Chapter 12 – What to do?

Each of us has a calling. A bard sings. A healer heals. A teacher instructs. I had often thought my gift to be one of letters – to write and draw the forgotten histories of Middle-earth. Later I came to understand that writing down the stories of the past was only half as important as listening to the tales recounted by those who had been there.


Valinor
Fourth Age

Eruanna spent the next several days alone in her rooms. She dared not wander the gardens, despite the draw of the fragrant blossoms and the cool autumn breeze. She had much to think on. She had not expected Maglor to speak so plainly about the kinslaying at Alqualondë. Elves simply did not speak of those events – not in her experience, anyway. She had not been prepared to hear the details of the battle – or Ionwë's death. Maglor said he attacked the prince on instinct, without thought of the consequences. Eruanna wanted to call him a liar. She wanted to believe it was impossible to deal out death so thoughtlessly. She didn't want to believe that he had killed his friend in a moment of blind fear or rage or whatever emotion it was that claimed his heart when he lashed out at Ionwë.

There was only one problem.

Eruanna had seen such an act as Maglor described once before. She had seen it when her father slaughtered the orcs to save her. 'But they were orcs!' a small voice in her mind cried, defending Erestor and his brutality. And yet, her heart knew it made no difference. Orc or man or elf – her father would have done the same to any who brought her to harm. She knew it, deep inside, and in that same place the truth of Maglor's confession gnawed at her soul. For his father he had killed, for his people his hands were stained with blood.

It was no excuse – but it was a reason – one that many could understand. And that was it, was it not, the true reason the Eldar spoke not of such things? If they did, they would have to admit that they, too, were each capable of heinous deeds, and for reasons as pure and noble as the love of a parent – or a child.

Still, it was no excuse…

Eruanna tried to distract herself from these disturbing thoughts with paper and pencil, but her thoughts remained with the seafarers. She drew the docks and the children at play from memory along with the cliff overlooking the sea where Ionwë and so many others fell.

A touch of a hand on her shoulder brought Eruanna swiftly to attention. She looked up to find her mother peering over her shoulder, her expression full of concern.

"Are you feeling well, Eruanna?" Irimë asked.

"I – I am fine," Eruanna replied. She was not fine of course, but said so out of habit and a desire to avoid discussing the matter. Eruanna clung momentarily to the futile hope that her mother might let it go. She was not so lucky.

Irimë took a seat beside her daughter, and with a frown, brushed Eruanna's hair back over her shoulder. "You have not been fine since Alqualondë, why don't you tell me what's troubling you?" Irimë said. Her eyes shifted to the parchment on her daughter's lap.

Eruanna saw where her mother's attention was drawn and quickly closed the folder on the image of the sea. She hugged her drawings tightly to her chest, unwilling to share them with anyone. They had become as much a diary of her thoughts and fears, as a collection of illustrations. She was silent for a long time, her thoughts wandering to the sea, to Middle-earth and back again. She was not ready to speak with anyone about Maglor, but could not leave her mother's question unanswered. And there was something – something else that had begun to gnaw at her as the newness of Valinor wore off and the days of travel and excitement drew to a close. These thoughts, at least, she could share with another.

"Perhaps I am feeling a bit … displaced," Eruanna began. "We have been so busy. I feel as if a century's worth of excitement has filled each day since I arrived. Now that we have settled in …" Eruanna shrugged, and lifted her eyes to meet her mother's. "What does one do in Valinor?"

Irimë was surprised by her daughter's question and did not entirely understand her meaning. "Do?" She repeated the word. "What do you mean?"

Eruanna tried to better explain her concerns. "Imladris was one of the few safe havens in Middle-earth. There was always something new and exciting happening, history to be recorded, work to be done ... but here… I am not sure what my place will be in this world where life goes on, unchanged, forever, and where there are so many others, more worthy, to carry out my tasks."

Irimë rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder in comfort. "You are not the first to have such thoughts," she told her. "It will take time to adjust to life in Valinor. And as for work, do not worry yourself about such things. You have forever to find your place here."

Eruanna frowned slightly. Forever? She wasn't sure she could wait that long without fading away from boredom.


King Fingolfin had a problem, and the trouble was the only solution he had found to it had the potential to be a monumental disaster. He considered multiple angles of approach, before realizing he required outside help, or more accurately, when his brother pointed out the need for it. He strode down the long corridor with a purpose, Finarfin at his side, who had wished to accompany his brother on this errand as a measure of support. Fingolfin prayed he would not be in need of it.

"I never realized how far from the main section of the palace Elrond was housed," Finarfin said as they walked. "I hope your grandson does not think it an affront."

Fingolfin chuckled. "It has been getting a little crowded around here."

"You could always add on another wing," his brother offered.

Fingolfin smirked. "Or you and your sons could move in with your wife's kin."

Finarfin's eyes widened at his brother's suggestion. "The Valar forbid," he said in mock horror.

The pair arrived at their destination and Finarfin knocked on the door. He turned back to his brother while they waited. "Do you have your speech prepared?"

Fingolfin frowned slightly. He did, in fact, have a speech ready.

The door opened, answered by a silver-haired elleth. Celebrían dipped her head out of respect and then greeted her guests with a smile. "My king, grandfather, please come in, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

The ellyn bowed and entered. "We seek your husband," said the king. "Is he at home?"

"No, I'm afraid you have missed him. He and Erestor left early this morning to check on our new house. Construction began last week."

Fingolfin's plans were put on hold in that moment. He knew of his grandson's plans to tour the valley but did not realize he had meant today. "Ah, yes, it slipped my mind."

Finarfin took his granddaughter's arm in his as they moved though the foyer. "You must be eager to have halls to call your own."

She did, indeed, but there were some things about the palace she would miss. "It will be a pleasant change, though I will miss having my grandfather close by."

Finarfin laughed warmly and patted her hand. "You are welcome in my home any time you like. The journey across the city should not be too great an obstacle."

Her grandfather's humor made her smile, but with a glimpse of the king's expression, her spirits fell. "You seem troubled, my lord, are you certain I can be of no assistance?"

"I am not certain," Fingolfin answered.

"Well then, let us have a cup of tea and discuss the matter."

Her guests accepted her offer and she led them to the parlor and offered them each a chair. A servant brought tea and biscuits for the company and when the elleth departed Celebrían turned her attention to her granduncle.

"Tell me," Fingolfin began, "what is your impression of Lord Erestor's daughter?"

"Eruanna?" Celebrían was far from expecting the elleth to be the topic of conversation and could not imagine why Fingolfin would be asking after her. She offered him her impressions of the child. "She is a sweet elleth, kind, intelligent – wise beyond her years."

"You do not think her naive?" he asked.

"Do you?"

A sigh escaped Fingolfin and he allowed himself another sip of tea before answering. "Not many would willingly speak with Maglor Fëanorion."

Maglor. With his name the relevance of the king's questioning became clearer. Celebrían was well aware of the child's strange habit of seeking out the reclusive prince. It was common knowledge in the palace and a matter of some tension within her house. According to Elrond and Glorfindel, Erestor had been furious when he learned of her actions.

Celebrian frowned. "Does that make Eruanna naïve, or the many, cruel?"

It was the king's turn to be surprised. If it were not for the silver locks which framed the lady's face, Fingolfin would have sworn it was Galadriel who had spoken. "Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to your mother?"

Celebrían's smile was his answer. "What is the reason for your interest in Eruanna?"

It was Finarfin's turn to speak. "We have given Maglor duties to keep him busy and give him something to contribute."

"And?"

"He needs an assistant, a scribe," he continued. "I have asked all those I thought might…" Finarfin's voice trailed off. There was no one willing to serve Maglor and neither he nor his brother could blame them.

Fingolfin continued where his brother left off. "I cannot simply command someone to work with him. It would not be right."

"I see," Celebrían said. "You thought you might ask Eruanna?"

"Or perhaps I seek a reason not to." Any reason would do. But after seeing the elleth with Maglor, it seemed like the right choice.

Celebrían considered the king's dilemma and recalled a previous conversation she had had with Ionwë. He had spoken with Eruanna of his death and the first kinslaying. She knew the truth of Maglor's past and not just from books, but from ellyn who had lived through it all. "She is no fool, uncle," she said, invoking the familiar. "She knows what Maglor is, the pain he caused so many. She speaks to him despite this knowledge, not for lack of it."

Fingolfin nodded, accepting his niece's assessment. "Do you think she will agree to work with him?"

Celebrían shrugged daintily, her lips drawing into a frown. "I think the question is, will Erestor agree?"

Fingolfin lifted a hand to rub his temple. "I have considered that, which is why I came to speak to Elrond. If anyone can help Lord Erestor see reason, he can."

Celebrían wasn't so sure her husband would be of much help. He had his own history with Maglor which was even longer, darker and more complicated. But as for her thoughts… "I think it is an excellent idea. Eruanna might even do more good for him than simply copying his letters."

"How do you mean?" Finarfin asked.

Celebrían looked down at her hands, considering her answer, before lifting her gaze to her grandfather's face. "I do not know if Elrond would be here now if not for Eruanna," she confessed. "She gives him strength, brings peace to his soul."

Finarfin frowned. "Does that trouble you?" His granddaughter's good health and happiness had been his greatest wish since she first came to them from Middle-earth. He cared for her greatly.

But there was no cause for concern.

"It might have," she said, "in the past. I love my husband, but there are things I have never understood about him." She sought an explanation that would help her grandfather and uncle understand. It was not easy to explain the peredhil. Even she, who had wed a half-elf and spent an age by his side, hardly understood them. "Just as men and elves are separated by great mysteries, so the peredhil have mysteries of their own. When I see him with his parents or Eruanna, it all makes sense. The peredhil understand each other."

These words stirred old thoughts in Fingolfin. "I have often wondered about my half-elven sons, what lies in their hearts and what their lives were like before I knew them."

"A terrible loneliness plagued Elrond's soul," Celebrían admitted.

Fingolfin presumed as much, even in the short time he had known the ellon, such long held pain shone through. "We are with him now," he said, "he is not alone anymore."

"No," she said, "he isn't."

The king stood and took his niece's hand. "Thank you, my lady, for your wisdom. I will think on it."

Celebrían smiled kindly at her granduncle. He had a wisdom of his own and kindness in his heart and he tried hard to make things right. "I know not everyone understands why you took Maglor in, but my mother and I believe it right."

Fingolfin smiled, thankful for her support. He only wished that Maglor and the rest of Tirion would agree with them. "You may be the only ones who do."