starspray | A Hundred Miles Through the Desert

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

One of the things Maglor had confided in Maedhros, early in Lórien when they’d lain side by side in the flowers watching the boughs dance in the wind high above their heads as they each recovered from a particularly exhausting encounter with Nienna, was that when he’d first met all of their brothers at Ekkaia, all he could see was their corpses. “It’s awful,” he’d said, rolling onto his stomach and watching Leicheg sniff around a nearby log, “the way that—you’d think it would make it better, wouldn’t you? Seeing someone again? But instead it just makes everything feel fresh and new. Do you know what I mean?”

Maedhros had known. He’d endured that same feeling—that terrible knife-sharp reawakening of grief—five times over as his brothers had returned from the Halls. It had been easier in some ways—they had come back one at a time, with years in between—and he could just retreat to his own small bedroom in their mother’s house when it all got to be too much. And in those days no one had ever followed, so he could just…grieve, in private, as he had never had the chance to in Middle-earth, where right up until his own death he had had to keep moving, had to keep himself and his remaining brothers and dwindling people alive, just a little longer.

Now, Maedhros saw Finwë step through the honeysuckle and it was like seeing a ghost. His head was full of the image of Finwë lying dead before the doors of Formenos—his body crushed into the stone, blood pooling underneath him, dark and glossy in the lamplight, his eyes open but unseeing, the Light in them snuffed out like a candle. This was worse even than when Ambarussa had come back. Maedhros hadn’t been able to look them in the face for years, remembering how he and Maglor had been forced to abandon their bodies without so much as a covering, let alone a proper burial. For Finwë, he had not known what to do. He hadn’t known how to mourn someone like that, hadn’t understood what was happening or why it felt like he’d been struck hard over the head. All he had known was that his grandfather had been alone and now he was dead, slain in the most horrible way—and all the Light had gone out of the world and everything had fallen apart all at the same time; even the stars seemed to have all been lost.

And with everything that had happened afterward—everything that he had done—Maedhros realized that he didn’t know how he was ever going to be able to look his grandfather in the eye.

He’d thought himself prepared. After he’d realized what it must mean that both Míriel and Indis had gone away without a word—he’d felt excited, even hopeful. He’d been so sure that he could greet Finwë with the happiness that everyone else was. Of course he’d been wrong; he was glad that he was there, that he really had come back beyond all hope—but he couldn’t feel glad. It was only now that he was here that the certainty arose that Finwë would not be nearly so pleased to see Maedhros.

It was only now that a small traitorous voice arose in the back of his mind to wonder which memories he had of his grandfather were the false ones—which had been put there or distorted by the Enemy just to cause more pain later.

In the jostling and the chaos, Maedhros hung back. He’d handed Meneltir off to Amras, but soon ended up with him back in his arms, as well as Alassië, both of them clutching at Maedhros’ braids as they watched everything unfold with wide and curious eyes. Rundamírë took charge of Nityanandë, and Lisgalen stepped up beside the two of them. “I can take them if you want to,” they began, but Maedhros shook his head. “Well—all right. Hey, Calissë, Náriel! Come here, little ones, and let’s get out of everyone’s way for now.”

“Is that really Grandfather Finwë?” Calissë asked as she dragged Náriel away from the crowd so they could retreat to the shade and relative quiet of the pavilion.

“Yes,” said Rundamírë, “and he’s going to be so excited to meet you as soon as he’s said hello to everyone else!”

“But I thought he couldn’t come back? I asked Uncle Cáno, but Daeron said that was a question for the Valar—”

“It was,” said Rundamírë, “and the Valar have answered. It doesn’t matter anymore why he couldn’t be released before, but your Uncle Cáno took his music before the Valar to try to convince them—and he did!”

“Just like Eärendil did in the stories?” Náriel asked.

“Yes, exactly like that. They couldn’t help but listen when your Uncle Cáno sang before them.”

Maedhros rocked back and forth on his feet to keep the babies calm, and glanced back to the crowd of people surrounding Finwë. He would not be rushed, and was taking several minutes with each person, exchanging quiet words amid the tears and giddy laughter. Maglor stepped back out of the crowd and was swept up by Elrond and Daeron. Curufin escaped the crush a moment later only to be caught by Míriel, who embraced him tightly and spoke for a moment before they both came to join the rest of them under the pavilion.

“Rundamírë, I’m so sorry I did not come to see you before,” Míriel said, going to kiss Rundamírë’s cheeks. “I truly meant to, but—”

“Oh, we know where you’ve been!” Rundamírë said. “You don’t have to apologize, not for this!”

“I don’t know where you’ve been!” Calissë protested.

“I’ve been in Lórien, my dear,” said Míriel. “It takes time for someone to get used to being alive again, and we were helping your great-grandfather.” She kissed Calissë and then Náriel, and then frowned at Maedhros. “Maitimo, what are you doing over here?”

“Holding babies,” Maedhros said, offering her a smile that he could tell both she and Curufin saw right through. Curufin took Alassië to start introducing the triplets to Míriel, though the look he gave Maedhros promised worried questions later. That was fine—he might even have answers for them by the time Curufin got around to asking.

Míriel was as delighted with the triplets as she was with Calissë and Náriel, who were very excited to see her—it was a rare treat to spend time with their great-grandmother. They had never met Finwë, and though Maedhros knew they would be equally excited to meet him when the chance came, in the meantime they were more than satisfied with telling Míriel all about what they had been doing and the friends they had made and all that had been happening that summer, as she listened with rapt attention while bouncing Nityanandë and Meneltir on her knees. Rundamírë sat beside her with Alassië to add her own commentary or clarifications to the somewhat jumbled stories that the girls were telling, and Lisgalen sat with their legs crossed on the ground by Rundamírë’s feet.

Curufin should have joined them too, but instead he took advantage of the fact that neither he nor Maedhros were encumbered by a baby to pull him off to the side—much sooner than Maedhros had hoped for. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing—”

“Don’t try to tell me it’s nothing!”

“It’s—” Maedhros stopped and changed course as he saw Fëanor approaching. “I had two babies in my arms—I just decided that I could wait. He’s not going anywhere.” Curufin narrowed his eyes. “I’m fine, Curvo.”

“You are not.”

“What’s going on?” Fëanor asked as he joined them. “Maedhros, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing!”

“You can’t possibly expect us to believe that,” Curufin said.

Out of everyone in that forest, only two of them had seen the full aftermath of Finwë’s struggle against Morgoth, and Maedhros had not put forth all that effort back then to shield his younger brothers from it only to speak of it to Curufin now. He couldn’t help but glance toward Maglor, who had his face buried in Daeron’s hair as Daeron stroked his and whispered something in his ear. He did not look toward Finwë, though by now everyone wasn’t clustered quite so close around him and it was easier to glimpse him embracing Celebrimbor in one arm and Idril in the other.

“Nelyo,” Fëanor said softly, putting a hand on Maedhros’ arm.

“I’m fine,” he said again, because he had to be. There was no small and cozy bedroom to retreat to, no place to hide where no one would come looking—and these days even if he was at home not even a locked door would keep anyone out.

“Maedhros,” said Curufin, but Míriel called to him then and he had to step away.

Fëanor remained where he was. “Do you not want to see him?” he asked.

Maedhros closed his eyes. “Of course I do. I just—” His voice came dangerously close to breaking. He couldn’t speak of this, not to Fëanor. Maybe to Maglor, but he did not want to pull him away from Daeron.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Maglor and Daeron both joined them a moment later, as though Maglor had had the same thoughts. “Come on, Maedhros,” he said, voice slightly hoarse, and didn’t wait for an answer before pulling Maedhros away from the pavilion and into the woods. Fëanor started to call after them, but when Maedhros glanced back he saw Daeron speaking in his ear, and neither followed.

Once they were out of sight in the trees, Maglor turned and threw his arms around Maedhros. He was still weeping. “All right, no one can see you now,” he said into Maedhros’ shirt. “It’s just me.”

Maedhros leaned back against the nearest tree and let his head fall back against the bark, looking up into the branches. He saw a small gray face peering back; it startled him into laughter, and then he had to wipe his face on his sleeve as the tears started to spill. “Your cat’s stuck again, Cáno.”

“What?” Maglor looked up. Pídhres meowed at them, and then they were both laughing and crying, unable to stay standing so that they ended up in a tangle of limbs at the base of the tree with Maglor in Maedhros’ lap. Maedhros ducked his face into Maglor’s hair. “I’m going to have to climb after her,” Maglor said once they both calmed down a little. “Can you lift me up to the first branches?”

“In a moment.” Maedhros didn’t want to move. It was safe and quiet there, if you could ignore the meowing cat above their heads, and the hum of voices in the clearing that was still so very close by. “I thought I was ready,” he whispered.

“You knew he was going to come today, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly. I—I thought I could guess where Míriel and Indis had gone, and Finrod was so certain that they would be here today. But I wasn’t sure. I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“No, I wouldn’t have.” Maglor straightened, and Maedhros had no choice but to lift his own head. “You’re remembering Formenos, too?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It will get a little easier when you speak to him.”

“I’m not really sure he’ll want to speak to me, though,” Maedhros whispered. “After everything—”

“He does. I promise, Maedhros, he does.” Maglor took Maedhros’ face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “I was there with you nearly every step of the way, and he was glad to see me.”

“That’s different. You’re the reason he’s back at all, and you didn’t—”

“I am not going to have that argument with you again,” Maglor said. He wiped his own eyes and got to his feet. “Come on. Help me get up there so I can rescue Pídhres before she makes enough noise that everyone comes looking.”

Maedhros allowed Maglor to pull him up to his feet, and then knelt so Maglor could climb onto his shoulders, standing a little unsteadily on them as Maedhros rose to his full height. It put Maglor just high enough that he could reach the lowest limb. Maedhros took a step back once Maglor was safely in the branches, and glanced back toward the clearing, just visible through the brush. He glimpsed Finwë with two of the triplets in his arms, looking down so that Maedhros couldn’t see his face. He also saw Curufin speaking to Celegorm, gesturing a little too sharply for it to be about anything happy. He moved out of sight when they both looked in his direction.

When he looked up he found Maglor cursing Pídhres when she jumped to a higher branch. “You stupid cat—I should’ve left you with Halbarad in Annúminas! You could’ve been his headache rather than mine!” Pídhres meowed. “Come here!”

Movement at his side made Maedhros start, and he looked down to see Fëanor frowning up into the branches. “What’s she doing up there?” he asked.

“Trying Maglor’s patience,” Maedhros said. Maglor was being dramatic, though, for Maedhros’ benefit—trying to cheer both of them up by getting ever more creative with his curses as he stepped from one branch to another, chasing Pídhres around the trunk as she kept jumping out of his reach as though it were a game they were playing. Maedhros saw Fëanor wince a little every time Maglor got a little farther up the tree.

Then he looked away, to Maedhros instead. “Maedhros, why are you avoiding your grandfather?”

Maedhros looked back up at Maglor, unwilling to look Fëanor in the face when he answered. “I’m not.”

“Maedhros.”

“It’s—I don’t know if you—when someone comes back, sometimes it’s like—it’s like losing them all over again. I don’t know how better to explain it. It will pass, I just…”

“I know exactly what you mean, but I don’t think you are the only one feeling that way,” Fëanor said softly.

“But I’m the one who knows what it looked like,” Maedhros said even more quietly. He and Maglor—but Maglor had always been able to carry his grief better. Even when neither of them had known how.

“It will pass,” Fëanor said, echoing Maedhros’ words back at him. “He has been asking for you.” Maedhros felt his shoulders hunch a little, and couldn’t help but glance back toward the clearing, where he could hear Finwë’s voice exclaiming something—it sounded as though he was speaking to Calissë and Náriel.

“I can’t go back there and just ruin—”

“Then wait here.” Fëanor touched his arm briefly before disappearing back through the trees. Maedhros stepped further out of sight of the clearing, and looked up at Maglor, who sat on a branch with Pídhres in his arms, looking back down at him, expression solemn again.

“If I jump from the last branch, will you catch me?” he asked.

“Of course I will.”

Maglor set Pídhres on his shoulders, and swung down. The last branch was only a drop of a few feet into Maedhros’ arms, and he caught Maglor easily. Once he was on the ground Maglor wrapped his arms around Maedhros, burying his face in his shirt again. “It won’t be as bad as you think it will,” he said.

Maedhros didn’t answer. Things usually weren’t as bad as he expected them to be these days, that was true—but sometimes they were. Every decision he had made once the crown had come to him had been wrong—except for the choice to give it up. He’d led their people into disaster after disaster, and Maedhros was not convinced that that was only the result of the Doom they had been under. How was he to look Finwë in the eye—Finwë, who had successfully led all the Tatyar who would follow him across all the world, from Cuiviénen to Valinor, who had ruled in Tirion in peace and prosperity, who had fought back against Morgoth himself without ever faltering, even unto his last breath—how could Maedhros look him in the eye after he had undone all of that, through loss after loss and then worse—

“Maitimo?” Maedhros flinched at the sound of Finwë’s voice, and turned as Maglor released him and stepped back.

Finwë stepped around the tree, and Maedhros found that the answer to how he could look his grandfather in the eye was that he couldn’t. He knelt, bowing his head so his hair fell forward. He choked on the word grandfather, and what came out instead was, “Noldóran—”

“Oh, Maitimo, no.” Finwë went to his knees in front of him and took his face in his hands like Maglor had done before, lifting it up so Maedhros had no choice but to look at him. “None of that, now. I am not your king, here. I am only your grandfather.”

Somehow that was worse. “I’m sorry,” Maedhros said, as the tears came back. “I’m sorry—I did everything wrong and I—”

“And it’s over,” Finwë said. He wiped the tears from Maedhros’ face and drew him into his arms, as though Maedhros were still the same child he’d been when last he’d needed his grandfather’s comfort—when he was someone who could deserve it. “It’s over, Maitimo. You can let it go.” His hand rested on the back of Maedhros’ head, and he kissed his temple. “I love you, and I have missed you—I’m so glad that you are here now.”

“But I’m not—”

“Let me tell you what you are.” Finwë’s arms tightened around him, and Maedhros closed his eyes. “You are stronger and braver than you think you are; you are capable of both great good and great evil, as are we all; you love deeply and feel strongly; you are a brother and a son and an uncle and my own beloved grandson—and most importantly, you are so loved. I love you so much.”

None of that felt true. Maedhros kept his eyes closed and tried to steady his breathing. It didn’t work very well. “The world—our world didn’t end when the Trees were destroyed,” he said finally. “It all fell apart when you died.”

“I know,” Finwë said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know, but I made many, many mistakes, Maitimo, in anger and in pride—and that led to the ruin of all the Noldor.”

“Findis says all the blame lies with the Enemy,” Maedhros said softly.

“She isn’t wrong, either. But there will be time later to go over all the choices we made—all of us—and what came of them. This is meant to be a summer of joy, I am told.” Finwë drew back to take Maedhros’ face in his hands again, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Leave sorrow behind, Maitimo, at least for today. I would see you smile again.”

“Uncle Nelyo!” Calissë and Náriel burst through the bushes, and Maedhros hurriedly rubbed his sleeve over his face as Finwë let his hands fall away. “Atya said you’re hiding and we should come tell you to stop it,” Calissë said.

“And Uncle Moryo said to try tickling you if you had your brooding face on,” Náriel added, giggling. “Oh!” They both nearly tripped when they saw Finwë also kneeling among the leaves. “Grandfather Finwë already found you!”

“Your atya needs to stop worrying so much,” Maedhros said. He held out his arms, and both girls ran into them. “I’m fine, you see?”

“Then come back to everyone!” Calissë said.

“Atya said you’d need one of these too,” said Náriel as she pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. Finwë chuckled as Maedhros took it to wipe his face. “Why are you crying?”

“Is it like when we got you from Lórien, and Daeron was crying happy tears?” Calissë asked.

“It’s—yes, something like that.” It was easier to let them believe it, and if Maedhros couldn’t look at Finwë as he spoke—well, they probably couldn’t tell. He got to his feet and picked up Náriel, as Finwë hoisted Calissë into his arms. She whispered something in his ear that made him smile.

Náriel whispered to Maedhros, “Everyone’s been crying, Uncle Nelyo. You didn’t have to hide.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” he said. “I had to help Cáno get his silly cat out of the tree.”

“Grandfather Finwë, have you seen Pídhres yet?” asked Náriel. “She had kittens this year, and that’s where we got our Lossë!”

“I have not seen Pídhres,” said Finwë. The Sindarin name sounded strange in his voice. “But I have spotted three hedgehogs running around and getting underfoot.”

“Those are Uncle Cáno’s too!” said Calissë. “Except Aechen, he’s Uncle Nelyo’s.”

“I think I’m his,” Maedhros said, and Finwë laughed—that rich, full laughter that Maedhros had missed so much, that he hadn’t heard since well before the exile to Formenos.

They returned to the clearing, where everything was rearranged so Finwë could sit in the midst of everyone as though holding court. He had questions and they all had answers—and some questions of their own, for Finwë and for Míriel and Indis. The tears of the reunion were mostly passed, and now there was laughter—for the sheer joy and wonder of it.

Maedhros sat down next to Maglor. Calissë had run off to join her parents, and to hold Nityanandë on her lap, but Náriel remained with Maedhros. “Daeron and Elrond knew this was coming too,” Maglor said. “They were having dreams about it but refusing to share—being all mysterious.”

“I did tell you what my dream was,” Daeron said. He and Maglor had switched places from earlier in the day, and now he reclined against Maglor’s chest. “I also told you I did not know what it meant.”

“But you guessed, didn’t you?”

“No! Perhaps Elrond did, but his foresight is far stronger than mine.”

“Elrond has been saying alarmingly mysterious things since he was at least eight years old,” said Maedhros, just in time for Elrond himself to come sit down on Maglor’s other side.

Elrond grinned at him. “What’s the use of foresight if you can’t have a little fun with it sometimes?”

“I’m sure you both deserved every bit of alarm he gave you,” Daeron said.

“Probably,” Maglor agreed as Elrond laughed. “At least this time it was only mysterious.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me even if I did tell you what I thought was happening,” Elrond said. “But I asked, and when Indis left Tirion suddenly last fall it was to go to Lórien, and she and Míriel were there all winter with Finwë while he got used to being properly alive again. That is how fast the Valar acted, you know. Are you all right, Maedhros?”

“Yes, of course,” Maedhros said, because Náriel was still on his lap and listening attentively.

“He did the same thing at Ekkaia,” Daeron said. “Slipped away to have a private reunion later.”

“This went a little differently than that,” said Maedhros before Maglor could start to worry about it.

“I should hope so,” said Daeron.

“Maglor!” Finrod and Fingon came over to pry Daeron away from Maglor, ignoring his squawk of protest, and then to drag Maglor to his feet. “We have to talk about tomorrow evening!” Finrod said.

“What about it?” Maglor asked.

“We can’t perform the song as it is,” said Fingon. “You have to rewrite the ending!”

“Rewrite—oh. Right. I suppose I do, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to rewrite anything,” said Daeron as he brushed grass off of his sleeves. “Just add another verse—keep the rest of it as it is. It’s important.”

“It’s easier to just add a verse, too,” said Elrond. “And—Maglor, recall the song of the eagles, when they brought the news from the south?”

Maglor smiled, eyes glinting with sudden inspiration. “I do remember. How fitting! Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.” He grabbed Fingon and Finrod, and they disappeared to the other side of the honeysuckle across the clearing.

“What song is that?” Daeron asked Elrond once they had gone.

“Announcing the return of the king,” said Elrond. “Can you think of a better way to tell everyone that he’s back? Anyone who heard the eagles in Middle-earth will understand the minute they hear the key change.”

“I hope someone tells Finwë of this plan,” said Daeron.

“I’m sure they’ll work it all out once they have the verse written,” said Elrond. “Fingon and Finrod are very good at that kind of theater.”

“I thought Great-Uncle Nolofinwë was the king,” said Náriel, frowning a little.

“He is—he has been,” said Elrond, “and perhaps he will be for a time to come—that depends upon Finwë, I suppose. I don’t know how eager he will be to take the crown back in practice, but at least in name he will return among the Eldar as Finwë Noldóran again, King of the Noldor.”

Daeron laughed suddenly. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on Thingol’s face! I hope no one tells him beforehand.”

“Why?” Náriel asked.

“Finwë and Elu Thingol were great friends, in their youth,” Daeron said. “Ingwë, too. It will be a marvelous surprise—for everyone!”

“Have you been introduced to Finwë yet?” Maedhros asked him.

“Reintroduced, yes—I did meet him when I was young, for he often came to visit Thingol on the Journey, though I don’t remember him well. There was always something more interesting happening than whatever my elders were talking about. But it seems I did something rather memorable with a salamander once, and so Finwë remembers me rather better. Don’t ask me what,” Daeron added when Elrond burst into laughter, “because I have no memory of this incident.”

“That’s all right,” said Elrond. “I’m sure Mablung remembers.”

After some time—though not as long as Maedhros would have expected—Maglor, Finrod, and Fingon returned all looking pleased. Maglor took his place next to Maedhros again, and Elladan and Elrohir came to join them as well, while Finrod settled on Maedhros’ other side and Fingon flung himself to the ground between Gilheneth and Gil-galad. “Ready for tomorrow?” Maedhros asked Finrod.

“Oh yes.” Finrod looked at Finwë, and slumped against Maedhros, laughing a little breathlessly. “I still can’t believe it,” he whispered. “He’s really here.”

“I know.”

“Remember when you promised to get cheerfully drunk with me this summer? I think tonight calls for many rounds of drinks.”

“Perhaps,” said Maedhros just to make Finrod laugh again. “Just take care—remember you have to get up and perform before all the Eldalië tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ll be more than fine. Why don’t you seem as happy as you should be?”

“I will be,” Maedhros said. “I think I’m just…slower to get over the shock of it all.”

“I’m not shocked that he’s here, exactly,” Finrod said after a moment. He kept his head on Maedhros’ shoulder. “I am surprised they acted so quickly. And also very disappointed in myself that I did not realize what was going on much earlier. Indis never actually said she was going to Valmar, you know. I only assumed.”

“We all assumed,” said Maedhros. “There was no reason to expect anything to happen so soon. It was only weeks afterward that she left Tirion.”

“True.”

Maedhros looked at Finwë, who was leaning forward in his seat to listen to something Calissë was telling him, and wondered if he felt at all overwhelmed, moving so suddenly from the quiet peace of Lórien to the chaos of this family party—and soon to return among all the gathered peoples of the Elves. If he did, he gave no sign. He looked as though he was exactly where he most wanted to be.

Then Celebrían rose suddenly to her feet, planting her fists on her hips. “Gandalf!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? This is a private family party, and you weren’t invited!”

Everyone turned to see Gandalf leaning on his staff at the edge of the clearing, looking very pleased with himself. “That’s his meddling face,” Maedhros heard Maglor mutter. Elladan and Elrohir snickered, and Finrod covered his mouth to hide a grin.

Gandalf’s beard twitched as he tried to hide a smile. “I know it’s a family party, Lady Celebrían,” he said, “and that is why I am here! Two invitations went astray in the planning, and I was only showing them the way. I do apologize for the late arrival.”

There was a pause as everyone glanced around. Maedhros saw Fingon and Fingolfin both clearly counting heads and then exchanging a puzzled look. Maedhros did a quick scan of his own to confirm—everyone was there. He saw Elrond and Gil-galad looking at one another in similar confusion.

Maglor, though sat up straighter, his gaze moving past Gandalf to the pair of figures coming through the trees behind him. Maedhros followed his gaze and blinked. As they steeped out of the tree-shadows for a moment he thought—

But when he looked back Finwë was just where he had been a moment before, only his own eyes has gone very wide. He rose to his feet but seemed to hesitate, as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing was real.

One of the newcomers—who looked so like Finwë that it was even more startling than seeing Gil-galad beside him—gasped, “Finwë?” Then he said something else, but in a tongue Maedhros could recognize as the one spoken long ago before the Elves left Cuiviénen, though he did not understand the words except for one that sounded as though it might be the root of their word for lost. Finwë responded in kind, and then—just as Fëanor and his siblings had run to Finwë, he ran to the strangers, embracing them one after the other and then both at once, the three of them speaking over each other in that ancient tongue.

Maedhros looked at Finrod, who looked back with a confused expression that mirrored Maedhros’ own. “Who…?” they both started to ask at once. When Maedhros looked for Gandalf, hoping that someone would be asking him for an explanation, he found him already gone.

Then Maglor turned to to them. “Before you all arrived, I thought I saw Grandfather Finwë in the crowd during a rehearsal,” he said.

“You never mentioned that!” Finrod said.

“Because I thought I imagined it, and then I forgot. But of course I didn’t imagine it, and it wasn’t Finwë—it was one of his brothers.”