A Hundred Miles Through the Desert - Chapter Forty 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. 

Prologue / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

 

After the holiday, things settled back into a routine. Daeron had his duties, and Maglor found himself in increasing demand as a teacher—and found that he enjoyed it more and more. He still took time in the mornings to work on his song—after he and Daeron fixed things, the words started to come more easily again. The anxiety didn’t fade, but at least it was no longer holding him back.

Daeron spent a great deal of time with his parents, each alone, and with Simpalírë, and with all three of them together. Maglor rarely joined them. Nothing went nearly as badly as it had before Midwinter, but he still often came away tired and unhappy and not always able to explain why. When they were together Daeron always wanted to stick close to Maglor’s side, always touching him in one way or another, even more than in the days right after they’d reunited in Lórien.

“I think we’re starting to understand each other,” he said to Maglor as they walked through the woods, talking of family. Spring was coming, with snow melt turning the ground to mud and crocuses starting to peek through the lingering drifts, bright splashes of purple against the brown and white. It was still cold, but it was losing its bite. “But…”

“But?” Maglor prompted after Daeron fell silent for several minutes.

“Pirineth did very well singing the Leithian last night,” Daeron said.

“Yes, she did.”

“I think Simpalírë must have warned both Amil and Atar not to speak to me of Lúthien, but I can tell they want to. And it’s…I think I could answer calmly enough, except—I can’t start that conversation myself. And I don’t actually want them to ask me anything.”

“What is it you’re afraid of?” Maglor asked.

“I don’t know. Netyalossë said some things in Avallónë about me having missed my chance for a better something or other—I wasn’t really listening because she was just being snide about you and I didn’t want to hear it. I don’t actually know if she was talking about Lúthien or not, but…”

“Netyalossë isn’t here.” Maglor hesitated a moment, and then asked, “Would you have? Married Lúthien, I mean?”

“Yes,” Daeron said simply. He stepped over a patch of particularly slick mud, not letting go of Maglor’s hand. “There was a time when I would very happily have married her, and she knew it. She did not feel the same, however, and—well, it hurt of course, but it would have been worse to lose my dearest friend than to not marry her.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “It was worse to lose my dearest friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Maglor said. “You don’t have to tell—”

“No, it’s—I got over it. I never stopped loving her, but the love changed. We had it all settled between us years and years before I ever met you. She teased me as mercilessly as Mablung after the feast, and then when Angrod spilled the truth, she never mentioned your name again.”

“I’m sorry,” Maglor said again.

“You would have liked one another. I’ve often thought that you would have been friends if you had ever gotten to meet. I just…I don’t know. I can talk about her with Mablung or with Thingol or Celeborn, because they all knew her, and I can talk about her with you because you know me, but I don’t know how to explain any of it to anyone else.”

“Her fate was not your fault you know,” Maglor said after they walked a little farther in silence. “I know you don’t want to hear the blame passed on, but—”

“No, that was—I do know better. Whatever happened, she may very well have decided to follow Beren into death and beyond even if they were able to live a long and peaceful life together in Doriath, without any quests or Silmarils or any of it. The part I played was still not nothing, and I should have let Lúthien bring Beren to her father’s attention in her own way and on her own time, but…no one could make or stop Lúthien from doing anything when she set her mind to it. I did make peace with all of that long ago. I still don’t know why it reared up again the way it did.”

“Sometimes the past just…tangles itself up, so one thing drags up another,” Maglor said. “At least in my experience—but you’ve been better than me about not just pushing it all down and ignoring it.”

“I try, anyway,” Daeron said. “I do miss her. I’ll always miss her, especially because I never got to see her again after she left, never got a chance to properly apologize. Dior told me once that she spoke of me fondly, so I suppose that means she forgave me. And she did tell me, right before she left—she told me that I’d understand someday why she did all that she did, because I would find the same joy that she had found.” His grip on Maglor’s hand tightened. “She was right. We should have spoken of this long ago. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to ask because I didn’t want to bring up unhappy memories,” said Maglor. “But you know I’ll always listen, whatever it is you want to tell me.”

“I know. I don’t know why I haven’t. Just…wanting to live in the present and not dwell in the past, I suppose. And for what it’s worth,” Daeron added, smiling a little mischievously, “You can tell me all about your previous loves too, if you want. I promise I won’t get too jealous.”

“I’ve already told you I was never in love with anyone else,” Maglor said. “There’s nothing really to say about the rest of it. I just liked to have fun whenever I was in Tirion—though still less than gossip would have it.”

As they turned back toward the city, Daeron sighed. “You’ll be leaving soon.”

“So will you. Are you going alone?”

“No, Beleg and Mablung are coming. Beleg was another almost-uncle to both Mablung and me in our childhood and youth. It will be nice to travel with them both again—we once roamed all over Beleriand together, from Ossiriand to the Bay of Balar. I asked Simpalírë if he wished to go, but he hasn’t decided yet.”

“I hope he does,” said Maglor.

“I do too,” said Daeron, sounding a little surprised to hear himself say it. “But I’ll miss you horribly.”

“I’ll miss you too, but it’s only a few months. A year at most,” said Maglor. “And then we’ll make our way to Tirion or Valmar or wherever Elemmírë wants to rehearse.”

“Ugh, that’s going to be awful.”

“I think it will be fun. I just need to finish my own song first.”

“You’ve been working hard all winter. Have you made progress?”

“I have a draft nearly complete—complete enough that I can show it to others to ask for their opinions once I write out a fair copy. Finrod and Galadriel already promised they would look it over, though they might still be busy with Aegnor.”

“You haven’t yet spoken to him,” Daeron said.

“No, but—this song is important, but it’s not so important that I need to intrude when he’s trying to readjust to life; from what Galadriel wrote in her last letter to me, I think he’s finding it a little harder than Gil-galad or Aredhel. The last thing he needs right now, probably, is inquisitive cousins.”

Finally, the weather grew warm enough that travel would not be more than mildly uncomfortable, and Maglor made preparations for his and Calissë’s return to Imloth Ningloron. He took leave of Thingol and Olwë, and of Ingwë, and bade farewell to Daeron’s students and to his family. Calissë was sad to leave her friends, but she had gained a new appreciation for letter-writing after Cýroniel and Ríthon both promised to send letters as often as they could.

Daeron lifted Calissë up and peppered kisses all over her face when it was time to leave. “Give your parents my love please,” he said, “and give Náriel a kiss for me, won’t you?”

“I will,” Calissë said. “I’ll miss you though!”

“I’ll miss you too, but I promise I’ll come back with a dozen new stories to tell you.” Daeron set Calissë onto her pony and turned to Maglor, pulling him into a tight embrace and deep kiss. Calissë made a disgusted noise, which made Simpalírë laugh somewhere nearby. “I won’t be anywhere I can send letters,” Daeron said as he pulled back, “but I’ll be thinking of you.”

“I love you,” Maglor murmured in his ear. “Be safe—don’t rush anything on my account.”

“I won’t. Take care of yourself, beloved.”

“I will if you will.”

As they left Taur-en-Gellam, Maglor and Calissë passed through the mallorn grove, and both of them stopped to look up and around, at the tall silver trunks crowned with golden flowers, and the ground underneath carpeted with golden leaves. It made Maglor think of Lothlórien in springtime, far away. He wondered if the mallorn trees there still thrived, or if they were fading away with the passing of the Elves and of Galadriel’s power. The mallorn tree in the Shire, he was certain, would be in bloom, tall and stately and providing beauty and shade to generations of hobbits for their parties and picnics. He told Calissë the story of Bilbo’s one hundred and eleventh birthday party as they rode, describing all the fireworks in as much detail as Bilbo himself ever had, including the way all of the other hobbits had been frightened out of their wits by the dragon.

“Could we ask Mithrandir to make one of those?” Calissë asked. “A dragon firework? I want to see it!”

“I’m sure he would be delighted,” said Maglor. “You should certainly ask him when next you see him—it will give everyone a terrible fright, just like at Bilbo’s party!”

“How did Bilbo disappear like that?” Calissë asked a little later, after Maglor had finished that part of the story.

“His magic ring,” said Maglor.

“That’s the same ring that had to get destroyed, though?”

“Yes, that’s right. But Bilbo didn’t know that at the time—no one did. For him it was just a very useful little thing to help him get out of danger and avoid his unpleasant cousins the Sackville-Bagginses, and also to play one last silly trick on all of his neighbors. Once his nephew Frodo learned what it really was, he was much more careful.”

“Frodo’s story is much scarier than Bilbo’s,” Calissë said.

“Bilbo’s was scary too,” said Maglor, “but he told it differently than Frodo told his own—it is true, though, that going into Mordor was even more dangerous than creeping down into a dragon’s lair.”

“They were very brave,” said Calissë.

“Yes, they were,” said Maglor.

“Like you.”

“Me?” Maglor glanced at her, ready to laugh, but found her quite serious. “I’m not that brave, sweetheart, I just got lucky.”

“No,” she said, “Atya says you’re braver than anyone else in the family. He said you spent a really long time alone, and that it was really scary and dangerous and you’re the only person in the whole world that could do it.”

“When did he say that?” Maglor asked.

“When we were going to Lórien, and he and everyone else were telling stories about you and Uncle Nelyo.” Calissë paused, and then said a little sheepishly, “And then he said not to tell you that he said that, and Uncle Moryo laughed at him, but I forgot until just now.”

“That’s all right,” said Maglor, smiling. “He won’t be upset that you forgot, he just doesn’t want me to know he said anything so nice.”

“Is everyone going to be waiting for us at Imloth Ningloron?”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’ll beat them there—or maybe we’ll meet them on the road! It will be a surprise, whatever happens.”

They did meet someone on the road, just as they joined the main north-south road coming from the one that led west to Taur-en-Gellam, though it wasn’t Curufin. It was Elladan and Elrohir instead, coming south in the company of Dior Eluchíl and Nimloth just as Beleg had predicted. Calissë recognized the twins at once and rushed forward to greet them. Elrohir, laughing, dropped out of the saddle to scoop her up. Elladan trotted forward to clasp Maglor’s hand. “This is a happy chance! But where’s Daeron?”

“Still in Taur-en-Gellam; he has duties to perform and errands of his own,” said Maglor, “and it will be some time before he can come back to Imloth Ningloron. Are you headed home?”

“Yes, we were just about to part with our grandparents. Come! You haven’t yet met, have you?”

Dior could not be mistaken, being as alike to Elladan and Elrohir as Elrond was, though there was a different sort of light in his eyes. He smiled warmly at Maglor as he held out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you at last,” he said. “Elrond and Daeron have both spoken so highly of you.” Nimloth also smiled, but did not extend a hand in greeting, though she softened a great deal when Elrohir introduced Calissë. “I’m sorry to have missed Midwinter at home,” Dior said once introductions were done, “if both you and Daeron were there. It must have been marvelous.”

“It was!” Calissë said.

“It was,” Maglor agreed, “though I played a very small part in it.”

“What will truly be marvelous is the upcoming great feast,” said Elrohir, “and all of the music that Elemmírë is planning.”

“All of Valinor is buzzing with talk of it,” Dior said, “and I’ve never seen Tirion so busy.”

Everyone was eager to be at home, however, so they soon parted, Dior and Nimloth for Taur-en-Gellam and the rest of them for Imloth Ningloron to the south. “Are your parents at home yet?” Maglor asked.

“No, they’re visiting Finarfin and meeting Aegnor,” said Elladan. “We stopped for a few days, but then came ahead with Grandmother Nimloth and Grandfather Dior, and hoping to get home in time to welcome you. We’ve missed you,” he added, glancing over at Maglor. “Maedhros will be following in a few days as well; he did not want to impose on our grandparents.”

“Has he met…?”

“Oh, yes, but he still feels a little awkward. I could tell you did too.”

Maglor shrugged. “No more awkward than some other meetings I have had. Tell me about all I’ve been missing?”

It was always fun, traveling with Elladan and Elrohir. It was familiar and comfortable, and only after a few hours in their company did Maglor realize just how much he had missed that—the long-ingrained habits and the easy banter, and the silences that did not need to be filled. And when they reached Imloth Ningloron, arriving in the middle of the day to laughter and smiles, there were no strangers waiting and no one Maglor had to worry about impressing or not offending. His hedgehogs had woken up from their winter’s hibernation, and came scurrying out of the daffodils to meet him, purring and sniffing at his fingers. It was a disappointment not to have Elrond and Celebrían there, but they would come home soon enough, and his brothers would follow.

“You seem tired,” Elrohir said a few days after they had arrived. Maglor had brought a mug of tea outside to sit in the sunshine. The air was still cool, but his clothes were thick and warm, and the tea was hot and sweet. The earliest spring birds were singing in the trees, and the air smelled faintly of daffodils and niphredil. Somewhere out in the garden, Legolas was singing to the flowers. “Did it all go well in Taur-en-Gellam?”

“For the most part,” Maglor said. “I am tired, but that’s just because it’s wearying to be traveling around and then a guest for such a long stretch of time.”

“You were not a guest in Avallónë,” said Elrohir.

“No, I meant Taur-en-Gellam—but as nice as it was to spend time on Eressëa, it had its own tensions.”

“Is that any better? I know that Daeron’s brother and his parents followed you to Taur-en-Gellam.”

“I think it’s better,” said Maglor. “It might improve even more now that I’m not there.” Elrohir made a face. “I know. It is what it is. But I have spoken to everyone I need to, and now all I have to do is write, so I’m not going anywhere, which means I can sleep in my own bed and get some real rest.”

“Good,” Elrohir said. “You know my father is worried about you. Your letters this winter were not all very cheerful, and then your later ones were not quite as reassuring as I think you meant them to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Maglor said.

“But did you and Daeron—I know you said he has errands of his own, but is that really why…?”

“Yes, that’s the only thing keeping him away. There was—he argued with Simpalírë and snapped at me, and it was tense and unpleasant for a little while, but that was before Midwinter. We’re fine, so don’t start in on Daeron when he does get here.”

“If you’re sure,” Elrohir said doubtfully.

“Believe it or not, Daeron and I are perfectly capable of working through our own problems by ourselves. I’m only—how many thousands of years older than you? And he is even older!”

That was meant to make Elrohir laugh, but he remained serious. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just—a hard habit to break. Worrying.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for it.” Maglor reached out to tug on one of his braids. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, just—sometimes I think about…” Elrohir glanced toward the door, as though worried Calissë might be nearby. Then he asked softly, “Do you remember when we found you?”

“Not really,” said Maglor. “I mean, I remember hearing your voices and seeing your faces and thinking I’d finally gone utterly mad. I remember being very afraid, and how everything hurt, and the light being too bright, but not much else—not until I woke up later to sunshine on the leaves in Lothlórien.”

“I was the one that noticed the door—the one with its lock rusted shut. I almost ignored it, thinking that no one could possibly be inside if it hadn’t been opened in that long. I almost—”

“Oh, Elrohir.” Maglor set his tea aside and pulled Elrohir into his arms. “Don’t dwell on such things. You didn’t ignore it, and that’s why I’m here with you now.” He kissed Elrohir’s forehead. “And I’m so grateful for it—beyond any words. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” Elrohir rested his head on Maglor’s shoulder. “I don’t usually dwell on it, but I kept dreaming last night of—oh, just old and dark things. It happens sometimes, and I’m all right. Just—so many things came down to mere chance, and sometimes if I think about it too long I realize all over again just how frightening that is.”

“I understand,” Maglor said. “I think, though, that it was a little more than mere chance that led you to open that door.”

A loud bark echoed through the valley then, and a second later Maglor heard Calissë’s voice calling out to her parents and her siblings. He kissed Elrohir once more before releasing him so they could walk around to the stable yard, where Curufin had Calissë in his arms and Elladan was already there, greeting Celegorm and Rundamírë and Maedhros and Celebrimbor, while Huan sniffed at everyone, tail wagging hard enough to nearly knock Celegorm over. “Uncle Cáno!” Náriel hurled herself at Maglor, who knelt to catch her and pepper kisses all over her cheeks. He had to shift her to his hip as he rose, because Curufin stepped forward to embrace him with surprising force.

“Everything all right, Curvo?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” said Curufin without lifting his head from Maglor’s shoulder. “I just missed you.”

“Atya, can I tell Uncle Cáno the surprise?” Náriel asked.

“What surprise?” Maglor asked as Curufin lifted his head. “Don’t keep me in suspense!”

“Don’t keep any of us in suspense!” said Celegorm as he stepped up to take Curufin’s place. “I don’t know what this surprise is either—hullo, Cáno. You look tired.”

“And your hair is still green,” Maglor said, cuffing him lightly upside the head.

“It is not—” Celegorm grabbed the end of his braid to look even as he protested.

“Ammë and Atya are having a baby!” Náriel interrupted, wiggling in Maglor’s arms and kicking her legs as she ran out of patience.

“A baby!” Maglor and Celegorm exclaimed at the same time, as Maedhros and Celebrimbor laughed.

“Next winter,” Rundamírë confirmed as Calissë squealed in her arms. “So none of you are allowed to go off traveling anywhere before then!”

“Of course not!” said Maglor as he stepped around Celegorm to kiss her cheek. “That’s wonderful news, Rundamírë!” He turned to embrace Curufin again too.

“Where is Daeron?” Náriel asked, craning her neck as though expecting him to appear at any moment.

“He stayed in Taur-en-Gellam,” said Maglor, catching her before she fell out of his arms, “and then he has errands of his own, so I don’t know when he’ll be coming back here. A few months at least—maybe not before autumn.”

“He’s gotta come before the baby does!”

“He will, don’t worry,” said Maglor.

“What sort of errands are keeping Daeron away?” Celegorm asked once Maglor and Rundamírë had set the girls down and they raced off after the hedgehogs; Maedhros had brought Aechen, and all three vanished into the grass, followed by Calissë, hand in hand with Náriel.

“He’s going to recruit singers for Elemmírë,” said Maglor. “That was always the plan. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Calissë wrote all about how you and Daeron weren’t speaking,” Rundamírë said, arching an eyebrow.

He really should have looked at that letter before it got sent. “She wrote that letter while we were making things right,” he said now. “Everything is fine.”

Celegorm looked ready to argue, but before he could say anything Maedhros said, “I think Rundamírë is more concerned about how you bribed Calissë with cake to write that letter.”

“I didn’t,” Maglor protested as Rundamírë laughed. “That was Mablung! And you’ll find Calissë much more willing to sit down to read and write now, even without cake, since she has several friends in Taur-en-Gellam who will be expecting regular letters.”

That successfully turned the conversation away from Daeron, at least for the moment, but Maglor knew better than to expect any of his brothers to leave it alone, since the letters he had written after Midwinter seemed not to have reassured them at all. And sure enough, after the girls went to bed that night Maglor found himself ambushed in his room by Maedhros, Celegorm, and Curufin. “I told you everything is fine,” he said before they could get started.

“We believe you,” Celegorm said. He sprawled across Maglor’s bed. “But it wasn’t fine at Midwinter.”

“Which was months ago,” said Maglor. “Do you all insist that Curvo share every detail of his arguments with Rundamírë?”

“Arimeldë and I have been married for years and years, even without counting all that time we were apart,” said Curufin. “That’s different. But also yes, you all did demand every detail of every argument when we were first courting.”

“Fine. What about Moryo?”

“I did bother him about it that one time he and Lisgalen stopped speaking for half a year,” said Celegorm. “But he never wants to talk about anything, and I stopped when he threatened to smother me in my sleep.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about this,” Maglor said, “and I’m not above shoving a pillow in your face either.”

“We’re not mad at him,” said Maedhros. “We’re worried about him—not because he lost his temper, that happens, but because he avoided you for so long afterward. I’ve been worried about you, too, because you really didn’t sound like yourself when you wrote to me and didn’t mention his name in the letter even once.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Maglor said. He sat down on the rug in front of the hearth so the hedgehogs could crawl over his lap. Curufin sat down next to him. “I just couldn’t focus on anything else and writing to you about more cheerful things seemed to help. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Maedhros said. “Is Daeron really all right?”

“Yes. Or at least he’s better than he was over the winter.” Daeron had also confessed once, when they were out walking alone through the woods, that he’d been just as worried about having ruined his friendships with all of Maglor’s brothers as he had been of everything else. Maglor wasn’t sure if his brothers all knew how important they were to Daeron, how few truly close friends he had these days. He had plenty of old friends in Taur-en-Gellam, but he still held himself apart, as Maglor suspected he had not done in Doriath of old; he thought it must be a result of his long travels, where he had been mostly alone or among strangers. It wasn't so pronounced with his students, but that was a different kind of relationship, a different kind of closeness. Maglor wasn’t going to tell his brothers any of that, because that was Daeron’s to confess or not, but it was a relief to know they were more worried than angry. “It’s just the past coming back to trip him up, on top of trying to find a way forward with his family. He snapped at me because I was there, not because he was actually angry at me.”

“What was he angry at?” Celegorm asked.

“Himself.” Maglor saw Celegorm wince. Daeron’s attempt at a fight had been not unlike Celegorm’s own, when he’d come to Imloth Ningloron after Curufin had first returned to Tirion with the intention of seeking out their father. That was years and years ago now, and felt even longer, but Celegorm had been trying to do the same thing—to pick a fight he wouldn’t win. Maglor hadn’t fully recognized that at the time, though he wished now that he had.

“And he couldn’t delay his errand for Elemmírë, even a few months?” Curufin asked.

“Not if we want everything ready in time for Ingwë’s feast. I told him not to rush, and he won’t be anywhere letters can easily reach for some time. Meanwhile, I’ve got my song to finish. Do any of you want to read what I’ve got?”

“I don’t think we can read what you’ve got,” said Curufin, making a face.

“I’ve made a fair copy,” Maglor said. “Two, actually. I’m going to send one to Finrod and Galadriel in Alqualondë.”

“Have you heard from Aegnor?” Maedhros asked.

“No. Did you see him?”

“No, I didn't want to intrude. But it seems wrong to leave him out when you’ve spoken to everyone else.”

“It does, and I’ll mention it to Galadriel when I write to her,” said Maglor, “but I’ve told everyone that they don’t have to talk to me if they don’t want to.”

“Has anyone not wanted to?” Celegorm asked.

“No, everyone has been surprisingly willing, even if they don’t really know what to say at first.”

“Even if this song doesn’t do what Míriel wants it to,” Curufin said after a moment, leaning his head on Maglor’s shoulder, “it will be worth it for all of us having gotten to speak of him, and to have this song—even if you never perform it again, it will still be there for others to look at or sing themselves.”

“I’ll perform it twice,” Maglor said after a moment. “I’ll sing before the Valar, and I’ll sing at Ingwë’s feast, and then I will leave it to others to take up as they will.”

The hedgehogs retreated to their basket by the hearth, and Maedhros came to offer his hand and his arm to both Curufin and Maglor. He hauled them both up and kissed the tops of their heads. “Don’t push yourself, Maglor,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t finish before the feast.”

“It does matter,” Maglor said. “I can’t explain why, but it does.”

“You have another year or so, then,” said Curufin. “But please don’t push yourself into the same state you were in in Tirion last summer.”

“I won’t,” Maglor said. “Going to Formenos really did help. I can’t really explain that either, but it was…it was something, to see the vines climbing over the walls and the moss growing through the cracks in the stone. That life came back even to that place. It was almost like—”

“Like what?” Celegorm asked.

“I went back to Dol Guldur some years after the War of the Ring,” Maglor said after a moment, and was not surprised when all three of his brothers frowned. “Not alone—I was with Celeborn and Elladan and Elrohir, and Thranduil came, and Radagast, and many others. Galadriel had sung the walls down, opening all the pits and the dungeons to the sky, and we sang other songs to encourage green things to grow there again. Even before we came, little bits of life had come back there. Green shoots, and moss, and that sort of thing. It didn’t…I didn’t come away from there any less burdened, obviously, but—I don’t know. I think it might have been worse if I hadn’t gone. If I hadn’t seen the start of its renewal. I left something behind me there, and I think I left something else at Formenos.”

“Do you still get cold, Cáno?” Curufin asked.

“Sometimes,” said Maglor, “but it doesn’t last. I was cold all winter, but that’s because it was a very cold winter. Why?”

“I saw you in the palantír,” Curufin said. “I wanted to check on Calissë—you were bundled up even by a fire, every time I saw you.”

“Like I said, it was a cold winter. There were snowdrifts almost as tall as Maedhros. Calissë will tell you all about it.”

“I’m sure she will.” Curufin smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She had a wonderful time, and I’m glad that you took her with you.”

“So when I tell you that I let her stay up far past her bedtime on Midwinter night, and let her go sledding down a very steep hill—”

That got Curufin to laugh, as Maglor had hoped. “Yes, it’s fine. Or Midwinter was fine; I’m not sure I want to know more about the sledding.”

“Probably not,” said Maglor. “But it wasn’t anything worse than what we all got up to as children.”

“All right, you know that’s not reassuring,” said Curufin as Celegorm laughed. “She came home in one piece, and I’m very happy to remain ignorant of the rest.”

Celegorm and Curufin left, but Maedhros lingered. “Are you really all right?” he asked once they were alone.

“Yes. I’m tired, and I’ll be glad when this song is done and Daeron is back, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be happier too when everyone’s done asking if I really am all right.”

“Noted.” Maedhros kissed the top of his head again, and Maglor leaned against him, realizing all over again just how much he’d missed Maedhros while away in Taur-en-Gellam, even after working things out with Daeron. “If you really want other eyes on it,” Maedhros said, “I’ll look at your song tomorrow.”

“I do, thank you.”

“Elladan and Elrohir laugh like he did. Have you noticed?”

“I have.”

“He would love them.”

“Yes, he would.”

“Whether this moves the Valar or not, I think he would be very proud of you,” Maedhros said softly.

Maglor wasn’t so sure about that. The doubts that had arisen in his mind in Taur-en-Gellam had not abated, even after Daeron’s reassurances, but he had voiced them once and didn’t think he could do it again, even to Maedhros. Hearing the words, though—it was almost the same as hearing his father say that he was proud of him, something he hadn’t realized he needed to hear until the moment he heard it. “Thank you,” he said, because it was also Maedhros’ way of saying that he was proud, and that was no small thing either.