Chapter 3
When they left the boat in Harlond, Galadriel was already waiting for them.
"I have put together provisions for you. I assume you would rather ride immediately than have a second breakfast?" she inquired politely.
Elrond could not tell, but he thought she was nervous; Galadriel should have known that he and Erestor would pack provisions, and they had no need for extras. Yet he did not mention it. He and Erestor exchanged looks.
"We'll move on," the half-elf decided, "thank you for the offer, and the provisions."
The horses were already saddled, Galadriel's provisions stored safely behind the saddles. They added their own luggage.
Thranduil had had a point, of course. By the time Elrond and Erestor arrived in Minhiriath, Makalaurë was very likely to have already continued his wanderings, wherever those led him. And Elrond might never find him. But something made him want to do this, made him want to distance himself from Lindon on the off chance of achieving something with this journey.
They rode along the coast, west of the southernmost chain of the Blue Mountains. The area was wooded, at times, so thickly he and Erestor had to pick their way over uneven paths through the trees, at other times only sparsely. Game lived there in abundance, and when they wanted a change, they moved closer to the sea and picked a spot for fishing. But hunting and fishing took time, so Elrond was glad for the dried meat and waybread Galadriel had packed for them in addition to their own. The dried meat lasted them for a week before they ran out.
They spent the nights under the clear, open skies on soft moss and grass. It reminded Elrond of his childhood. Erestor proved to be the best companion Elrond could have wished for. He offered his unwavering, silent support through actions and his presence and made no attempt to change Elrond's mind about the journey.
The population in these lands was sparse. The dwarves lived further north in the Blue Mountains, where their mines were located. The woodelves preferred to dwell further inland, which thus left humans as the only possible inhabitants. Elrond did not care to stop in any of their villages, and they did not come across any either until they found their way to the Baranduin.
The river was wide, and the only bridge crossing it could be found on the Great East Road. An alternative was the Sarn Ford, but that too was too far northwards. It would have taken them days to ride there. However, Elrond knew of a human settlement on the banks of the Baranduin, and he was confident that they would have at least have a ferry which the elves could use to cross the river.
He did not know how much contact the humans usually had with elves – he wagered very little – but Elrond hoped that this would not cause any delays or inconveniences. Unknown to him, Erestor thought the same. He mistrusted humans more than Elrond did, being older than the half-elf and bearing a grudge against them since the Nírnaeth. He managed to ignore the fact that some of Elrond's ancestors had been humans.
Night came, and the sun made way for the moon. They were just about to make camp when they saw lights and decided to make for them rather than bed down in the wild. They came from the settlement they were making for.
It had become a small town since Elrond had last heard of it. It had no fortification, although piles of straight, wooden posts indicated that there were plans to build stockades in the near future. Due to the darkness they could not see that these plans were already being carried out on the other side of the settlement.
Moreover, the town offered something besides family homes, small shops and a market; something which the elves welcomed – an inn.
"Look at that," Erestor said. "The town has grown, hasn't it?" He pointed towards the sea where they could see a long pier; evidently, trading ships had discovered the settlement.
The Baranduin was too shallow for anything larger than a rowing boat, but transporting goods on rafts was quite common.
The inn was nevertheless small. Elrond and Erestor left their horses outside, confident that they would not move unless commanded to do so. They had to duck slightly to walk through the door, the thick smell of pipe weed greeting them. The guests were all humans, and most of them looked like residents. Many sat along a table for ten people, roughly hewn from wood as the rest of the furniture. Three other tables were occupied, one by two older women gossiping across the table as they sewed, and the third by some sailors.
The residents at the long table looked up, halting in their conversations to give the newcomers a curious look. Evidently, travellers did not often grace their town this late. They quickly returned to speaking with each other, although some not so well-hidden looks were still cast on them.
Elrond and Erestor had not lowered the hoods of their travelling cloaks. They stepped up to the bar, where the innkeeper was already awaiting them.
"What can I do for you, travellers?"
"We wish to rent a room for the night," Elrond said.
The man scrutinized them, trying to catch a glimpse of their faces beneath their hoods. "One bed or two?"
"Two."
"You'll have to pay upfront."
Elrond dropped some coins onto the bar without revealing where on his person they had come from. Middle-earth had no common currency; various realms and cities minted their own coin as they wished. Some currency, however, was valued even outside a realm's boarders, at times even higher than local money; both the coins of the Kingdoms of Lindon and of Númenor were welcome all across Middle-earth.
"Will that be enough?" the half-elf asked.
The innkeeper wasted no time in snatching them up and holding them up against the flickering candle light. Erestor noted with approval that they were Númenórean coins. A pleased smile crossed the man's face.
"Enough to get you a meal and a bath as well, lords."
"Our horses are outside. Have your stable boy care for them well. I assume that their care is included in the price," Elrond replied coolly, his tone allowing no objection.
"Naturally. Do you wish to take your meal here in the common room or upstairs?"
"Upstairs, thank you."
"I'm at your service, my lords." He passed them a key. "Third door on the left."
The room they were given was just above the entrance of the inn, and looking out the window, Elrond noted that a young man was fetching their horses and leading them around the corner, presumably to the stable.
Erestor sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up to test the mattress only to find out that he was a tad too tall. His feet would be hanging off the end of the bed that night. The elf sighed.
"Fantastic."
Elrond smirked a bit. He wouldn't be doing much better, but it was only for the one night.
When the servants knocked on the door, Erestor quickly straightened his hood to obscure his face and ears. The humans evidently found it strange that the guests had not taken off their cloaks yet, but they were wise enough not to ask. They brought a light dinner and assured them that their bath would arrive later.
It was a pleasant change from cold springs and ponds. They took turns bathing before going to bed, exhausted. They did not speak about tomorrow, when they would cross the Baranduin into Minhiriath.
They left the town as they had arrived – anonymously. The ferryman did not ask questions, and soon they were out of sight over the hill. On the other side, a forest lay ahead of them.
"Now what? Straight ahead or along the coast?" Erestor inquired.
Elrond hesitated. They assumed that Maglor resided by the sea. They could skip the headland to their right, which would save them a day, but if the elf they sought was on it, they would miss him.
"We ride along the coast," the half-elf decided. "We have the time, and I do not wish to miss anything."
Perhaps, if they did not find the elf himself, they would at least find a sign of him having been there.
To be fair, Erestor had always paid less attention to Maglor than to Maedhros during the time they had spent together. Although the bard had shed his fair share of blood, too, Maedhros had been the dominating one, the one to make the decisions and to reach for his sword first. Naturally, he had kept a watchful eye on the twins' education, making sure that Maglor taught them nothing Erestor thought might harm them.
But, to his chagrin, that had never been the case. Maedhros had seemed the more dangerous one, and thus Erestor had always been more preoccupied with the redhead than his younger brother.
The last time he had seen Maglor had been from a distance as the bard had sung the Noldolantë, skilfully weaving their shameful history into a heart-wrenching lament. Erestor had not often thought of him after that, too busy with his own life and Elrond's – until the half-elf had decided to go on this journey to find the bard.
It did not matter whether Erestor hoped they would find him; he considered it his task to care for Elrond, and all that mattered was the half-elf's mental and physical wellbeing. If travelling through Middle-earth helped, he would do it.
They found nothing and no one on the headland. Elrond was not too disappointed, as he had known that he could not expect to find his foster-father so soon. They knew that Maglor was most often seen near the sea, and the half-elf assumed that the Silmaril he had cast into it still drew him. He knew of the power of that jewel; despite the fact that he had been so young, he had a clearer memory of the Silmaril than its wearer, his own mother Elwing.
Thus there were only two paths Maglor could have taken: north or south along the coast; as the bard had never been seen near elven settlements and they came down from the north, they assumed that Maglor was travelling south.
They made camp next to a spring, and while Erestor slept through the night, Elrond's sleep was not as restful. He kept waking up at odd moments, imagining the sound of a harp being played nearby.
In the morning, they broke their fast with waybread and then continued on their way. Around noon, they approached a small, human settlement of fishermen and their families.
The village was too small and not frequented enough to have an inn. Some honeyed words from Elrond got them an invitation to one of the villager's home and lunch table, and the meal they received was filling and good. Yet information, the one thing they sought most, they did not have. They left right after lunch.
That night they spent near the beach, only somewhat protected from the breeze coming from the sea by a row of bushes. Erestor remembered some of the other reasons why he had hated travelling with the Fëanorions.
They passed through another village, and the children there happily told Elrond that no, they had not heard anyone singing or playing the harp, but if he liked, they could sing really well, too. Erestor assumed that for 7-year-old humans they were not too horrifying.
And then they got lucky. Quite unexpectedly they came across a deserted hut made of clay and willow. The style was not particularly unique; anyone could have made it; and yet something drew Elrond to it, a sense of familiarity which would not let him ride past.
"Makalaurë was here," the half-elf stated with certainty.
Erestor had been stretching his legs; he had become too settled in Lindon, and now his muscles protested against days spent in the saddle. Nevertheless, he had not failed to keep an eye on Elrond and their surroundings.
He did not doubt the half-elf's words; even if there had not been any hard evidence, Elrond would have known intuitively whether Maglor had built this shelter or not.
"How old do you think it is?" Erestor asked.
The elf studied it with sharp eyes. "No more than two months. I believe he left about three weeks ago."
Erestor nodded. "We don't know how far he'll have gone in that time. But he has no horse, and most likely no set destination."
"We'll find him," Elrond concluded, dead certain.
Erestor was not quite as sure, but he did not voice his doubts. Perhaps it was merely his own desire that they not find the elder elf which was clouding his judgment.
They spent the night in the hut. Erestor fell asleep quickly, and his mind wandered to a scene decades ago.
560, First Age
"They are my students," Erestor hissed angrily at Maglor.
The bard remained calm.
"They are not horses who have an owner," he replied. "They are children, and if they choose to be with me or my brother, I will not chase them away."
Erestor wanted to scream at Maglor. The twins were too easily impressed, and as they got older and their memory of the attack on Sirion faded, they lost their fear towards the sons of Fëanor.
An expression of pity crossed the bard's face, making Erestor want to punch him all the more.
"Erestor, our time with them is extremely limited. Who knows what will be in only a couple of years. Do not take that time away from us."
A hint of warning crept into his voice; Maglor was perhaps not even aware of it. Erestor, however, noted it. He had been watching and studying the brothers closely since he met them. They had shed much blood already, what would keep them from adding his own to the already soiled ground they walked on? Nothing.
"We will make certain they do not skip their lessons with you," Maglor added, and it sounded like a concession, although it really wasn't one. Neither Elrond nor Elros had ever skipped their lessons.
Behind Erestor, the curtain covering the hut's entrance rustled, and he swung around to find Maedhros had entered. He gave Erestor a cool, passing glance.
"We're leaving," he said, more to Maglor than to the other elf.
The bard only nodded resignedly. Erestor strode out of the dwelling. His mouth was set in a grim smile. King Gil-galad's soldiers were closing in again. He wondered if they would ever actually catch up. He was torn between wishing for exactly that, and hoping it did not happen: the only losers of such a battle he could see were himself, the twins, and the high king.