And I'm back! As promised, chapter 5 is here! I was planning on posting it earlier, then my teachers decided that they were gonna cram a whole bunch of projects in for this week :/ And finals. Sheesh. Thankfully, school's almost out. So hopefully that means I can continue to work on this a lot faster than I have been. Anywho...

Brief summary- Maglor finds someone he did not expect, memories are restored, and Irissë's confession!Again, I don't own any characters but Din Amarth. Tolkien own the rest. Constructive Criticism most welcome!

I hope you enjoy the chapter :)


~Duplicity~

It was late in the night, three weeks after Nerdanel's arrival, when everyone had retired. Everyone but Maglor, that was. The minstrel, as Din had warned him earlier, suffered from nightmares and dreams whenever he tried to sleep, and tonight, Maglor didn't want to dream. He didn't know if he could bear it. His family, mostly his brothers, had noticed that something was amiss with Maglor, but whenever they asked, Maglor would smile and tell them that it was nothing to be concerned over. Of course, this irked Nelyo, who would wake in the middle of the night listening to Maglor struggle, toss, and turn during his nightmares. He'd even had to wake Maglor up three times because they had been getting worse. During those nights, Nelyo had taken it upon himself to settle in with his brother and to help Maglor bear the dreams. Maglor had made him promise not to tell Nerdanel or Fëanaro, and Nelyo reluctantly agreed.

Just before Nelyo had left the Family Room, he had cast Maglor an inquisitive glance, as if asking if the minstrel would be alright tonight, and Maglor had nodded. He would be fine. He would be fine because he would not sleep. That was his goal for tonight.

"Makalaurë, are you well?" Fëanaro hesitantly asked, and Maglor nearly leaped out of his skin at the sound of his voice. Whipping his head up, Maglor found that Fëanaro had yet to retire to his chambers. Fëanaro had been lounging in the chaise across from Maglor, reading a book but was continually being distracted by the troubled air surrounding his son. It had taken him a few moments to finally decide to ask Maglor if he was feeling alright since he knew the minstrel was still a bit uneasy around him.

"Hm? Yes, yes, I'm fine." Maglor answered, but the tapping of his fingers against the arm of his chair said otherwise. Fëanaro knew something was up from the way Maglor was tapping. There was no rhythm. It was unlike Maglor to do something without rhythm.

"Mhm..." Fëanaro hummed lowly, raising an eyebrow at Maglor.
Maglor was silent. Stifling the urge to sigh, Fëanaro returned his attention to his book, trying to focus. After a few minutes, Maglor started to doze off. He would jerk every once in a while, trying to stay awake, but after an hour had passed, Maglor reluctantly decided that he needed to get some rest. He gracefully stood from his seat, causing Fëanaro to glance his way.

"I think I will try to sleep..." Maglor said to him, making his way through the room to the door. Once he reached the door, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle as he worried his lower lip. Fëanaro patiently waited, hoping his son would speak to him. As if sensing his thoughts, Maglor turned to look at him. "Goodnight...Atar."

Fëanaro managed a smile. "Goodnight, iónya."


Not too long afterwards...

Maglor twisted and turned in his bed, his teeth clenched as if he were in pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to wake himself up from the nightmare he was having, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't escape.

Everywhere he looked, there was fire. Screams echoed in his mind and he watched, horrified, as bodies of Elves limply sagged onto the ground, dead. Killed by him.

It was the First Kinslaying.

Maglor flinched when he slew another Elf, watching, as if hypnotized, as the life fled from his eyes and he fell to the earth. It was sickening... Nauseous, he turned, almost mechanically, and attacked another Elf.

"Wake up!" He hissed to himself, clutching his blade tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to be reminded... "Wake up!"

He jerked in the bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a part of his covers as the fire started to make its way towards him, eating up everything in its place.

"No, stop!" Maglor exclaimed, his fists bunching up part of his hair. "Wake up!"

"Makalaurë!"

Maglor frantically sought out the voice, clinging to it as if it were his lifeline.

"Makalaurë! Where are you?"

"Nelyo." Maglor whispered weakly, searching the field for his brother. He spotted him not too far away, streaking across the battlefield in search of him.

"Makalaurë!" Nelyo worriedly called, waiting for his brother to respond, turning his head from side to side.

"Here...Nelyo..." Maglor murmured, sinking to his knees the way he had after the First Kinslaying, quaking in horror as the realization of what he'd done came to him.

"Makalaurë!" Nelyo shouted, spinning around in search of the minstrel. "Tyelko, Moryo, Ambarto, Pityo, Curvo..." He named off his brothers, still finding one missing. Where was Makalaurë?

"Nelyo!" Maglor finally managed to call and Nelyo whirled around. Finding Maglor kneeling on the ground far from him, Nelyo bolted his way, worry and fear gnawing at his heart. Was Makalaurë injured? Was he terribly wounded?

"Makalaurë? Are you well? Are you injured?" Nelyo demanded to know, concern flowing in his voice as he grasped Maglor's shoulders. Maglor shook his head, immediately regretting the movement when his vision started swimming. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"THIS!" Maglor suddenly exploded, sending Nelyo reeling back when he sensed the intensity of Maglor's anger, self-hatred, and overwhelming guilt. "This is wrong! Everything is wrong!"

Tyelko, Curvo, and Moryo took a safe step back, staring at their normally calm and peaceful brother. Ambarto and Pityo watched them with tear-filled eyes, sniffling pathetically as they studied all of the Elves they'd killed.

"Why, Nelyo? Why must we do this?!" Maglor shouted, his hands flailing through the air, his face burning red. His hair was as wild as Maglor felt, strands sticking out here and there, sweat drenching his clothes, as well as blood. "Why..." He weakly whispered, his breath catching on a sob.

"Makalaurë-" Nelyo started, but Maglor cut him off.

"No. Don't call me that name." He bit out, his mind whirling.

Wake up!

Nelyo slowly stood after him, reaching out a hand to grab his brother, but Maglor slapped it away. "How can you be so calm? How, Nelyo?! Don't you see what we've done?! Don't you see what we've become!"

He was becoming close to hysterical that even Nelyo felt frightened. Ambarto and Pityo hid behind Moryo and Curvo, watching as Maglor suddenly barked out a laugh.

"Look what we've done...What we've become. We've become the very monsters we used to hate in the children's stories." He gasped in between breaths.

Please, wake up!

"Makalaurë!"

"Don't call me that!" Maglor sharply rebuked Nelyo, who stepped back in surprise when the minstrel advanced upon him. "I am not Makalaurë! Makalaurë is dead! He has been ever since those accursed jewels were created!"

"Maka-"

"Maglor."

"What?" Nelyo blinked, gazing down at his brother in confusion.

"My name is Maglor. Not Makalaurë. Maglor. This," Maglor gestured to himself then the battlefield around them, "Is Maglor, therefore, I am Maglor." Breathing out a sigh, Maglor calmed enough to add, "Makalaurë is lost...and he is never coming back."


Maglor's eyes snapped open when he awoke from the nightmare, his being trembling violently. Perspiration trickled down his forehead as his silky nightclothes clung to his skin, damp with sweat. Panting heavily, eyes wildly raking across the room, Maglor raised a hand to calm his frantically beating heart. That dream...It couldn't have just been a dream.

"Oh Valar…" He breathed. It was a memory. Another memory. He blanched, his face draining of color as he recalled the memory vividly.

So much blood… There was so much blood. Blood that Maglor had both lost and shed. Images flashed uncontrollably before him, creating a world of the future around him. There were Elves everywhere, littering the battlefield. He watched with wide-eyes as many were cut down by the Feanorian army.

Shaking even more, Maglor felt tears welling in his eyes as he listened to their screams echoing in his mind, their blank eyes glazed over as they stared, lifelessly, at the sky.

"No…" Maglor breathed as he watched Amrod and Amras slay yet another Elf, their faces stricken as they forced themselves to claim these innocent lives. "Please, no…"
More screams...Cries of anguish and despair. The images of his brothers slaying their own kin danced across Maglor's mind.
"Stop!" He cried, slapping his hands over his ears in a frantic effort to drown out the familiar voices of his brothers. "Go away! Go away! Leave me be!" He breathlessly pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut, but the battle continued to plague his mind. It was so vivid, so real…

And they were there with him, in the darkness behind his closed eyes. Gasping loudly, Maglor struggled to keep his breathing under control as he stumbled towards his bedroom door.

He needed comfort. He needed safety. He needed to be brought back here, to the past. He couldn't bear the future.

And there was only one Maglor knew who could help him.

Without wasting any time, Maglor fled from his room, hastily making his way to the Family Room, silently pleading for the Elf he needed to be there. Once he arrived, Maglor quietly, but hurriedly, opened the door and stepped inside. Timidly looking up, Maglor found, much to his relief, that he was, in fact, still there.

Upon hearing the door opening, Fëanaro raised his head to see who was still up so late in the night. Seeing that it was Maglor, and noting the frightened expression gracing his features, the Ellon slowly sat up.

"Makalaurë?"

Maglor nearly flinched at the name. "I...Forgive me, but...I couldn't be alone." He quietly explained, hoping his Father would understand. "May I stay here...with you?" He shyly raised his eyes to meet his Father's, unsure of what Fëanaro would do.

Fëanaro almost forgot to answer his son, his book nearly slipping from his lap, taken aback by his request. "O-Of course, Makalaurë." He answered, nodding his head and waving a hand in the direction of the couch across from him.

Maglor gave him a relieved smile and immediately went to curl up on the couch, basking in his Father's presence. Settling in, Maglor watched as Fëanaro studied him for a moment, wearing a strange expression, before he awkwardly returned to his book. Maglor smiled again, recognizing the growing hope he'd caught dancing in his Father's eyes.

All was silent as Maglor allowed his eyes to drift shut, listening to the comforting sound of Fëanaro turning the pages of his book. He could sense his Father's presence enveloping the entire room. It was powerful and strong, intimidating, but with a sense of safety. It helped Maglor to relax as he focused on his Father.

How he had missed Fëanaro. No matter how many times Maglor cursed him and wanted to hate him, he still wanted to have his Father with him. The Father he knew from when he was an elfling.

Before the Silmarils ever came into existence.

Maglor cringed at the thought, his hand twitching when a burning sensation ran across it. Again, his thoughts turned to everything the Silmarils and his family were responsible for. His mind was plagued by the atrocious deeds they'd done and how much Arda had suffered.

The Silmarils. They needed to be destroyed. No. He needed to prevent them from being made. He had to keep Fëanaro, his Father, from forging them. That way, everything that happened in Maglor's life would never come to pass.

But...Should he fail...

Maglor worriedly flicked his eyes down to look at his gloved hand.

What would happen if he were to fail? If the Silmarils were still created, despite his intentions on vanquishing them... Would he make everything worse? What would happen if they came back? Would Maglor lose everyone again? How many would fall? How many nations would cease to exist? How many would suffer?

What would happen to Arda?

'Maglor! Stop that!' Din's voice broke into his racing thoughts as Maglor started to work himself up over his fears. 'You are not going to fail!'

'What if I do, Din? What if I do fail? What then? What if, everything I do here, is for nothing? What if I make everything even worse than before? What then?'

'Maglor!'

But Maglor wouldn't listen to her, too focused on his thoughts.

'What if you were to create a better future?' Din then asked him, and Maglor felt an instant wave of calm wash over him. 'Think of everything that would happen if you were to succeed, Maglor. You would have your family, you would save the lives that were lost before, there would be no need for war, no Kinslayings...'

'You are right.' Maglor agreed, thinking over what Din had said. Think of a better future, Maglor told himself, trying to envision what that future would look like. He would ensure no one suffered needlessly because of the Silmarils. Elrond and...

Elrond!

And Maglor's world came crashing down.

Din was silent, knowing immediately what Maglor was thinking.

I would never be able to raise Elrond and Elros...I wouldn't...They wouldn't be a part of my life...

The minstrel thought, terrified by the thought. Even though Elrond and Elros weren't his sons by blood, he still loved them as if they were his own. The twins had been what saved Maglor from despairing and fading. It had been the twins who had returned Nelyo to Maglor, who had helped Maglor to cling to his will to survive. If Maglor had never met the twins...He was certain he would never have made it.

One of the reasons why Maglor had never given into grief after Maedhros's death, was because of Elrond. Elrond was still alive and Maglor had not the heart to leave him. After everything Elrond had unknowingly done for him...

'If I rewrite history, they'll never be mine...I won't be blessed to have them in my life...' This was unacceptable to Maglor. He couldn't bring himself to think of a life without Elrond and Elros. 'I met them because of the Silmarils...Without them...'

It was a horrible thought, but Maglor didn't want to let go of Elrond and Elros. He didn't want Elwing or Earendil to take them away...

'You loved them...' Din softly remarked, catching a glimpse of Maglor's memories of his time with Elrond and Elros. There was hardly one that didn't involve all of them smiling, excluding the memories from after the ransacking of the Havens of Sirion and taking the Half-Elven twins hostage.

'I did...Do. They were my sons in all but blood. I don't want to lose them...'

But, a part of Maglor said, they would live a happier life.

It was true, and yet, he still didn't want to live a life without the twins.

Maglor felt truly empty inside. Without Elrond and Elros...it wouldn't be the same. But, if he were to be honest, he didn't deserve to have the twins in his life. The twins deserved more than he was ever able to give them.

"Makalaurë?" Fëanaro's quiet, inquisitive, voice reigned Maglor back to the present, and the minstrel realized that he had tears in his eyes. Furiously, Maglor raised a silken sleeve to wipe them away.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and Maglor blearily looked up to find Fëanaro kneeling beside the couch, watching him with concern.

'No.' Maglor thought to himself. 'I don't deserve you're concern. After everything I've done...You're not the Fëanaro I knew, and yet, I mistreated you...I held you responsible for something you haven't done.'

'Yet.' The pessimistic part of Maglor's mind reminded him, but Maglor purposefully ignored it.

Closing his eyes, Maglor whispered, "Forgive me, Atar...I lied to you."

"You lied?" Fëanaro repeated, wondering what his son meant. Maglor reopened tear-filled eyed, regret and sorrow dancing within them as he shifted closer to Fëanaro, wanting to be nearer to his Father. He would be lying if he claimed that he didn't miss him during his time in Arda.

"I'm not okay." Maglor admitted, leaning against his Father, shocking Fëanaro as the minstrel wrapped his arms tightly around him and rested his head against his shoulder. "I'm not okay..." He mumbled into the fabric of Fëanaro's tunic, allowing the tears to fall. Fëanaro remained still for a long moment, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. After everything that had been going on between them, the tension that had been growing, he never dared to think Maglor would ever come to him. But, hearing the stifled sobs escaping Maglor's lips, Fëanaro moved to sit onto the couch and gathered his son close to him the same way he had when Maglor was an elfling. Even if this didn't mean that his son was returning to him, Fëanaro would cherish this moment and give his Songbird the comfort he needed.

His son trembled as he sobbed and Fëanaro ran his fingers through his hair while rocking him back and forth in a soothing manner.

"Sh, my little Songbird...Why do you weep?" Fëanaro whispered against Maglor's hair. "You have done nothing wrong..."

"That's where you're wrong..." Maglor replied, his breath hitching a couple of times as he tried to contain his sobs. "I've done so many terrible things...I didn't want to...but I still did it. And for what?"

Fëanaro didn't understand what Maglor was saying, so he remained silent, tightening his hold on Maglor when he felt his son's grief and agony rise. He recognized, however, the tone Maglor used, and the grief, pain, and sorrow his son felt. Fëanaro felt his son's pain as if it were his own, felt his own heart clench when he realized that his son's pain was beyond his understanding. What had happened to Maglor? What had he been put through? He was in so much pain...

"What did you lose?" Fëanaro didn't mean to ask the question aloud, but the words escaped from him before he even thought of them. But, now that he asked it, Fëanaro found that he feared the answer he would receive.

"Everything." Came the small, broken, whisper. "Every night...I see it...I see everything. They aren't dreams or nightmares...They're memories...Memories..."

"Makalaurë..." Fëanaro uttered softly, planting a kiss on the crown of his son's hair. "I'm so sorry...You don't deserve this...You didn't deserve any of it." He said nothing more, protectively holding Maglor as if he were trying to fight away the pain his son was in. Even though he knew he would never be able to take it away, Fëanaro hoped that he could at least ease the pain his son felt.

Shifting in order to make himself and his son more comfortable, Fëanaro leaned back against the arm of the couch, smiling slightly when Maglor curled against him. It reminded Fëanaro of when Makalaurë would seek him out after he'd had a terrible dream. The elfling always came to him, silently pleading for his Father to chase away his nightmares. Makalaurë had been so small for an elfling. So tiny that he would curl up on Fëanaro's chest and sleep there for the entire night. Fëanaro would have to make sure not to move too much for fear that he might knock Makalaurë off.

Then, when Fëanaro started spending more time in the forge and less time with his family, Makalaurë and his younger sons all sought comfort from Nelyo. Then, Makalaurë grew and the brothers turned to him. His sons had become close, forming an unbreakable bond with one another. Each and everyone of them was protective of the other. His elders sons were extremely protective of Ambarto and Pityo, always doing their best to shield them from whatever dangers dared threatened them.

Even the smallest of dangers could provoke his elder sons into flying to the twins' rescue.

There were a couple of memories Fëanaro specifically remembered. They were a few of his favorite memories and those Nerdanel loved to remember.

Ambarto and the spider.

Mind you, it was not a large spider. Nor was it exactly small. But it was just that- a spider.

A spider.

But his sons...Leave it to them to make something bigger than it really was.

The other was Pityo and his shadow.

That had been most amusing.

Chuckling quietly, Fëanaro recalled the first time Pityo ever came to find that he had a shadow. The look that had crossed the elfling's face when he saw something shady and black following his every move had been most amusing. When Pityo tried, and failed, to run away from his shadow, the poor elfling had grown wild with terror that Nelyo, Makalaurë, Tyelko, Curvo, and Moryo stepped in before Fëanaro or Nerdanel could go to him.


When Ambarussa's third begetting day had just passed, Ambarto discovered a spider in their room. At first, he'd been intrigued by the little critter, and watched it, wondering where the fluffball had come from. And then he found that said 'fluffball' had long, skinny legs and eight eyes...

It was Ambarto's alarmed screaming that sent his five elder sons tearing across the home to his rescue. Fëanaro remembered how Nelyo had been training Moryo at that time. Tyelko was practicing his archery, Curvo was working on making a crown out of sticks, and Makalaurë was down in the gardens composing a new song on the harp Nerdanel had bought for him. When Ambarto had screamed, Nelyo and Moryo had dropped their weapons and bolted across the clearing to the house. Curvo had let go of his crown and followed with Makalaurë streaking ahead of them. Nerdanel and Fëanaro, who had been working in the forge, heard their son's terrified cry and also darted out to see if something had happened to Ambarto.

They arrived in time to see Nelyo about to crush the spider when Makalaurë intervened.

"Don't kill her!" The minstrel had called, horrified that his brother would go to such extremes to rid Ambarto of the critter. Nelyo, hearing his brother's cry, just barely managed to avoid crushing the spider, his boot landing right next to it. Makalaurë had quickly cupped the furry spider up into his hands and stepped away from his brothers. "She did nothing to you."

"She? How do you know it's a she?" Curvo had asked, wrinkling his nose at the fluffy spider. Makalaurë had shrugged in response.

"She's fluffy." Was all he said, patting the spider with his finger.

"It's ugly." Moryo had stated, ruffling Ambarto's hair from where the Elfling had hidden behind him. The elfling had wrapped his arms around Moryo's knee, peering around the dark elf in order to see the spider, nodding in agreement. His tiny face scrunched up in disgust at the critter, wishing that it would be taken out of his sight. Makalaurë had shot Moryo a disapproving look.

"She, Moryo." He corrected. "And she is not ugly."

"Pft. You're strange, Toron." Moryo had muttered, crossing his arms.

"See? Harmless." Makalaurë had assured them, holding out his hands so they all could see the brown speck he protectively held. As if to prove him wrong, the spider turned to look up at him, then jumped, legs wildly flailing in the air as if trying to grab hold of the minstrel hair.

Makalaurë had let out a small cry as he stumbled back and struck the spider with his hand, sending it sailing into the ground. There was a tiny 'crack' that could be heard when the spider hit the unforgiving ground and skidded towards Nelyo.

"Nelyo, kill it!" Makalaurë had ordered, watching as Nelyo immediately smashed the spider underneath his boot. When the spider was proclaimed dead, Nelyo and the other brothers snickered at Makalaurë.

"'See? Harmless.'" Curvo had mimicked, earning a deadly glare from Makalaurë.

"'Don't kill her!'" Moryo added.

"'Nelyo, kill it!'" Tyelko finished and Makalaurë rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Is Makalaurë afraid of spiders?" Nelyo had teased and Makalaurë shot him an incredulous look.

"If I was afraid of it, I wouldn't have picked it up!" He pointed out, gesturing to the remains of the spider staining the floor. He gave the squished remains a sympathetic glance then turned away.

"Oh, so she's an it now, huh?" Moryo had asked, Tyelko and Curvo raising an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, do be quiet!"


Fëanaro blinked once the memory was over and looked down to see that Makalaurë had fallen asleep with his head tucked underneath Fëanaro's chin. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the slow breathing attested to that.

Well...

Now he was stuck. He couldn't move lest he wake Makalaurë, and that was something Fëanaro didn't want to do. Makalaurë had finally come to him, had finally spoken to him without any fear or signs of being uncomfortable, and this was how Fëanaro wanted it to be. He feared that if Makalaurë woke, everything would return back to the way it was.

Shrugging, Fëanaro remained where he was and studied his son's peaceful features. He frowned when he noticed the dark circles underneath Makalaurë's eyes, a tell-tale sign that he hadn't been sleeping well. If he remembered correctly, Nelyo had been hinting to the fact that Makalaurë hadn't had a good night's rest for the past few weeks due to nightmares. Nightmares that Makalaurë had told him were memories.

They had to be awful memories, and it hurt Fëanaro to see his son suffering from whatever had happened to him. "I'm sorry, little one..." Fëanaro whispered aloud, his voice carrying throughout the silent room. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you..." He wiped the tear stains from Makalaurë's pale face with his thumb then stretched his arm out to grab his cloak he'd discarded on the floor. Using it to cover Makalaurë, Fëanaro settled against the arm of the couch and rested his head against his son's. Slipping deeper into the realm of dreams, Fëanaro allowed himself to slip away and give in to his need for sleep.

And for once, in a long while, Fëanaro was finally able to get a good night's rest.


~The Next Day~

Nerdanel pursed her lips tightly as she walked through the corridors of her arm, heading straight for the Dining Hall. Fëanaro hadn't come to their chambers last night and apparently, Makalaurë was nowhere to be found, and she was growing concerned. She had noticed at once the incongruity between her husband and son, and it pained her to see it just as it pained Fëanaro to be shunned by his own child. Nerdanel, however, Makalaurë was comfortable with. In fact, he was almost attached to his mother. More so than he was before, as if Makalaurë were afraid he was going to lose her. Nerdanel had allowed Makalaurë to accompany her on simple trips down to the market and to try a hand at sculpting. He was fairly good but Nerdanel had noticed that her son couldn't do much. He always worked with only one hand. He used his right hand, sometimes his left, to complete his work. She would watch him closely, always wondering if his left hand had been terribly injured and he was hiding it from prying eyes- hence the glove he wore over his hand. Sometimes, when Makalaurë didn't believe he was being watched, he would stop everything he was doing and carefully cradle his left hand in pain. Another thing she had noticed was that Makalaurë no longer sang. He no longer composed songs on a whim and it saddened Nerdanel greatly. She always loved listening to her son when he would compose new music, but she knew that he was most reluctant to, and so, she never pressed him.

Striding towards the Dining Hall doors, Nerdanel pushed them open and stepped inside, immediately asking those seated at the table,

"Where is Makalaurë? And have you seen Fëanaro?"

Nelyo and his brothers looked to one another.

"I have yet to see either of them today." Finwë answered Nerdanel's question, Nolofinwë nodding along with his Father's words.

"I have not seen Fëanaro or Makalaurë, Nerdanel." He said to her.

"Makalaurë wasn't in his room?" Nelyo asked, and Nerdanel huffed.

"I've already looked there. He's not there."

Concern flashed across Nelyo's features as he sat up. "He wasn't there?" He repeated, slowly pushing his chair back.

"No." Nerdanel sighed, wondering what was wrong with Nelyo.

Nelyo turned to his brothers, gesturing for them to leave their meal. "Come, brothers. We must find Makalaurë." Neither of them questioned him, each pushing away from the table and leaving after him. Nerdanel quickly followed, jogging in order to keep up with their pace. She watched as her sons opened every door they passed, glancing inside to see if Makalaurë happened to be in any of the rooms.

Makalaurë wasn't in any of them.

They reached the end of the hall and Nelyo quietly opened the door to the Family Room, pressing a finger to his lips while he did so. "I know Atto was here last night. He may have stayed." He lowly whispered to them before opening the door even more. Stepping inside, Nelyo's gaze immediately fell upon the couch next to the fireplace. He easily recognized Fëanaro without having to see his face and indicated for his brothers and mother to enter the room. Nerdanel breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted her husband and softly padded over to him. She stopped when she found that Fëanaro wasn't the only one taking up space on the couch.

Nerdanel couldn't help but smile and coo at the sight that greeted her. Her sons, curious to know what had earned such a reaction from their mother, stepped closer to her and looked at the couch.

It was then they spotted their missing brother. Makalaurë had fallen asleep -with his eyes closed, his brothers noticed- curled up against Fëanaro, with his head resting on his Father's chest and a serene expression etched into his features as he slept without a care in the world. Fëanaro was also slumbering away, his head turned away and resting against the arm of the couch, one of his arms dangling over the edge of the sofa and the other lightly embracing Makalaurë so he wouldn't fall. Fëanaro's black cape covered the both of them, providing them with warmth they didn't necessarily need.

The brothers glanced at one another in amazement. Nelyo easily surmised what must have happened the night before and smiled at Makalaurë's snoozing form. Makalaurë, instead of coming to him, had gone to Fëanaro after his nightmare. Then, Nelyo frowned, troubled. It must have been one awful dream if Makalaurë had been frightened enough to go to their Father for comfort.

Nerdanel quietly crept closer to the two sleeping forms on the couch and leaned over Fëanaro. "Fëanaro," She whispered, gently patting his cheek. He didn't wake, nor did he stir, still trapped within Irmo's realm. "Fëanaro." Nerdanel said again, loudly this time.

Fëanaro's brow furrowed as he moved his head in the direction of her voice. Slowly, his eyes started to lose the hazy look of sleep. Blinking several times, Fëanaro turned his head to look up at Nerdanel, a little confused and distorted.

"Nerdanel?"

Nerdanel softly smiled at him. "Morning, love."

"Morning? Already?" Fëanaro mumbled, raising a hand to rub both of his eyes. Well, he tried to raise it, but it was trapped against something. Looking down, Fëanaro was greeted with a face-full of silky black hair and the Ellon took a moment to realize that Makalaurë was still using him as a pillow and had yet to awaken. For a moment, Fëanaro continued to stare down at his second-born, as if in disbelief, then flicked his gaze up to meet Nerdanel's. "He came..."

"Yes." Nerdanel happily nodded, sensing her husband's joy and blooming hope. "We were just looking for him, too." She gestured to their other sons. Nelyo stepped forward and asked his brother,

"How is he?" His gaze never once wavered from Makalaurë, concerned. Fëanaro thoughtfully combed his fingers through Makalaurë's hair as he answered his eldest's question,

"Better than he was before, I believe."

Nerdanel carefully settled herself down on the edge of the couch, reaching out to tug a stray strand of Makalaurë's hair behind his ear. "Did he speak to you?" She inquired, and Fëanaro heard all of the other questions behind the one she'd asked.

Fëanaro grievously sighed, becoming troubled once more. "Those nightmares he's been suffering from..." He started, trailing off when Makalaurë shifted. Fearing that he would wake, everyone held their breaths. When Makalaurë made no further move to stir, they released them and waited for Fëanaro to finish. "They aren't nightmares. They are memories."

"Of what happened to him during the last decade?" Curvo quietly asked, knowing at once that he was correct. Fëanaro nodded.

"I believe so." He sighed heavily. "He carries such a heavy burden."

Nerdanel comfortingly laid a hand against his shoulder. "We can help him, Fëanaro. We only have to be there for him and wait for Makalaurë to come to us. I'm certain he will tell us everything when the time is right." She assured him.

"I hope." Fëanaro murmured, a little lost in thought as he regarded Makalaurë. Suddenly, his eyes brightened as if an idea had struck him and Fëanaro looked to his family. "Is there anything happening today? Anything important that cannot wait?"

Everyone thought for a moment, running through their planned schedules for the day.

"Well," Tyelko said, prolonging the word in a thoughtful tone, "We still have to finish setting up for the Feast, but we have tonight and all of tomorrow to do so. Other than that, I don't have anything else to do."

His brothers murmured in agreement. Nerdanel shook her head, a little disappointed.

"Not that I can think of, though, I have a project that I must complete before the Feast." She apologetically looked to Fëanaro, a little worried that he may be upset over this. Ever since Makalaurë's disappearance, Fëanaro had been more on edge and quick to anger. It had made Nerdanel cautious and wary of her words, but since their little Songbird's return, Fëanaro had calmed immensely. His spirit seemed more at rest.

"That is fine." Fëanaro told her. "I believe the boys and I will go for a swim."

"Truly?!" Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo gaped at their Father, and even Nelyo was surprised. "To the waterfall?"

"Aye, to the waterfall." Fëanaro answered.

"Can the others come?" Nelyo asked. He didn't need to specify who the 'others' were but Fëanaro merely shrugged.

"Do as you please."

"Ambarto and Pityo are going to be thrilled to death of this." Tyelko remarked.

"Of what?" A sleepy, barely awake, mumble could be heard coming from Makalaurë as the minstrel slowly started to stir. "Sumthn' 'appen?" The minstrel tiredly raised a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned and cracked his eyes open, blue eyes regarding his brothers and mother in question. Using a fist to rub his left eye, Makalaurë grabbed his blanket with his left hand and pulled it up over his shoulders, burrowing deeper into it, relishing in the warmth it provided him. "D'I miss sumthn?"

His hair was mussed up, Makalaurë discovered and his brothers were flashing him looks of amusement that told him that he looked like he'd just been woken up and hadn't cleaned up his appearance. Snuggling closer to his pillow, Makalaurë was confused when he realized that he wasn't in his room. No...He was in the Family Room.

How did that happen?

Slowly, memories of the night before slipped into his mind and Makalaurë remembered everything that had transpired. His nightmares of the First Kinslaying had sent him running from his room to his Father...

Nelyo and the others watched as Makalaurë's eyes widened in disbelief as he studied the 'blanket' that was supposed to have been his. It wasn't a blanket, he found, but a cape. A very familiar cape.

Raising his head, Makalaurë's eyes drifted upwards to find Fëanaro neutrally watching him. His eyes were blank, not allowing him to see what thoughts were running through his Father's mind.

"Atar?" Makalaurë blinked.

Fëanaro raised an eyebrow and replied, "Iónya." Deep inside, Fëanaro was afraid of what his son's reaction would be. Would things return back to the way it was? Would Makalaurë shy away from him again?

His fears were set at ease when Makalaurë dropped his head back against his shoulder and nestled into a more comfortable position. "Mornin..."

"Good morning?" Fëanaro returned, amused.

"Hey, Makalaurë, Atto is going to take us to the waterfall today!" Curvo told his brother, earning a tired hum in reply. "So...You need to get ready so we can leave!" He urged, but Makalaurë refused to move.

The minstrel, instead, yawned again and shook his head. "No."

"What?"

"Not movin..."

"Why?"

"Tired."

"It's past breakfast time."

"Mhm..."

Curvo rolled his eyes at the stubborn minstrel. "Honestly, Makalaurë?"

"Yes."

"What a shame." Nerdanel tsked playfully. "I suppose that means that I can take Makalaurë's honeycakes all for myself."

"Honeycakes?" Makalaurë was suddenly wide awake and sitting up. "There're honeycakes?" He demanded to know, losing all trace of sleep as he narrowed his gaze on his Mother, hoping she wasn't playing with him.

"Oh yes." Tyelko nodded. "And they were delicious. I had three of them!"

"As did I." Moryo agreed.

"And don't forget me!" Curvo chimed in.

"I had four." Nelyo proudly stated and the four shared smothered grins when Makalaurë gave them a suspicious glance.

"You did leave a few, right?"

Nelyo made a show of making a face that told Makalaurë that they may have eaten all of the cakes and conveniently forgotten that they had another brother. "Not certain..." His elder brother shrugged, tapping his chin as he pretended to ponder for a moment. "I mean, if you take into account that Nolofinwë, Andatar, and the others were with us... That's eleven of us...I don't think those honeycakes stood a chance."

"There had better be honeycakes left!" Makalaurë warned them, rising from the couch and heading for the door. He paused long enough to ask his mother, "You were serious about the honeycakes, correct?" He certainly hoped she was because he hadn't had any honeycakes for many centuries!

Nerdanel laughed and nodded. "Of course, now shoo! Go and eat before you leave!" She brightly told him, waving Makalaurë away. He didn't have to be told twice before he swept out of the room, heading for the kitchens in order to grab a few honeycakes. Once he'd left, Nerdanel faced her husband and reminded him, "Be sure to bring some snacks with you. If I know our boys...They'll be hungry after the swim."

Fëanaro absentmindedly nodded in response, hardly paying any attention to her words. "Of course."

"Now, you boys had better get ready." Nerdanel said to her other sons, placing her hands against her hips. "And do watch over the little ones!"

"We will, Ammë, don't worry." Nelyo called over his shoulder as he and his brothers filed out of the room, heading for their chambers to grab whatever they would need. "I'll go and tell Nolofinwë where we are going and see if anyone else wants to join. You go on ahead and collect some towels." He said to his brothers.

"Alright. Just hurry on back!" Tyelko told him and they went their separate ways.


~Duplicity~

Not a couple hours had passed when Maglor was tackled by his brothers and dragged out to meet everyone who was heading for the waterfall. Ambarto and Pityo had excitedly clung to his legs and chattered nonstop about how they were going to impress Maglor with their swimming skills. Maglor had smiled as the twins went on about how Nelyo and Tyelko had been teaching them how to swim while Curvo taught them how to make simple jewelry and Tyelko had started teaching them how to read the alphabet. They proudly sang the Quenya alphabet to Maglor, to which he applauded them and congratulated them in learning such a difficult thing. The twins had grinned and laughed, prancing about wildly as they raced back and forth within the group, hoping to reach the waterfall soon. Maglor spent the time while they walked pondering over everything that had happened. He felt that he was on better terms with his Father and that he didn't have too much of an issue with that, but he still needed to figure out if Irissë was one of the others meant to help him.

"Makalaurë!"

Speak of the Dark Lord! And there came Irissë, trotting up beside him, nervously twisting her hands behind her back as she chewed on her lower lip.

"Yes, Irissë?" Maglor asked her, and waited patiently as Irissë debated what she wanted to say.

"Well..." She hastily looked around to see if there was anyone nearby who could overhear them. There was no one who looked to be paying attention and Irissë relaxed somewhat. "Remember yesterday, when you thanked me for helping you?"

Interesting that Irissë was the one breaching upon this subject. Maglor had suspected that she would've wanted to avoid him, and yet, here she was, talking to him about it.

"Yes? Is there something you wish to say?"

Irissë pursed her lips together, glancing around them again then sighed heavily. Suddenly, Irissë looked far older than she truly was. Her shoulders slumped as she heaved a sigh and her twinkling eyes lost their sparkling glimmer.

"I...I don't know if I can say this..." She murmured. "You wondered how I knew Sindarin...I suspect Turukano told you that I must've picked it up during our travels?"

"He did suggest that you might have learned a phrase or two from the Sindarin cities you've visited."

"Aye, I thought so." Irissë raised her head to study the grey sky, weakly smiling. "That's not true, and I think you might be the only one who will understand."

"What do you mean?" Maglor inquired, tilting his head in suspicion. Was she about to confirm what he'd been thinking for the past day?

Another worried glance about the group.

Irissë, after ensuring no one was watching them or could hear the words they were exchanging, breathed out one word. But it wasn't a word. It was a name that held a lot of meaning to them both.

"Aredhel."


Maglor nearly froze in his tracks and barely reigned in his surprise. Quickly, he looked down at his cousin to find her watching him intensely. Judging by his reaction, Irissë guessed he knew exactly what she was talking about and somberly nodded.

"Aredhel." Maglor repeated, shaking his head slowly.

"So...You are Maglor." Irissë, now Aredhel, stated rather than questioned. Maglor managed a nod. She grinned weakly. "I thought you were acting pretty strange for Makalaurë. From what I've overheard and seen, you weren't acting like yourself."

"No. And for reasons you must know."

"I do." Aredhel affirmed. Sadness overcame her youthful features as Aredhel lowly whispered, "I'm sorry, Maglor."

Confusion washed over Maglor as he turned to her, "Whatever for?"

"For everything that happened."

"What?" Baffled and utterly shocked that Aredhel was apologizing for things that weren't her fault, Maglor sharply said, "Don't apologize for something you had no control over, Aredhel. It was not your fault. Why you are apologizing to me when it is I who should be apologizing to you is beyond me."

"Because you wouldn't understand." Aredhel softly told him, casting him a pained glance. "You don't see."

"I don't see what?" Maglor wanted to know, hoping she would help him to understand why Aredhel was apologizing for such horrendous things.

"You suffered the most out of us all, Maglor." Aredhel explained, tearing her gaze away from him and switching it to the ground. "You were forced to do something you never wanted- never could have dreamed of doing."

"I wasn't forced, Aredhel."

"But you were, weren't you?" Aredhel said, clasping her hands together in front of her as she continued, "You felt that because your brothers were swearing the Oath your Father wasted his dying breath in saying that you had to. You loved your brothers and Father too much to let them go through everything alone. You swore the Oath out of loyalty, and it destroyed you."

Maglor's eyes drifted shut. She was right. Aredhel was more than right. "More than you could ever imagine."

"I know..." Aredhel painfully whispered. "I saw what it did to you...What it did to everyone. The Oath slowly took them all away. Daeradar's death. The Kinslayings..." She flinched at the memory. "The Teleri ships. The Helcaraxë. Your Father's death, my father's death...Arakano's death." Valiantly, Aredhel withheld the tears gathering in her eyes. "We lost so many...And then, of course, I died. Maeglin...He...He destroyed...betrayed..." She couldn't bring herself to finish, pain erupting within her heart when she remembered what her son had done. Maglor immediately gripped her shoulder.

"Do not blame yourself, Aredhel. Don't you dare blame yourself. If anything, blame my Father. Blame the Oath. By the Valar, you could blame me if you so choose."

"I could never blame you!" Aredhel near-exclaimed, horrified Maglor would've suggested such a thing. "You still don't understand, do you? I don't hate you. I never could. Fingon and Turgon were also slain...but they never hated you. My Father never hated you or Fëanaro. He was angry, and rightfully so, but he could never bring himself to hate anyone. Other than Morgoth. But, Maglor, you went through more than we ever did." She said to him. "You watched everything tumble down around you, watched as we all died, watched as the Silmarils took away everything you loved and cared for; and yet, you never gave in. You kept going. Even when the Silmarils finally claimed Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. Then Amrod and Amras were taken away from you, but you stayed. You rescued Elrond and Elros, raised them as your own then let them go when you heard the Oath calling. I know how hard it was for you to let them go. I watched as you struggled to hold yourself back from running after them. You loved them too much to see them hurt because of the Oath. And then..."

"Maedhros left." Maglor brokenly whispered.

Aredhel said nothing.

"He was so overwrought by grief and pain...the agony he bore during those dark days...He finally snapped. I'd been waiting for him to but...I never expected for him to cast himself into the fiery chasm. By the time I realized what he was going to do, it was too late." Maglor's voice had gotten so soft that Aredhel had some difficult understanding what he was saying, but she knew from the look in his eyes what it was he had said.

"And yet, you still remained." Aredhel murmured in a tone akin to awe and admiration. "Despite all of the pain, you stayed. There were so many times you almost gave into grief, but you refused to let yourself go." Now, Aredhel looked to her cousin in confusion. "Why?"

"As punishment."

"Four thousand years...Four thousand years you wandered the shores of Middle-Earth, only leaving to visit Elrond."

"Yes."

"But...We can change it." Aredhel stated. "We can prevent it from ever happening. It's why we're here."

Maglor, thankful for the lightening of the dark and tense atmosphere that had fallen over them during the conversation, agreed. "That we can. We only need to discover how and who else is meant to help us."

"I think I might know, but I'm not certain." Aredhel admitted, eyeing someone walking ahead of them. Maglor tried to see who exactly she was watching but there were too many Elves to tell. "If I remember correctly, Din said something about two being among us, another from a land far away, and a fourth who lingers in the shadows."

"Two among us? Suppose she meant the two of us."

"No." Aredhel answered, shaking her head. "It was just the other day she told me this, after I started suspecting you."

"One from a land far away and one who lingers in the shadows..." Maglor bit the inside of his cheek as he thought over these words. "Land far away...A land far away from our homes? Or a land far away from Valinor?"

"Suppose it is someone from Arda." Aredhel suggested, but Maglor shook his head.

"I don't think so. Whoever we are searching for must have played some part in our past. We never went to Arda until...Oh! Aredhel, would you happen to know what year it is?"

"Um...Not really. I never did ask or try to find out." Aredhel sheepishly told Maglor.

"Well...That makes it a bit difficult. If we don't know what year it is, how do we know how much time we have until the Silmarils are made?"

"I think we should just plan ahead, let things go the way they should, and intervene when Fëanaro announces his plan to capture the light of the Trees. That-a-way, we'll be ready whenever the time comes and we won't be so hasty in trying to prevent everything from happening. One step at a time."

"I concur." Maglor agreed. "If we know what we are to do before the Silmarils are made, we won't be blinded by fear, panic, or anguish in trying to vanquish them."

"But before we can do that, we must know who the others are. We need to find four others. Two who are and two who are not among us." Aredhel said.

"Easier said than done." Maglor remarked, looking up to see that he and Aredhel had fallen a long ways behind everyone else.

"I know. I mean, I guess we could put our heads together and conjure up some ideas of our own before then. Once we have everyone, we can conceptualize the best plan of action and fortify it."

"That is probably the best thing we can do for now."

They walked in in silence, straying further behind their family as they trailed down the path after them. Thesilencee was broken when Aredhel firefly sighed,

"I don't want to grow up."

Maglor chuckled dryly. "Neither do I. Neither do I. When did you arrive here?"

"I think...about two summers now? Aredhel answered, tapping her chin as she thought back to the day she was sent to the past. "I was supposedly travelling with Findekano and Turukano to visit Uncle Fin- I mean, Arafinwë. Never made it there. According to my brothers, I took a nasty blow to the head when I slipped off my steed and bashed my head against the ground."

Maglor winced in sympathy.

"They had to rush me back to Tirion to get my head sound treated. It was fine with me since I could conveniently have forgotten most of my memories. Memoriesi'm still getting back since Don has been restoring them so I don't have to worry about making a blunder in the near-future " Aredhel finished with a shrug. "How about you?"

"I arrived a little more than a month ago. I however, had been missing for an entire decade when Curvo, Moryo, and Tyelko found me. Then Nelyo came and..."

"And?" Aredhel pressed, interested in hearing more. Maglor could feel his cheeks warming as he recalled How he'd reacted when his brothers had found him. He'd acted like a terrified Elfling afraid of the dark.

"I ran."

"You ran?" Aredhel echoed with a hint of amusement. She raised an eyebrow at Maglor. "You mean, you ran away from them?"

"How else was I to react?" Maglor retorted.I'd been wandering for four thousand years, an abruptly given a chance to, as Don out it, 'make things right' and then, dropped somewhere in the past where I am almost immediately met by my three younger brothers who have been dead for who knows how long."

"You make a few good points." Aredhel conceded, still giggling somewhat. "I still can't get over the fact that you fainted "

Maglor didn't bother to keep himself from blushing a deep red color. "Wha-where-who told you that?!" He sputtered. "Was it Nelyo? No, Curvo, wasn't it? How much do I want to bet it was Tyelko?"

Aredhel laughed brightly at Maglor.

"It was all four of them, actually. Nelyo, Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo." She told him, and Maglor scowled. "And your Father."

"They will most certainly suffer my wrath."

"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good! But...can I help you in avenging yourself?" Aredhel asked, eyes twinkling. "I love pranks!"

"I wasn't thinking of pranking them, however...that does sound rather appealing."

"So, that's a yes, right?"

"Why not?"

"Marvelous!" Aredhel exclaimed, clasping her hands together excitedly. She was about to say another thing when an odd sound caught their attention.

Tilting their heads, both Maglor and Aredhel listened for the sound again.

"Was that...Is an animal hurt?" Aredhel asked Maglor when a small, strangled whimper reached them. Maglor frowned deeply, his brow furrowing as he tried to identify the source of the sound.

"No...It sounds..." His eyes widened. He would recognize that sound anywhere. "Like an Elfling!" He shot off at once, racing in the direction he knew the whimper had come from.

"What?!" Aredhel chased after him, her heart pounding in worry. What was an Elfling doing alone in the wild? How had the Elfling gotten there and why were they there?

Maglor's feet barely grazed the ground as he tracked down where the Elfling was, listening to the small, pained grunts and yelps with growing concern. Was the Elfling hurt? He slowed when he knew he was growing closer to the Elfling's location then stopped when a voice drifted his way.

"Have...to...move on!...Move!"

It was the voice of an Elfling, small and sweet and innocent. The tiny voice was filled with urgency, confusion, and frustration and Maglor caught the sounds of the Elfling struggling to move himself.

"Move...where? I dunno...Somewhere...Anywhere...Away from here..."

Maglor felt his heart forget to beat when the voice became stronger the closer the Elfling came to him. He knew that voice!

"Can't..." The Elfling grunted as he fell to the ground once again. "Can't move...Must rest...Head...spinning."

Maglor couldn't take it anymore. He emerged from the shadows where he'd hidden to see if it was who he knew it to be.

His eyes fell onto the tiny Elfling once he stepped out into the light, taking in the long, chocolaty brown hair that fell about his youthful face, the familiar maroon tunic, the deep grey eyes swimming with distortion, and the human-like features he had. The Elfling was lying on his stomach, one arm stretched above his head and the other clutching his tunic as if he were in pain.

The Elfling couldn't be older than six or seven summers old and was small in stature. He had a clasp holding together two braids that fell as one at the back of his head that Maglor recognized instantly and the minstrel knew that it had to be him.

"Elrond?"


~Duplicity~

And there you guys have it! Another chapter done and uploaded! I hope it was okay. I promise the next one should be up soon! Hopefully. School's almost out, thanks goodness. Just two more days and I'm free! Anyway, enjoy the rest of your week, my fellow readers!
Again, thank-you for the reviews and PMs! They've kept me motivated :D

One of Aredhel's brothers accidentally lets slip something he meant to keep secret, Maglor finds two of the 'others,' and the Feast Commences! Only, neither of them can bring themselves to celebrate after one, dreadful announcement.

~Juliette Morbu.