Chapter Six
…
"Into battle, we fly up high!
With many foes ahead! We are going to die!"
"SQUAWK!"
"Hey!" Maedhros protests as he his nearly bucked off by the irate movement of the Giant Eagle below him. "That's so mean old friend,"
He chuckles at the rather baleful glare that Hedwig is giving him with her piercing yellow eyes. She speaks no words yet like Old Thorondor or Gwaihir the Windlord but he has been with her enough on both worlds that he can literally read her actions.
As of now she is literally saying: "Don't be a moronic idiot!". Talk about lesson of negativity from his beloved familiar and owl in the past ages.
Speaking of which, Maedhros observes the world below him under the Eagle's eye. Currently they are flying through the areas of Ered Luin, unpassable and unexplored on every known map of the world (With the exception of the wandering kindreds of Gondolin). He has to admit that the scenery surrounding him is beautiful. Green fills the land South as far as the eye can see. At his high observation seat atop Hedwig, he can see the winding small rivers and streams that is like little squiggly lines. Mountains rise in the distance with peaks of ice with the slowly coming of Fall. North and West he can espy the bright forever of the Sea, like a never ending crystal of blue that stretches into infinity. It might be for a few moments, but his eyes espy far away hidden in the fog, a white shore gleaming like diamonds.
The part that is Maedhros in him gulps knowing very well that what he sees is Tol Erresea, the Isle of the Blest, and beyond that, Valinor; the home of the ever living that was and will be his home.
Another squawk from Hedwig brings Maedhros out of his premonitions staring once more at the yellow eye staring at him with no little amount of concern.
"Yes my friend, I am thinking about home," sighs Maedhros patting the soft feathers of the Great Eagle.
"SQUAWK!"
"Yes, I am thinking about Valinor and the West, at least that's what the Maedhros part of me is thinking,"
"SQUAWK?!"
"And the Harry Potter part of me?" he blinks in question.
"SQUAWK!" Hedwig nods his giant head.
"Well, the Harry Potter part of me is thinking that there are powers at play here beyond our control. Things that even I, admit do not fully yet understand," he answers.
"SQUAWK!"
"I know, I know, we must tread cautiously, but you know what I think old friend?"
"SQUAWK?" the eye staring at him is questioning now with a tinge of a little bit of worry at the mischievous expression that now adorns the growing elf's face.
"I have an idea and it would not be correct, if I do not do it Marauder Style old friend," he manly giggles earning him a rolling eye expression from the Great Eagle.
"I suggest for now that we continue heading South till we see that big house that many of the wandring kindreds had been telling me about a few years back at home,"
"SQUAWK?"
"Yes, Yes, I meant what I said, when I said a big house," repeats Maedhros only to scream girlishly (within good reason) as the Eagle makes a cartwheel mid-air. The Harry in him might have no problems when it comes to heights (Thank you Quidditch genes), but the Maedhros part of him only has one experience in his previous life about riding giant flying things and not at the best of circumstances(Being carried around by an Eagle claw is very uncomfortable and terrifying).
"Ass," Maedhros simply glares at the White Eagle who is making choking sounds that Maedhros in a few minutes would recognize as laughter.
The next few minutes the two spend in companionable silence, each left to his own thoughts. Maedhros takes the moment to look down at the world below him. With his elvish eyes he can espy things that normally he could never see with his older eyes before. Even with the distance, he can observe clearly the small pockets of life over the sea of green and grey below him. Villages stand out like dots of moving objects that catches the attention of the eye. He can see the farmer preparing his sack of potatoes below, the mothers washing the laundry on a nearby stream while some men are spear fishing beside, the children playing on the small streams, gullies and rivers while their caretakers shout warnings of concern. There are also the ten man patrols bearing the sigil of the kingdom of Arnor, he smirks as he notices that the majority of the walking soldiers look bored out of their mind with the occasional yawn or complaint to their captain who would then bonk them on their helmets with the butt end of his spear bringing them back in line. Apparently patrol and guard duty in this world are as plain and boring as his previous one. Both Harry and Maedhros on both lives experienced guard duty and there's nothing as mind numbing as sitting still with nothing to do for hours on end.
"The victory of the Last Alliance does bear fruit," Maedhros thinks to himself as he watches the increasing presence of human presence down below as the Great Eagle enters the airspace of the region called Eriador.
Instead of the small hamlets that he sees first, now he can see the ever increasing touches of human civilization. From his vantage point, he can easily espy the plumes of smoke wafting from a large village or town down below. Small roads of dirt and mud connect these residences and the occasional traveler or sorts can be seen minding their own business. In the end it is a country full of life and plenty teeming with peace and rest.
"The victory of the Last Alliance is dearly bought but its cost enables a time of peace with the defeat of the Darkness," Maedhros thinks to himself as he observes young children playing with one another from a nearby village.
He might not have been there to participate in the Great Battle of Dagorlad which the might of the Elves and Men threw down Sauron from his Dark Throne but he had heard about it. In fact every elf in this part of Middle-Earth (and even further) knew about the battle and the fall of the dark lord from his dark throne at great cost. Gil Galad, the High Elven King of the Noldor was killed alongside Elendil and Anarion. The Elven Kingdom that the former ruled splintered with so many lost to the battle forcing the remaining Exiles to either join Elrond at the still being built Rivendell or Galadriel at Lothlorien. There are some also that took the path of the wandering kindreds as they walk the lands of Middle-Earth in peace. Still the fact remains that the great Elven kingdom that Gil-Galad ruled was gone. Both aspects of Maedhros grimly accept that fact however. They both had experience fighting a Dark Lord hell bent on evil. Victory against such malicious power always comes at a grim cost. It must be battled however else it would consume all. Bitter experience of both aspects understands that very well. The Elven kingdoms of old did not fully annihilate Morgoth resulting to his revenge and their destruction. Dumbledore ignored Voldemort at first trusting in the prophecy instead of action enabling the Dark Lord's return that cost many lives.
"SQUAAAWWK!" the sharp screech from the White Eagle brings Maedhros out of his musings as he stares at the bright yellow eye of his ride glaring at him. He chuckles at that.
"Yes, yes, I know my friend, I am overthinking things again," says Maedhros patting the side of the Giant Eagle's neck.
"SQUAWK!"
"You want to do something fun?"
"SQUAWK!"
"Ruining someone else's day? Well that's not nice,"
"SQUAWK!"
"Maybe you're right. That is why it is called a prank after all," he laughs at Hedwig's insistence that they prank someone. Who though….Maehdros wonders before something clicks in his mind that made him smile evilly.
Why not after all, the reason why he snuck out of Gondolin is because he wants to make connections with the outside world. There is however the concern of the Council that made him wary at the same time. Despite being overcautious after all, the Elders there had a point. He guessed he can acquiesce their worries this time and at the same time "connect" with someone at the outside world. He's got nothing but time after all.
"Come Hedwig, let us head to this Last Homely House that are slowly becoming well-known," he says to the Great Eagle who nods as she adjusts her wings with the tides at the sky to the direction of Imladris.
As the eagle banks sideward though, Maedhros looks down once more seeing the stretch of the Kingdom of Arnor with all the citizens that call it home. A part of him despite the peace mentally frowns at that. The victory of the Last Alliance might be the effort of both men and elves but it is men who truly benefitted from it.
"I will bring back the power of the Elves in these lands once more," he mentally promises himself as he turns his eyes away from the lights below to his plan ahead.
…
"Finally," Elrond sighs as he leans tiredly on his wooden armchair taking great pleasure on the cushions behind his neck.
Being a ruler is tired work and for the thousandth time Elrond wonders what possess him to take the seat as the Lord of Rivendell.
"Other than the fact of course that there are so few Lords of the Eldar left and those that remain do not care the least about the position and neither do they have the name or the respect needed to rule those that call Rivendell their home,"
Elrond has a point in thinking that after all. Majority of the Rivendell Elves suffice to say the least are survivors of the Kingdom of Gil-Galad before the Last Alliance. There are also some in fact who even witnessed the Elder Days when the Great Enemy is challenged by the might of the Eldar. Elf Lords of renown of power and prowess walk the halls of the Last Homely House, diminished but not undaunted. Like all the Elves that sailed to Aman, they might be carefree and at peace, but their fury can be roused if the right trigger is pressed. Such is the might of the Eldar even in this ending of their Age.
Of course in order to be anointed as their ruler, one has to literally command their respect bearing the right name and prestige. Anyone else and suffice it to say that you'll have a lot of debating Elves talking your ears off why they should not pay heed to anything you might say.
Short of Galadriel and Celeborn, no one other than Elrond so far is qualified to lead the Last Homely House East of the Sea.
"Not to mention that I am also the one groomed to be on this position," he groans inside his head. He is after all Gil-Galad's seneschal and later, his flag bearer, a great honor. Of course being stuck at the king's side all the time, he is literally exposed to the world of politics and discussions, and later learned under the king himself. That and being the son of Earendil, there is simply no reason not to crown him an Elf-Lord.
"I knew Elros is right for choosing mortality, at least he doesn't have to deal with all this paperwork," he mutters beneath his breathe before stretching the kinks of his body.
Now free of his paperwork, Elrond walks towards the open veranda of his study admiring once more the beautiful vale of Rivendell. The last of the Noldor truly do indeed come up to trumps when building the Last Homely House. Sure it's not as majestic as the fortress palaces of Gondolin or Nargothrond in the Elder Days, but it does takes its stand almost on the same pinnacle as those before. A truly last refuge for the Exiles before they take the ships West.
"A lullaby on my lips, fleeting as the wind,
A song for those that keeps, the secrets from within,
May the whispers of mine reach through hearth and home,
Where peace can live in our hearts, the blessed and renown,"
He mutters beneath his breathe letting the waft clean winds of the valley enter his lungs. Yes, peace; such a fragile thing but one of the hardest to achieve, and never staying for long. He treasures it though above all else. Elrond is born at a time of war and he has never forgotten the horrors that he has seen. The burning of the havens during his childhood, his captivity and foster care under Maglor, the thousand and one raids against the forces of Morgoth, the burning of Lindon, the first war against Sauron, the fall of Numenor, and lately, the Battle of Dagorlad where his friend and mentor died.
"I wonder if all the father figures in my life are destined to die," he thinks to himself slowly walking back to the familiar hallways of Rivendell towards his personal chambers. It is dark, the lights of the candles driving what gloom it could. There are no Elves on the hallways seeing that it is at the middle of the night. In a way Elrond does prefer the silence where he can be with his thoughts.
Reaching the familiar oak door of his chamber, Elrond slowly fully relaxes as he enters it only to stop dead in his tracks as there is something or someone in his room. A familiar mane of red hair is the first thing that he notices, a red hair that had been haunting him ever since the burning of the havens during his younger years; and one can never miss that stump on that right hand.
Elrond can feel his throat tightening as he observes the figure. There is only one elf in the entirety of Arda who is as dangerous with the blade with his left hand, driving off anyone and anything that dares stop his way. A being who challenged even the will of the Valar without flinching, a being who despite being weary of the world, tried to fulfill his oath and died trying.
Now here he is, crouched like a bat on the darkened window sill, the faint light of the moon giving the shadows an eerie coverage that illuminates the back part of his crouched form but at the same time barely illuminates his front. Elrond's eyes moved towards his chest and he almost vomits as he sees the darkish red color of blood staining the robes and dripping on some parts on his pants.
"Ellllllllrrrrrrrooonnnnnddddd!" a gurgling sound immediately emanates from the figure making the hair at the back of Elrond's head to stand in terror. Part of him wants to make a dash for it but for some reason his feet seems not willing to obey his wishes.
"Elllllllllllrrrooooooonnnddddd!" that eerie terrifying sound repeats again and Elrond can feel something warm running down his trousers as the dark figure slowly raises its head and he can feel his heart stop for a few seconds as he sees the blood covered face.
The eyes are wide, too wide with yellow large irises and the grin seems to large for the head. The hair is bloodied and askew. It is a scene from nightmares and Elrond pathetically try to find the missing sword at his hip. He mentally curses himself for not wearing it now. (I meant really, he is after all at the centre of his home.
"ELLLLLLLRRRRONNNDD!" the weird form of Maedhros raises a hand pointing at him.
"ELROND!"
Elrond finally has enough. His nerves at the breaking point; he makes a high pitched war sound that sounded more like a strangled goose than an Elf Lord battle cry, he grabs the only thing he has at his person present as a weapon.
His quill.
With a practiced stroke that only a master of ranged combat could achieve, Elrond hurls the item at the figure, pointy end first. His aim is true and right and against enemy, it might have been a kill for anyone else, but not this one. The shade screams in a high pitched screech that makes the Elf lord cross-eyed, the sensitive hearing of an elf going against him. Something exploded and he can barely see as a cloud of smoke engulfs the entire room.
When Elrond finally manages to regain his senses as he groggily stands up. He can hear the alarm bells of Rivendell ringing. Deft hands immediately pull him up to his feet and he can heart the familiar frantic voice of Erestor as the familiar gold and blue armor of the guards literally pour into his room.
"-lord!"
"My lord!" the sudden shout of his secretary and librarian too near his ear makes Elrond wince as he regains his senses. He frowns at himself. He is literally covered in soot and his formal robe is in tatters and probably need to be fully replaced if he doesn't want to look like a walking chalk.
"Yes Erestor, I can hear you," he replies with a croak at the other elf-lord. He frowns as he massages his throat. That "battle cry" really did take its toll on his esophagus. Technically it's more like a terrified screech but Elrond would never admit it.
"What happened here my lord?" the concerned Erestor asks. "We heard the explosion and we all went running immediately,"
Elrond wince as he looks at the expectant elfin eyes around him. How in the world is he going to explain to them that a shade of some kind of the eldest son of Feanor appeared at the window of his room. He shudders though as he looks at the now empty window sill. As empty as it is, he can still rather imagine that shadowy figure crouching there a few moments ago.
….
"And so here is the timely report my lord of Clan head Aldaliel and the summary of all his clan," the scribe hands over the rather large amount of paperwork to Maglor who mentally winces at the very sight of it. His current status in life might be an upside against his previous wandering days, but the familiar bane of all leaders is plaguing him….., paperwork.
Forcing a smile on his lips at the scribe before waving him off to go, he groans the moment the door closes. There is so much to do but so little time to do it. Looking at the rather stacked amounts of paperwork standing there mockingly at him, he mentally pulls himself together before taking the topmost one and reading it. Maglor despite his annoyance at the tedious job is still a leader and Feanorian or not, let it not be said that he is one to neglect his duties.
As habitual of him, he frowns as his eyes scan the page, all signs of annoyance gone replaced by the cold and calculating warrior that he is.
Nearly every elf wandering Avari kindred east of Rivendell and north of it is flocking towards Gondolin. Of course the city can take it, there is enough room here for everyone after all. While it is a good thing that the sudden population boom is increasing the population of the city and thus its capability and infrastructure, it does however give off the problem of "food shortages". Technically it's not the normal food shortage issue where an individual goes hungry due to the absence of food to consume, no. It's rather more of the fact that due to the high demand, the ingredients that are required to finish the exotic food cuisines, like Spaghetti, Pizza, Lasagna, Garlic Bread, Yang Chow Rice and a dozen others more that Maedhros pulled out of nowhere and introduced to the populace is rather not enough. The Elves of Gondolin after all because of their booming success and prosperity (and lack of worries about paying stuff) are rather refined in taste and is not looking anytime soon to give up the exquisite food supply they have enjoyed the past years.
The valley after all is self-sustaining on its own, able to feed its populace inside the mountains of Ered Luin and the springs that feed the Lhun River always keep the grounds fertile. The fact remains though that majority of the space inside the valley is taken up by the entirety of the city itself and whatever that remains are made up of farms and essentials that keeps Gondolin running. So, yes, the Elves of Gondolin might not be hungry anytime soon but they certainly will miss the finery that they all enjoyed before their rather large population boom.
Maglor himself can already feel the headache coming as he rubs his temple. The Firstborn of Illuvatar is strong, refined, and can endure ages of the world to the end. They are unbowed, unbroken and have the will to challenge the darkest of nights if the ones they care about are put in jeopardy. In times of war and distress, they're like beacons in the night standing strong when everything else are darkness.
Unfortunately, in times of peace though they're more akin to little elflings who lost their candy when they can't get their way. Elves especially love to gossip and debate which can lead to hoooooourrrrrs of non-stop talking. They can literally talk to death anyone if they have the motivation for it.
Maglor himself does not have that trait. He's more of a loner, loving the sound of silence whence then he can play the music that he so loves. Before the destruction of the old world of Beleriand when he's a lord of the Eldar at Ossiriand, he normally leaves these talks to Maedhros who had a talent for it. Unfortunately the current Maedhros he has is not a full grown elf yet and Maglor is loath to throw the responsibility to his son despite his natural aptitude for it. Plus he's pretty sure his wife will tangle twigs at his hair again if he ever tries to laze off. The thought of Theririen doing it makes Maglor sweat in his seat. Last time she did that, it took ages to get the annoying things off and he can still feel some of them at his scalp a year later.
Yep, he's not avoiding this talk with the other Elven lords once they start complaining. What he needs though is a solution and he can't think of anything short of saying to the other Elves to "suck it up" about their current affairs. Maglor puts a hand on his temple. Maybe he should talk about this with his son. Maedhros after all has a habit of pulling ideas and miracles out of thin air.
Yes, he can do that (and thus lessen the debate that is to come into an hour instead of hours).
The sudden sound of knocking nearly makes Maglor jump out of his seat. He has been so engrossed with the issue that as usual, he gets tunnel vision when it comes on dealing with priorities.
"Come in!" he calls out, the door opening to one of the Tower Guards that guard the royal palace wing.
"My lord," he bows to him. "My apologies for the sudden intrusion; I bring word from the Northern part of the city however. Lord Maedhros has returned and he is ermm…..riding a white eagle my lord,"
Maglor blinks at that. Did the guard just say "riding an eagle"? Maglor had lived long enough to know that the might and valor of the giant eagles of Manwe are as high as their pride. He never recalled anyone riding one. Even Fingon, Hurin and Huor, great heroes of the Elder Days did not experience such honor from the rulers of the sky. They had been borne on claws like prey, not sitting atop one.
Before he knows what he is doing, Maglor is out of his tower in a swish of robes. Maedhros loved trying and putting into test new things. Personally, Maglor blames it on his youth despite the fact that majority of the things he experiment and try tend to succeed. Focus on the word majority though. The last thing that Maglor needs right now is Maedhros trying to ride an eagle just to see if he could and probably piss off the giant avians.
It does not take long for Maglor to find where in the Northern part of the inner city his wayward son/brother is. When it comes to finding Maedhros (Both past life and new), one just need to follow the crowd. The reborn elf has an unusual tendency of attracting people and this time is no different.
The sound of chattering elves near the northern central fountain is more than enough signs for Maglor to pinpoint his son. Marching towards the center of the commotion, the gathered elves immediately parted ways the moment they see him and the esteemed Tower Guard.
Arriving at the scene, it is no big surprise as to why the elves around have gathered in curiousity. It is not everyday after all for anyone to see a giant snowy white ferocious eagle that looked like it can tear someone's head off by a simple peck literally parked at the middle of the town square. The Wild Eagles of Manwe are not in any way tame and Maglor can feel his four guards freezing up in no small amount of wariness. He keeps striding forward though to the rather dirty figure trying to wash his hair on the fountain.
Maglor can't help but raise an eyebrow as he sits beside a red stained Maedhros. His son looks like he had jumped into a winepress and had been swimming among the grape remains. His robes are all dirty and ruffled and his hair is a bird's nest with bits of twigs on it.
"So…Maedhros. I'm pretty sure that you have a pretty goon explanation for all of this. Valar only know however if I want to hear it or not. I might die an early premature death with all the stints you're making,"
"Good to be back also Ada," the red-haired elf replies angrily trying and failing to clean his long locks.
"You do know that you have a lot of explaining to do to the High Council, to me and to your mother also about all of this right?"
A snort is Maedhros' only reply at that as the two of them dissolves in the familiar silence.
"I take it your little adventure is fruitful my son?" Maglor finally asks after a few minutes.
"In more ways than one," the other replies with a shrug, grumbling as he takes a twig that fell off from his hair.
"Hmmm. That's good then. You do know that your mother would not be pleased with you running off in secret? I originally planned not to tell anyone else about your little excursion but…..," he looks pointedly at the giant white eagle pruning its feathers vainly.
"Tell me about it," mutters Maedhros plucking another paint off his hair.
"….and she'll be talking about your ear off also abut the state of your hair," Maglor pointedly adds earning him another unhappy sound from his son.
At this point, the son of Feanor can't anymore hold his laughter off before exploding. It's true, his son might not be normal in comparison to the other elflings his age, his ideas are vastly unique and out of this world that some are questioning if he is a Maia in disguise if based on wisdom alone. However he is Maglor's son first and foremost, entrusted to him by the gods of the West. Even with the headaches to come thanks to the impromptu giant eagle "tamed" by Maedhros, Maglor knows that with his son around, life around Gondolin will never get dull.
…
"Mandos! You have defied the ancient law of the West and you have done so BRAZENLY!"
"All that I am guilty of Manwe, is helping out the lands of Middle-Earth and the mortals that live there!" The balance must be maintained and what balance of life and death is there if everyone is dead?!"
"SILENCE!" You know the rules, you know the ending of the song! Yet you brought a life that does not belong in this world, HERE!"
"He is my herald and I have every right to bring him here. Am I not Death, the bringer of the end? Death does not hold on its thralls one world, but all worlds,"
"But the soul you chose-,"
"Is my choice and mine alone! I govern the Halls of Passing and everyone in it is mine to judge regardless of all your opinion. I chose and I have spoken!"
"You have no right to do this!"
"I HAVE THE ONLY RIGHT!"
"WHY YOU LITTLE-,"
Yavanna sighs alongside Varda as the two best friends and probably the most powerful beings of the Valar argued like little kids over a piece of meat. Ever since Mandos' little stunt on bring the "Master of Death in this world using a reborn elf's soul as a medium, the two had been arguing non-stop. Of course Manwe has good reason for it. The skeins of fate planned by the Song of Illuvatar for the world have been literally tangled up beyond reason with the very introduction of this wayward soul.
Yavanna hums to herself. Now that Mandos had played his hand and literally threw fate's webs into turmoil, maybe she can put something on her own that might mitigate the damage. It gets a little loud these days with Manwe and Mandos arguing and Yavanna can take pleasure if she can get some little means of peace back like before once Manwe is appeased.
….
