As promised, here is the second chapter! I hope you enjoy this story! It's been on my mind for a while, so I decided to give a shot at writing it. Again, I'm still in the process of reading the Silmarillion, since my dad was kind enough to buy it for me, so if I get anything wrong, just tell me. I greatly appreciate constructive criticism.

Disclaimer- I don't own any of the characters (Sadly), other than Din Amarth. Everything else belongs to Tolkien!


~Duplicity~

Nelyafinwë had grown concerned when his three younger brothers never returned from their hunting trip. He wasn't the only one. Nerdanel was also worried. The Elleth had been pacing back and forth in the Family Room with her hands tightly clasped behind her back as she waited. The clouds were darkening, telling them that a storm was approaching and it had been hours since the three Ellons had left, and that only added to their concern.

Every once in a while, Nerdanel would glimpse out the window in the hopes of seeing her sons walking through the gates of their home, but they never came. Heaving a sigh, Nerdanel settled herself on the window sill, staring out into the distance as she waited in paranoia.

"They will come, Nana."Nelyafinwë finally spoke, wishing to put his mother's concerns at rest. Nerdanel flashed him a weak smile, thankful to have her eldest with her. His presence helped to calm her greatly, and he was helpful with her six other sons.

Her five other sons, Nerdanel somberly reminded herself.

"I apologize, my son." Nerdanel softly whispered, wringing her hands in her lap. "Ever since Makalaurë's disappearance I've been..." She trailed off, her forest green eyes dancing with grief and pain. She didn't need to say anything. Nelyo knew exactly what his mother was going to say.

Nelyo said nothing for a long while, his blue orbs reflecting the pain that his mother felt.

Makalaurë. His dear younger brother. Fëanaro's second oldest. It had been nearly a decade since Makalaurë had mysteriously vanished. In fact, it had been exactly a decade since the minstrel had abruptly disappeared. Ever since that accursed day, the family of Fëanaro had been in a state of grief. They had received many consolations from the Noldo and their family, but nothing served to lessen the pain of losing Makalaurë.

Fëanaro had been spending most of his time in the Forge, forging numerous different projects that would come to his mind. Nelyafinwë and the family knew it was his way of trying to cope with the loss of his second-born. Makalaurë's fate was still unknown, and after a few years had passed without any sign of the minstrel, he'd been proclaimed dead.

Nelyafinwë remembered the day as if it had only been yesterday. He, Tyelkormo, Curufinwë, and Morifinwë had spent several weeks out in the wilderness, trying to locate Makalaurë's trail in the hopes of finding him. Everything they'd done had been in vain. Never once did they come close to solving Makalaurë's disappearance. Worn down by grief and pain, the brothers finally succumbed to the belief that Makalaurë was dead.

Well, most of the brothers had. Nelyafinwë still clung to the sliver of hope that Makalaurë was alive. He never said anything about it, knowing he would immediately be rebuffed for his beliefs, but, for some reason unknown to him, he felt Makalaurë was still alive.

The reason why was simple, yet also complicated.

Not even a few months had passed since Makalaurë had seemingly vanished without a trace did word spread that another Elf had also disappeared. Finwë, Arafinwë, and surprisingly, Fëanaro had traveled with their families to visit Nolofinwë's home to see if the rumors were true.

They arrived to find a a tired and worn Nolofinwë vainly searching for the lost Elfling. He had appeared so exhausted, lost, and grieved to Nelyafinwë when they met with him. Nolofinwë had sorrowfully told them the tale of how the elfling had been allowed to go for a simple ride through the forest and how the elfling had never returned. So many searched for the elfling, but neither found any evidence as to where the little one could be.

It had made Nelyafinwë suspicious for many reasons. One, because he knew the elfling well. Two, why would the elfling be targeted? Three, why was it that the second-born was the one to vanish?

Four years had passed and the Noldor Elves mourned the loss of Makalaurë and the other elfling. Then one day, Finwë received a missive from Nolofinwë claiming that the child had been found.

Nelyafinwë remembered the words 'under unusual circumstances' the most from his uncle's missive. He also remembered how the family had gathered together at Nolofinwë's home to see the elfling, and Nelyafinwë recalled the strange ways the child had acted. The child had looked so lost to him. So alone, even though the child was surrounded by family. When asked to explain what had happened to them, the child had merely stated that they couldn't remember anything. The elfling had convinced everyone that they were truly suffering from memory-loss, but Nelyafinwë was not convinced. He knew the elfling was hiding something. Whatever the secret was, it weighed heavily upon the child's shoulders, but the little one was adamant in remaining silent.

But, the elfling was no longer little. No, in the four years that had passed, the elfling had grown greatly and Nelyafinwë would have barely recognized them if it hadn't been for the strong resemblance the child shared with the Father. Even after six years, the elfling continued to grow.

For a long while, Nelyafinwë had firmly believed that the Elfling's reappearance meant that Makalaurë would be returned to them, but after six years, he was beginning to doubt it.

Stubbornly, he continued to believe that Macalaurë wasn't gone, but slowly, that belief was slipping away. Not only that, but Nelyafinwë also carried much guilt within his heart. He felt that it was his fault that Macalaurë was gone. It was one of the reasons why Nelyafinwë became even more protective of his younger siblings. He would not allow any of his other brothers to be taken.

Reclining back in his seat, Nelyafinwë thought over his brothers, especially the young twins. Ambarto and Pityo hardly older than twelve and barely reached Nelyafinwë's knees. The two had brought much joy to the family ever since Macalaurë's disappearance, but they, too, suffered from the loss of their elder brother. Sometimes, they would crawl into Nelyafinwë's bed late at night, crying whenever they had a dream that included Makalaurë. Nelyafinwë would struggle to comfort them, but nothing he said would help the twins. For several days, Ambarto and Pityo would seek Nelyafinwë out, and Nelyafinwë always welcomed them. He did his best to help his Mother in caring for the family since their Father was normally away for many days at a time.

Nelyafinwë stifled a sigh and glanced out the window to see that the sky had darkened considerably. Deciding he had waited long enough, Nelyafinwë stood, catching Nerdanel's attention.

"I am going to find the others before it storms." He offered as an explanation at her questioning glance. Nerdanel relaxed and nodded, glad that Nelyafinwë was going to go find her wayward sons.

"That is probably a good idea. Thank-you, my son." She quietly told him. Nelyafinwë sharply nodded then left the room, striding down the large corridor towards the Courtyard. Upon reaching the enormous doors that led outside, Nelyafinwë opened them and descended the stairs down onto the path. Heading straight for the stable, Nelyafinwë quickly freed his steed from her stall and effortlessly mounted himself. He didn't bother with a saddle, wanting to find his brothers immediately. His loyal steed, sensing her Master's urge to hurry, bolted from the stables and galloped through the tall gates of Finwë's home.

It wasn't long before Nelyafinwë's keen eyes found his brothers' trails. Studying them from where he sat atop his steed, Nelyafinwë followed the three separate trails, grateful that his brothers had chosen to hunt together. If they had gone their separate ways, he would never have found them before the storm struck. Then again, they'd been gone since early that morning... Who knew how far they'd traveled on this hunting trip?

After a long while, Nelyafinwë sensed that he was nearing his brothers' location and dismounted from atop his horse. Patting his horse's neck, Nelyafinwë softly thanked her and ventured further into the forest on foot. His steed obediently remained where she was, watching as he disappeared from her sight. Once he did, the horse dipped her head down and started chewing on the grass, waiting for him to return.

Nelyafinwë quietly moved through the shadows of the trees, carefully studying the ground for his brothers' tracks. There were so many, and they would often cross over with the other footprints that it became difficult to read after some time. However, he continued on, deciding just to follow the multiple footprints instead of reading them. Feeling that he was closing the distance between his brothers and himself, Nelyafinwë dared to call out their names,

"Tyelkormo! Curufinwë! Morifinwë!"

No voice answered his call. Concerned, Nelyafinwë emerged from the depths of the forest into the small clearing he knew the family's waterfall was located. He was about to holler their names once again when he happened to look up. Nelyafinwë immediately came to a stop, staring at the scene before him.

There stood Tyelkormo, Curufinwë, and Morifinwë, in the midst of the clearing, but it wasn't them that caught his attention. It was the blade that was threateningly raised against Tyelkormo, who confusedly stared at the Ellon wielding the sword. Morifinwë and Curufinwë stood a few feet behind Tyelkormo, neither looking towards Nelyafinwë. The two brothers were instead watching Tyelkormo and the other Ellon closely, wondering what they should do. Looking to see who had dared to threaten his younger brother, Nelyafinwë's eyes skimmed across the blade and up to the wielder's face.

Blue clashed with blue as Nelyafinwë met the wielder's gaze and the red-haired Ellon felt his breath flee from him as disbelief seized him.

It couldn't be...

The tall Elf immediately examined the Ellon, taking in the long, black hair that was freely dancing in the wind; the tall, lithe build of his body; and the wide blue eyes regarding him with shock. He would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Makalaurë?" He barely breathed out, wanting with all his being to run forward and crush the Elf against him- to prove that it was truly his brother standing there. His heart sang with gladness, his entire being filling with overwhelming joy and relief. A decade... It'd been an entire decade and here he was! He hadn't changed at all.

Actually, that was a lie. There was something different with his brother. Something that struck Nelyafinwë as wrong. First off, his eyes...His eyes were swimming with grief, pain, disbelief, and...was that horror Nelyafinwë could see dancing in those blue orbs? Not only that, but his brother's Elven glow, which had once been incredibly bright- but not too blinding- had dimmed immensely. It was almost as if Makalaurë was losing the light of the Eldar, and that sent a pang of fear through Nelyafinwë. Third of all, why was Makalaurë staring at him as if he were afraid Nelyafinwë were going to eat him alive?

Here Nelyafinwë was, overwhelmed with hope and joy at seeing that his brother was alive, and yet...Makalaurë didn't appear to want to see him. In fact, he looked utterly terrified. Ignoring the fact that Makalaurë was raising his sword against Tyelkormo, Nelyafinwë made to move towards him, needing to prove that it was, in fact, Makalaurë standing there.

Just when Nelyafinwë was going to move, Makalaurë frantically shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering, "No. No, no, no." He dropped the blade he'd been holding and Nelyafinwë watched as the sword fell onto the rocky ground, clattering a few times before remaining stock still.

Nelyafinwë frowned deeply, knowing something was terribly wrong. Was he hurt? Had he, perhaps, struck his head? "Makalaurë?" Nelyafinwë tried again, approaching the stunned Ellon. Makalaurë, upon seeing Nelyafinwë making his way towards him, panicked and stumbled back.

Warning bells rang in Nelyafinwë's mind as he quickened his pace, recognizing the signs that Makalaurë was about to flee like a frightened doe. One moment, Makalaurë had been standing there and the next, Makalaurë had spun on his heel and bolted away from the clearing, seeking to hide himself in the forest.

"Makalaurë!" Nelyafinwë cried after him, darting after the Elf. Curufinwë, Tyelkormo, and Morifinwë didn't hesitate to follow.

"I can't believe he raised his sword against me!" Morifinwë overheard Tyelkormo whisper in disbelief as the two ran after Nelyafinwë and Makalaurë. Snarling, Morifinwë snapped,

"That doesn't matter right now, Tyelkormo!"

Tyelkormo made a face at him and was about to retort when Curufinwë caught up with them.

"Shut up, you two!" Curufinwë growled. "Right now, we need to catch Makalaurë! We can't let him go!" Looking forward, Curufinwë determindely added, "I don't want to lose him. Not again..."

Morifinwë and Tyelkormo sobered, both feeling the same as Curufinwë. They'd lost Makalaurë before, and they were not going to lose him again! Not when they could get him back. Neither would admit it but they'd missed his presence more than anyone could ever understand. Sure, they would always pester Makalaurë when they were younger and torment him, but when he had vanished...

Everything had changed. Nothing was the same. Not without Makalaurë.

They remembered how Makalaurë was always kind with them no matter what they did . How he had always smiled, laughed, and encouraged them. He was always cheering them on and he was the one they would go to whenever they were unhappy or had any issues. He never once raised his voice against them.

The three had even missed his music! A decade ago, the three would have complained constantly about Makalaurë always composing music and singing all the day long, but living through a decade with an absent Makalaurë...

Morifinwë glanced ahead to see Nelyafinwë struggling to catch up to Makalaurë and watched, amazed, as Makalaurë nimbly ran through the forest with ease. The Elf ducked and dodged any obstacle standing in his way as if it were second nature to him, his feet barely scraping the ground as he ran.

Why is he running from us? We're his brothers... Surely he hasn't forgotten us. The dark elf distantly wondered.

"We need to run faster or we'll never catch up to him!" Curufinwë panted, forcing himself to pick up his pace. Tyelkormo and Morifinwë silently agreed.

"Actually," Tyelkormo piped up, ducking under a low branch, "We need to split up! It's the only way we'll be able to catch him. We'll need to corner him."

"Notice where he's running to?" Morifinwë abruptly asked his brothers. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë looked up and after a brief moment, their faces lit up with realization.

"He's headed straight for the forge!" The two chimed.

"Aye. And I don't think Makalaurë realizes that's where he's going." Morifinwë nodded, huffing as he forced himself to continue running. Tyelkormo jerked his head up as a thought struck him.

"Atar! We need to get Atar!" He didn't clarify why they needed Fëanaro, but at the moment, it didn't matter. What mattered was catching Makalaurë before he could vanish again. "I'll run ahead to the Forge, you two split to the East and West!" And with a burst of speed, the golden elf raced away.

"Right!" Curufinwë nodded, immediately breaking away and racing off towards the East, leaving Morifinwë to go west. "Don't let him get away!"

"Don't worry," Morifinwë murmured to himself, narrowing his dark eyes. "He won't."

I won't let him.


~Duplicity~

Fëanaro had been working on perfecting one of the swords he'd been forging when the door to his forge was carelessly flung open, startling the Elf. Dropping the blade, Fëanaro bared his teeth in irritation and raised his head to yell at whoever had dared to break his concentration but stopped once he caught sight of Tyelkormo speeding towards him.

What was Tyelkormo doing this far from their home?

The question was soon lost, however, when Fëanaro caught the look of urgency gracing the young Elf's features. Feeling a pang of fear surge through him, Fëanaro was about to demand of his son what the matter was- if someone had been injured or worse- but he was cut off by Tyelkormo grabbing hold of his arm and tugging him towards the door to the forge.

"Atar! You must come quick!" The Elf hurriedly told him, forcing Fëanaro to leave his work and accompany him out. "Now!" His son impatiently added when Fëanaro was slow to follow.

"Tyelkormo! What is the matter?" Fëanaro demanded to know, allowing his son to drag him away, his fear growing. Someone had to have been hurt, otherwise, Tyelkormo wouldn't have been this frantic. Who was it? Nelyafinwë? Nay, his eldest was cautious and always looking out for his other sons. He knew for a certainty that it wasn't Tyelkormo. Morifinwë or Curufinwë, perhaps? Or... Fëanaro paled slightly... Were one of the twins hurt? If anyone had dared lay a hand on Ambarto or Pityo- scratch that. If anyone dared to lay a hand on any of his sons, they would not live to see the next sunrise. Fëanaro would ensure it.

"Just come, Atar!" Was all Tyelkormo said, racing towards the forest. Fëanaro didn't question his son, running beside the Ellon with ease. "Here!" Tyelkormo called out, skidding to a stop. Fëanaro stopped beside him, surveying the clearing they had reached. Seeing nothing amiss, he turned questioning eyes towards his son, but Tyelkormo was not facing him. He was watching the forest with sharp eyes, waiting for something.

Soon, the sound of shouting reached Fëanaro's ears. He recognized his sons' voices at once and by their tone, could tell that something was definitely up.

"Nelyo!"

"Don't let him escape!"

"Makalaurë!"

Upon hearing Nelyafinwë's shout, Fëanaro went rigid, hardly believing what he had heard.

"Makalaurë! Stop!"

Fëanaro immediately looked to Tyelkormo, needing his son to affirm that he was hearing correctly. Tyelkormo breathlessly nodded, catching the silent question in his father's eyes.

"That is why we needed you, Atar. We found Makalaurë-" The archer had just started to explain, but that was all Fëanaro had heard. The Elf felt as though he had been struck by a troll's hammer as his breath escaped him. Makalaurë...was here? He was truly here?

Fëanor didn't bother to quell the urge to run into the forest and see for himself that his second-born was there. To see that his son had been returned to him after so many years. A decade wasn't normally so long for an Elf, but the decade had been nothing but agonizing for Fëanor. Every day passed by slowly, as if taunting Fëanor and mocking him for his failure. His failure as a father. He'd lost a child, his precious second-born and was unable to find him.

Not one day passed that Fëanor wasn't constantly thinking of his missing son. Escaping to the forge did nothing to help him, or even ease the pain he felt from having lost his child.

"But something's wrong-" Tyelkormo had just turned to face his father only to find that his Father was no longer standing beside him. No, Fënaro was now streaking across the small clearing towards the forest, bent on discovering whether or not what Tyelkormo claimed was true.

Not a second had passed since Fëanaro had taken off did a black blur shoot out of the forest and across the clearing. A red blur immediately appeared behind it, one Fëanaro was able to identify as Nelyafinwë. Which meant that the black blur had to be Makalaurë! Fëanaro's blue eyes widened in shock, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

It was him!

It was Makalaurë who was unknowingly running in his direction. He would recognize his son anywhere! But... why did he look so terrified?

Fëanaro barely had time to ponder over his question, and was hardly given time to react when Makalaurë crashed into him; but he was quick to wrap his arms around his son and keep him close, refusing to allow him to escape.

Makalaurë, scared stiff, thrashed in his hold, struggling to get away. For a moment, Fëanaro was taken aback by his second-born's strength. Now, people must understand that Fëanaro prided himself in being one of the strongest of the Noldorin Elves, but he was literally fighting to keep a hold on the Elf!

"Makalaurë! Hush, Makalaurë!" Fëanaro whispered softly, yet urgently, in his frightened son's ear. "Be calm, little one." How he managed to keep his voice from wavering or to refrain from squeezing the life out of the Elf, Fëanaro knew not. As much as he wanted to celebrate the fact that his son was returned to him, Fëanaro knew he must concentrate on calming him.

Makalaurë became deathly still upon hearing his voice and Fëanaro warily loosened his hold so as to not frighten him even more. The dark elf breathed heavily and Fëanaro could sense the emotional turmoil Makalaurë was experiencing.

"It is alright, my son... You are safe. Atar has you." Fëanaro closed his eyes, resting his chin on the crown of Makalaurë's head, taking comfort in the fact that he had his son back. Mentally, Fëanaro was fervently thanking the Valar that Makalaurë was here. Nelyafinwë, Morifinwë, and Curufinwë had slowed to a stop upon seeing that their Father had caught Makalaurë and quietly watched, with baited breaths, as Fëanaro tried to calm him. "Atar finally has you."

Makalaurë thickly swallowed, trembling as he forced himself to raise his head and see if it was Fëanaro he was hearing.

Fëanaro pulled away slightly, giving his son some room to move. Makalaurë weakly raised his head and his mouth went dry when he found that it was indeed Fëanaro gazing down at him, worried blue eyes catching hold of his. "Makalaurë..." Fëanaro breathed, raising a hand and carding his fingers through Makalaurë's long black hair, brushing it away from his son's face so that he could get a better look at him. "It truly is you, Ionya."

Makalaurë said nothing, for he was too stunned to speak.

Fëanaro's brow furrowed as he realized that Makalaurë was frighteningly gazing up at him. What was wrong with his little songbird? Why was he so frightened?

"A...Atar?" Makalaurë barely whispered, his voice so low that Fëanaro would have missed it if he wasn't an Elf.

"Aye, it is me, little one." Fëanaro murmured. Makalaurë shakily released a breath as he pulled away from Fëanaro and took several steps back. Lifting up his head, Makalaurë slowly turned his head to look at his brothers, then to his father, and then back to his brothers. The minstrel closed his eyes afterwards and raised a hand up to cradle his head.

"Makalaurë?" Nelyafinwë quietly called out, taking a step towards his brother. "Toron?" He tried again when Makalaurë remained silent.

This was apparently the magic word to use, for Makalaurë immediately looked in his direction. "T...Toron?" He repeated, speaking as if the word were foreign to him.

"Aye, little one." Nelyafinwë shakily nodded, smiling weakly. "It is me. It is Nelyo."

"Toron..." Makalaurë said again, slowly extending an arm, his hand reaching towards Nelyo. Nelyafinwë remained stock still as Makalaurë hesitantly touched him, testing to see if he were real. Makalaurë swallowed thickly when he felt his hand rest against Nelyafinwë shoulder and inhaled deeply. It was real. He had confirmed it.

Taking a moment, Makalaurë forced himself to calm his frantically beating heart. He was safe, there was no need to panic. He had known this was going to happen sooner or later, he only wished he'd had more time to prepare. His eyes snapped upwards when he felt Nelyafinwë grasp his hand, allowing the minstrel to feel that he was trembling. It was then Makalaurë's eyes grew large as he took in the fact that this Nelyo had two hands!

Two!

A wave of vertigo overcame the minstrel and without warning, his knees buckled and he tumbled into Nelyo's chest, his eyes drifting shut as Makalaurë gave into his shock and did what any other Elf put into this situation would've done.

He fainted.


~Duplicity~

Where am I?

That was the first thing Maglor had tiredly wondered as he slowly came to. The minstrel kept drawing a blank as he tried to recall everything that had happened. His muddled mind vaguely remembered some things about whatever had transpired before he'd fallen unconscious.

He remembered running from something and...and there was a cave...and in that cave was a woman who'd kept rambling about giving him a chance of some sort.

Wait...

Maglor's brows beetled together as bits and pieces of his fragmented memories fused together, allowing the barely conscious minstrel to remember everything.

Had that all...did it really happen?

He had no time to wonder over his question when Maglor sensed a new and intimidating presence looming over him, a tall shadow blocking out the little light he could see behind his closed eyes.

Immediately, Maglor's survival instincts kicked in and the small Elf lashed out, his fist flying with lightning speed.

His aim struck true. Maglor opened his eyes in time to see his fist strike the intruder's jaw and watched, deeply satisfied and guarded, as the red-haired intruder grunted in pain and toppled over the edge of the bed.

Hold on a moment...red hair?

The minstrel winced in sympathy as said 'intruder' crashed into the unforgiving floor, the impact of his body hitting the ground echoing throughout the chamber. Peering over the edge of the bed, Maglor looked to find the Elf lying on his side, his red cape and hair splayed out on the fluffy brown rug covering the floor.

Well, at least his landing was somewhat soft...at least, softer than it would've been if he'd landed on only the wooden floor.

The Elf shifted and raised himself up with one arm, his other hand moving to rub his jaw as he raised stunned blue orbs to look at Maglor.

"M-Makalaurë?"

Maglor didn't dare to speak, not trusting his voice at the moment. Staring at the Elf on the ground, the minstrel felt pain, grief, love, and a pang of anger directed towards the Ellon. Thankfully, he was rescued from having to speak by the door to the room opening. Both he and Nelyo looked in time to see a golden head pop in, blue eyes blinking in confusion when the newcomer spotted his brother sprawled out on the ground. "Nelyo? Is there a reason you're on the ground?"

"Nelyo?" Maglor finally managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.

Both Ellons snapped their heads up to face him.

"Makalaurë! You've awoken!" Tyelkormo gasped, flying towards the bed at the same time Nelyo had picked himself up off the ground and settled himself on the edge of the mattress.

Maglor said nothing, staring at the two for a long while. How he'd missed them! Seeing them again... There were no words that could express how Maglor felt!

"Makalaurë?"

"Nelyo." Maglor uttered softly in return, willing away the tears that threatened to spill. Nelyo had no time to react when the musician threw himself at the tall Elf, arms wrapping tightly around him as Maglor buried his face into Nelyo's shoulder.

Nelyo grunted quietly but immediately reciprocated the embrace, nearly crushing the minstrel against him.

It had been so long...So long since last he'd seen Makalaurë and heard his voice. Inhaling deeply, Nelyo caught the mixed aroma of the forest and the sear clinging to Makalaurë's being. Was that where he had been all these years? He would have to ask. Right now, however...

Nelyo tightened his grip on Makalaurë, vowing that he would never allow his brother out of his sight again. "I have missed you, Makalaurë...We all have. Where have you been these past ten years?"

Maglor froze. "T-Ten years?" He quietly repeated, voice muffled against Nelyo's shoulder.

"Aye. You disappeared ten years ago on this day. Without a trace. We couldn't find you, and we looked..." Nelyo's normally strong and confident voice wavered slightly. "We searched for you for days on end, never resting...but we could never find anything. Many were convinced you were dead...but I could never bring myself to believe that you were gone..."

"Ten years..." Maglor whispered again. To them, he'd been gone for a decade, but for him, it had been more than three thousand years!

"Hey, Nelyo, what about me?" Tyelkormo's voice sounded and before he could move, Maglor pulled away from Nelyo and faced the archer, tugging him into a fierce embrace.

"Tyelkormo!" Maglor breathed, remembering what he had done to his little brother not hours before. He'd raised his sword against him...had threatened him! "Forgive me, my brother! I did not mean to raise my blade against you! I was not in my right mind..."

"Guh! Makalaurë!" Tyelkormo grunted, squirming indignantly. "Do you honestly believe I care about that!?" The archer couldn't believe it! Makalaurë was finally back and the minstrel was begging his forgiveness over such a trivial matter? He continued before Maglor could speak, "I'm just thrilled that you're back." More than thrilled. The archer thought to himself as he struggled to breathe in the vice-like grip Maglor had him in. For a brief moment, Tyelkormo was confused. Why was he shaking? He surely wasn't crying!

And then he realized that it wasn't his body shaking, but Makalaurë, and immediately knew that Makalaurë was about to cry.

This caused Tyelkormo to go into panic mode. Makalaurë couldn't cry! No! That was out of the question! He hated it when someone cried! Especially when that someone was his brother. If Makalaurë started crying, he might cry, and he most certainly did not want that to happen.

"Erm...M-Makalaurë?"

Tch, his voice most certainly did not shake. He threw a glare at a smirking Nelyo from where he was trapped against Macalaurë. That Ellon had absolutely no right to smirk at him! He wasn't the one with tears in his eyes!

If his eyes were welling up, it was only because Makalaurë was doing an excellent job at suffocating him!

The poor archer finally managed to wheeze out, "As thrilled as I am to see you again, Macalaurë, I would very much love to breathe!" Instantly, Tyelkormo felt Maglor's grip on his loosen, but the Minstrel refused to let him go. Not that he minded much...

The three Ellons remained in that position for a long while, and it was only when a bright flash of light illuminated the room that Nelyo stirred. Standing, Nelyo tugged Makalaurë and Tyelkormo into a standing position. "Come, Makalaurë," He weakly smiled down at the smaller Elf, still unable to believe that his brother was back. For a while, Nelyo had believed that it had all been a dream, and that when he should wake, Makalaurë would be gone and he would find that his brother was still missing. Thankfully, that had never happened. "Our brothers and Atar have been waiting for you to wake for several hours... Ammë has yet to learn of your return."

At Nelyo's words, Macalaurë tensed. Tyelkormo, upon feeling Maglor stiffening beside him, glanced up at his brother in concern.

"Ammë..." Macalaurë murmured, his eyes far away.

"Yes, Makalaurë. You're home now..." Nelyo swallowed thickly after he had spoken. Home...Home hadn't been the same since Makalaurë had disappeared.

"Home." Those two words, Nelyo noticed, 'Ammë' and 'home' were spoken by his brother as if they were foreign to him. Those eyes, he'd also noticed, appeared far older and aged with so much grief and pain that it tore Nelyo's heart out to see. What had happened to their little Songbird, as the family was fond of calling him. "Where...Where is everyone?" Makalaurë asked to know, allowing Nelyo to lead him out of the bedroom and down the Family Hall. Nelyo patiently waited when Makalaurë would pause every now and then and study the family portraits hanging on the wall. He and Tyelkormo shared a look when Makalaurë brushed his fingers against the wall and over the tabletops, his eyes raking over the entire corridor as if he were taking every single detail in and ingraining it into his memory.

"He acts as though he's never been here before." Tyelkormo lowly remarked, leaning closer to Nelyo so that Makalaurë wouldn't hear him. Nelyo had to agree. Ten years was a long time to spend from home, but could Makalaurë truly have forgotten so much during those years?

"Indeed. But it has been ten years since last he was here, and Valar knows what happened to him during that time." Nelyo whispered in return, narrowing his eyes on the glove Makalaurë wore over his left hand. Why was one hand uncovered but the other was hidden from sight? Nelyo felt a sickening sensation that told him he didn't want to learn the reason why. While pondering over his brother, Nelyo had forgotten to look where he was going and missed catching Makalaurë abruptly jerking to a stop at the end of the Corridor. Luckily, Tyelkormo had been paying attention and immediately reached out to yank Nelyo back just before he could crash into the oblivious Elf.

Nelyo quickly caught his balance, flashing Tyelkormo a thankful look then returning his attention to Makalaurë, noting the lost look Makalaurë wore on his youthful features. Makalaurë looked down both corridors that branched off of the Family Hall with his brow furrowed, desperately trying to remember which direction the Family Room was, but nothing came to mind. This was terrible! He couldn't remember where anything was located in his childhood home!

"Makalaurë?" Nelyo appeared at his side and Makalaurë tilted his head up to look at him.

"Which...where...where do I go?" He timidly asked, pointedly ignoring the worried look Nelyo was wearing.

"To the right. The door furthest down the corridor, to your left." Nelyo gently reminded him and Makalaurë swept off to the right, gracefully gliding down the corridor. His pace quickened the closer he drew to the Family Room, faintly recalling traveling through the very same corridor thousands of years ago. Once he reached the room, Maglor reached out with a shaking hand, grabbed the handle, tugged it down, and cast open the door.

Standing in the doorway, the only thing Makalaurë was capable of doing was staring. His dark blue orbs scanned each and every Elf seated in the room separately, critically analyzing them.

Morifinwë was lazing about on a chaise beneath the large window to his right, distantly staring out the window and watching the storm raging outside with an intense gaze. The dark, brooding, Elf had his lips tightly pursed together but other than that, he looked...more relaxed to Maglor than he'd ever been. Then again, stormy days always served to calm and comfort the Elf. But, they were also days in which Caranthir- or Morifinwë- was more dangerous. Maglor took in the familiar dark brown eyes and the raven-black hair that framed the Ellon's face, as well as the black, loose, robes his brother had decided to wear for the night.

Actually... Maglor frowned. Wasn't that his robe? He may not remember a lot, but he knew for a certainty that that was his favorite robe.

Beside Morifinwë was Curufinwë. Curufinwë also had black hair, but his eyes were a deeper blue color than Maglor's. Instead of black, Curufinwë had dawned himself with a dark purple robe and was seated on the windowsill, watching the storm with a conflicted gaze.

Across from them, the tiny forms of Amrod and Amras- Ambarto and Pityo- were barely visible to Maglor. The two twins had huddled together in the middle of the couch, burrowed deep into a warm blanket. Only their red hair was visible from beneath the blanket and Maglor felt a fond and pained smile grow on his lips. The two, he painfully remembered, had always been close. They were their brother's keeper, always watching over the other...

Maglor remembered how he had found them after they had sacked the Havens of Sirion. They looked exactly as they were now, cuddled together, silently comforting the others with their presence. His already shattered heart had broken even more upon finding that the two had been slain in battle. What had made it worse, was the fact that the twins, Maglor later discovered, had dragged themselves across the battlefield, trying to reach the other, in order to spend their last few moments together. It had to have been so painful...and yet they forced themselves to do it. They had purposefully ignored their pain in order to reach the other. The two had died with their hands tightly clasped together and foreheads touching.

It still brought Maglor to tears as he remembered that heart-breaking moment.

Furiously blinking away the tears, Maglor moved his gaze from the tiny twins to the Ellon seated beside them. He nearly froze upon finding that it was Fëanaro who sat beside the twins, his body turned away from the door, the fire illuminating half of his face as the Ellon stared into the dancing flames. He was an intimidating figure, tall and powerful. Maglor could see the power and authority radiating from his being and instinctively took a small step back. There were so many conflicting emotions the minstrel felt as he stared at the Ellon he once called 'Atar.' He felt a flash of sharp, coiling anger burning within his chest and his eyes hardened as images of the Silmarils came into mind. Here sat the Ellon responsible for everything. Because of him, thousands of innocents lost their lives as nations crumbled. The Silmarils had destroyed everything Maglor had known and loved. They had also ripped away his brothers from him. His entire family, save but a few, had died because of the accursed jewels.

And yet...As much as Maglor wanted to hate Fëanaro for his abhorrent creations, he still loved his Father. That didn't mean he would forgive him, though. Maglor knew he would never be able to forgive Fëanaro for all that he'd done. It was impossible to. Maglor couldn't even bring himself to think about forgiving him.

"Ah, Nelyo," Fëanaro's voice brought Maglor back to the present and the minstrel raised his head to see Fëanaro shifting so that he could face the door. "You have returned. How is-" The Ellon sharply cut himself off when he turned his head and his piercing blue eyes incidentally locked gazes with Maglor. Fëanaro slowly raised himself to his feet, staring at Makalaurë. "Makalaurë!" He breathed, catching everyone's attention. Immediately, Morifinwë and Curufinwë leaped to their feet, spinning round so they could see the doorway.

"Toron!" Curufinwë zipped towards Makalaurë, pouncing on the the poor Elf. "You inconsiderate, conniving, son of an Orc!" He growled through tightly clenched teeth, Makalaurë receiving a face full of black hair as Curufinwë proceeded to squeeze the life out of him. "Leaving us the way you did, when you did! Don't you dare do that again or I will murder you!"

"Curufinwë..." Maglor wrapped his arms around the trembling Elf, hugging the Ellon tightly.

"I hate you." Curufinwë muttered against the fabric of his tunic.

"No, you don't." Maglor automatically responded, remembering the times Curufinwë would insistently claim that he hated Maglor, but both of them knew better. Both knew Curufinwë was fiercely protective of his brothers and was willing to do anything for them.

Well...That wasn't true. When they were younger, Curufinwë refused to give Maglor the hugs he would ask for, and so, Maglor had to settle for tackling the Elf when he wasn't paying attention in order to get a 'hug.' It was something the two often engaged in during their childhood days, and then they would have this very same argument afterwards.

"Yes, I do. I honestly hate you."

"No, you don't. You know you don't." Maglor told him, chuckling a little. He wasn't at all surprised that this was the manner in which Curufinwë had chosen to greet him. It was Curufinwë after all.

"How would you know what I know?" Curufinwë demanded to know, pulling back to glare at Maglor. "But I mean it! Disappear like that again...and...and..." Curufinwë struggled to finish his sentence. "And...just don't ever do that again!" He ordered.

"Don't worry, toron..." Maglor marveled at how easily everything seemed to come to him. The word 'Toron,' a word he hadn't spoke in thousands of years, slipped from his tongue as if it were second-nature to him. "I don't plan to..." I plan to stay...and change everything.

"Out of the way, Curufinwë." Morifinwë commanded, and Curufinwë moved just as the dark Elf threw a punch at Maglor, striking him in the shoulder.

Maglor winced and stumbled back against Nelyo. Morifinwë had held back, Maglor knew, and even though the punch hadn't been that strong, it had startled him. Then again, what else had he expected?

"Just who do you think you are?" Morifinwë growled, glowering fiercely. The light of the Eldar enveloping Morifinwë dimmed in a threatening manner as the dark Elf pinned Maglor with a furious look. "You vanish without a trace and then come waltzing back as if you hadn't been gone for an entire decade! Where in Morgoth's name were you!?"

Maglor calmly regarded his brother. Well, he may have looked calm, but inside...Maglor was a raging tempest barely keeping his emotions under control. If only they knew that for him, it hadn't been a decade. He hadn't been 'gone' for a decade. He hadn't seen all of them in thousands of years. How he wished it'd only been a decade! Ten years was better than three thousand!

'Oh no, little brother...I have been gone for much longer than that.' Maglor thought to himself.

"Morifinwë." Maglor heard Nelyo sharply rebuke, and raised his hand to keep his brother from continuing.

"Leave it be, Mae- Nelyo." Maglor hastily corrected, giving Nelyo a small smile. "Tis alright."

Nelyo didn't look as though he agreed, but he let it be since Maglor had asked him to. Morifinwë was still staring long and hard at Maglor, who returned the stare. Then, Morifinwë lowered his head and turned away.

"Don't you dare ask for a hug, Makalaurë." The dark Elf told him, crossing his arms, refusing to look at Maglor again. "Because I refuse to give you one." The corner of Maglor's lip twitched upwards, but it wasn't long until the smile faded when Maglor remembered who was left to greet him. Preparing himself, Maglor made to greet Fëanaro when he was all of a sudden yanked forward into a bone-crushing embrace by said Elf.

"Iónya."

"Atar." Maglor managed to say, just barely restraining himself from shuddering away. Thankfully, Fëanaro ended the embrace in order to look at his son.

"Where have you been all these years, Iónya?" Fëanaro quietly asked him. Maglor was taken aback by the amount of emotion he could see dancing in his Father's eyes. If there was one thing Maglor remembered about his Father, it was the indifferent look the Elf always wore and the uncaring manner in which he carried himself. Had he always been that way? Maglor wasn't sure... He was certain he remembered a different Fëanaro raising his seven sons the time before the Silmarils were created. A time when Fëanaro would actually prove to his sons that he loved them.

"I..." Maglor started to answer then trailed off. "I have been far, far away."

"What kind of answer is that?" Curufinwë scoffed, jutting his chin out at Maglor. "You can't expect us to accept such a vague answer, do you?"

"It is the only answer you will receive." Maglor said to him, raising a hand in order to keep Curufinwë from speaking. "Ask me no more, for I cannot tell you." He shut his eyes against the memories of the kin-slayings and the horrors he'd faced, willing them away from his mind.

"Why not?" Morifinwë asked, tilting his head in question.

"It is too painful for me to remember." Was all Maglor offered as an explanation, subconsciously reaching for his burned hand. Only Nelyo caught the movement, and the Ellon regarded his brother closely, wondering what Maglor was hiding with that glove.

A high-pitch whine, or a yawn, Maglor could never tell, sounded from the couch, taking everyone's attention from Maglor to the tiny twins. The two twins, who were awoken by all the commotion, were stretching their arms high up into the air, mouths open wide as they yawned and rubbed their forest green eyes.

"Nelyo!" The twins immediately called when they blinked themselves into awareness, dropping their hands back into their laps as they searched for their elder brother.

"Here, little ones." Nelyo answered, and the twins slipped off the couch to rush to him, giggling happily as they clutched at his legs.

"Nelyo!" They chimed, eyes shining with joy.

"Ambarto, Pityo," Nelyo knelt down, resting his hands on their small shoulders. Maglor felt a smirk grace his features when he noticed how Nelyo still towered over the small elflings. He was so tall... Even when Nelyo was an adolescent, he had been tall. Nearly two times taller than Maglor. "There is someone here to see you."

"Who?" The twins excitedly asked him, their small hands grabbing at his tunic as they stared up at him with their little faces.

They looked so innocent...so young. And they were the size of a four years old human child.

"Look for yourself." Nelyo told them, tipping his head in Maglor's direction. The twins did as they were told, eyes trailing up Maglor's form until they landed on his face. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then...

"Laurë!" And Maglor found himself being tackled by overenthusiastic Elflings. "Home! Laurë home!" Tears of joy welled in their eyes as they began to wail, a testament of how much they had missed their beloved brother. Maglor dropped to his knees and gathering the Elflings in his arms, holding them close and allowing his eyes to drift shut as a couple of tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Aye, little ones...L-Laurë is home." He stuttered over his childhood name, still finding it difficult to call himself Makalaurë. "And I have missed you so."

"We miss you more!" Ambarto hiccuped, rubbing at his eyes as tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. Pityo pitifully nodded in agreement, fingers digging into Maglor's tunic. The family watched on as the twins continued to tell Maglor how much they had missed him with growing smiles. Even Morifinwë allowed a small grin to grace his lips. Maglor never once relinquished his hold on the small elflings, instead, picking them up and cradling them against his chest. The twins happily allowed their heads to rest on his shoulders, refusing to let him out of their sight.

But...There was someone missing.

Maglor glanced up to look at Nelyo. "Where is Ammë?"

Fëanaro was the one to answer his question. "She left but a few hours ago to visit her cousin. Her cousin is going to have her first child, and the Healers believe the delivery will be a difficult one."

"I see." Maglor visibly wilted at this. Oh, how he wished to see his Ammë, and now, he would have to wait another few days, perhaps weeks, for her to return home.

"Ammë will have the best welcome-home gift once she returns." Nelyo declared, clasping Maglor's shoulder. "It will be one she will always remember."

"Indeed. This is a day I shall never forget." Fëanaro agreed, watching Maglor closely. He had hoped Makalaurë would have told them of where he'd been for the last decade, but it was clear to him that Makalaurë absolutely did not want to answer that question. What had happened to his son during the last ten years? What had he experienced that was so horrible that he would refuse to speak of it?

He supposed he would have to be patient and see. Sooner or later, he would get the answers to the questions he was sure everyone wanted to ask him. For now, the family would celebrate the fact that Makalaurë was alive and safe.

However... Fëanaro pursed his lips together as he watched Makalaurë interact with his six other sons. Now, he no longer had to claim that he only had six sons. He had all seven, and it was something Fëanaro cherished. They could be together as a family now. But, there was something extremely different about his son...Something told Fëanaro that Makalaurë was hiding something from them. Not only that, but Fëanaro had the strangest feeling that this Makalaurë wasn't the Makalaurë the family knew and loved. It was an odd, and terrible thought but Fëanaro swore to himself that he would love his son no matter what.

And yet, it still troubled him greatly and he had the daunting feeling that something was going to happen.

Something big, and Makalaurë was connected to it.


~Duplicity~

There you have it, my fellow readers! Second chapter done, third one on the way! Sheesh, so many family reunions. I feel it was a bit overdramatic, but hey... Now that I've got the reunions out of the way, I can focus on the main storyline! Yipee!

Remember, constructive criticism most welcome! If there are any issues, don't hesitate to let me know!

~Juliette Morbu