A/N: I forgot I hadn't posted this final chapter yet. Oops! My bad.

Their stay in Ost-in-Edhil lasted for nearly six weeks, but when the time came to depart the city to begin the second stage of their journey, Gloredhel and her companions rode out. The sun was shining cheerfully, and their packs were heavy with supplies for the road, courtesy of the generosity of Celebrimbor and his people. They followed the river Glanduin east until they reached the foothills of the Misty Mountains. There they turned north.

The Hithaeglir were even more impressive up close than they had been at a distance. Despite the heat of the summer sun, the glimmering mountain peaks were still white-capped with snow. The reflected sunbeams only made the white-tipped mountains, which stretched up and up and up until they almost touched the clouds, all the more dazzling to look at. In the foothills where Gloredhel, Tallagon, Celegeth, Barahon, and Esgalnor were riding, all was bright and warm and lush. Distant water sources burbled, the wind carrying its song towards the riders. Songbirds twittered in the trees, and woodpeckers were peck-peck-pecking for food. Wildflowers dotted passing green meadows, adding their fragrance to the air.

For the first two days of their journey north, Gloredhel saw and heard no birds bigger than woodpeckers. It was a maddening example of the old adage that sometimes the thing you seek for most will never be found. She could see hawks and eagles soaring high above, far beyond the reach of her Songs. She thought that she might be able to reach them—her strength in Song had increased since her rebirth compared to what it was in the First Age—but especially now, she had little interest in a strange land with a Shadow rising to totally reveal their position and presence by the show of Power that it would probably take to summon the raptors down from such a height. The songbirds and woodpeckers she did hear in the woods about them would not be able to reach such a height to convey a message, bird to bird. Signs of the Great Eagles—their presence high in the sky, their distant cries carried on the wind—were non-existent.

A little less than midway between Ost-in-Edhil and the hidden valley where Imladris would be founded in coming centuries, one particular ridge jutted out from the otherwise relatively north-south line of the Hithaeglir towards the river Mitheithel. Their group was not in such haste that there was a need to climb and cross this ridge, so instead they curved further west towards the river.

It was at the western-most point of the towering ridgeline near the bank of a small stream that they made their campus on the third evening after leaving Ost-in-Edhil. By now they had learned to work together as a group, and chores were quickly distributed after they picketed their horses for the evening as the sun began to set towards the distant horizon. Water skins were refilled from the stream. Dry wood was gathered to make a fire, and Tallagon set out to catch them some dinner to supplement the rations from Celebrimbor's folk. Hunting was not always plentiful, and Gloredhel preferred that they did not go through those rations too quickly.

After their dinner of lembas, rabbit, and dried fruit was finished and their small metal traveling plates were washed and dried and tucked away in their packs, Tallagon pulled his flute from his pack and began to quietly play some old campfire songs that were common enough to be familiar to the Fëanorians as well. Barahon spread out his bedroll and lay down a safe distance from the fire on his back, his hands tucked beneath his head, as he gazed up at the stars. Esgalnor sat beside him, his fingers deftly repairing his cloak where a corner had caught on a sharp branch earlier that day and torn a small rip. Celegeth retrieved a whetstone from her pack and began to hone the edge of one of her daggers, humming a complementing harmony to the tune Tallagon was playing as she worked.

Gloredhel sat quietly, a little further distant from the fire in the deep shadows underneath an ancient oak. Her mind drifted, caught up with dark thoughts about Gorthaur and Celebrimbor and the great risks the city was under—Annatar's long residence in the city and his trusted position among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain meant that he probably had a dangerous level of knowledge about the city and its defenses.

We must assume he does.

Contingency plans to that effect had been much of what she had discussed with Celebrimbor these past weeks.

After a while, she dragged her thoughts away back to the here and now, and she began to hum along with the melody Tallagon was playing. In the depths of the dancing flames flickered into being shapes that echoed the story behind the song he was playing. Esgalnor gently kicked his brother's ankle, and Barahon rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one arm, and stared into the flames, watching the dancing shapes with child-like entrancement.

Still holding his needle-and-thread in his left hand, Esgalnor signed with the other, *Thank you.*

Gloredhel smiled and nodded her head, not ceasing her humming now that she saw the special joy it brought Barahon at a time like this.

As the night grew deeper, Tallagon flowed from playing somewhat energetic campfire songs into something more like a lullaby, soft and soothing that recalled the burbling river, the gentle winds that set the loose locks of your hair flowing in the breeze, the singing of birds as the day died and everything settled towards its rest. The work of sleep that Tallagon began, Gloredhel ended, letting Power seep into the harmony she was humming until sleep cast its blanket over Celegeth, and Esgalnor, and Barahon all in turn. It was a light spell and one that she saw Tallagon cast off when his eyes began to blink a little as he played and his head began to bob.

Finally, when all was quiet, save for the soft sounds of nature around them and the quiet breaths of the three sleepers, Tallagon slowly let the last notes of his lullaby fade away and lowered his flute. *They might be mad in the morning.* His thought drifted across the edges of her mental shields. He glanced back and met her eyes.

Gloredhel shrugged slightly. *It was a light Spell, one that they could have shaken off easily if they wanted, and they need to sleep, all of them, especially Barahon. I think he's barely slept since we left Ost-in-Edhil and what sleep he has had has been half nightmares, I fear.*

And when Barahon was ill-at-ease, his sleep troubled, his brother fretted like the overprotective older sibling he was. Celegeth sometimes rolled her eyes at them both but then promptly negated all that by taking extra shares of guard-duty or sneakily doing some of their chores and hers. She also was a very light sleeper, which meant she was even more likely to rouse when Barahon woke with a shout or cry, fleeing whatever was haunting his dreams.

Had something happened in Ost-in-Edhil to spur on such dreams? Gloredhel did not know him well enough to ask and preferred to leave him in his brother's care unless Barahon's troubles grew worse.

*We can divide the watches into two tonight. Do you want first or second?* asked Tallagon, quietly tucking his flute away into its protective pouch in his pack.

*Second,* replied Gloredhel, for she knew he disliked the last watch of the night most, and she did not care particularly one way or the other.

*Good night then, and rest well.*

Gloredhel did not roll out her bedroll but shifted backwards, leaning her back against the trunk of the old oak tree and tucked her cloak around her front, her arms resting against her stomach. The tree seemed glad for their presence there, and its leaves rustled gently, shifting slightly so that she was even more deeply sheltered in the shadows, what little wind there was dispersed by its lower hanging branches. Echeleb lay on the ground beside her within easy reach, its shining scabbard hidden by the folds of her cloak.

Their time in Ost-in-Edhil and their search for the Great Eagles had brought the past to mind, and Gloredhel's mind walked through ancient memories in her dreams as she slept that night.

Maeglin, verbose for once, chattering at dinner one evening about his work in the forges that day, his dark eyes alight with delight, his hands flying as he leaned forward around Rog, whose eyes were fond and bemused both, to explain something to Gloredhel sitting on her husband's right side.

Silver-haired Gwilwileth,[1] dancing down the hall in front of Gloredhel, her feet moving to a music only she could hear, turning back and urging Gloredhel on with hands and joy-filled, laughing eyes to show her the new puppies one of Daedhrog's[2] hounds had just given birth to.

Rog in his seat at the head table in the dining hall, giving that small little half-smile as he saw her sitting by the hearth, surrounded by puppies and children, as she told some story or other.

Ecthelion sitting by one of his beloved fountains, his pipe piping out a merry tune as several children laughed and clapped and begged him for "just one more!"

Tears were pricking at Gloredhel's eyes when she awoke from those dreams when Tallagon set a hand on her shoulder and roused her for her watch. Some days she felt at peace with her losses, though she still missed Rog and Maeglin and Gwilwileth and Ecthelion and all the others with a deep longing, and then other days, like when she had these dreams, she almost wished she could rest forever in them, in a past that would not, could not return.

One day, we will see each other again.

One day.

Gloredhel rose and fastened her cloak, so it fell down her back in thick folds. After picking up Echeleb, she padded across to the fire, which Tallagon had evidently recently stirred up, and settled down beside it, her sword across her knees. Tallagon wrapped himself in his cloak and lay upon his bedroll and fell quickly asleep.

The night watch passed quietly and without trouble.

Around dawn, Gloredhel stirred up the fire again and added another log. Tallagon woke shortly afterwards and roused the others, who were both appreciative of and somewhat peeved by the extra sleep and the night off from standing watch. Breakfast was going to be mostly fish, so Gloredhel, Barahon, and Esgalnor went down to the stream, which was deeper and wider than she had expected for being called a "stream." Gloredhel had no skill whatsoever at catching fish, so she settled on a rock with Echeleb beside her and strung Cúthon across her knees to keep watch while they fished.

As they were cleaning the fish near the riverbank sometime later, Gloredhel spotted a juvenile hawk sitting in a high branch of a tree a stone's throw back from the opposite bank. It was hungrily eyeing the pile of offal, heads, and tails from the cleaned fish. The wind was blowing the scent towards the hawk.

How convenient. She offered a brief prayer of thanks to Manwe.

Then Gloredhel took that half-mental-step sideways she had always needed to think in bird, not Sindarin or Quenya or Vanyarin, and called out a greeting to the young hawk in the bird-tongue, offering him all the offal and other bits to eat if he would come down and talk with her.

It's not like we'd be doing anything but burying them, anyway.

The thought of eating fish with those eyes staring back at her made her feel vaguely sick.

Barahon and Esgalnor looked up momentarily as she started speaking bird but then went right back to their work. Being followers of Celegorm once upon a time, they would have been used to their lord suddenly start speaking non-human languages at random moments, whether it was to his birds, Huan, his other hounds, his horse, or any other animal of interest close at hand.

The hawk was easily convinced, and Esgalnor shifted its breakfast further away from the three of them so it could come down and eat without getting too close. It ate hungrily and quickly, making Gloredhel wonder when its last catch had been. She let it eat in peace and, once it was done, would ask her questions.

"Star-child-bright-eyes-golden-feathered, have you come from the great nest in the south?" The hawk asked once he had finished eating. A slight hint of blood stained the edge of his beak. Even his voice and manner of speech sounded young.

Star-child was how raptors and ravens generally referred to the elves as a group.

Golden-feathered probably referred to her golden hair, for raptors had no conception of "hair," having none themselves.

But bright-eyes? That was different. Could it distinguish between those who bore the Tree-light and those who did not?

The great nest in the south is probably Ost-in-Edhil.

Gloredhel blinked. "Yes, though my own nest is far to the west towards the setting sun by the great water."

The hawk cocked its head. "I have never flown that far, but my older nest-mate," possibly a sibling, "has. Maybe when I am bigger and older and stronger and faster, I will go to see the great nest there."

"Where is your nest?" She asked. "Do you fly much by the snow-peaks-that-reach-the-clouds?"

"To the north. Yes, yes, are you looking to cross the snow-peaks-that-reach-the-clouds? I can show you the way."

Gloredhel shook her head on instinct, not that the gesture meant anything to a hawk. "No. Not for now. I am looking for the eyries of the Great Eagles."

The hawk drew back in surprise and fear. "The Eagles! I have seen their nests. They are great and mighty and big and fast. I cannot hope to match them. They are scary. Why do you want to find them?"

"Their leader, Gwaihir, is the son of my friend, who was King of the Eagles many, many, many summers ago when the world was young. We were parted long ago, and I hoped to find him again."

Friendship and kinship, the hawk understood. "Oh, you were lost, and you couldn't find him." Not quite, but close enough for trying to explain it. "I can help you. I can help you. Do you want me to find him for you? Their nests are so big, they are easy to find when I fly high-high-high."

"Would you, my little friend?"

The hawk was almost vibrating with the force of his eagerness. "I will. I will. I like helping star-children, and you gave me such nice fish. I like fish. You want to find the Eagle Lord?" Gloredhel replied to the affirmative. "Then I will find the great Eagle Lord and bring him here." The hawk leapt into the air and, with beat after beat of his powerful wings, gained altitude, and he winged away towards the heights of the Hithaeglir.

"Quite an energetic little thing," noted Esgalnor at that point, an amused smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

Gloredhel grinned and laughed. "Quite, but he says he knows how to find Gwaihir, so our search is hopefully at an end. We'll stay at this camp-site for now, and then if we're lucky, we may be able to turn for home tomorrow."

Even on the swift wings of a raptor, the journey to the mountains and whatever peak on whose side was Gwaihir's eyrie would take time, and it was not until well after everything had been cleaned up from breakfast that Gloredhel saw a massive avian form take flight from a far distant peak. Regular hawks and eagles were fast, but the Great Eagles with their wings that could almost blot out the sun for sheer size were faster still. When Gwaihir grew closer, Gloredhel went back down to the stream and walked upstream until she found a big enough clearing for him to land in.

Gwaihir was the greatest of Thorondor's sons, but his wingspan was still shorter by at least the height of several men compared to his father's breadth. From his claws to the top of his head was still the height of many elves. Like his father, his piercing golden eyes were the size of the serving platters at the high table at almost any court and full of cunning and alien wisdom. The razor-sharp claws that tipped each foot could fully encircle a grown man and carry him safely away without injury or rip through flesh like a knife through softened butter, rending limb from limb with ease.

Gwaihir landed with a spray of dirt and a rush of wind that had Gloredhel shielding her eyes from the mess. His wings folded back against his sides, and he settled down so his height above Gloredhel was a little less. A very, very little less. "Many moons ago now, the West Wind sang to me," said the King of the Eagles, speaking in Sindarin, somewhat distorted in inflection by his beak, "and told me that you had returned to these shores, O friend of my father." He paused and studied her for a moment. The weight of his piercing eyes almost made Gloredhel want to shift uneasily like a scolded elfling. "Your final deeds were mighty against the Black Foe. I'm sure my father was pleased to see you in better condition than when we carried you to your rest."

"And you and your father did me a great honor by laying my hroa to rest," Gloredhel said, bowing low before taking a seat on the ground in front of him. "And for that, I thank you, as I did him."

"Of course," Gwaihir replied. "Why have you sought me out? Is there any aid that I can provide? Are you looking to cross the mountains to your kin in the east?"

To Artanis?

No! Goodness, no.

Gloredhel shook her head. "No. My twin and I returned to these shores last year, and we have dwelt in Forlond on the shore with the High King until spring. I have just come from Ost-in-Edhil, where I took counsel with my cousin Celebrimbor about the threat of Gorthaur." The eagle bristled at the name but did not speak. "And then I came north to seek you out. There is much I have left to learn about this new land, but I wanted to know where you and your people made your eyries now. I also wanted to take counsel with you."

"My folk and my vassals have eyries on many peaks, not just along the Hithaeglir," replied Gwaihir. He did not know the Sindarin names for every mountain and every peak thereupon but was able to describe the places with enough detail for Gloredhel to have a good hope of locating them upon an actual map. The Great Eagles had eyries all along the Hithaeglir—she just somehow had not seen them closer to Ost-in-Edhil—with a handful each in the Ered Nimrais to the south and the northern mountains, and a couple on the southernmost peaks of the Ered Luin.

Much closer to me.

Convenient.

"My thanks," said Gloredhel when he had finished his explanation. "I am glad to know where your folk make their eyries so that I may seek you out if I am in need." Here she paused. "One question I must ask, and I beg forgiveness if it causes offense. There was an oath of eternal friendship between your father and I. Because of his love for me, he searched for me and bore my body away for burial, and often did me many kindnesses while I still lived. No such oath binds us, son of Thorondor, but for your father's sake, will you aid me if I call?"

Gwaihir's feathers ruffled and settled. "Yes, if it is within my power to do so. I do not often come to the sea, but I will tell my vassals who dwell nearest to Forlond to come north at times, and they will help you in my name. And when you come east, send word or come to the land beneath my eyrie. I will watch for you."

"My thanks." Gloredhel dipped her head in some semblance of a seated bow. "And as I told your father, for the honor you gave me in burying me among your dead and for the aid you and your kin gave to my people when Gondolin fell, if there is ever aught that I can do for you or your people, you have but to name it, and I will do so if it is within my power." Again, she bound herself by no Oath, but her word was good.

The time for the midday meal came and long went while Gloredhel and Gwaihir spoke, and the afternoon then wore on as they spoke of many things. Finally, it came time to say farewell. Gloredhel rose and bowed low, and Gwaihir dipped his head.

"Farewell! Wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end,"[3] said the King of the Eagles, the common words of goodbye among his people.

"Farewell. May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks,"[4] replied Gloredhel with the traditional answering words of goodbye among the Great Eagles. She added, "May your eyes never dim and your talons never dull."

The next morning, Gloredhel and her companions packed up camp and turned their faces west towards home. It would be late in Iavas (autumn) by the time they reached Forlond, but they would still reach the capital before winter came, as Gloredhel had hoped. As they rode west away from the mountains and toward the river Mitheithel where they would have to search for a ford, the small form of a juvenile hawk shadowed them from high above.

I think I made a new friend. We'll see how far he comes.

If he comes all the way to Forlond, I might have myself a new and loyal messenger.

[1] For context: A member of the House of the Hammer of Wrath and the attendant of Gloredhel after her marriage to Rog. Her parentage and history are largely unknown, though her silver-hair hints at non-Noldorin blood, and she is believed to have been born in one of Melkor's lesser holdings. Her name is a kilmessë and means "Butterfly" because of her love of music and dance.

[2] For context: A member of the House of the Hammer of Wrath and one of Rog's chiefest lieutenants who also survived captivity in Angband. His name is a kilmessë and means "Shadow Wolf." He bred hounds that could hunt both orcs and large game.

[3] Quote from The Hobbit.

[4] Quote from The Hobbit.