Chapter 19 – Lament for Midsummer
Today the people of Valinor gather to celebrate life, while I can think of nothing but his death.
Valinor
Fourth Age
Maglor loved midsummer. It was the one day of the year he was free to wander the streets of Tirion without enduring the angry glares of strangers. The city's inhabitants had departed the day before for Alqualondë as the midsummer festival was held on its shores. It was a tradition, held since the elves first came to Valinor. And Maglor was grateful for it. The palace was quiet and peaceful now and he wandered its halls more casually than he would on any other day of the year. He even took the time to study the new tapestries and works of art that adorned the walls. He was always too busy getting to where he was going without being stopped or seen to take notice of the beauty surrounding him.
It was late in the day when Maglor's thoughts turned towards the sea. The sun was setting and Maglor knew the bard's contest was about to begin. He and Elemmírë had worked long together to perfect his composition, and Maglor hoped his friend would be the victor. It was a strange thing – to hope again – and for something as pure and unselfish as another's happiness. It had been a long time, a long time, indeed.
He walked along the high wall of the castle gazing at the stars. A cool breeze blew across his face and he thought he could hear the singing of elves … only … the wind was blowing from the west. The singing Maglor heard was not coming from Alqualondë, but from somewhere close by. And the voice … it sounded so … familiar. Maglor could not say precisely why he followed the sound. Perhaps it was the sadness contained in the singer's voice, or the fact that someone else would choose to remain in Tirion while the grandest celebration of the year was under way.
Maglor found the elleth alone on the western tower and it was only when he saw her sitting a few feet away that he connected the voice with a name. Her voice was not beautiful, and to a trained ear even less so, but somehow the imperfections gave her song greater power. How had he missed it – the pain and sadness in her heart? It was so plain to him now. Even in the starlight, hidden in the shadows, he could see the weight of the past dragging her down. Maglor had to admit he never thought much about the child's life before he met her. She was peredhel, and no doubt had suffered similar obstacles as Elrond in her youth. But even so, he never imagined Eruanna to be anything other than the wide-eyed innocent child he took her for.
Maglor continued to watch her from the shadows, unseen. Sadness and longing echoed with her every word, but Maglor did not recognize the song. It was something about stars, of Silvan origin by its form. When the song was done, Maglor stepped forward, making his presence known. "I was not expecting to find you here," he said.
Eruanna rose swiftly from her seat at the sound of Maglor's voice, spilling a stack of drawings onto the floor.
Maglor watched the papers fall. One floated toward him and landed beside his boot. "I did not mean to startle you. I thought I was the only one left in the palace."
Eruanna dropped to one knee to collect her drawings, avoiding Maglor's gaze. "It is quiet with everyone away," she mumbled, more than embarrassed to know that the greatest singer of all the Eldar had heard her song.
Maglor sensed her unease, but had no way of knowing its source or how deeply it ran. He bent down to help her retrieve the papers lying scattered on the floor. He collected those closest to him and was surprised to find that all three were of the same ellon, one Maglor did not recognize.
"I thought you had gone to Alqualondë with the others," he said.
Eruanna tucked her drawings quickly into her leather folder. "I do not care to attend the festival," she said.
Maglor was surprised to hear her say so. "What about that twittering friend of yours? Was she not going on and on about how much fun you would have at the celebration?"
Eruanna's eyes widened in surprise. She had no idea Maglor had been paying such close attention to Marilla's chattering. "Marilla did her best to change my mind, as did Elemmírë."
"Elemmírë is performing this evening," Maglor said, though he was certain Eruanna was well aware of that fact.
"I know," Eruanna replied. "He was disheartened when I told him I would not be attending."
"You decided to spend the evening drawing instead?" He handed her the illustrations he'd collected from the ground. "I did not realize you were an artist," he said, gesturing to the stack of parchment. "May I see them?"
"I am not, not really," she replied, ignoring his request to view the rest of the images.
Maglor noticed, of course, but did not press. Instead he asked her, "Who is the ellon in the drawings?"
"Rumil," she replied.
The sadness he had heard earlier in her voice, shone clearly in her eyes once more. "Where is he now?" he asked, though he could guess the answer easily enough.
"In Mandos," she replied.
"I see," he said. "And you wait for him?" The smallest hint of surprise could be heard in Maglor's voice when he asked her this. He had intentionally avoided taking an interest in his young scribe's life and therefore had no idea that she grieved for one loved and lost. It seemed wrong, somehow. Grief did not suit Eruanna's bright and innocent spirit.
"Yes," she answered.
"Is he your reason for missing the festival?"
Eruanna, startled by Maglor's insight, nodded slowly in response. "He asked me to attend it with him," she said. "We had only met once before on the border of Lothlórien, but he came to see me when he returned to the city and asked me that very same day."
"And you said yes, I presume."
Eruanna's mouth curled into a smile. "After a bit of convincing," she said.
Maglor's brow rose curiously. "And why did you require convincing?"
Eruanna blushed crimson before admitting, "I broke his nose."
Maglor laughed before he could help himself. It was the last thing he had expected her to say and he could hardly imagine how such a thing was possible. The child was no warrior and the ellon she had depicted clearly was. "I'm sorry." He fought to stifle his laughter, before he spoke again. "How did you manage that, may I ask?"
"Do you care?" she asked, curious of his motives.
He paused a minute to consider her question and realized, to his own astonishment, that he did care. "I would not have asked otherwise." When all he received from Eruanna was a look of skepticism, he added, "Come, now. I have suffered your unending questioning for years. The least you can do is tell me how you managed to break a warrior's nose?"
"It's a long story," she replied.
Maglor merely shrugged and took a seat on the stone wall. "I have no other plans this evening."
Eruanna spent the next hour sharing stories of Rumil. She told Maglor of their first meeting, the incident by the lake and other moments they shared together over the years. It was the first time since his death that she had spoken of Rumil to anyone, or allowed herself to remember all the joy they shared. Maglor listened quietly for the most part, only breaking his silence with laughter from time to time. If he sensed that Eruanna had deliberately omitted important bits and pieces from her narrative, he made no mention of it.
"I miss him," she said in the end and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
"If the Valar are merciful, he will walk again in this world."
"Do you believe they are?" she asked. "Merciful, that is?"
"I believe so," Maglor replied, "to those who deserve their mercy."
Eruanna wondered whether Maglor believed himself to be deserving of the Valar's mercy, but she did not have the heart to ask. Not yet. Instead, her gaze fell to the leather folder resting on her lap. He had asked to see them earlier, her drawings, but she ignored his request. She feared his reaction to the many images contained within. She hesitated only a moment before handing the leather-bound stack of parchment over to Maglor.
Maglor took them with a look of surprise, but said nothing. He merely opened the folder and began to flip through its pages. He paused now and again at the familiar faces – but only one drawing made Maglor's insides feel as if they had been ripped out. He lifted his hand and traced the outline of the elleth's face.
Eruanna watched Maglor's expression change into one of shock and pain upon reaching the drawing of Lord Círdan's daughter. "She was at the Ringbearer's feast," Eruanna said, prompting Maglor to speak.
"I remember," he replied.
"You knew her, then?" she pressed gently, hoping for an answer, but expecting none.
Maglor remained silent. He didn't quite know how to answer the elleth's question. Had he ever really known the Lady Anira? "We were … acquainted."
It was a terribly odd choice of words, or so Eruanna thought, particularly in reference to an elleth whose image clearly caused him great pain. "What is she to you?"
"Nothing," he answered quietly, closing the folder on the image of the Lady's face. He handed Eruanna the stack of drawings before rising to his feet.
"What was she, then?" she asked quickly, before he could make good his escape.
Maglor had almost reached the door when Eruanna asked her question. It was another question for which he had no clear answer. "Something … I could never have."
A/N: I promise I haven't forgotten dear Rumil, and neither has Eruanna.
