Chapter 18 – Reinforcements

When fighting a battle for an ellon's soul, one might require reinforcements.


Valinor
Fourth Age

Eruanna recognized Mahtan's distinctive knock when he arrived at Maglor's door. It was not cautious, like those of the messengers or servants, nor did it have the authoritative sound that announced the king. Mahtan's knock was – merry – if such a description could be given to the sound of fist on wood. She called on him to enter and when the door opened he flashed her the brightest of smiles. He carried a large parcel wrapped in fine linen under one arm, and was followed by a tall, golden haired ellon Eruanna did not recognize.

"A fine morning to you, Lord Mahtan," Eruanna said with a smile.

Mahtan lifted his free hand in protest. "Please, child, as I have told you before, just Mahtan. There are enough ellyn in this palace to call lord."

Eruanna could not help but smile. Mahtan was one of the most gregarious elves she had ever known. She had taken a liking to him quickly, despite the strangeness of their first encounter. "I will try to remember," she said, then glanced briefly at Mahtan's companion. "Prince Maglor is not here," she added then, "if you were hoping to see him before you departed."

Mahtan shook his head. "We have already said our private goodbyes, but I have one more thing to give him before I return home. And…" He rested a hand on his companion's shoulder. "I wished to introduce you to an old friend of the family. This is Elemmírë, he and Maglor were inseparable in their youth."

Eruanna's eyes widened in surprise. "Elemmírë, the bard?"

The ellon smiled and his blue eyed brightened considerably at her question. "You have heard of me?"

Mahtan halted Eruanna's response before she could make one. "Before you answer that question," he said with mock seriousness, "I should warn you that fame and glory have caused Elemmírë to suffer from a swelled head. He can barely get his tunic over it at times. If you care for his health, and the well-being of his wardrobe, you would do well to temper your response."

Elemmírë rolled his eyes at Mahtan, but was not at all offended by the bit of humor at his expense.

Eruanna bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. When she was once again in control of herself, she offered the renowned Vanya a compliment worthy of Erestor. "I believe I have heard one or two or your compositions," she said. "They were … good."

"Good?" Elemmírë laughed heartily at the elleth's moderate assessment of his works.

Mahtan smiled at his companions and waited for the Vanya's laughter to subside before continuing their introduction. "And this is Eruanna," he said to Elemmírë. "She is Maglor's scribe, and I daresay the two of you have much in common."

"Do we?" Eruanna asked, curious where Mahtan was going with this bit of intrigue. After all, the last time Eruanna had heard, she possessed as much musical talent as a seagull.

Mahtan nodded and then endeavored to explain. "My grandson has worked hard to drive you both from his sight – unsuccessfully, I might add. I thought perhaps you could combine your efforts to draw him out of his shell. Two together may be more successful than each alone."

"Three together," Elemmírë said, "counting you, Mahtan."

The humor drained from Mahtan's face and his voice was tinged with sadness. "Alas, I must return to my forge, but I will feel much better in leaving if I knew two edhil as kind and stubborn as you were watching over Maglor for me."

Kind and stubborn. Eruanna had never received such a strange and utterly unlooked for compliment. She smiled at Mahtan, accepting the charge he laid for her. Then she turned to Elemmírë. "I would be glad for the company," she said to him.

"As would I," Elemmírë agreed.

"Well then, that is settled." Mahtan said, and a moment later his gaze shifted door. "And I believe I hear my grandson approaching."

The door opened a second later and Maglor stepped inside. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the force arrayed against him. He glanced only briefly at Elemmírë before addressing his grandfather. "I thought you were leaving early this morning," he said.

Mahtan shook his head. "I had one more item to pick up at the market and the vendor was late with his delivery." He laid his free hand on Elemmírë. "While I was waiting I ran into your old friend Elemmírë. I told him you would be delighted to see him again."

Maglor wasn't fooled in the least by his grandfather's explanation, and his eyes showed it. He crossed the room and took a seat at his desk. "I'm afraid I am very busy today," he said. "I do not have time to entertain guests."

But Eruanna, seizing the opportunity to assist Mahtan, jumped in to correct him. "You have no appointments until mid afternoon, my lord, and I have already dealt with the morning's letters. I will have the kitchen send up lunch for two."

Eruanna scurried from the room to make the arrangements before Maglor could protest, while Maglor, blindsided, watched her go in a daze.

Mahtan was grateful for Eruanna's quick thinking. He did his part in thanking her by drawing his grandson's attention away from her departing form. "I have something for you, my son," Mahtan said, and rested the parcel he carried on Maglor's desk. "I regret I could not give it to you earlier, but some of the parts I needed took long to request."

Maglor looked from the oddly shaped something to his grandfather's face. "What is this?"

"Why don't you unwrap it and find out."

Something in Mahtan's eyes made Maglor hesitate. He glanced at Elemmírë, whose guileless expression told Maglor he knew nothing of this gift. Maglor stood from his chair and untied the strings that held the wrapping in place. The object's shape became clearer as the layers of cloth fell away. What lay beneath the strips of linen was a harp of some unique design. The frame was hand carved from mahogany with an intricate floral design laid into the wood bearing gold and silver adornments. It was a work of art. And Maglor stood so in awe of its beauty, he dared not touch it.

Mahtan spoke when the silence continued too long for him to bear. "If you'll recall," he said to Maglor, "you once asked my assistance in perfecting a new harp design. I laid the project aside when you departed, but when I learned of your return, I thought I might try my hand at it once more."

Maglor continued to stare at the instrument. It dawned on him, slowly, that his grandfather had made this masterpiece for him. He shook his head in disbelief. "I have not picked up a harp in many years."

"If you have forgotten the notes," Mahtan replied, "I am certain Elemmírë here can assist you."

Maglor did not look at the Vanya. Instead, his pain-filled eyes shifted from the harp to his grandfather. "I am not worthy of such a gift."

"Then make yourself worthy of it," Mahtan replied. He circled Maglor's desk in three strides so that he stood before him. "I must depart, now. Your grandmother does not like it when I am late." Mahtan pulled Maglor into his arms one last time and into his ear, he whispered, "A long road lies ahead. Do not drive away those who would journey it with you."

This time Maglor's attention turned briefly to Elemmírë.

Mahtan pulled away and patted Maglor's cheek before he tuned away. To Elemmírë he bowed his head and flashed him a wink before departing. Both Maglor and Elemmírë watched the door close behind him, conscious of the fact that they were alone again, for the second time in so many millennia.

Elemmírë turned to Maglor, but the prince's eyes were on his grandfather's gift. "It is magnificent," Elemmírë said. He reached out his hand to the harp, but stopped before making contact. He looked to Maglor for permission. "May I?"

Maglor nodded.

Elemmírë lifted the harp from its resting place and plucked several of its strings. They needed tuning, and he spent a few minutes tightening them until they were just right. Elemmírë did not ask permission before he sat himself down in the chair opposite Maglor's desk. He began to play a little tune, a song dedicated to the Trees that Maglor helped him compose long ago. He played for awhile, stopping only when he noticed the anguished expression on Maglor's face. He laid the harp back down on Maglor's desk.

"Perfect," he said. "Mahtan has great skill."

Maglor nodded and a slight trembling could be heard in his voice when he said, "That he does."

Elemmírë, neither deaf nor blind, knew Mahtan's gift had pained Maglor. He knew also that his presence and the song he had chosen to play had not helped matters. Maglor said nothing to Elemmírë as the silence lengthened and his troubled gaze remained fixed on the harp.

"Will you not play something?" Elemmírë asked at last.

Maglor's eyes lifted from the harp to find Elemmírë watching him intently, concern etched upon his face. "I cannot," he said.

Maglor's voice was barely above a whisper, as if this confession was painful to his ears. "Why not?" Elemmírë asked.

Maglor closed his eyes and breathed deep, as if summoning the strength to speak his answer. "Because," he replied. "I have no music, no poetry left. There is only darkness inside of me."

Elemmírë smiled gently at his friend. "Then we must light a torch to drive it away."

Light a torch? Maglor shook his head. "How?"

Elemmírë shrugged and looked again at the harp. "With a C chord?"

Maglor laughed but the humor was short lived. His gaze drifted from the harp to Elemmírë and across the room to Eruanna's desk. He had almost forgotten her little betrayal. "You've joined forces against me, haven't you?"

Elemmírë followed his gaze to the elleth's desk. He shook his head. "Not against."

Maglor was not so certain he believed that, nor could he comprehend why so many edhil went out of their way to trouble him. This last thought, in part, escaped his lips. "Don't you have more important things to do with your time than trouble me?"

Elemmírë's mouth curled into a familiar grin. "Honestly?" he said. "No. As I said before, I have been lonely here without you."

Maglor was still not ready to accept that excuse, but before he could say so, Elemmírë spoke once more. "I am working on a new composition," he said, "and could use some advice – from one with a good ear, that is. Will you help me?"

Maglor's voice caught in his throat. It had been ages since he and Elemmírë last worked together on a piece of music. Part of him wanted to laugh at the suggestion, while another part, long forgotten, leapt for joy. The two instincts warred with each other. Could he admit, even to himself, how much he longed for Elemmírë's music to carry him away? He couldn't. Not yet. But despite this truth, Maglor could not bring himself to say no. "Well, there is a harp in front of you, isn't there?" His tone was crisp. He could not allow himself to sound too eager.

Maglor's attempt at indifference did not fool Elemmírë in the slightest, but he said nothing. Instead, he took up the instrument. He began to play and sing. It was a passionate song, recounting the reunion of an elf with his lover after an age in Mandos' halls. It was not like any song he or Maglor had ever composed in their youth. How could it be? The world was changed, even for the elves who dwelt all their lives in Valinor, and in time the great bard of the Vanya had come to sing of sadness as well.

Elemmírë played on, and every now and then Maglor would interrupt his performance to suggest a change or addition to the composition. They would argue the matter until it was settled, as they always did, and then Elemmírë would begin again. While Elemmírë played, Maglor's attention was fixed on the glorious music and the warm tenor of his friend's voice, and for those few, precious hours, he was once again Makalaurë.