This was suppose to be a double drabble, my gift to my lovely readers on my birthday, hobbit style. Well...It refused to be constrained into word limits. :) I don't think you'll complain! The Fëanorionnath are easily the favorites in this fandom, so enjoy!
The people of Tirion had long gotten used to the odd procession that came every month. Arafinwë had decided that Maglor was still a prince of the Noldor, and requested that he be at least occasionally present in Tirion, even though he much preferred the seclusion of the small estate near Lorien his mother had purchased when her last surviving son had returned home.
And so, every month, Maglor would come to Tirion, before returning to the country; always accompanied by guards Arafinwë sent to insure his safe arrival. But this time, sharp eyes noticed another rider in the procession, his hood up, riding next to Maglor. A few of the more curious trailed the procession to the palace, where another small group had gathered, because waiting at the gates with an air of impatience was Fingon. He grinned when the small group finally reached him.
"About time you showed up, cousin!" he called. The crowd was confused, for Maglor came every month. But then the rider beside him laughed, and tossed back his hood. Long, fiery red hair spilled down his back, as Fëanor's eldest dismounted and moved to hug his cousin and best friend tightly.
The crowd murmured, some excited, some displeased, and some speculating what it meant that the Fëanorionnath were, apparently, beginning to be re-born. Maglor watched the crowd with a faint smile on his face. They had no idea he and Maedhros had left the rest of their siblings arguing cheerfully, supervised by their mother. Their fractured family was finally beginning to heal.