A quick update for Sunday :)

Chapter X

The news Gildor's friends brought them seemed to have lifted Fëanáro's spirits. Little more than a year since Maglor had been heard in but a few days of riding away from them, that sounded promising. Songs accompanied them yet again as they travelled north along the shores where the terrain would allow them to, sometimes moving deeper inlands to find fresh water coming from the hills.
Elrond soon learned that he was wrong if he thought he knew what it was like to travel with elves born under the Light of the Trees. Had it been up to him only, Fëanáro would have hardly stopped for longer than it took to take care of the basic needs. Fortunately for Elrond, the horses needed their rest and though he had picked magnificent animals from Gil-galad's stables, there was only so much they could do a day.
With the speed Fëanáro forced on them, they would have already reached the area they were heading to, had it not been for the rain. Summer storms came without warning, raging over the sea and drenching everything in fresh water. Soon the creeks from the hills rose from their paths, flooding the meadows and forests. The ground became tricky, hiding liquid earth under a surface of treacherous grass, making the horses fall knee deep.
Not that a bit of rain or mud was going to stop them. They simply continued on foot, as none of them wished the horses to break their legs.

"Be careful," Elrond warned as he skirted a boggy section of the path they were following. "With the rains, this ground is not entirely stable."

"All right." Glorfindel couldn't resist testing it with his foot, watching the seemingly solid ground jiggle, but kept his horse, following him, well clear. He wondered how Elrond could tell, but shrugged it off and kept going. Middle-earth had many dangers that Aman did not, but a bog seemed a most innocuous problem.

xxx

"It's not that funny." Glorfindel valiantly tried to free his leg yet again, resulting in only a squelchy sucking sound, but no freedom.

The mud was winning.

"Laurë, free yourself and let's get moving." Fëanáro shook his head at his nephew's antics. "Elrond, stop encouraging him."

Elrond, who was struggling not to laugh, pressed his lips together as his shoulders shook.

Glorfindel took exception to the comment, and crossed his arms. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think I was just standing here, sinking up to my hips in mud, for fun?" He grimaced as the mud made another sucking sound, pulling him a bit farther down. "Elrond, here, for star's sake. Take my sword before the mud claims it as well."

Taking the sword, Elrond set it on solid ground, nowhere near the treacherous puddle, and began to look around for something that could be used to get his companion out of his current predicament.

"How did you manage to find the one bottomless mud hole anyways?" Fëanáro, accepting the situation was not deliberate as Glorfindel began to look a bit worried, sighed and set his pack down. "Elrond, do we have a good length of rope?"

"Yes, in the pack." Elrond immediately ran to the horse with the item and pulled it free. He called to his horse, and when it came over, fastened the rope to the saddle, then through the rings on the breast collar, and back to the other side of the saddle rings. Tying it securely, he took the long, loose end and threw it to Glorfindel. "Get a good grip!"

Glorfindel did one better and wrapped it around his forearms before griping it tightly. "Any time..."

Standing at the horse's head, Elrond urged it forward, encouraging it when the resistance against it became stronger.

Fëanáro lent his strength to the pulling, digging in his heels and pulling on the rope.

The sucking sound as the mud fought to keep its elven prize was reminiscent of something quite disgusting, but Glorfindel didn't care.

He did care that his clothing was being dragged off as he was pulled forward. "Wait! Wait! My boot is coming off!"

"And how do you propose to keep it from doing so?"

Glaring at Fëanáro, Glorfindel unwrapped the rope from one forearm and reached down to dig into the mud around his leg. "Hang on, I almost have it."

After a moment's pause to consider, Elrond decided it was best judgment not to inform Glorfindel that now his tunic, shirt and hair were also getting covered in mud.

"Ha!" Glorfindel pulled his boot free with a great effort, balanced for a moment, suspended... and fell sideways, boot still in his upraised hand.

Elrond spun away to hide his laugh, but Fëanáro just started to chuckle. "Nephew, really, this isn't the time for a mud bath."

Looking up, spitting mud, half his face, all the one side of his head now covered in mud, Glorfindel wished his uncle to a particularly inaccessible spot in Mandos, which made Fëanáro laugh even harder.

"I know the place," he gasped between laughing.

"Undoubtedly." Pulling against the rope to stand straight again, Glorfindel huffed and raised one mud-covered eyebrow above a brilliant blue eye. "Maybe you could encourage the horse again, Elrond? When you're done laughing, of course. Any time."

Snickering, Elrond urged the horse forward and with a great deal of sucking and slurping of the mud, Glorfindel was finally dragged free of the mud hole.

"You seem to have lost more clo-"

"Blast it!" Glorfindel leaned back toward the puddle to pull his trousers out of the mud and back up his legs where they belonged. He laid on the ground and stared up at the sky, a deep frown furrowing his brow. "I did not return for this. I really did not die and go to Mandos just so some malicious mud hole could suck me into the murky depths!"

Leaning over, Fëanáro eyed him, a bit concerned at the shouting. "Feel better?"

With an indignant huff, Glorfindel met his gaze. "You lead the way for a while."

"And watch out for elf-eating mud puddles," Elrond added with a grin.

"I think that it would be best if we stop, get a fire going and send our mud monster here off to the creek before the soil dries and becomes even harder to get off." Holding out a hand, Fëanáro helped Glorfindel stand and shook his head. "You're looking a bit worse for wear, Laurë, but at least you don't have to explain to Námo why you're back and covered in mud."

"Yes." Glorfindel snorted and pushed his mud-encrusted hair off his face. "I'll spare him having to laugh himself sick. Again." He stomp-squished away, heading for the creek.

"Again?" Elrond, rubbing the horse's head as a way of thanks, looked to Fëanáro. "Do you know the story?"

Shaking his head, Fëanáro pulled up some damp grass and cleaned his hand of the mud. "No idea, but I'd not ask for a while if I were you, Elrond." He chuckled. "He doesn't show it often, but Laurë does have the Finwian temper."

With a nod, Elrond set the horse free of the rope and began looking for materials for a fire. "I didn't want to tell him this yet, but I suspect that mud hole is actually a hunter's trap that filled with rain." He pointed. "There are signs of it being cut by a spade or some tool. I don't believe it is natural."

"Valar help the hunter if Laurë ever finds him." Fëanáro shook his head and began to clear a spot for a fire. "Not only did it nearly suck him down..." He winked at Elrond. "It muddied his hair."

"An unforgivable act," Elrond agreed with a laugh.

xxx

"You're deep in thought." Glorfindel returned to find a fire burning, but only Elrond tending it. "Where is Fëanáro?"

"He said he wished to clean up a bit as well and headed upstream." Looking up as Glorfindel sat, his hair still dripping but clean, Elrond sighed. "I'm worried about this upcoming meeting. When we find Maglor."

Digging through his pack, Glorfindel found his comb and began working it through his hair. "Worried about how Maglor will react or how Fëanáro will react to his son's reaction?" He grimaced as he hit a snarl and set the comb on his leg to meet Elrond's gaze. "I am concerned as well, Elrond, but there is no stopping him. He needs to find his son, and I understand that, but..." Shaking his head, Glorfindel went back to combing. "How do you expect Maglor to react?"

Thinking of the last time he had seen Maglor, Elrond sighed and dug his stick into the coals, stirring them to flame. "I think Fëanáro believes his son will be glad to see him."

"That he does not think of all that has passed since they last were together?" Glorfindel shook his head. "I don't believe that is true."

"I don't think he is anticipating how ..." Elrond stopped, unwilling to betray Maglor at all, but finding confessing his feelings a relief. "Maglor has been through too much. Losing Maedhros at the last, it traumatized him even moreso than losing his younger brothers."

"You think him not entirely sane?"

"Is it so surprising?" Elrond frowned, ready to defend Maglor, but realized it was compassion in Glorfindel's gaze, not accusation.

"Finding him sane and rational would be surprising to me," he said gently. "Elrond, I vividly recall the retreat after the Nirnaeth and how unreal it all seemed. We rode away and left Hurin and Huor to a certain and horrific death. Turgon was in shock at Fingon's death, and desperate to return to Gondolin." He looked down at his hands, still expecting to see the fine white scars from that fight that had marred his skin until his death. He drew in a deep breath and raised his eyes. "None of us were sane upon returning from that, and that was just one battle."

Elrond nodded as he met the gaze that suddenly seemed eons older than it had just a moment before. "The battles with the enemy damage our fëar in ways we don't entirely understand, I think." He let his mind drift back to his younger self, and how restless and edgy Maedhros and Maglor had been at times, even when it was peaceful. "The memories, the smells and sounds, they haunt us, even at the best times."

"Fëanáro knows that." Glorfindel's voice was very quiet, barely loud enough to be heard over the song of the crickets. "But he has a father's hope, a father's heart and desperately wants to help Maglor."

Elrond spread his hands. "Maglor might not welcome it."

"It does not stop his wanting it all the same." Standing, Glorfindel looked up at the stars and sighed. "I think this is part of his healing, finding Maglor. Whether it goes well or not, he must see it through."

"Námo releases those who are not entirely healed?"

A snort and Glorfindel dropped his comb back in his pack. "He would have to hold us forever if he wanted us healed entirely. Arda is full of hurts and life is not always kind." His stomach chose that moment to grumble and Glorfindel offered a rueful smile. "Do we have anything to eat?"

xxx

"Storm is coming."

"Not again," groaned Glorfindel, following Elrond's gaze on the dark clouds gathering over the sea. He sighed exasperatedly. "We really did anger Ossë, didn't we."

"Or it is just time for summer storms around here." Elrond shrugged. "Anyway, we should head away from the sea. Just in case."

"I agree." Fëanáro looked warily at the waves rising higher and higher, splashing forcefully against the cliffs. The land that had once been here must have fallen deep, as if cut by a giant hammer. Oh, Nerdanel would have loved those rocks, he remembered how excited she was whenever they came across a rock that would be a suitable material for her sculptures. 'Well, she will never make THOSE rocks alive,' thought Fëanáro grimly. He shook his head and turned away from the accursed waters, when something caught his attention. He froze, unable or unwilling to move.

"Fëanáro?" His companions stopped and turned towards him, but he just stared ahead.

Finally breaking from his reverie, Fëanáro replied in a strangled voice. "He's there."

And there he was indeed, a silhouette on the edge of the cliff, singing to the raging waves below. The elf was ragged and thin, but it was definitely him. Maglor.

"Kano..." Fëanáro charged forward, but two hands grasped his arms at the same moment.

"Wait." Elrond turned to face Fëanáro and looked straight into his blazing eyes. "We don't want to startle him where he stands now. We need to get up on this cliff first."

Don't startle Makalaure. Fëanáro remembered all too well that his son used to pick the weirdest places as his seat when he was composing; he even climbed one of the structural beams of the roof in the forge, claiming that he liked to listen to the noises his father's workshops made. Fëanáro made him go down from there, afraid that the boy would fall, but he still remembered clearly how carefully he approached him as not to scare him. Right now Maglor wasn't probably standing at the very edge, but the distance made it look so, and Fëanáro was not about to take any chances. Not now.

They turned right to find a way that would be easy enough for their horses to climb the dunes before they turned into sharp-edged cliffs. There was a pine forest that would shelter them both from the growing wind and from Maglor's sight. Fëanáro hated the idea of creeping on his own son as if they were trying to hunt him down, but he reluctantly acknowledged that Maglor was likely to leave if startled. Keeping an eye on the silhouette at the cliffs, they tended to the horses to pass the time.

So, it seems Feanaro will finally get to meet his son.
Thank you for reading!