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starsprayRating: 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
“So,” Aegnor said, rolling onto his stomach on the blanket spread over the grass, “the hedgehog?”
Finrod laughed. “Fingon and I have been trying to get an explanation for the hedgehogs ever since Russo came back from Lórien.”
“There’s more?”
Maedhros was already lying on his stomach, and he reached out to stroke Aechen’s nose when he came over to sniff at him. “Maglor and Daeron found one on their way out to Ekkaia,” he said, “and brought her back home—that was Leicheg. Then Maglor brought Leicheg and his cat Pídhres to Lórien. Pídhres is as immortal as Huan now, as far as we can tell. I suppose hedgehogs don’t go in for that sort of thing, but Leicheg had many babies while we were there, before she reached the end of her life. I’m not sure if Aechen is one of them or a grandson of some degree, honestly.”
“How many came back with you?” Aegnor asked, a delighted look on his face. He usually seemed rather overwhelmed; Maedhros had not expected his arrival in Alqualondë to bring about such a change, and thought he would have to thank Maglor again for sending Aechen to him for this reason alone.
“Just three. Aechen likes to follow me around for some reason; Annem and Aegthil are probably back at Imloth Ningloron still. Maglor wouldn’t have taken them to Tirion.”
Maglor’s letter saying that he was on his way to Tirion had arrived a week before; he had finished the song much sooner than anticipated, and by now he would have delivered the final copy to Indis—and, Maedhros supposed, he would be going about requesting an audience with the Valar.
Maedhros’ summer had been quiet—peaceful. He’d spoken more than he’d expected to with Finarfin—of Middle-earth, of war, of old injuries. A little of Fëanor. There had been no point in trying to conceal from his uncle the reason for Maedhros’ sudden need for distance from his own family, so he’d confessed to the false memory, and the manner of its discovery. They’d been sitting outside under an arbor sporting heavy blooms of wisteria, fragrant and gently shedding small purple blossoms. Finarfin had been horrified—at the idea of Fëanor ever saying such a thing as much as at the planting of such a false memory in anyone’s mind. “There were many who had suffered years of waking nightmares and terrible visions after they were brought out of Angband after the war,” he said, “but that was—I do not want to call it clumsy, but it was not nearly as—as what you describe. I don’t think I have words for that.”
“I knew how to shield myself against those things,” Maedhros said. He sat on the grass with his legs crossed, watching the flowers over their heads sway in the breeze. “I thought I knew how to shield myself from everything.”
“I will be the first to admit that I have very little fondness for your father,” Finarfin said then, “but whatever else he did or said to me or to Nolofinwë, I never, ever doubted that he loved the seven of you above all else.”
“That wasn’t true by the end,” Maedhros said without taking his gaze away from the flowers. A bee landed on one, heavy with pollen to share. “But—it feels very easy to forgive anything else, after this.”
“I imagine so. Why, then, did you leave?”
“It felt like everything I thought I knew had been turned upside down, and—I just needed to be away. I’ll go back when it feels like I’m standing on solid ground again when I look at them. Trying to come to terms with anything is hard when you have six younger brothers trying to help, all in different ways and all at the same time.”
“Especially your younger brothers,” Finarfin said.
“Especially mine.”
No one else knew what had brought Maedhros home with Finrod, except that Finrod’s invitations were notoriously difficult to refuse. Galadriel had given Maedhros a few keen glances, but she hadn’t asked any questions except about how his brothers were, and Maedhros did his best to avoid her. It wasn’t hard; the house was large and Finrod had spoken truly when he had said no one would bother Maedhros if he wished to be left alone, and Galadriel’s attention was focused upon her brother, not her cousin.
As time went on, though, he wanted to be alone less and less—and so there he was, sprawled out in one of the smaller gardens with Finrod and Aegnor and Aechen after breakfast, having hardly spared a thought for his father or any of his brothers all morning. That changed, however, when a blue jay flew down to land on the grass in front of him. It pecked at his fingers as he reached for the note fastened to its leg. “Someone should tell your brothers that there are Elves whose job it is to carry messages,” Finrod remarked, laughing, as Maedhros unrolled the slip of paper. “They could even write proper letters instead of cramming everything onto the smallest scrap of paper!”
Amras usually had neat writing, but this time it was scribbled so hurriedly that Maedhros had to squint to make it out. Maglor has gone this morning to the Máhanaxar please come to Tirion Tyelko went to fetch Daeron but we thought we’d have more time and they haven’t gotten back yet he’s going to need you.
“I need to go,” Maedhros said. The blue jay flew off, and he reached over to scoop Aechen out of the grass.
“What? Why?” Finrod snatched up the paper to peer at it. “What awful writing. How can you even read—does this say Máhanaxar? Who’s been called there?”
“What happened?” Aegnor asked, smile disappearing as he sat up, strands of hair falling into his eyes. He had cut it very short, but it was now growing out again and was just long enough that he had to always be brushing it out of the way.
“Maglor requested an audience with the Valar, and it has been granted. I need to be in Tirion when he returns.”
“Hold on!” Finrod leaped to his feet as Maedhros rose. “Maglor requested an audience? Why?”
Maedhros settled Aechen into the crook of his arm so he could take Amras’ note back from Finrod. “It’s the whole reason our grandmothers asked him to write this song, Felagund.”
“The song—the one for Grandfather Finwë? But—”
“Oh,” Aegnor breathed, also getting to his feet. “Do they think this will convince the Valar to overturn the statute?”
“Maglor doesn’t think it will,” Maedhros said, “but he agreed to try.”
“That song could move stones to tears,” said Finrod, “but I cannot believe they would ask such a thing of him—not after he—”
“That’s why I need to go,” Maedhros said. He never should have left at all, and he wished someone had told him sooner, so that he might have come back at least to see Maglor off—if not go with him. The thought of going to the Máhanaxar himself made him feel shaky with dread, but he would have done it if Maglor had asked—maybe even if he hadn’t.
“I’m going with you.”
“All my brothers are already there,” Maedhros said, “and Maglor’s going to be overwhelmed as it is—”
“That’s fine,” Finrod said, with that stubborn set to his jaw that said he would not be dissuaded. “But I want to be in Tirion when he comes back—and to have a word with my grandmother. This should never have been asked of him, especially not as soon as you both came back from Lórien!”
“Surely he was free to say no, if he did not think he could do it,” said Aegnor. “Findaráto—”
“But he wouldn’t,” said Finrod, “not if Míriel asked him. And of course he can do it, whatever he thinks himself—there is no question of that! It’s the toll that it will take afterward that concerns me. Nienna and Estë are the gentlest of the Valar, but even they can be overwhelming. To go before all of them at once—!”
“I know,” Maedhros said. “And Maglor knows—but there’s no point in arguing about it now. He’s on his way there as we speak.”
“Whatever he needs, it won’t be anger,” Aegnor said, putting a hand on Finrod’s shoulder. “Even on his behalf.”
“Well, I’m angry anyway,” Finrod said. He covered Aegnor’s hand with his own, softening for a moment when looking at his brother. “But I’ll vent it before he returns. When are you leaving, Russo?”
“As soon as I can pack my things and take leave of your parents.”
“Then I will meet you at the stable.”
Aegnor looked up at Maedhros as Finrod left. “Do you think they will listen?” he asked.
“Yes,” Maedhros said, “but I cannot say what they’ll do about it afterward.”
It was quick ride from the outskirts of Alqualondë to Tirion. Maedhros parted with Finrod once they entered the city, he for Curufin’s house and Finrod for the palace. The city was busy and bustling; the smell of the forges was in the air, mingling with baking bread and roasting meat and other city smells. He missed the quiet of the countryside immediately, but Maedhros put on a smile for those who recognized and called greetings to him, and pressed on until he came to the colorful street where Curufin lived.
“Uncle Nelyo!” Náriel and Calissë raced down the hallway as soon as Maedhros stepped into the house. He barely had time to set Aechen’s basket down before catching them in his arms. “Did you get our pictures?” Calissë demanded.
“I did, and I love them,” Maedhros said. He kissed both of them. “Where’s your atya?”
“In his workshop with Uncle Moryo,” said Náriel, “but they won’t let us in.”
“Did something bad happen?” Calissë asked.
“No,” Maedhros said. “No, but your Uncle Cáno has gone to do something important and they’re probably talking about it. What about Ambarussa?”
“They’ve gone to Cousin Míraen’s bakery to fetch a cake for Ammë,” said Náriel, “because Cousin Míraen makes one with oranges and ginger and Ammë says the babies love it the most, so she has to eat lots of it so they’ll grow.”
“Babies?” Maedhros repeated, startled. No one’s letters had mentioned that. “Is your ammë expecting twins?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Calissë exclaimed. “We’re not just getting one baby brother or sister or even two, we’re getting three!”
“Three!” Maedhros exclaimed, making them both laugh again even though he was not exaggerating his shock. “No, I’m afraid no one bothered to tell me that very important bit of news. I’m going to go scold your atya for it. Will you take Aechen up to your mother’s garden for me?”
“I thought hedgehogs didn’t like the city,” said Calissë as Náriel went to get Aechen out of his basket.
“They don’t,” Maedhros said, “but I didn’t have time to take him home first. It’ll be fine, I can take him later.”
“We’ll introduce him to Lossë!” said Náriel. “Come on, Calissë!”
Calissë hugged Maedhros around his neck. “Missed you, Uncle Nelyo,” she said.
“I missed you too, sweetheart.” Maedhros kissed her temple, and rose as she ran away down the hall after Náriel. Maluwendë came to greet him and take his bags, and then Maedhros made his way to Curufin’s workshop. The door was locked, and it took several minutes for his knocks to be answered, and only after he balled his hand into a fist and thumped hard on the wood. “Curufinwë Atarinkë! Open this door!”
Curufin finally opened it, eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I got Ambarussa’s note,” Maedhros said.
“Did Ambarussa tell you they were sending a note to Maedhros?” Curufin asked over his shoulder as he stepped aside to let Maedhros in. Once the door was shut Maedhros pulled him into a hug.
“No,” said Caranthir, abandoning the thing he’d been fiddling with at a workbench to come accept his own hug. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Maedhros, “but I thought I’d hear about Maglor going to the Valar before he left.”
“It happened very quickly,” said Curufin, as Caranthir grimaced. Between the two of them they told a slightly confused tale, of Maglor joining Fingon for lunch and then being waylaid by Eönwë somewhere in the gardens, and then being found half-lost in the past and fully in a panic by their parents long after sunset. Somehow that had ended in Fëanor going with Maglor to the Máhanaxar—they had departed late that morning, and Curufin guessed they would reach the Valar sometime the next day, perhaps in the early afternoon.
“And—Amras wrote something about Celegorm having gone after Daeron?”
“That was weeks ago, before Midsummer,” said Caranthir. “I wanted to wait at Imloth Ningloron until they got back, but Maglor finished writing the song earlier than expected, and wanted to come and get it over with.”
“He didn’t want to wait for Daeron?”
“They didn’t tell him,” Curufin said, rolling his eyes.
“Moryo,” Maedhros said.
“He would’ve insisted no one go, and we didn’t want to start another fight!” Caranthir said, cheeks going pink. “It wasn’t just me, it was Ambarussa and Tyelkormo too—”
Maedhros pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I know you aren’t all actually this stupid. You have to know this isn’t avoiding another fight, it’s just delaying it.”
“Don’t include me,” Curufin said. “I wanted Tyelko to come back to Tirion with me—but I think he also needed to get away from everyone and to be doing something. He spoke to Atya not long after you left and it rattled him, which is also a reason I think he wanted to go after Daeron—to talk to him himself. They also all decided not to tell Maglor about it after I’d left to come home.”
“You could’ve told him when we got here,” Caranthir pointed out.
“I’ve been busy. Did you know my wife is pregnant and there’s an enormous party to prepare for next year? Besides, he only just gave the final copy to Indis a week ago—I thought there’d be plenty of time for Tyelko and Daeron to get back before the Valar called for him.”
“All right, enough,” said Maedhros. “You can have it out with Maglor when he gets back, or whenever it is that Tyelko and Daeron arrive. And in the future, though—no more secret meddling. And you absolutely aren’t allowed to complain about Mithrandir doing it anymore.”
“I looked for Tyelko in the palantír yesterday,” said Curufin. “They should be here any time, I think.” He stood with his arms folded across his chest. “I just—I don’t understand what happened, what Eönwë could have done to cause such distress.”
“It might not have been anything he said,” Maedhros said after a moment in which he debated whether to say anything. “It might just be that it was him.”
“What do you mean?” Caranthir asked. Maedhros held up his hand; the memory-scars were not very visible just then, but they all knew they were there, and what Maglor’s looked like. “Oh.” Caranthir winced, and Curufin sighed. “We forgot about that.”
“It’s all right—you weren’t there, of course you wouldn’t think of it.” Maedhros put his arm around Curufin again. “Either way, all we can do for the moment is wait, which means you have plenty of time to explain why I had to hear from Calissë that you’re expecting triplets, Curvo.”
“The only good thing about all that’s going on with Maglor is that it’s giving Curvo something to panic about besides the triplets,” said Caranthir.
“I’m not panicking,” Curufin said, but he sounded tired. “I’m just worried.”
“Is Rundamírë all right?” Maedhros asked.
“She’s fine, for now. The babies are fine too. The girls are thrilled, and so is Tyelpë.”
“We’re all thrilled,” said Caranthir. “Even you, when you remember to be. I’m going to go see what’s taking Ambarussa so long at the bakery. They left two hours ago.”
Once they were alone, Curufin leaned harder against Maedhros. “Ammë was fine too, right up until the twins were born,” he said into Maedhros’ shirt.
“She was fine afterward, and so were they,” Maedhros said.
“Eventually. And Míriel wasn’t. And I know there’s no real reason to worry like this. I am excited for them and I know they’re all going to be fine, really, I just—”
“Whatever happens,” Maedhros said, “you won’t face it alone.”
“You’re really all right?” Curufin asked.
“I think so,” Maedhros said after a moment. “I’m—I don’t really want to talk about it, and I can’t say I’m at peace with it, but it doesn’t feel as overwhelming now as it did in the spring.”
“And—when Atya comes back—”
“I want to see him, Curvo.”
Curufin breathed a sigh, and Maedhros felt the muscles in his shoulders relax under his hand. “Good,” he said softly. Then, “Ammë’s been worried about you.”
“I know. I’ll tell her…something. I don’t know what, yet. I’m sorry you’ve all been caught in the middle of that, too.”
They returned to the house, finding Calissë and Náriel with Aechen and their little kitten Lossë back in the parlor. Lossë was more familiar with hedgehogs than Aechen was with rambunctious kittens, and he hurried to climb over Maedhros’ legs and hide as soon as Maedhros sat down on the rug. A few minutes later Caranthir returned with the twins, bearing a large cake that smelled of oranges and spices; this brought Rundamírë downstairs, moving more slowly now that she was much bigger than when Maedhros had last seen her, and she greeted Maedhros cheerfully. If she felt any of the same anxieties that Curufin did, she did not show it.
“Nelyo!” The twins threw themselves onto the carpet on either side of Maedhros. “You got our note, then?” Amras asked. “Good.”
“You look well,” Amrod added, peering into Maedhros face.
Maedhros smiled at him. “I am well,” he said.
The cake was cut and passed around to those who wanted a slice, and for a while the house was filled with laughter and cheerful conversation about the babies and everything else happening in the city, as they all tried to distract themselves from Maglor’s absence. Pídhres wandered into the room, and rubbed against Maedhros in greeting before going to the window that looked toward the street to keep watch, tail swishing every so often. Maedhros was a little surprised to see her, but he supposed if Maglor was going to be firm about anything it would be about not taking Pídhres to an audience with all the Valar. He listened more than he spoke as the conversation swirled around him. It was nice to be back among his brothers, even with the underlying tension. He’d missed the noise and the teasing and the bickering. After a while Lisgalen and Celebrimbor came in to join the throng, pink-faced from scrubbing after a day of work.
Then, as the talk started to turn toward dinner, Pídhres meowed and pawed at the window. Calissë ran to peer out of it. “Uncle Tyelko’s here!” she announced. “And Daeron!”
“You’d better tell your brother to keep his bird and his dog out of my workroom, Curufinwë,” said Rundamírë as Curufin got up. “I don’t want feathers in my paints!” He laughed and kissed her before going to open the door. The girls raced after him, and before long Maedhros could hear Daeron’s laughter in the entryway as he greeted them, alongside Celegorm’s voice and the snuffling sounds that came with Huan licking everyone with enthusiasm.
“Hello, everyone!” Daeron said as he came into the parlor, Náriel on his hip. “I seem to have missed quite a lot while I was away.” As he spoke he glanced around the room, and his smile slipped. “Where is Maglor?”
“Help me up, Lisgalen,” Rundamírë said before anyone could reply. Lisgalen rose and pulled Rundamírë to her feet. “Thank you! Hello, Daeron.” She kissed his cheek. “Everyone can catch you up while I take the girls to wash for dinner. Calissë, don’t think I don’t know you were digging around in the garden earlier—you still have dirt under your fingernails.”
“It was for Aechen!” Calissë said as she and Náriel were led away.
As soon as the door shut, Celegorm said, “Please say he’s not already gone to the Valar.”
“He left this morning,” said Caranthir. Celegorm cursed. “Oh, it gets better.”
“What happened?” Daeron asked. “No—first, do I have time to catch up before he reaches the Máhanaxar?”
“No,” said Curufin. “You’d have to ride through the night and even then I don’t think you’d catch up until he’s already gone before them.” It was Daeron’s turn to curse, colorfully, before he sank onto the floor beside Maedhros. Caranthir and Curufin explained, much as they had to Maedhros earlier. Celegorm leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed, expression growing grimmer with every word they spoke. Pídhres jumped down from the windowsill to curl up on Daeron’s lap.
Finally, Celegorm said, “I had hoped to avoid something exactly like this.”
“I should not have left when I did,” Daeron said. He stroked Pídhres. “It was never going to be easy, going before the Valar—but coming on the heels of such carelessness on Eönwë’s part—”
“He seemed quicker to recover than he had on the river bank,” Caranthir said.
“Outwardly, perhaps,” said Daeron. “I have no doubt he will perform as well as he ever does—which is to say he will be marvelous—but it will take a toll. A heavy one.”
“It’s not like anyone could have predicted everything that went wrong the way it did in the spring,” said Amrod. “Or that Maglor would finish the song so soon—he thought he’d be struggling to finish it by the apple harvest.”
“Perhaps not,” said Daeron, and glanced Maedhros sidelong. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten to worry about you.”
“I don’t know what Tyelko told you—”
“Almost everything,” Celegorm said.
“As though I’d let him get away with leaving anything out,” Daeron said.
“I’m all right,” Maedhros said, “and I don’t want to speak of it.”
Daeron searched his face, and Maedhros had the feeling he would be speaking of it later whether he really wanted to or not. “Very well,” was all Daeron said then, before turning away. “What else have Celegorm and I missed, then?”
As the twins started to fill Daeron in on some of the happier news, Maedhros got up and went to lean against the wall by Celegorm, who sighed, dropping his head against Maedhros’ arm. “I really thought I could find him before—”
“That’s not your fault, except that you all decided to keep it a secret. And—Tyelko, I’m sorry I left Imloth Ningloron without saying anything to you.”
“You don’t have to be. We all understand.”
“I’m still sorry. Are you all right?”
“You shouldn’t be asking me—”
“Tyelko.”
“I’m fine.” Celegorm’s shoulders hunched a little. “Or I will be when Maglor gets back.” He glanced toward the window, but it was dark and all that could be seen were their reflections in the glass, hazy and wavering as they moved around the room.
No one spoke of Maglor again the rest of the evening, though no one fully relaxed either. Caranthir and Lisgalen left late, and the twins followed soon after, leaving Celegorm and Maedhros and Daeron at Curufin’s house. “Don’t stay up too late worrying,” Rundamírë said when she bid them goodnight, pausing to kiss Curufin. “Macalaurë is going to be fine.”
When they were alone in the parlor, Daeron curled up in his chair by the hearth, cheerful facade melting away. Pídhres had not left his side since his arrival, and curled up on his lap looking as forlorn as he did. “I am glad to know that things are going well enough that your father went with him,” he said after a few minutes. “What of the rest of you?”
Celegorm slouched in his seat, leaning against Curufin. “I already told you. It’s complicated.”
Daeron rolled his eyes. “Really? And here I was, believing it all to be simple, as though such a word could ever be applied to your family.”
“I can’t believe I missed you,” Celegorm said.
“I haven’t seen our father since this spring,” Maedhros said before they could really get started. “But—well, next time I see him can’t really go worse.”
“How awkward is it going to be for you, though?” Curufin asked Daeron.
“Oh, Fëanor and I made peace last summer,” Daeron said. “You needn’t worry about that. It might be a little awkward now and again, but—and I still cannot believe I’m saying this—I think I will find myself getting along with your father better than my own.”
“Did your winter not go well, then?” Celegorm asked, frowning at him.
Daeron shrugged. “It was fine. But my problems with my family are quite different than yours, and the only real cure there is time.”
“What of your errands in the west?” Maedhros asked. “Were you successful?”
“Oh yes! A flock of singers and performers will be descending upon Valmar in the next few weeks and in the spring; I wrote a quick note to Elemmírë that will hopefully reach her before they do, but either way they are all very excited. I also had a very nice time traveling with Mablung and Beleg again—and with my brother Simpalírë—but I won’t deny that I’m very glad to be back here. There is something to be said for being able to go to bed knowing you don’t have to get back into the saddle in the morning.” Daeron glanced toward the window. It was never fully dark in Tirion, and there were still people out and about, and working, and singing. “I know you said they would not arrive there until tomorrow, but when do you think they will return?”
“That depends on whether they choose to spend the night in Valmar, or to travel through the night, or to make camp somewhere on the road,” said Curufin.
“I don’t think Maglor will want to go among other people,” Daeron said. “Especially strangers.”
“Either way, sometime the day after tomorrow would be the earliest, probably in the evening. They would have ridden hard today, but I think they’ll go more slowly coming back. At least I hope they will.”
Daeron nodded slowly. “At least it will be over,” he murmured.
Maedhros went to bed early, but didn’t sleep much, and was up at dawn with Aechen. He went to a nearby park to follow Aechen through the flowers for a while, wanting to stretch his own legs, and came upon Nerdanel sitting cross-legged on the grass with a sketchbook on her lap. “Good morning, Ammë.”
“Maitimo!” Nerdanel sprang up to embrace him. “When did you come to Tirion?”
“Yesterday. I’ve been at Curvo’s.”
“They told you all about Macalaurë, then?”
“Yes.” Maedhros sat beside her on the grass, leaning his head on her shoulder as she picked up her sketchbook again. “That’s nice,” he said when he saw what she’d been working on. “It looks like flowers.”
“Flowers or stars, perhaps,” she said. “I’m not sure yet what materials I’ll use. Now—until he and your father return I cannot stop worrying about your brother, but I hope you can allay some of my worries about you. What happened this spring to send you running away to Findekáno and then to Alqualondë?”
Maedhros sighed, and didn’t answer right away. He’d spoken to Finrod several times of what he might tell his mother, but neither of them had been able to come up with anything besides the plain truth, which made both of them wince and made Maedhros’ stomach want to tie itself in knots. He watched Nerdanel sketch a few lines, and then admitted, “I don’t want to tell you.”
Her pencil went still. “Why not?”
“Because it’s awful, and I don’t—you never went to Middle-earth, and you don’t know—”
“Maitimo.” Nerdanel turned to take his face in her hands. “My love, I understand you want to protect me, but you don’t have to—you should not have to. It was supposed to be the other way around. I am your mother—I brought you into this world, and I felt you leave it. Nor am I wholly ignorant of the horrors the Enemy wrought. Do you think I never spoke to anyone else who had been there? Who had suffered as you did? You can tell me. I’m not some fragile maid who will faint away upon hearing it, whatever it is.”
“I’m sorry. I just—” Maedhros closed his eyes and took a breath. Nerdanel lowered her hands, and waited. Without opening his eyes Maedhros said, “Atar ordered the Swanships burned at Losgar.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I argued against it. And then I refused to take part. Afterward he—he was furious. It was the last time we spoke before he died.”
“What did he say to you?” Nerdanel asked.
“That’s—that’s the thing. For such a long time I’ve had what I thought was a very clear memory of what he said, and it was—it wasn’t. It wasn’t real. It was something wrought by the Enemy in Angband, and I never realized it until I tried to speak of it and Atya denied having ever said it. I would still believe it was real if Maglor hadn’t been there to hear what was really said then and if he hadn’t been there to hear what I said this spring. I had thought I’d come out of there with all my mind my own, and I didn’t. And I learned the truth very suddenly, this spring, and that’s why I left. I just—I needed to be away from everyone until I could make sense of it. I’m sorry I didn’t write to you, or try to explain before. I still don’t…I still don’t really know how to trust what’s in my own mind.”
“What is it that you thought your father had said?” Nerdanel asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It was awful, but he never said it, he never even thought it. And—and we did not part badly this spring, Atya and me. Please don’t be angry with him.”
“I have long been angry with him for many reasons, Maitimo. This changes very little about that.” Nerdanel smoothed his hair back, and Maedhros opened his eyes to find her expression very sad. “But he is trying very hard to be the father that you all need now—he helped Macalaurë in ways that I could not, when my presence only seemed to make things worse somehow. There is no one thing that will make everything suddenly perfect, but even what you’ve said just now gives me hope.”
“What do you mean, your presence made things worse for Macalaurë?” Maedhros asked, distracted from his own troubles for a moment. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Nerdanel frowned. “Did your brothers tell you how we found him?”
“Yes, but—they were not there. What did he say?”
“He seemed uncertain what was real or what wasn’t—he spoke of Eönwë, and started to apologize, saying that he couldn’t go before the Valar as he had intended. But when I said he needed to rest he panicked, and tried to flee. Your father caught him, and then he fought. Fëanáro subdued him before he could hurt himself or anyone else, but I’ve never seen him like that, so desperate and so frightened. I don’t know what caused it, except that it was something I did.”
A few things slid into place, suddenly, in Maedhros’ mind—particularly Maglor’s vehemence when he spoke in Imloth Ningloron of the way the Enemy lied, and of his refusal to explain what exactly that meant; and the way he had been so strangely reluctant to see Nerdanel when he’d first come to Valinor, which had bothered Maedhros even then, when it had been so obvious that he missed her desperately.
“Maitimo? Do you know what…?”
“No.” Maedhros shook his head. “I might have a guess, but it’s—it’s only a guess. I don’t know what exactly happened to him, Ammë. We’ve never spoken of it, not the details.”
“Maitimo—”
“I’ll speak to him when he comes back. But it wasn’t anything you did, I promise.”
Nerdanel sighed, and flipped her sketchbook closed. Aechen came over to sniff at her fingers. “Should I keep away when he returns?” she asked. “I do not want to overwhelm him.”
“He’ll be overwhelmed already,” said Maedhros. “And he’ll only worry that he did something wrong if you stay away.”
Nerdanel went back with him to Curufin’s house, where Daeron was just coming downstairs, yawning as he tied off the end of his braid. “Daeron!” Nerdanel exclaimed. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday evening,” Daeron said, smiling as he stepped off the last step to kiss her in greeting. “Celegorm came to fetch me, but he’s still sleeping I think. I’m sorry we didn’t arrive sooner.”
“You’re here now,” said Nerdanel. “I am very glad of it.”
Most of that day was taken up with various activities and projects—Maedhros joined Daeron in taking the girls out into the market to see dancers and an impromptu play—to continue to distract themselves from worrying about Maglor. That night, Maedhros was joined in his room by Celegorm and Huan, and none of them slept much or well. It rained in the afternoon and into the evening, and when Daeron ventured outside he came back in claiming to have heard a distant voice on the breeze. What he made of it, he would not say.
Maedhros spent the next day by the window his sketchbook. Daeron sat on the floor nearby playing games with Náriel and Calissë and Lossë, though he was as distracted as Maedhros, glancing often toward the window. Maedhros drew without really paying attention to his pencil, his gaze on the street outside more than on the page. Pídhres kept watch on the sill too, as alert as Huan ever was, looking away only to bat at Lossë when she came to try to catch Pídhres’ tail. Maedhros’ brothers came and went; Celebrimbor came in to tease his sisters and speak briefly to Maedhros, and he and Curufin left to work for a few hours on parts for some grand pavilion with half a dozen others down the street. Míraen and Súriellë came by with another cake for Rundamírë, and cookies for everyone else; they asked after Maglor, but only seemed vaguely surprised to find that he wasn’t there. Word had not yet gotten out, then. Maedhros was glad of it, and he wondered what kind of arguments Finrod was getting into with Indis at the palace, and whether Fingolfin and Fingon yet knew.
Dinner came and went, and it was evening, after the rain started again, when Pídhres finally stirred, suddenly starting to yowl as she pawed at the glass. Celegorm and Caranthir crashed into each other as they lunged for the window. “It’s them!” Celegorm exclaimed, as Caranthir tried to elbow him out of the way. Daeron was already moving, racing out of the door onto the street. Maedhros followed a few steps behind, and paused in the doorway just in time to come face to face with Fëanor, carrying Maglor’s harp in its case.
He stepped back quickly to let Fëanor into the house. On the street he glimpsed Maglor and Daeron embracing, heedless of the rain. “How did it go?” Maedhros asked Fëanor.
“He was incredible, but you knew that.”
“How is he now?”
“Very tired. He barely spoke all the journey home—he needs to rest his voice—and I’m glad to see that Daeron is here. And you,” Fëanor added after the slightest pause. “Maedhros, are you…?”
“I’m all right, Atya.” It was Maedhros’ turn to hesitate before he asked, “Are you all right?”
Fëanor’s smile turned crooked. “Of course I am,” he said, and turned to answer Curufin’s voice from the parlor.
Maedhros turned back to the door just as Maglor stepped inside. Maglor’s eyes went very wide before Maedhros pulled him into his arms. Then he started shaking, and burst into tears. “It’s all right,” Maedhros told him. “It’s over.” Maglor nodded but didn’t reply. Maedhros looked at Daeron, who had moved to stand between them and the way to the parlor where everyone else was gathered, and found his own thoughts reflected in Daeron’s face. “Come on, Cáno.” Maedhros bent down and scooped Maglor up; he yelped in surprise and clutched at Maedhros’ shoulders. “You can answer everyone’s questions in the morning.”
“You don’t have to carry me,” Maglor said into Maedhros’ shoulder. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, and he didn’t actually try to get down as Maedhros carried him up the stairs and to the bedroom he’d been using. Once there Maedhros set him on the bed; Daeron had darted ahead to open the door, and now he sat beside Maglor to kiss away the tears on his cheeks, and to start undressing him. Maglor did really protest then, and with fumbling fingers helped get his own boots and damp clothes off, pausing often to wipe a hand over his face.
“Are you hungry?” Maedhros asked as he handed over a nightshirt.
“No,” Maglor said. He pulled the shirt over his head, and tugged his hair free of the collar.
“When did you last eat?” Daeron asked him.
“This morning.”
“And sleep?”
Maglor sighed. “Last night, but—”
“You don’t have to worry about dreams tonight,” Daeron said. He took up a comb and tugged it through the damp tangles of Maglor’s hair. “I’m here to sing them away.”
“I know, but—everyone else is going to want—”
“Atya is downstairs, and he can tell them whatever they want to know,” Maedhros said, “and I’ll go down in a little while to tell them you’re all right and resting. You need to rest your voice, anyway.” The last thing Maglor needed was to lose it entirely, and judging by the look on his face he knew it too.
Pídhres started wailing then, just outside the door. Maedhros got up to open it, and found Celegorm a few steps away. Pídhres charged into the room to fling herself into Maglor’s arms. Maedhros stepped out and shut the door behind him; Maglor didn’t need him hovering, either, and there was nothing Maedhros could offer just then that Daeron couldn’t do better.
“How is he?” Celegorm asked.
“Exhausted. I doubt he’s going to want to so much as leave the house for a while, but he’ll be all right.”
“Atya said there wasn’t a single Vala there that didn’t weep.”
“I believe it.”
Daeron slipped out of the room. “He’s asleep,” he said, “and he won’t wake until morning. I hope nothing else comes up that requires a separation from Pídhres, because I can tell you right now that’s going to be impossible.”
“She scratched Amrod and Caranthir before escaping up here,” said Celegorm. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Not until morning. Is there that tea he likes? With the spices?”
“Yes, plenty.”
“Good. I think he just needs everything to feel normal,” said Daeron, “so no tiptoeing around or being obvious about how careful we’re all being with him. He’s said before that that just makes him feel worse. What I would like to do is go find Eönwë—”
“Please don’t,” Maedhros said. He had no idea what Daeron might say to Eönwë, but he was sure he didn’t want to find out.
“Cáno was always going to find it hard to go before the Valar,” Celegorm said.
“Of course, but it did not have to be this hard,” Daeron said, “and that I lay entirely at Eönwë’s feet. If he had not frightened Maglor so badly he would have been far better prepared. And Manwë is not blameless either—giving him only two days’ notice.”
“Please do not try to get an audience of your own just to tell off Manwë,” said Maedhros.
“Don’t discourage him, Nelyo,” Celegorm said. “I’d like to see that.”
“I won’t,” Daeron said. He smiled, but it was brief—he was less-than-half joking about it all. “But only because it would distress Maglor, and I also have no intention of leaving his side for the foreseeable future. But would it really have been so much to ask of Eönwë to cloak himself even a little? Gandalf does it—”
“I’m not sure you can really compare Gandalf to anyone else, Maia or otherwise,” said Celegorm.
“Melian, then. And all the Maiar in Lórien, and even Estë and Nienna. Perhaps it is usually useful for the Herald of Manwë to be,” Daeron waved a hand, “whatever you want to call it. But I would have hoped he would take a little care. Even Ilmarë does that when she comes at times to visit Melian in Taur-en-Gellam.”
“I don’t think it would do much good if you told off either Eönwë or Manwë,” said Maedhros.
“It would make me feel better. But I’ve already said I won’t do it—not unless he turns up again himself, which seems unlikely.”
Daeron went back into the bedroom, and Maedhros sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He hadn’t done anything all day and he still felt tired. “Are you all right, Nelyo?” Celegorm asked.
“Mostly. I’ll come down and tell everyone else what I’ve just told you, but then I think I’m also going to go to bed.”
“Atya is still downstairs.”
“I know. It’s all right—really.”
Downstairs everyone remained in the parlor; Maedhros spotted Fëanor at once, near the window with Nerdanel, both of them speaking in low voices together. Maedhros repeated what he’d told Celegorm, alongside Daeron’s advice for the next morning. And then, before anyone could ask more question that he didn’t have answers for, he pleaded a headache and escaped back upstairs. He knocked on Maglor and Daeron’s door, and Daeron opened it after a few moments, his hair halfway braided. “Please wake me if anything happens,” Maedhros said.
“I will, though I don’t think I’ll need to.” Daeron smiled at him. “He’s going to be fine. Good night, Maedhros.”
“Good night, Daeron.”
