Chapter 2

Although both Elrond and Erestor were bored by their part in the preparations for equinox, or perhaps because of that, they were glad when the big day finally arrived and everyone enjoyed themselves; Elrond thought he could even spot a new couple or two.

Not only the people of Forlond had come to celebrate but also guests such as Círdan from Mithlond and Celeborn, Oropher, and Thranduil from Harlond had arrived. Gil-galad gave a short speech he and Elrond had worked on the night before after which everyone happily ate as much food as they could possibly take.

Musicians took the stage and invited elves to dance to lively music. Elrond did not participate as he was not much of a dancer, his foster-father Maglor's lessons having been completely in vain. It was an art he had never mastered nor cared much for. It seemed to him that most elves tended more to making fools of themselves as they attempted it.

He did not notice it at first when Círdan came up to him until he offered the half-elf one of the two goblets of wine in his hands.

"This year will be a good one for us," he commented. "I can feel it."

"If today is any indication, it certainly looks like it," Elrond replied, indicating the clear skies.

"You've done well helping with the organizing."

Elrond, unable to restrain himself, gave him a look. "I'm not exactly a novice at this. In fact, I do much greater work for Ereinion, as I'm sure you know."

"You're right, of course. You're not a youngling anymore, far from it in fact. Excuse an old elf's pitiful attempt at small talk." He took a sip of his wine.

"What is it you really want to speak to me about then?"

"I've had news from the coast."

"About what?" Elrond didn't think much of it, although it was strange that the shipwright would consult him above all others.

"It's about Maglor Fëanorion." He pronounced the name carefully, clearly, but in such a low voice that no elf passing them by chance could have heard had there been anyone close enough.

Elrond's breath caught in his lungs. "Makalaurë?" he asked tentatively. "But there have been rumours before," he noted.

"I know. But these have persisted for longer now than any before. I thought you might want to know."

Elrond suddenly realized that Círdan must have known of those rumours for some time now.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to have them verified," the shipwright merely replied.

"And did you?"

He nodded. "Apparently, his voice has been heard several times now on the shores of Minhiriath."

Elrond's hand tightened around his goblet. His first instinct was to pack a bag, saddle a horse and ride to Minhiriath. The older elf could probably read it off his face.

"You're the first one I've told this. If you're planning to leave, I'd speak to Ereinion first if I were you. You must consider all outcomes, although I cannot say that I have great hopes."

Elrond fixed him with a hard stare. "Would you even wish me success? He is a kin slayer of your people."

The elf nodded. "That he is. Yet I am old enough to come to the conclusion that four hundred years spent alone in the wild is a long penance even for an elf. You will find few people who share this opinion, however."

Just at that moment, Oropher danced past with his wife, and Círdan gave them a nod in greeting. Elrond could take a hint, too. He nodded.

"I'll make my preparations and think it over."

The shipwright took note, of course, that Elrond had not said that he would think about the issue and then prepare for the journey. But he didn't mention it.

"I hope you find whatever you are looking for."

He did not mean that Elrond was necessarily looking for his foster father. Perhaps, the half-elf was simply looking for closure, and in Minhiriath he might find it.

"There have been rumours before," Erestor remarked, unknowingly echoing Elrond's earlier words.

"None which Círdan explicitly told me about," Elrond responded, absently watching the dancing couples.

"Even if you go – which I strongly advise against – he will most likely have already moved on by the time you arrive."

With a great sigh, Elrond turned to him: "I have to try. It's... it's been over a four hundred years! Erestor..." It was rare to see the half-elf at a loss for words, and the near desperation in his eyes was new, too. "I can't continue hearing these things. He needs to rest! I need to rest!"

"Have you considered that perhaps it is not in your ability to give him that rest?"

"I need to try," Elrond said again.

Erestor reflected on it. He finished his wine and passed the cup off to a passing servant.

"You'll be setting over the gulf to Harlond?"

Elrond nodded. "It will be quicker. Then travel along the coast of Harlindon and cross over the Baranduin into Minhiriath."

"And have you thought about what you want to do if you actually find him?"

"Not specifically. I'll have to talk to Gil-galad first, of course. Círdan has already warned me though."

The other elf grunted. "Probably better that way. But if he will even follow you?"

Elrond merely shrugged.

"When do you plan to leave?" Erestor changed the topic.

"As soon as possible."

"Alone?"

"Preferably. It's a personal matter."

"I could come with you. It's not as if anyone here would miss me. Maglor knows me, and two elves journeying together is better than one."

The half-elf had to agree silently. He knew that without himself there was little in Forlond for Erestor, and the elf would be good company.

"All right," he said.

"You can speak to Gil-galad tomorrow."

"I'm not waiting that long." Elrond shook his head impatiently, and made his way straight to the king. Erestor rolled his eyes behind the younger elf's back.

Ereinion was in conversation with Galadriel, who had accompanied her husband, Celeborn, to the feast. She looked radiant as always, dressed in a white dress and wearing a golden circlet on her head.

"Elrond," she said when he approached. "We haven't had a chance to speak to each other yet tonight."

Elrond gave her a brief smile. "Indeed, we haven't. Perhaps we can talk later. Right now, I would like to speak to Ereinion, if you don't mind."

"Of course not." The lady took her leave.

Gil-galad raised his eyebrow at Elrond. "Did something happen?"

"In a way. Círdan gave me a message." Glancing around himself, he lowered his voice. "Makalaurë has been seen in Minhiriath. I want to travel there as soon as possible. Preferably in two days at the latest."

His cousin frowned. "That's sudden. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"And if you do find him?"

"That's why I'm coming to you."

Ereinion sighed heavily. Taking Elrond by the arm, he led him away from the throng of people.

"I have thousands of elves living in my realm, many of whom are Sindar or Teleri. Only about a hundred of them were born after the War of Wrath, everyone else either knows enough of the Fëanorians, or knows someone who had personal experience with them, or experienced them themselves. If you do find him, I do not advise you to invite him here to Harlond, or any other city in Lindon for that matter. If he stays anywhere in my realm, sooner or later people will know that he is here unless he never leaves his home, never raises his voice; and even then people might find out, and they will not find his isolation an adequate punishment for the elves he has murdered. I'm sorry, I don't know what solution you want from me because I cannot think of one to offer."

Elrond stared at the ground. In a way, he had expected an answer like that. But he had hoped, still did, that there would be some other solution.

"Among men, perhaps," Elrond said quietly to himself.

Gil-galad's first reaction was indignation. Elves and men rarely shared a village, they were too different. But on second thought...

"He and Russandol often traded with humans," Elrond threw in. "They will already have forgotten the stories, and they were never as involved as elves. Even if the stories are still around, they'll be merely myths now, and no one believes those. Thank you, cousin, you've given me a brilliant idea!"

"Not so fast, Elrond! First, you have to find him."

For a moment, Elrond had almost forgotten about that. But he shook his doubt off. If a man did not believe in his goals, he would never achieve them.

"I and Erestor can leave in two days then?"

"Just the two of you, all the way to Minhiriath? What if you are attacked?"

"I don't want too many people involved. Besides, the roads should be safe, evil has been beaten."

"For a while, at least," the King agreed. And with a sigh, he added: "Yes, you're free to go."

That same night, Elrond had another task to complete. While many people had come to the Equinox festival, one person of note was not there, and it was him Elrond had to speak to. For besides Maglor, one other descendant of Fëanor was still alive: Celebrimbor, son of Curufin. The elf had inherited not only Fëanor's skill in smith craft but also his passion. And although he had been living in Forlond for decades now, there were still elves who disliked getting involved with him because of his past and his family.

And Celebrimbor was too involved in his work anyway to care for most elves in Forlond. He dedicated himself purely to his work and rarely went to festivals or feasts.

His smithy was at the outskirts of the city, but even in the deepest of nights Elrond could have found his way to it. As he had expected, the hearth fire was still burning inside, and as he came closer, he heard the beating of a hammer against metal. Elrond knew that several of Celebrimbor's neighbours had complained about the noise during night-time before, but to no avail.

He didn't bother to knock. Celebrimbor wouldn't hear him anyway, and if he minded people coming inside, he was more than capable of throwing them out. He had a stature typical for a smith, with broad shoulders and strong, muscled arms. He was tall, almost as tall as Maedhros, and it was said that he had beat his own father in height.

As Elrond opened the door, a wave of hot air blew into his face. The half-elf opened his cloak immediately and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He would have liked to leave it open for at least some fresh, cool air to come inside, but, unlike Celebrimbor, he did care about the neighbours.

Celebrimbor was standing over the quenching basin, an unhappy expression on his face as he held a blade with a pair of tongs he had just retrieved from the water.

"Elrond!" he greeted loudly when he saw his visitor. It was hard to tell whether he was pleased to see the other elf or not – he was never one to show much emotion. Carelessly, he threw the blade onto a pile of similar ones. It may not have been enough for his standards, but there were other elves with lower expectations who'd pay more than Celebrimbor ever would for such a blade; even if it was only to say that they owned a blade made by the grandson of Fëanor.

"It's good to see you, cousin," Elrond replied. They clasped hands.

They met from time to time, but they were not particularly close. Celebrimbor did his best to distance himself from the smudge his family carried and had no desire to dredge up memories. They had no interests in common either, so their encounters were short, of little import, and few.

Until today.

"I've come about an issue quite important to me. I apologize for visiting so late, but I plan to leave Forlond as soon as possible."

Celebrimbor frowned. "What is it? And what does it have to do with me?"

"Makalaurë."

The smith raised his head in surprise but did not comment. Not yet. He wanted to know what the half-elf had to say first.

"According to Círdan, he is in Minhiriath. I'm going to look for him."

"I see," Celebrimbor said. When he adding nothing else, Elrond continued:

"I wanted to ask you whether you wish to come with us."

The other elf shook his head. "No. I admire your loyalty to your foster father, the same one who kidnapped you and your brother against your will and made your mother jump off a cliff. But I do not feel the same loyalty to my uncle. You are playing with fire. You may have been spared the worst of Fëanorian notoriety; but even you should know that they are like dry tinder, just waiting for a flame to light them and be another firestorm of rage chasing over Middle-earth."

Elrond was taken aback. Celebrimbor usually spoke his mind, that was true, but he was shocked and hurt by the sharp rebuff.

"You are exaggerating. Makalaurë is just one elf, and the oath can no longer be fulfilled. I have spoken to the King, and while we agree that Lindon is not the place for him, it does not mean that he needs to remain lost forever."

"I'm afraid it means exactly that. I'm sorry Elrond, but don't expect me to support your plans."

It was like a kick to his gut. Celebrimbor must have seen it on his face, for he added:

"I'm sorry, cousin, I really am. But do not believe that I am only thinking of myself. You would do well to abandon your plans."

The half-elf shook his head. "I won't."

Celebrimbor's shoulders slumped. There was nothing else to say.

The next morning saw Elrond and Erestor rising early, their bags and provisions having been packed the night before. Since nothing stood in their way, they had decided to leave earlier than originally planned. They booked passage on one of the boats which regularly crossed the Gulf of Lhûn to Harlond. The sun was rising in the east, and it was too early for most elves to be up, especially for elves who had celebrated equinox the night before. Thus Elrond and Erestor were quite surprised to see a familiar face on the boat: Thranduil Oropherion.

"I deduce from your presence that the bed you spent the night in was not your own," Erestor remarked pointedly.

Thranduil only smiled at him.

"You deduced correctly. I'm surprised to see you up this early. It's too early for a meeting with Celeborn, so where does your journey lead?"

"We are travelling south," Elrond spoke up before Erestor could snap at the Sindar that it was none of his business.

Thranduil glanced around the deck. "You do not have any horses."

"Galadriel has promised to lend us some."

It was true. When Elrond had spoken to her the night before, after coming to an agreement with Gil-galad, the keen-eyed lady had noticed Elrond's distraction. Seeing as she was related to Maglor, Elrond had told her about his plans, and she had offered him and Erestor horses for the journey, thus saving them the trouble of either taking a larger ship or round the entire bay on horseback.

"I see. An early meeting with Galadriel then."

"You could say that."

Thranduil looked out onto the water. "I heard there were... certain rumours, concerning Minhiriath."

"Did you, now?" Elrond asked, his voice as falsely casual as the Sindar's had been.

Thranduil abandoned the view of the bay to give him a serious look. "Personally I doubt their accuracy. And even if they are true, by the time you arrive in Minhiriath, the situation may be different. But just in case: be careful what you bring back with you from your trip."

Without waiting for a reply, the elf turned his back and walked away to another part of the boat.