Chapter 2 – The Beginning
All hurts are not magically healed in Valinor. This is a truth I learned when I was very young, when I read how Míriel died after giving birth to Fëanor, her son. Pain and anger, guilt and shame, such burdens do not simply fade away when one reaches the Undying Lands. It takes more than that, more than dwelling in the light of the Valar to find peace.
Setting foot on this shore is only the beginning.
Valinor
Fourth Age
The King's footsteps echoed loudly in the marble hall. The noise mattered little. No one ever entered this section of the palace. Even the servants, always so diligent in their labors, left the rooms in this hallway untouched. Millenia ago this had been the residence of Fëanor and his sons, but when the great Prince was banished from the city, the rooms were abandoned. They had remained empty, unused … until now.
Fingolfin arrived at his destination and knocked loudly on the gilded door. There was no answer, though he knew his nephew was inside. The King turned the handle without awaiting an invitation. He knew he was not likely to receive one.
Fingolfin stepped inside. "Maglor?" he called, casting his gaze about the great room. The doors to the balcony were open. He crossed the room with several swift strides and stepped out onto the terrace. He was greeted by a familiar sight – Maglor, stretched out upon a divan, reading a book, dressed in nothing more than a wrinkled tunic and leggings.
"An interesting choice," Fingolfin said of Maglor's attire. "I would have chosen something more formal."
"I am not coming," Maglor replied without lifting his gaze from the book on his lap.
Fingolfin sighed. "Maglor…"
"Uncle," he tried to head off the lecture before it began.
"It has been almost a year since you came to Tirion," Fingolfin continued. "You cannot hide in these rooms forever."
"I am well aware of that fact," Maglor snapped before he could leash his temper.
The second son of Fëanor was not known for fits of anger – that honor belonged to Caranthir. But ill-temper, a most unpleasant trait of Fëanor's, had in fact been passed on to each of his sons; Maglor was simply the most skilled at controlling it. His control was slipping. Ever since he had first set foot in Valinor, Maglor had found it difficult to speak to others without sharp words. It was becoming a nasty habit – and his uncle – a regular target. At the moment Maglor was grateful no one else heard how he spoke to the King.
"Then why will you not join us?" Fingolfin asked, ignoring Maglor's sharp tone. He was accustomed to his nephew's ill moods and had learned to overlook them.
Maglor sighed. There were a thousand reasons he could offer up in answer, but most would not satisfy Fingolfin. He knew at least one that would. "Tonight is for the Ringbearers," he said, "to honor the great deeds and sacrifices made by our people in Middle-earth. What sort of celebration would it be if I am there?"
Maglor knew well that his presence would only draw attention away from those who deserved it. Today belonged to Elrond and Artanis, to Olórin, and two tiny hobbits, two mortals, each one with more honor and dignity than Maglor would ever possess.
Fingolfin sighed in defeat. There was no arguing that Maglor's appearance at the celebration would overshadow them all. The King's eyes moved slowly across Maglor's drawn face to the darkening sky. The sun was setting, and it would not do for the High King of the Noldor to be late today. Fingolfin turned and made his way back to the door.
"If you change your mind…," the King called over his shoulder, before leaving his nephew in peace.
On the other side of the palace complex, far from the lonely corridors where Maglor dwelled, others readied themselves for the feast. Celebrían, Lady of the House of Elrond, hosted the day's events for the female members of her household.
The Lady chatted with friends – new and old – as they prepared for the celebration. Her rooms bustled with activity. Celebrían enjoyed the young ones' mirth and excitement for the evening ahead, but the laughter she shared with her companions did not always reach her eyes. It was days like these, surrounded as she was by the quiet chatter of her ladies, that the absence of Arwen was felt most keenly. The dressing party was simply not the same without her daughter.
Celebrian gazed absently out of the eastern windows while her ladies dressed.
"My Lady." A quiet voice called Celebrían out of reverie.
Eruanna had been observing the older elleth quietly for some time. The Lady's eyes were misty, distant. She stared out the windows towards the sea. There was no question on whom Celebrían's thoughts dwelt.
The Lady looked up in surprise. I must have been daydreaming again. "Eruanna, forgive me. I was woolgathering. Did you say something?"
"I only wished to know if I can get you anything – tea, perhaps?" Eruanna knew that a cup of tea would do nothing to change the Lady's mood. It was merely a way of telling Celebrían she noticed her pain.
Celebrían forced a smile to her lips, if only for Eruanna's sake. Concern shone in the younger elleth's eyes, and the Lady did not wish to be the cause of the child's distress. Eruanna was very sweet – and observant. Celebrían knew the offer of tea was merely an excuse to distract her from her troubled thoughts.
"I do not think tea will be necessary," she replied. "I will be more myself once the festivities are underway. Elrond always finds some way to distract me."
Eruanna smiled at that. The Great Lord had been at Celebrían's heels like a love sick hound ever since they arrived in Valinor. Eruanna had never seen Lord Elrond so overjoyed. There were moments of sadness for the couple, of course, and the past had changed them both, but despite all that had occurred, their love for each other remained.
"Well, I believe tonight will be no different," Eruanna said. "After all, you will need to make certain all this praise does not go to his head. He may end up like Glorfindel."
A burst of laughter escaped the Lady at the unexpected jibe. There were, of course, a number of ways the joke could be taken, given Glorfindel's character. The ellon never was able to come to terms with his legendary status. There were times he fully accepted the mantle of hero and other times when he thought the idea a disgrace. "End up like Glorfindel how – by becoming bitter or proud?"
Eruanna thought for a moment. "The two seem to go hand in hand, don't they?" she mused. "I suppose either one would be a rather unpleasant result of tonight."
Celebrían's smile grew wider. "I will do my best to ensure neither happens."
"Just imagine your husband's reaction if someone writes a lay about him." Eruanna shook her head at the thought. "Glorfindel will never let him live it down."
"You know he'll sing it just to annoy Elrond." Celebrían laughed, and this time, her eyes sparkled with joy. "It would serve Elrond right. I can not tell you how many times he sang the last few versus of The Fall of Gondolin when Glorfindel was in a mood. One time he and our sons hummed the tune at the dinner table. I thought Glorfindel was going to throw his plate at them!"
Eruanna laughed heartily at the image Celebrían's tale evoked, tears poured down her cheeks. She wished she could have been present for that meal.
The ellith's laughter was interrupted by another's raised voice.
"Eruanna! Cease your bantering and come here. I am almost finished," Marilla called from across the room.
"I think we had better see what Marilla has done to your mother," Celebrían said. She took Eruanna's arm in hers and led her over to the vanity where Marilla was hard at work plaiting Irimë's hair. By the time Eruanna and Celebrían reached them, the task was done.
"What do you think?" Irimë asked them while admiring Marilla's artistry in the mirror.
"I think something is missing." Celebrían cast her maid a mischievous grin.
Marilla was ready to protest, but bit her tongue when the Lady reached for a small ornate box on the dresser. She opened it, and withdrew a comb encrusted with sapphires. She placed the comb in Irimë's hair.
"There," Celebrían said, pleased with the addition she had made to Marilla's work.
"Ooooh, you look positively beautiful!" Marilla squealed in delight.
Irimë smiled at her reflection and the added touch of the comb. She turned to her daughter. "Well?" she asked.
The corners of Eruanna's mouth curled into a smile. "Must I squeal?" she asked.
"No," Irimë replied, "just be honest."
"You look lovely," Eruanna told her. "The blue matches your eyes." The sapphire accent really did make her mother look even more beautiful than usual.
"I still feel nervous," Irimë turned back to the mirror, a look of worry passing over her lovely face. She wrung her hands, a nervous gesture displayed often by Eruanna in her youth. It was one more reminder that Eruanna's mother – reborn – was now younger in years than her daughter.
"Did you not attend court in Mirkwood?" Eruanna asked, curious.
Irimë thought on the question, calling up memories of her past life. "Yes, I did," she said at last, "but this is different. There will be so many great Lords and Ladies in attendance. Ellyn and ellith I have never known."
"They are only elves, naneth," Eruanna assured her mother. She placed her hands on Irimë's shoulders and sought her mother's eyes in the mirror. Eruanna's brown met her mother's blue. The brown eyes smiled in reassurance.
"There is no reason to worry," said Eruanna. "Erestor is escorting you, and we will be there as well," she said of the other ladies in Elrond's house.
"Listen to your daughter, Irimë, she is very wise," Marilla twittered playfully, while arranging Celebrían's crown.
Celebrían offered her guest a reassuring smile as well, and when Marilla finished her arrangements, Celebrían took one last look at herself in the mirror. All was done. The ellith of the house were ready.
"Come along now, ladies," Celebrían clapped her hands to bring the others to attention. "We do not want to keep the ellyn waiting."
The King circled the great hall in search of Elrond. He wanted to be certain that the younger Lord was enjoying the celebration. Fingolfin noticed the flashes of discomfort in his grandson's eyes during the opening ceremonies – particularly when the crowd cheered him. He was not yet familiar enough with Elrond to read the ellon completely, but the King was familiar enough with the expression that graced his face during those uncomfortable moments. It was a characteristic gesture inherited by many in Fingolfin's line. It often appeared on his own face in moments of unease – as his sons so often informed him.
It was no simple task to pick one ellon out of the many, but after a time, the King sighted Elrond among the sea of familiar faces. Elrond's gaze was fixed on the dancers, or more precisely, on his wife and her uncle Finrod, who were among them. Fingolfin laid a hand on his young kinsman's shoulder, drawing the ellon's attention away from the dancing couple.
"Elrond, my son, are you enjoying the celebration?" he asked.
"My Lord," Elrond nodded in respect to his longfather and King. "It is a magnificent affair."
And it was. Elrond could not recall a gathering of elves more grand, or a company more beautiful to behold. It was overwhelming, even for the former Lord of Imladris.
The King could read that last thought in Elrond's expression clearly enough. "Too magnificent?" he asked, lowering his voice so that others would not overhear.
Elrond cringed inwardly at Fingolfin's question. It contained many layers of meaning and he did not quite know how to answer. Elrond's gaze swept the glittering hall and fell on two little men, each of them filling his plate with a fourth helping of the evening's dessert. A smile curled his lips at the sight of the hobbits chatting merrily with the other guests.
"Bilbo and Frodo deserve our praise," Elrond said. "I believe they are enjoying themselves."
Fingolfin followed his grandson's gaze to the dessert table. "The food, at least..." Fingolfin laughed. Indeed, the two mortal Ringbearers deserved much thanks, but they were not the only ones.
"And you, Elrond," he said, "do you not deserve our praise?"
Elrond's attention returned to the King. This time Fingolfin chose to abandon subtlety. An answer could not be avoided. He had a strong feeling the King already knew what his answer would be, else he would not have thought to ask.
"I am not certain what I have done to warrant it," Elrond admitted.
Fingolfin shook his head. "You sound like your father," he chided.
Elrond's brow rose in response to Fingolfin's unexpected declaration. He'd only met his father less than a year ago and this was the first time in Elrond's life that anyone had ever compared him to Eärendil.
Fingolfin answered Elrond's unspoken question. "Eärendil still rolls his eyes whenever someone claims that he, alone, saved our people from Morgoth," Fingolfin said.
Elrond smiled. Eärendil had done that very thing the first time Eruanna met his father. She spent near three hours questioning him about his travels and his first audience with the Valar. Eärendil gladly answered the young elleth's many questions – but Elrond had witnessed at least one rolling of the eyes during his father and Eruanna's animated discussion.
Fingolfin rested his hands on Elrond's shoulders, turning the younger Lord to face him. He emphasized his words with a gentle squeeze of his hands. "You are more than a worthy son of my House, Elrond. You have made your fathers proud."
These words were almost too much for Elrond to bear coming from the lips of the King. Elrond knew such praise was not given lightly by an ellon who once braved the Grinding Ice and challenged Morgoth the Accursed in combat to the death.
Fingolfin smiled kindly at his grandson and drew the younger ellon into a warm embrace. He would have said more to reassure Elrond, had a shadowed figure on the balcony not drawn his eye. He released Elrond and took a step back. His attention now fixed on the high gallery. It was nothing more than a small, unused corridor, but its marble pillars offered the perfect cover for a reluctant observer.
"What is wrong?" Elrond turned slightly, following the King's gaze upward.
"Maglor," Fingolfin answered in a low voice. "He watches from above."
Elrond could not find Maglor in the shadow of the pillars but his eyes caught a movement at the end of the arcade. An elleth stepped briefly into the light before vanishing behind a pillar. He was certain he recognized her face.
