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Chapter XVI

It was a grand festival that brought elves in from all corners of Middle-earth, and though the jugglers and fire-eaters and tumblers were doing their best to entertain the masses waiting along the street and up on the balconies of the buildings, the crowds were getting impatient.

Ereinion Gil-galad, watching with a wince as the fire-eater doused the flaming brand in her mouth, shook his head. "That was…unusual."

"Speaking of which, where is Glorfindel?" Elrond looked around. He knew Ereinion was about to open the festival officially anytime now and wondered what kept his friend away. It wasn't Maglor, for he was standing to the side, not really mingling with the rest, but not alone either. Gil-galad was not too pleased with the idea of having Fëanáro's son among his guests, but he gave in to Elrond's suggestion that it was safer for everyone to have him close.

"I have no idea."

At the end of the street, trumpet song rang out and a tall man dressed in the deepest blue, the emblem of a swallow on his chest, strode down the center of the way, waving aside the tumblers and jugglers until he stood alone, with everyone watching and waiting to see what he was doing.

"Ladies, gentlemen, nobles and common folk, lend me your ears for I bring to you something not seen in many long years, and even then only in the hidden city of Gondolin." He turned to bow to the king. "Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor," he announced, "I present to you the Pageant of the Houses!" And he turned to run back to the end of the street. Once again, the trumpets sounded and the sound of many riders, horse hooves ringing on the stones of the street, filled the air.

Glorfindel rode in, bearing the emblems of his House. He was clad in white, the flower shining on the bright green background. The bells on the harness sang softly with each step his magnificent white horse took, colorful ribbons and gems adorning the headstall and the saddle.

But he wasn't alone. Behind him rode Erestor and about three hundred other elves from Gondolin, each bearing the banners of their fallen Houses. Elrond counted them as the riders approached; not one was missing.

The whole pageant followed the main road leading to the grand terrace facing the sea, where the seats for the king and his guests were prepared. The riders fell into groups by House before Ereinion, who, like many others, rose from his seat to have a better view.

"Forgive us the hasty and unexpected addition," Glorfindel's clear voice raised over the crowd. He let his gaze roam the crowds along the street and in the balcony. "Once, long ago in the hidden city of Gondolin, we would gather by House just as you see now, to ride through the streets to the tower of our king and there present any new warriors to give their oaths of loyalty." His gaze went to Gil-galad. "Those days are done, the city beneath the waves, and yet we who now live remember and honor the memory of our fallen kin." Hand to his heart, he bowed his head and then took up the reins of his horse. At a whistle from Erestor, the riders all began to move, and it seemed for a moment that there was no sense to it and that everyone would surely collide and yet, eventually, a long continuous pattern of two circles, each entwined, emerged as the riders rode around and through before falling back into four columns to ride on down the street.

"You were right about one thing for sure," Elrond leaned to Celebrian. "No one is going to overlook him."

Celebrian followed the riders with her eyes wide open. "That was beautiful."

"This is but a faint shadow of what we recalled, though I admit Glorfindel has done great at such a short notice," remarked Fëanáro behind them. "Imagine a parade like this, but multiplied hundred times."

"It was done in Aman as well?"

"Yes." Watching the riders disappear, Fëanáro offered a small smile. "I never knew Turgon had kept it alive in his city."

"He kept many traditions from Tirion." Maglor shrugged as they turned to look at him. "I never went to Gondolin, nor did anyone else since Turgon secreted his people away without telling even his brother or father where he was going, but there were survivors."

"More than I was led to understand." Gil-galad met Elrond's gaze, then stepped outside the box to address his people. "The Festival of Loëndë is officially opened. Enjoy the games and the feasting!"

"I suspect many of those riding today were descendants, not actual survivors of Gondolin."

"Glorfindel will know." Gil-galad's gaze went past Elrond to where Maglor had been. "Elrond, please make sure he and the other remaining leaders of the Houses of Gondolin join us."

"Of course." Turning from Celebrian, Elrond nodded. "I'll find him."

As his herald hurried off, Gil-galad held his arm to Celebrian. "In the meantime, would you like to see the sights with me?"

Gaze lingering on Elrond as he disappeared into the crowd, Celebrian mustered a smile and turned to the king. "Of course. Thank you."

xxx

Pushing his way towards Glorfindel was not easy, with many elves gathered around still admiring the horses, and with the Gondolindhrim unwilling to leave the large field yet.

"That was quite a spectacle," Elrond said as he finally approached the group. He couldn't help the smile creeping on his lips as he watched the merry company, bearing proudly the emblems of their old Houses.

Glorfindel turned and seeing Elrond, he grinned. "Too late for a parade, you said?"

"I am gladly taking it back," Elrond laughed and reached to stroke the horse's head as it nudged his arm. "The king wishes you all to join him."

"Go ahead, we'll follow." Erestor held out his hand. "I'll see to your horse."

"Oh, he's not mine, though I wish he was." Cupping the horse's jaw with one hand, Glorfindel handed the reins to Erestor and then straightened the horse's forelock. "Farewell, Falchanar. Erestor, thank you. Please return him to Tatharion."

"Of course." A smile and he turned half-way back. "Will you join us later then? Guests are welcome," he added with a look at Elrond.

"I'll be there, if potentially very late."

"See you later then."

Glorfindel turned to Elrond, brushing horsehair from his tunic. "To the king?"

A nod and Elrond began to walk, Glorfindel at his side. "He won't' mind a bit of horsehair."

"But I do."

It just made Elrond laugh all the more.

xxx

"I was hoping to find you around."

That was certainly a statement Maglor did not expect to hear, but the voice was familiar and merry. Turning his gaze from where Ereinion was apparently boring Celebrian, if her longing gaze hidden behind a polite smile was any indication, he indeed spotted one of the few who were actually unlikely to be hostile.

"You'd be in minority, Gildor."

"I usually am," Gildor grinned and opening the bottle he was holding, he tried the contents. "The mead's pretty decent," he nodded in approval and passed the bottle to Maglor, who accepted.

"Enjoying yourself?" Maglor followed as Gildor strolled down the alley descending the square.

"That's the point, isn't it? Although...We've had the parade, which was a nice touch, but I still find this festival lacking." Despite his light tone, he wasn't spared a few apprehending looks from the group they passed in the narrow passage between the stalls offering various goods.

"Don't let Elrond hear that."

"How about some music? I, for one, would love to hear that new harp of yours."

"You are well informed for one rarely dwelling in the city," Maglor stole another sip before returning the bottle to its previous owner. He had indeed spent most of the night playing, but doubted Glorfindel had yet had the chance to complain about it.

"I have my ways. I'm not the only one feeling nostalgic today and I dare hope you have not forgotten some of the songs you played at Finwe's court."

xxx

Not being a High Prince during such a gathering for once in his life was oddly refreshing. Oh, Fëanáro had enjoyed all those celebrations in his youth, in the blissful safety and the memories he had reminisced the previous evening carried a bittersweet melancholy. But there was always the position he held at his father's court that kept him from simply mingling with the merry crowd. It was certainly a new experience.

Fëanáro left the king's companions soon after Elrond went to find Glorfindel. He wished to see what the gathered elves of various cultures had to offer. He picked at the food the stalls offered. For a while, he stopped among the listeners gathered around a storyteller, but soon his legs carried him farther from the city centre.

He heard it before he could see the gathered crowd. The voice like liquid gold, soft and subtle, and yet carrying the strength to bid the listeners to the singer's will. Following the song like a moth would follow the light, Fëanáro found himself on a square in the lower parts of the city, close to the havens.

Maglor was sitting on the base of a fountain, the black harp in his lap.

Fëanáro saw a few old Noldor among the awed crowd, but some of the elves looked angry, as if they were ready to grab weapons, had they been armed. It seemed there was an inner battle going inside them, the beauty of the song fighting with their mistrust towards the singer and their fear of his abilities. Quenya was not often used and even rarer in public, and many did not understand the song praising the riches the summer offered. Yet in the end the tune and the softness of the song, one that brought forth the feeling of the summer breeze in the fields, won over those still hesitating.

Maglor finished the song and for a moment a startled silence fell on the square.

"Now that is what this festival was missing." A merry voice broke the spell and Gildor stepped up on the fountain, rising a bottle in a toast. Looking around, Fëanáro spotted among the crowd a few familiar faces he remembered from Gildor's company. He pondered at joining them, but looking at Maglor and seeing how peaceful and how much younger he seemed at the moment, Fëanáro decided against it. Instead, he found himself a more secluded spot and listened as his son picked another song, this time in Sindarin.

xxx

Elrond and Glorfindel reported back to Gil-galad who nodded as a courier turned to hurry though the crowd on the errand he'd been given by the king. "Elrond, good. Did Maglor say where he was going? I'm getting reports from the guards that there are groups of people searching for him and Fëanáro."

"He…" Elrond turned and looked around, only then realizing Maglor was not there. Celebrian shook her head as he met her gaze. "He said nothing to me."

"Looking to stir up trouble on a festival day?" Glorfindel frowned. "Some people just don't know how to relax and enjoy life."

"They have long memories and the grudges die hard." Gil-galad stood and offered his arm to Celebrian. "Let me take you to the jousting, Lady Celebrian and then I'm afraid I have other things I must attend to."

She rose and gave a gracious nod, but her gaze went to Elrond. "Find me later?"

His heart skipped a beat and he nodded, watching as they walked away before turning to find Glorfindel smiling. "What?"

"Nothing. She's very lovely."

Elrond just nodded and gestured. "We need to find Maglor."

"She thinks you're just as wonderful as you think her, you know."

"Perhaps."

Glorfindel hid his smile and joined Elrond as they walked down the grandstands. "Where shall we begin to look?"

"He has his harp, so let's walk around and listen and see if we can find him that way."

xxx

It wasn't music that drew them to a quieter quarter of the festival, not music as most would understand it; a melody, a chorus. No, this was more a feeling that took hold and wound around your mind like a friendly cat, purring and weaving about your legs. It touched the heart and spirit and called forth memory of days long gone. Of places not seen for ages, of a home longed for or a loved one still awaiting the day they would once again see the sun and stars and fill newly formed lungs with air.

Deep magic, some had called it, even in Aman. It wasn't magic. "He's touching the Music." Glorfindel had stopped suddenly as soon as his senses caught the edge of the tantalizing lure.

"The Music." The capitals in the way Glorfindel had stressed it were impossible to miss. "As in…Ilúvatar's Music." Elrond felt it as well.

"All music touches it to some degree." Looking around, Glorfindel studied the faces of the revelers nearest them. They were standing as if lost in reverie, eyes focused on something internal, unseen. Most had dreamy smiles, but a few looked unbearably sad. One woman sat weeping, rocking back and forth, her arms cradling an unseen child. A man was kneeling over something only he could see, wailing, his hands tugging at his hair. Glorfindel knelt next to him, Elrond on the other side, attempting to pull him from the memory but he was utterly impervious to their attempts.

"We have to find Maglor. I suspect he's lost in the song himself and unaware he's even doing this." Elrond could feel the effect tugging at his own spirit, his memories. Of a mother singing to her sons on a cool evening. Of his brother, not lost but here, right beside him still as though he had never left, never…

"Elrond!"

He blinked as a hand touched his forehead and instead of Elros, he found it was Glorfindel who was looking at him, deeply concerned. "I…" Confused for a moment, he looked away, unwilling to show how vulnerable he felt in that moment. "I'm fine."

Glorfindel dropped his hand to Elrond's shoulder and squeezed it. "It is hard to resist. Would you rather wait here while I go look for him? He's near, I can sense that."

"No." Sweet stars above no. He did not want those memories to swamp over him again, or the feelings of …. "No. Let's find him. Quickly."

They searched the streets, and on each one they found the same thing; people lost in memories. As they came upon a alley that cut through to the docks, the pull and tug of the music stopped abruptly, and Elrond grimaced. "That was a jarring note."

"Here!" Glorfindel saw a flash of dark blue and silver and sprinted forward into the alleyway.

Elrond ran after him, and soon realized it was the King's Guard fighting a group of men, and to the side, Gil-galad stood, looking thunderously angry, and behind him, against the wall, Maglor stood, harp held tightly.

Glorfindel picked up several of the antagonists by the scruffs of their collars and bashed their heads together. He dropped them, senseless now, and waded in after those closest to the king and his cousin. "Stand down! Stand down!"

He had the urge to laugh at the absurd scene and might have if it hadn't suddenly become deadly – one of the men pulled a dagger and Elrond sprang forward to kick it from his hand, then pushed the man against the wall and held him there. "In the name of the High King, STAND DOWN!"

The command reverberated in the air, almost shivering with power, and the fighting stopped.

Glorfindel looked at Elrond, his hands full of the shirts of two of the attackers and nodded with a smile. "Nicely done!"

The smile in answer was wry. "Thank you." He allowed the guardsmen to take the attacker from him and went to Gil-galad. "Are you all right?"

"No!" Shaking his hand, Gil-galad looked at his left hand and grimaced. The index and pinkie fingers were crooked, one bent at an unnatural angle. "Broken, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid so." Elrond's gaze went to Maglor, who seemed unusually quiet. "Maglor? Are you hurt?"

Glorfindel came over and stood next to his cousin, giving Gil-galad an odd look. "Were you defending him?"

"Yes." His answer was testy as Elrond examined his fingers. "I heard a commotion and we came down here to find these gentlemen mobbing around him."

Maglor looked at Glorfindel with a minute twist of his lips and shrugged as his cousin snorted.

"Yes, he's quite helpless."

"He's a citizen in my city," Gil-galad retorted to the droll remark. "I wasn't going to just let them beat him."

"You should return to the festival," Elrond said. "Get some ice on those fingers, Ereinion, and get that ring off before we have to cut it off your finger."

"Bring them to the bridewell when Elrond is done questioning them." Gil-galad told one of his guardsmen. He turned to Maglor and for a moment they locked gazes. "Refrain from playing during the festival, Malgor Feanorion. I won't hesitate to have you locked up as well if I hear of any more trouble."

"He won't." Glorfindel said before his cousin could make any remark, ignoring the annoyed scowl.

As the king and most of the guards left, Maglor shoved Glorfindel's shoulder. "Now you're speaking for me?" He slid the dagger he had pulled into his belt, making sure the guardsman didn't notice.

Glorfindel's cheerful demeanor dropped away and he stared at his cousin with a somber expression. "What you did here today was serious, Maglor. Did you see the people standing, lost in memory?"

"No." Maglor held his harp in both hands again and glared. "If I had, I would have stopped."

"I need to go see to Ereinion." Elrond shook his head. "And apologize for leaving Celebrían. You both stay out of trouble."

"I wasn't in trouble," Glorfindel pointed out but Elrond just kept walking. He turned to Maglor. "You know, cousin, hearing you play again brought all the festivals in Aman to mind." Looking to where a group of people were gathering around a troubadour, set on telling a tale, he sighed. "I doubt few of those out there realized what a magnificent honor it was to hear you."

"Flattery won't get you out of my bad graces, Laurëfindil." Maglor snorted. "Though it doesn't hurt either." At the wry smile shot at him, he shook his head. "So what now?"

"It's too early to turn in." Giving his cousin a speculative look, Glorfindel suddenly smiled. "Come with me? I know some people who will love to hear you play and won't complain to anyone, especially the king."

"Do such people exist?" Nevertheless, Maglor fell in next to Glorfindel, curious as to where he would go.

"They do, if you look for them." They wound through the town, through alleys and closer to the water where fewer revelers were, away from the festival. The building they stopped at was unfamiliar but Maglor followed Glorfindel inside and found it was a tavern and a party was going on inside.

"There you are!" Erestor laughed and walked over to hand Glorfindel a mug, gaze going to the man beside him. "Maglor, a surprise to see you but be welcome and join us."

Maglor recognized most of the people in the room were those from Gondolin who had been in the parade, and he found a seat near the fireplace where he could put his back to the wall and relax for a while since it seemed no one was curious about him. It was a nice change.

Glorfindel stopped to see if he needed anything from time to time, but otherwise he was content to sit and play songs on the harp and watch from his nice, warm spot by the fire.

xxx

It was already late into the night, the stars already fading on the sky as the dawn neared, when they decided the day had been long enough to retire. The streets were still full of life, the merriment empowered by wine and mead never ending, but the echo of music and laughter dulled when they entered the quarters encircling the palace. The corridors and passages were quiet, as the festival was taking place in the city.

"Makalaurë, wait," Fëanáro called before his son left as well. "Don't just disappear tomorrow and leave the city again for who knows how long."

Maglor stopped and frowned at hearing his father using his old name again, but didn't comment on it. "What is it?"

"I would like you to come to my workshop tomorrow. There is something I want to show you and I need your help."

"Anything specific?" Maglor wasn't completely uninterested and Glorfindel, who listened to their conversation, turned to them, curiosity plain on his features.

But Fëanáro was not about to share his secrets just yet. "You'll know what to do," he only said. "Now if you excuse me, I have something I need to check." With that, he turned around and headed towards the entrance.

Glorfindel shook his head in amusement. "I will never understand the guy." It was a long day full of excitement, of dancing and drinking, but clearly not taxing enough for Fëanáro when an idea struck him. "What was that about?" he asked his cousin as they walked down the corridor, at this hour empty, with a lamp here and there lighting the way.

"No idea," Maglor shrugged. "It's you who lives here on daily basis, not me," he looked pointedly. "Yes, I will stay and see, and then perhaps satisfy your curiosity."

xxx

The silence of the now almost empty hall was a welcome change. Almost, Elrond thought and smiled to himself as he spotted a hunched form of some sleeping guest in the corner.

Ereinion seemed not to care about the potential presence of a third party. He sank down on the nearest bench. "Remind me again, why we are doing this at all?"

"To strengthen alliances and show unity in the face of possible threat to us all," Elrond mimicked Ereinion's tone quite accurately and poured the glasses for both of them.

Gil-galad gave him the look and dried his wine with little dignity befitting the king.

"Next time we are just going to send our greetings to everyone," he muttered to himself as he unfastened the collar of his robe. "We will write letters and send our love and perhaps some good wine with it. And gifts."

"Next time?" Elrond arched an eyebrow and took a long sip himself.

Ereinion ran his hand down his face. "Forget it. Now, do you have any more of that wine left?"