebrimbor said. “Gilheneth designed it herself.”

And of course Elrond would be there. Maglor had had a letter from him the day before; Celebrían and the twins would soon be making their way also to that estate in order to see Gil-galad. Still, it would certainly be more relaxing than Nerdanel’s house, with more than half of her sons shouting at each other up and down the stairs all day and Pídhres hissing at Huan, and Nallámo fluttering through the windows at all hours.

A little while later Maglor saw Maeglin sitting outside, apparently absorbed in a book—except that he had not turned the page in some time. Maglor went over to sit beside him. “I keep meaning to ask you which name you prefer,” he said when Maeglin looked up in surprise. “Maeglin or Lómion—or some other name entirely?”

Maeglin shrugged. “I don’t mind either one,” he said. “Though it sounds a little strange to hear Lómion from anyone besides my mother. What name do you prefer? I think I heard your brothers call you three different ones in the same sentence yesterday.”

“I’ve been called Maglor longer than any other name,” Maglor said, “and no one uses my father-name besides my brothers, but I like Macalaurë just as well. I also wanted to tell you,” he added, “that you’ll probably find a warmer welcome than you think you will, and more friends than you expect.”

Maeglin’s look turned wary. “What makes you say that?”

“Experience. Everyone wishes to move forward in peace and in friendship, if possible. Maybe not everyone can, but we are all trying. The fact that you are here at all will soften many hearts, and ease many fears. But if you find it too much, you are always welcome here, or in Imloth Ninglor—”

“Not there, surely,” Maeglin said, aghast.

“You’ll see, when you meet Elrond. Anyway, most people are fine with all of us running around.”

“That’s different.”

“Well, yes. I would argue that we were worse. But that’s not the point. If you need to speak to someone who understands what it is to do terrible things, you can come to any of us.”

“You sound like Celegorm. And he sounds like Nienna.”

“I hope you listened to her, when she spoke to you,” Maglor said. Maeglin looked away, but he nodded. “We’re all more than the worst things we’ve done, and we’re not bound to who we used to be.”

“I know,” Maeglin said. “But I can’t be someone new before I—face my uncle. And my cousins.”

“You don’t have to go alone.”

“That’s why Celebrimbor insists on going with us. What’s he like now—Turgon? I was told you’d spoken to him lately.”

“I did. He was…grave, but I don’t know if he’s like that all the time. It was not a happy conversation.”

“Why? Why seek him out at all, then?”

“He greeted me far more kindly than he could have,” Maglor said. “It was unhappy because we spoke of unhappy things—of our grandfather, mostly, for this song I’m writing. Also of our fathers, which came naturally after speaking of our grandfather. He spoke a little of Gondolin and his own regrets, but did not mention you. I saw Idril too on Eressëa, but we did not speak of you then either. I don’t know what you might expect from either meeting. I just know that when I came here, I expected the worst from everyone except Elrond, and I was wrong every single time.”

Maeglin did not answer for some time. He looked across the garden to where Celegorm was wrestling with Huan, while Maedhros sat nearby with Aechen on his lap, laughing with Caranthir. They did not look, Maglor thought, like the figures Maeglin would have heard stories of, would have seen in Mandos’ tapestries. “My mother used to tell me stories of all her brothers and her cousins,” he said softly, after a little while. “I could hardly imagine it. They were all such happy stories; I used to hate that I was born so late. After so many awful things happened, after you were all scattered and separated. I didn’t know then that the worst things were yet to come, and that I would play such a part in bringing about the worst of all.”

“It’s a new Age, now,” Maglor said. “We’re all back, and there is hope that we can all come together—old faces and new—to make new memories worth telling stories about. It won’t be the same, because none of us are the same, but it will still be good.” Maeglin looked at him briefly, doubtfully, but nodded. “You’ll see.”

Calissë stayed behind when Celebrimbor left with Aredhel and Maeglin. The plum harvest left them inundated with fruit, and soon the nights began to grow a little chillier, and Maglor and Daeron began to speak more seriously of going on to Taur-en-Gellam while the weather was still fine enough for travel. “You travel around an awful lot,” Calissë said, draping herself over Maglor’s shoulders from behind as he sat by the river with Daeron and Maedhros, talking of their plans.

“I’ll settle down after this,” Maglor said. “I’m actually quite looking forward to being back in Imloth Ningloron to stay. I miss my hedgehogs.”

“I asked Ammë if we could have a hedgehog but she said they wouldn’t like the city.”

“She’s right,” Maedhros said, as Aechen climbed over his legs to go sniff around the water’s edge, “but you can come play with Aechen whenever you want.”

“Can I come stay with you at Imloth Ningloron and do more woodcarving?” Calissë asked.

“Of course!” Maglor turned his head to kiss her cheek. “I would love that, sweetheart.”

A shout went up from behind them at the house, followed by other raised voices. “Oh dear,” Daeron said, looking back towards it over Maglor’s shoulder. “That’s a rather unfortunate shade of green.”

Maedhros craned his neck to see what was going on, and then rolled his eyes as he fell onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. “I didn’t see anything,” he said. “I don’t have to do anything if I didn’t see it.”

“You don’t have to do anything regardless,” Maglor said. “Worse comes to worst Tyelko has to cut his hair, and if I can survive it so can he.”

“When did you have to cut your hair?” Calissë asked.

“When your father spilled glue all over it, a very long time ago,” said Maglor.

“Atya never spills anything.”

“Because he learned his lesson after he ruined my hair and my favorite shirt. That was an accident, however—whatever is going on now is very much on purpose.”

“Fortunately,” Daeron said, “hair grows back. Unfortunately, Caranthir might end up with some bruises.”

“Bruises fade,” Maedhros said. “What did Celegorm do to deserve green hair, anyway?”

“Threw Caranthir into the river, I think,” Maglor said. “I don’t think they’re fighting, but I also don’t know what else you can call it. You might want to rethink your own threats about tossing us into the water.”

“Moryo knows better than to try something like this on me.”

As Calissë ran off to see whatever horrors Caranthir had committed against Celegorm’s hair up close, Maedhros asked Daeron, “Still prefer our siblings to yours?”

“Honestly, coming here was a breath of fresh air after Alqualondë,” Daeron said. “If I never have to speak about the Great Journey again it will be too soon. And you all get along well enough to do things like—well, like throwing ugly dye over each other’s heads, and teasing each other. It makes me miss Mablung, but not my own sisters or my brother.”

“We’ll be singing about the Great Journey, if Elemmírë has her way,” Maglor said.

“Ugh.” Daeron fell back onto the grass much more dramatically than Maedhros had. “And I told her I’d go recruiting singers from the Avari. That will be a task for next spring, I suppose.”

“I didn’t expect to look forward to whatever this is that Ingwë is planning,” Maedhros said, raising himself up onto his elbows, “but I think I’m starting to. If nothing else, this song cycle of Elemmírë’s will be wonderful.”

“It is ambitious,” Maglor said, “and rehearsing will doubtless be a nightmare.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that part,” Daeron groaned. “I’m exhausted already.” Maedhros laughed, and Daeron kicked at his ankle. “I’m going to sleep for a hundred years after that performance, and if anyone dares to disturb me I’ll sing them into an enchanted sleep to last even longer.”

Later, after they had returned to the house to find Celegorm attempting to wash Caranthir’s fabric dye out of his hair—more for the smell than for the color, which hadn’t had enough time to truly stick—Maedhros followed Maglor upstairs. “Are you nervous about performing?” he asked, leaning against the doorway as Maglor brought his pack out of the wardrobe.

“At the feast? No. I was at first, but I sang before Fingolfin’s court in Tirion and it went well enough.” Maglor set his pack on the bed and sighed. “Besides, what is all the Eldar gathered together compared to the Valar?”

“You’ve performed before them before,” Maedhros said.

“A very long time ago.”

Maedhros crossed the room to kiss Maglor’s forehead, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It won’t be as bad as you fear. Hasn’t that been the case for everything else?”

Hadn’t he just said that very thing to Maeglin? “It has.” Maglor sighed and let himself lean against Maedhros for a moment. “I’ll just be glad when it’s over, whatever happens afterward.”

“I told Celegorm what the song is for,” Maedhros said, “when we were in Tirion.”

“Is that why he suddenly stopped hovering?”

“Yes. I know you don’t want it widely known, but none of us will spread it around. We just want to help.”

“No, I know. I told Caranthir about it too, and I suppose I’ll tell Curufin and Ambarussa when next I see them. I just don’t—it’ll get their hopes up even if they try to say it won’t.”

“Doesn’t Elrond always say it’s never wrong to hope?”

“Yes, and I know he’s not wrong, I just—I can’t do it. Not for this.”

Calissë darted into the room then, and climbed onto the bed. “Uncle Cáno, can I go with you to Taur-en-Gellam?”

Maglor blinked at her, startled. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind,” he said, “but that’s a question for Daeron—and more importantly, your parents.”

“It would be an adventure!”

“It certainly would,” Maglor agreed as Maedhros laughed, “but I’m not going to steal you away for one without permission. Your mother would come drag me back to Tirion by my ears, and that would not be fun for anyone. Besides, we’ll be there all through the winter at least, and that’s a very long time for you to be away from home.”

“I’m big enough!” Calissë protested. “And I asked Daeron already and he thinks it’s a good idea!”

“Someone can come get her if she decides she wants to come home early, or gets homesick,” Maedhros said.

“I won’t get homesick!”

“I’m not the one that needs convincing,” Maglor said. “And Daeron will certainly agree with me that we need to ask Curvo and Rundamírë first.”

Downstairs they found Daeron with Celegorm in the kitchen, the latter scowling with green-tinged hands and his hair still a pale shade of it, damp and tangled from rough scrubbing. Daeron had a comb in his hands, carefully tugging it through the snarls. “Look on the bright side,” he was saying as Maglor followed Maedhros and Calissë into the room.

“I’m not sure I want to know what your idea of a bright side is,” Celegorm muttered. He glared at Maglor. “Not a word, Cáno.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything!”

“The bright side,” Daeron said, “is that Caranthir was kind enough to wait until Aredhel left.”

“It’s also almost washed out already,” Maedhros said. “Whatever you two are fighting about, please don’t try to escalate it.”

“We aren’t fighting!” Celegorm protested.

“Whatever you want to call it, then,” Maedhros said. “I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.”

Voices from outside drifted in through the window, and Celegorm groaned, leaning forward to bury his face in his arms. In the process he yanked the comb out of Daeron’s hands. “That’s Atya!” Calissë exclaimed, and ran out into the garden. “Atya, come see Uncle Tyelko’s hair!”

“Could be worse,” Maglor said as he sat down at the table by Celegorm, who grunted. “It’ll wash out, and you don’t have to cut any of it.”

Calissë returned with Curufin in tow. “What’s this about Tyelko’s—stars above, what happened?”

“Moryo happened,” Celegorm said into his arms. “And Lisgalen.”

Curufin covered his mouth with a hand, eyes crinkling as he struggled not to laugh. “What did you do to deserve it?”

“Nothing!”

“Come on, sit up,” Daeron said. “I can’t do anything with you slumped over like that.” Celegorm obeyed, and Daeron set about parting his hair for braiding. “It could be much worse, you know. This shade of green is rather pretty.”

Rundamírë came inside then, Náriel on her hip, and burst into laughter at seeing Celegorm. Náriel also thought green hair the funniest thing in the world, and in the face of the children’s laughter Maglor could see Celegorm’s annoyance start to ebb away, even though his face remained flushed and blotchy.

A little while later, Maglor was able to get Curufin alone. “Is this about your song?” Curufin asked as they walked out into the orchard, where it was quiet with the harvest being nearly done.

“Partly,” Maglor said. He spotted two plums that had been missed, and reached up to pick them. He handed one to Curufin. “You don’t have to talk to me about Finwë if you don’t want to.”

Curufin turned the plum over in his hands as they walked. “I remember when we went to Formenos, how worried I was,” he said after a moment. “I was terrified, actually—I saw what Atya was becoming and I’d already followed him in so many other ways. I don’t know if it was just my imagination or if the rest of you could see it too—”

“I was worried about you because I could see how worried you were,” Maglor said. “I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

“There wasn’t really anything anyone could do, was there? But Grandfather just…treated me as he always had. Like I was my own person and not just a copy of Atya, like…like he didn’t have any worries about what I would do at all. He was wrong, but…it meant a lot at the time.” He didn’t look up from the plum in his hands. “I wish I’d gone to learn woodworking from him. I just—wood didn’t interest me as much as gemcraft, and I didn’t think…”

“None of us did.” Maglor rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin of his own plum. “Calissë’s interested in wood, by the way. She’ll want to show you all the things we’ve made together over the last few weeks.”

Curufin laughed, though he also had to reach up to wipe his eyes. “I’m glad.”

“She also wants to go with Daeron and me to Taur-en-Gellam. Neither of us have any objections, but I told her it would be up to you and Rundamírë.”

“I’m not really surprised. She’s been itching for more adventures ever since we got back from Lórien. I remember being her age and wanting very desperately to be allowed to go off with you and Nelyo whenever you went wandering.”

“I know I joke about stealing your children away for adventures,” Maglor said, “but I really wouldn’t do such a thing, and I wouldn’t ever take them anywhere at all dangerous.”

“Oh, I know that. I don’t mind the jokes—I’m just glad you’re able to tease me about things again. As for Taur-en-Gellam…how long do you intend to stay there?”

“Through the winter at least. Daeron has errands to run come springtime, and if Calissë is with us I’ll go back with her to Imloth Ningloron. Of course I can change those plans if Calissë decides she wants to return home sooner.”

“I’ll speak to Arimeldë about it. If we do decide she can go, we’ll impress on her that she can’t just decide to come back in the middle of winter. It would be a miserable journey for her even if it isn’t so terribly far, and it isn’t fair to disrupt plans you’ve already made.”

“It’s up to you,” Maglor said. “I just wanted to tell you first, away from Náriel’s ears.”

“Thank you. Náriel isn’t quite so keen on adventures, though. She’ll be disappointed at being left out, but that’s easy enough to distract her from. And you really don’t mind if Calissë comes with you?”

“Of course not. If I didn’t like the idea I would have led with that, and if Daeron didn’t he would have already come up with an excuse to discourage Calissë. But it won’t break our hearts either if you say no. She is still young.”

“I think Arimeldë will be more willing to let her go than me, honestly,” Curufin said after a few minutes. They came to the river where it flowed past the very edge of the orchard. “But that’s just because I worry more than I should. There’s nothing dangerous between here and Taur-en-Gellam, and even if there was, I know you’d protect her—no one better. When are you going to leave?”

“Sometime soon, while the weather is still fine and warm.”

They sat under one of the plum trees at the water’s edge and ate their fruit in companionable silence, listening to the water and to the birds in the trees behind them and the fields in front of them. Distantly, Maglor heard someone laughing—one of their brothers—and then a child’s shriek. Beside him Curufin winced. Maglor wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’re a good father, Curvo. You always have been.”

“I tried,” Curufin said softly, “but it—it wasn’t possible to be a good father and to follow the Oath. Or to be a good father and to be what I thought was a good son.”

“You kept Tyelpë from the worst of it.”

“The worst of us, maybe. But he’s still—I can tell that he wants to do the kind of work he used to, that he used to love. He just can’t, anymore, and it’s—I don’t know how to help.”

“You’re here,” Maglor said. “You love him. You don’t have to do anything more than that unless he asks for it.”

“It feels like there should be something more that I could be doing.”

“I know. Elrond kept asking me the same question when I first went to Rivendell—what else he could do.”

“Was there?”

“No.”

Curufin lifted his head to look at Maglor with narrowed eyes. “Would you have said so even if there was?” he asked.

Maglor laughed a little. “Not in the beginning, no. But there really wasn’t. Rivendell was safe—the safest place in Middle-earth, maybe—and I knew from the moment I arrived that I was cared for and wanted there. That was enough. That and Elrond’s frankly astonishing capacity for hope.”

“I don’t think I can give Tyelpë that.”

“I don’t think Tyelpë needs that from you. He just needs you, and he’s got you.”

Curufin sat up fully, frowning again. “Do you think that’s what our father needs—his father, I mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I know it was very hard for him to speak to me of Finwë—but he said that he misses him, badly. And I remember what it was like right after Finwë died.” Maglor paused, and then said, “That’s what this song is for.”

“What?”

“The real reason Míriel and Indis asked me to write of Finwë. They want me to perform it first before the Valar, when it’s done.”

Curufin stared at him uncomprehendingly. “But—why? What would—”

“They think it might do more to move them than their own arguments have.”

“They think—” Curufin’s jaw went slack in astonishment. “And you agreed?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“But—but Cáno, they aren’t going to listen. Not after all this time, not after so many others have begged and pleaded. Even Ingwë went before them, and they gave no answer!”

“I know.” Maglor looked out over the water, watching a few leaves drift by on the current. “But Míriel thinks they will listen to this, and so does Elrond. This part of it isn’t meant to be known though, Curvo. I’m only telling you because Moryo and Tyelko know now, and it feels wrong to keep secrets from all of you. Whatever happens, though, please don’t tell Atya.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to start to hope only for nothing to change. It would break his heart.”

“It’s already broken,” Curufin said quietly, “but I know what you mean. He won’t hear of it from me.” He leaned back on his hands, frowning at the water. “Is this why you’re avoiding him until you’re done?”

“In part. It’s also just that—there’s so much else we need to speak of, and I can’t do it yet. Not while this is hanging over me. Amras says he told Atya that, and that he understands.”

“He does—if anyone understands getting so caught up in your work that you can’t spare a thought for anything else, it’s Atya.”

“It’s not quite that bad for me, but close enough.”

When they returned to the house Curufin went to speak to Rundamírë about Calissë’s desire for adventure, and at dinner, Curufin and Rundamírë told Calissë that yes, she would be allowed to go with Daeron and Maglor to Taur-en-Gellam. This was followed by a series of instructions from Rundamírë that Maglor wasn’t certain Calissë heard in the throes of her joy. Náriel demanded to know why she couldn’t also go, but was very quickly mollified by promises from Curufin for more time spent with him in his workshop and forge. “Are you sure you can handle her alone, Macalaurë?” Nerdanel asked. Maglor was seated next to her near the head of the table. “Calissë can be rather spirited.”

“Daeron will be there too. And anyway, I handled Elrond and Elros. Calissë can’t be that bad—at the very least, she’s unlikely to bite me.”

Across the table Maedhros nearly choked on a piece of bread. “I forgot about that,” he said when he recovered enough to catch his breath. “I think I learned three new curses that day.”

“Did you just say Elrond bit you?” Celegorm asked from Maedhros’ other side.

“No, it was Elros.”

“Who grew up to be a great king of Men,” Daeron added, “so you must have done something right.”

“Either way, Calissë can’t be that wild,” Maglor said, smiling at Nerdanel.

“No, not quite,” Nerdanel said, laughing. “But she is her father’s daughter, and he was prone to wandering off at that age—following butterflies or rabbits. We couldn’t take him anywhere without at least one frantic search through the grass or the bushes—”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Curufin protested.

“No, you were worse,” said Caranthir. Curufin opened his mouth to argue, but Celegorm chimed in to agree, and started telling stories about all the times Curufin had wandered away when he was a child, to the great amusement of Rundamírë and the fascination of both Calissë and Náriel. In the end Rundamírë extracted a promise from Calissë to not wander off, whatever interesting things she saw on the journey, and to stay close to Maglor and Daeron at all times.

They left a week later. “I’ll write as soon as we arrive,” Maglor promised Curufin as he embraced him. “And I’ll see you next spring in Imloth Ningloron.”

Maedhros hugged Maglor a little more tightly than Maglor had expected. “Good luck,” he said. “See you in the spring.”

“Take care of yourself, Maedhros.”