Chapter 22 – Offerings

The elves do not give casual gifts. What they offer is a piece of their souls.


Valinor
Fourth Age

They decided to mourn her.

With the fate of their sons decided Celebrían and Elrond felt it was time to celebrate their daughter's life and her passing from the world. They would do it now, while the news of her joy and her young son was fresh in their minds. They would celebrate her living spirit and pray that when the world was remade they would see their beloved Arwen again.

The announcement was sent out and for days before the ceremony Eruanna saw nothing of Maglor. Each morning she would find a note upon her desk listing her chores for the day and instructing her not to interrupt him. Eruanna welcomed the work as well as the solitude. It distracted her from thinking too hard on Elrohir's recent confession and his sister's fate.

On the morning of the fifth day she arrived at Maglor's office to find him already at his desk. It was shortly before dawn – nearly two hours earlier than Maglor usually arrived to work. He looked pale and tired but there was a rare light in his eyes and Eruanna wondered at its cause.

"Good morning, Prince Maglor," she greeted him.

"Eruanna! Good, you are early," Maglor said while rolling a stack of parchment.

Maglor often eschewed proper greetings and Eruanna showed no offense when he failed to return hers. She was more interested in what he had been up to these many days and why he was glad she arrived early. "Is there something I can do for you, my lord?"

Maglor slid the roll of parchment into an ornate silver case. "I have something for Elrond," he said, standing. "Can you show me the way to his office?"

Eruanna could not have been more surprised by Maglor's announcement. So far as she knew, Elrond and Maglor had not spoken a single word to one another since Maglor's return, and she had been respectful enough not to broach the subject with either one of them.

"I can deliver it to him," she offered, "if you wish."

Maglor shook his head. "It is a private matter," he replied. "And I would rather see it done before the house has risen."

Eruanna nodded. "Of course," she said, and led Maglor out the door. Elrond's people resided in the palace still, though their house was nearly constructed. It was a fair distance between Maglor's study and Elrond's, but they only passed a handful of elves along the way. Eruanna recalled having told Maglor that Elrond begins the day quite early and it was little surprise that he chose to visit him now. When they arrived, Eruanna gestured to Elrond's study.

"Wait here," he said to Eruanna, and she complied, taking a seat on a bench across the hall.

Maglor knocked on the door.

Elrond was surprised by the sound. He did not usually have visitors at such an early hour. "Come," he called, and the door opened. If Elrond had been prepared for the sight that greeted him he may have been able to suppress his expression of shock, then again, he might have not.

Maglor tried to gauge Elrond's reaction to his presence by his expression, but all he could read in his eyes was shock. Maglor stepped inside and closed the door behind him, worried that if he lingered too long on the threshold that Elrond would order him out.

He crossed the room. He stood opposite Elrond who had risen from his seat. They stared at each other for a moment before Maglor dropped his eyes. From the pocket of his robes he withdrew the silver case. He laid it down upon the desk. Elrond glanced at the offering in confusion before his eyes returned to Maglor's.

And Maglor spoke. "For your daughter," he said, and then he departed in haste before Elrond could utter a single word.

Elrond watched Maglor slip from the room – as suddenly and surprisingly as he had come. He sat back in his chair, only realizing after Maglor's departure that he was standing. Hesitantly, he reached for the silver case and turned it over in his hands. Elrond recognized the Noldorin design immediately, but what surprised him was the age of the thing. The case was old, very old, but still in perfect condition. The intaglio was exquisite, truly a work of art. It was a treasure in its own right, but it was only the wrapping for the gift. And Elrond found he was afraid to open it, afraid to see what was hidden inside.


Eruanna and Elemmírë walked arm in arm through the garden following the reception. Elemmírë was good company, for though he enjoyed music and laughter he was not shy of silence. He knew it was what Eruanna needed and he gave it to her without restraint. Eruanna said very little, for she was finding the idea of Arwen's death much more real than she had in the past. It might have been that a small part of her had believed Arwen would sail with her brothers after Aragorn's passing. But that hope lay shattered now with so many others that had come before.

During their wanderings, they happened upon a group of ellyn talking in a quiet corner of the garden. Two pairs of identical faces turned to greet them. They looked so similar that under different circumstances Eruanna would have laughed. Elladan and Elrohir sat together with their father's uncles, Eluréd and Elurín. Twin births were a rare occurrence among the Eldar, but they were common enough in the noble houses.

Elrond's uncles knew Elemmírë well, and it was Eluréd who introduced the Vanya to his nephews. Eruanna had met the two half-elven lords only once before and Elemmírë made their reintroduction. Each one spoke briefly of how they were acquainted with one another. Elemmírë made no mention of Maglor. He said only that he had met Eruanna through a friend. But it seemed to Eruanna that Eluréd and Elurín knew which friend he meant. The conversation slowly came round to the ceremony held in Arwen's honor.

"The lament was beautiful," said Eruanna. Truly, she had never heard a song so mournful yet captivating.

"Father chose it," said Elladan.

"Your bard, Lindir, did it justice," Eluréd told his nephews.

"I had heard he was a fine musician," said Elemmírë, "but this was the first opportunity I had to hear him sing."

"I did not recognize the piece," said Elurín, turning to Elemmírë. "Who wrote it?"

"I do not know," said Elemmírë, but even Eruanna could see the truth in his eyes.

"You are a terrible liar, even for a Vanya," Eluréd said with a smile. "I would say the style was rather distinctive. What say you, brother?"

Elurín nodded. "I would have to agree."

Elladan and Elrohir wore identical expressions of confusion. But for Eruanna, a light dawned. All this time she had wondered what Maglor had given to Elrond. Could this song have been what the silver case contained?

Elemmírë did not appear overly surprised by the lords' insight. "Maglor's work does have a certain unique quality."

Elladan, having finally realized who the conversation was about, stood with his mouth agape. It was Elrohir who spoke first, in a mixture of shock and unease. "Maglor wrote that lament … for Arwen?"

"For your father, I suspect," Elurín corrected.

"But why?" Elladan asked.

Eruanna remained silent. There was no need for her to offer her thoughts, for Elemmírë offered them in her stead, "He wants forgiveness, but too much has happened for him to expect it from anyone, especially your father. It may be the song is a peace offering, an act of contrition, or a way for Maglor to gauge whether your father might one day forgive him their past."

"He does not deserve forgiveness," said Elrohir with as much conviction as Eruanna had ever heard him speak.

Eluréd shook his head. "To forgive is an act of compassion, Elrohir. It is done – not because people deserve it – but because they need it."

"How can you believe that," Elrohir replied, "when it was his warriors who left you to die?"

Eluréd looked to his brother, unable to find the words to make Elrohir understand.

"It is not as simple as that," said Elurín. "He searched for us a long time after he learned what had happened."

"He would have saved us," said Eluréd, "if he could."

"How do you know that?" asked Elladan.

"One learns much in Mandos' Halls," said Elurín. "We heard him cry out to us in the darkness. We watched him weep over our graves."

"He found you?" Eruanna asked.

"Yes," said Eluréd, "but he was too late."


The next morning Eruanna sat at her desk unable to concentrate. She was struggling with far too many thoughts and emotions to focus on her work and it was becoming more than obvious. She shifted papers back and forth without completing any and by late morning Maglor had had enough.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off," he said.

Eruanna looked up from her piles. "I have to work," she protested, "there is so much…"

But Maglor cut her off. "Whatever it is, it can wait," he said. "And you will hardly get any work done in such a state. Lady Arwen's mourning was only a day ago. There is no need for you to come in today."

It was clear to Eruanna now that Maglor suspected Arwen was the reason for her distraction. If only that was the whole of it, Eruanna might be able to work. As it stood now, there was just too much … too many questions and fears clouding her mind. Eruanna lifted a hand to her face in a troubled gesture. She, like Elemmírë, was a terrible liar. She could agree to leave and let Maglor believe Arwen was the reason for her distress, but when she was no better tomorrow or the next day, he would begin to suspect otherwise.

"It is not only Arwen's death that has me troubled, there are … other things. But perhaps you are right and another day's reflection will allow my thoughts rest."

Maglor frowned. It had been some time since Eruanna had confided her troubles to him and it had happened only once before and under strange circumstances, when they were the only two elves in the city and there was no one else with whom she could speak. Maglor had learned much about his young scribe that night and of the ellon she waited for. That conversation had caused a great deal of ambivalence in his feelings toward Eruanna. He found that he wished to have her gone from his sight and to know her better, as well. But what disturbed him most of all was how the latter desire grew as time passed, just as the former began to fade away. Maglor was not sure who to blame for the changes within him. What he did know was that he had come to enjoy eating lunch with his uncles and accompanying Elemmírë's singing with his grandfather's harp. And there was a morning, not too long ago, when he awoke and for the first time in memory looked forward to the day. How had it happened? He did not know. But he was almost certain that a foolish half-elven child who would not grant him peace or solitude from the moment she arrived at the palace was the one to blame. And Maglor knew he should be grateful, that he should thank her somehow, but what could he possibly do or say in way of repayment?

"What is troubling you?"

Eruanna was surprised by the question and did not know where to begin, or if she should answer the question at all. After a moment's consideration, she said, "They say an elf can give his heart only once. Do you believe that to be true?"

Maglor was thrown by her question, and responded with, "Why do you ask?"

"Arwen waited close to three thousand years for Aragorn," she said, "and she sacrificed eternity for him. I have wondered if it is true, and that we are all destined to love only one other. And if we for some reason miss the chance we are given, it is lost forever."

Maglor shook his head. "I do not believe it is that simple. One may love another, and not have that love returned, but only a weak soul allows his heart to dwell on the unattainable."

"But such are the tales of old," said Eruanna, "and those more recent still."

Maglor leaned back in his chair and folded his arms before him. "Those stories are to warn edhil away from such a path, not to imply the path is unavoidable."

Eruanna pondered his answer. It made sense. "You are probably right."

The corner of Maglor's mouth twitched in a rare smile. "My grandfather loved two ellith," said Maglor, "each in their own time. Some say it was folly, but I know he would never have chosen otherwise, and even if he knew all that would follow from that choice, he would make it again."

"How do you know?" she asked.

Maglor's gaze grew distant, as if he were looking into the past. "Because when his eyes rested on Indis, he could see nothing else. Because he loved Fingolfin and Finarfin greatly, and he cherished their children as much as my father's sons."

"That is a comfort," Eruanna said.

Maglor's brow arched in question. "How so?"

Eruanna considered her answer carefully. She had not spoken of Elrohir to anyone – not her father or Marilla or anyone else. Maglor was distant enough from the situation to make him comfortable to confide in. "Elrond's son, Elrohir, chose to sail but he confessed the decision troubled him. He spent many years hunting orc to avenge his mother. He told me there were reasons for him to sail but also to remain behind. He told me …" A lump formed in her throat and she found she could not finish that sentence. But there was no need. Maglor did it for her.

"That you were one of those reasons?"

Eruanna nodded, and tried her best to explain. "But I met Rumil, and he found his opportunity to tell me how he felt had passed."

"I see," said Maglor, and then he asked, "Do you love him?"

It was an easy question to answer. "As a brother and a friend – always – but I have never thought of him as anything else."

"Could you have loved him, then, if he had made his feelings known earlier?"

Eruanna closed her eyes. She found it odd that Maglor would arrive so quickly at the very question that plagued her. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "When I first met him I was still very young and he and his brother were … frightening to me, in a way. They were so angry, so full of hate. I could understand the guilt Elrohir felt, but his rage was something I don't think I can ever comprehend. If he had told me, then, of his feelings, I do not know if anything would have become of it. And in all honesty, I do not think he could have loved me, as burdened as he was with guilt for his mother."

"You seem to be clear enough then, on your feelings in this matter."

Yes, it seemed she was. "But I worry for him," she said. "I want him to find happiness here."

Maglor had to keep himself from laughing. He could not comprehend how an elleth with a sadness of her own could expend so much energy easing the pain of others. "He will," said Maglor, "if he is strong enough to let go of the past."

Eruanna nodded slowly. She hoped he was and knew that Elrohir would have the whole of his family, his friends and his brother by his side, dragging him forward into the future. A small weight lifted from Eruanna's heart and she felt a bit lighter. She smiled. "He comes from a stubborn family," she said, "a family with great strength of will. I think he will be able to move on."

"I believe you might be right," said Maglor.

Eruanna heard something odd in Maglor's tone. She realized she had forgotten Elrond and Maglor were cousins, and that her statement could just as easily apply to Maglor as Elrohir. Moving on was something they both had in common along with most elves she had met over the years. Some would simply take longer roads than others, but Eruanna had to believe that if they survived the journey, peace would be waiting at the far end.

"The song was beautiful, by the way."

Maglor was again spun by the change in topic. He could not pretend he didn't understand her meaning. The child was no fool, after all, and she had been with him when he delivered the composition to Elrond. "Thank you."

"The audience was captivated by it," she said, "and a few guessed rightly the composer."

Maglor, despite himself, was curious to know who recognized his work. "Who?"

Eruanna had no idea how Maglor would respond to the answer, but she told him anyway, "Lords Eluréd and Elurín. It seems they both enjoy your work."

Maglor's expression darkened measurably. He had seen the sons of Dior in the palace on several occasions, but had never been properly introduced – not that he would have known what to say if he had been. He had seen them only once before, during their childhood in Middle-earth, after the attack on Doriath, in a dark and snow covered wood…

"I learned a strange thing from them," she continued.

"Is that right?" Maglor replied. He rubbed his hands together as if he could even now feel the cold.

"They told me you found them."

Maglor shook his head. "No," he said, "what I found was only their bodies, their spirits had already departed."

"Why then do the histories say they were lost?" Eruanna asked. "Why lie?"

Maglor closed his eyes but he could not block out the memories of those dark and terrible events – the blood of Doriath on his hands, his brothers dead … and Maedhros…

"Because," said Maglor, "sometimes the truth is worse."