So I generously decided not to leave people on tenterhooks for the resolution of the cliffhanger. Here it is, congratulations to everyone who guessed which elf it was.
The Hunt Continues
Ranger enters the post station[1] hesitantly. He's never really had the kind of money or clout you need for this sort of thing. Technically, post stations are an arm of the crown, practically they work for anyone who can afford them. The crown needs money as much as anyone after all.
In short, the most a peasant like him could expect from this is maybe to fetch a horse for a noble or merchant. Even renting a horse is expensive, arguably moreso than buying one[2].
The scent of horses is overpowering, there must be nearly a dozen of the animals. It's not as impressive to him now as it used to be, but still. There's a small wooden hut inside the enclosure, near the stables and several people going about the tasks of caring for the horses. None of the ones he tries to catch the eye of pay attention to him, so he walks towards the hut.
Entering the building carefully, he's greeted by a bored looking woman leaning on her hand at a table. There's a bunch of documents about and a heavy iron bound chest behind her.
"Ya here to hire a horse?" She asks sceptically.
"No, actually I was here looking for someone." He replies. "An elf, really tall. Dark hair, dark eyes pale skin."
The woman thinks a moment then sighs. "Yeah, saw an elf like that. Why're ya lookin' for him?"
"He might be related to the elf I'm workin' for." Ranger says. "Did ya catch which way he was headed?"
The woman shakes her head. "Nah. He left a promissory note though."
The woman fishes out a large key and starts fumbling with the chest behind her.
"Didn't realise ya took those." Ranger remarks.
"Only some groups. This one's good for it. Properly chartered company and all." She replies, holding the not up to inspect.
The note was fancy, real fancy. There was a seal pressed on the bottom, and fancy flowing script. There was even a little picture of a moth in one corner. On the top in a different ink was written the words 'Dark Moth Trading Company'. The seal was a pale wax, the emblem some kind of rat or mouse or something.
Ranger reaches out to take the note, but the woman yanks it away. The old man smiles sheepishly.
"Sorry, ya wouldn't mind if I went along with ya when ya cash the thing would ya?" He asks.
The woman raises an eyebrow. "That's someone else's job, and yes, I suspect they would."
Despite his best efforts to convince her otherwise, she remains unmoved.
"Well, at least I've got a lead." Ranger muses to himself as he steps out.
It's a good lead too. Ranger happens to know a fair bit about promissory notes from his time working for nobles. They have a bad habit of going into debt and thus not having the coin on hand to pay their staff.
"Note that fancy's probably guild work." Ranger muses to himself. "Kid's perfectionist enough to do the design himself but he ain't exactly one for doin' a whole bunch of grunt work."
Plus the post took them. Most places are pretty careful with those notes, too many nobles use them to pay in name only. If the post considers them 'acceptable' that probably means that they're somewhere the crown can come down on them hard.
Only place with a large scribe guild that the crown considers 'safe' is Denerim. It's also the biggest market so a 'trading company' whatever that is would probably want to have an office there.
Ranger mentally plots the way to Denerim and groans to himself.
"Is it too late to hire a horse?" He asks himself.
The journey north to Denerim is incredibly long and boring. Ranger can't make the pace he used to and his legs protest the exercise the whole way there. Anyone who claims that he wasted time looking into maybe picking up that one farmer's puppy is a liar!
Eventually, he does make it to Denerim. The next challenge will be finding the
"The Dark Moth Trading Company!" A young boy cries. "You want it, we find it! The Dark Moth Trading Company, open for business in the market square!"
Well, that was easy.
The office is a pretty small building, but it's right on the square. Probably costs an arm and a leg. Those moth flags are everywhere, looks more like a noble house than a merchant consortium.
Inside is even worse. There's carpet everywhere and tapestries on the walls. Everything is incredibly clean and well presented. Hell, the wood he can see on the floor's been waxed.
"Welcome to the Dark Moth Trading Company." The pretty young girl manning the front desk says when he enters. "What can we get for you?"
"Uh, I'm not lookin' for business." The hunter says awkwardly, feeling out of place in his worn and dusty clothes. "Actually, I was hopin' to meet one of ya employees. A tall elf with dark hair…"
"Oh! You must be Brandon!" The girl says. "He's just stepped out for lunch, but if you take a seat I'm sure he'll be happy to talk to you."
"Uh, not exactly but I've got news of him yeah." Ranger replies awkwardly. "I can sit anywhere yeah?"
"Of course sir, please avail yourself of one of our chairs or of course we have a most excellent floor." The girl says lightly. "Please bear in mind that others do need to walk around you if you choose the floor."
"Right. Ah." The Girl turns back to her work, obviously dismissing Ranger.
The old man finds his way to one of the expensive looking chairs and takes a seat. He tries to keep an eye out for the elf, but between the long trip here and the sheer boredom of waiting, he does eventually slip into a short nap.
In his defence, the chair is very comfortable.
Ranger is jolted from sleep by a sudden shake. He opens his eyes to see a narrow, handsome face. Long dark hair frames a pale face and dark eyes. Ranger had always thought that Nelyafinwë had black eyes, but now he thinks that he's only got really dark brown, because these eyes are definitely darker.
"Human. You have news of Brandon?" Even the accent's a little different.
"Yeah. He showed up with that mage love of his, Lilian I think? At the boss' home." Ranger replies.
Something in the stranger's frame relaxes and he straightens up. Now that he's got a good look at him the similarities are more obvious. The elf's all long and thin like someone took a human and stretched them out, and that same easy grace to his movements. He's got easily a foot on Ranger, which makes him more than a foot shorter than Nelyafinwë.
"Come. We shall talk in my office." The elf says turning away, cloak flaring behind him.
Ranger vaguely remembers that the cloak's colour is important so he makes sure to note it. At first glance it looks black, but on closer inspection it's actually a very dark blue. It's also got a white border with some fancy runes on it, all loops and curls in silver thread.
The elf leads him into a small room with more fancy carpeting and a window with glass in it. There's a nice looking desk and a set of three chairs made of the same dark wood. The elf sits behind the desk and motions for Ranger to take a seat.
"So, tell me, who is this 'wizard of the woods' that dares to claim the star of Finwë and seek me out like some common peasant." The elf asks imperiously.
Ranger gives the elf an unimpressed look. "I'm Ranger, thanks for askin', what's yar name?"
The elf glares at him. "You will answer my question."
Ranger glares right back. "Ya know, if ya are the kid's brother ya certainly don't have his manners. Ya ain't goin' to introduce yarself before ya start interrogatin' me?"
The elf's glare grows more intense. A cloud must have passed over the sun because the room gets darker. Ranger feels a chill breeze from nowhere in particular and shivers.
Then the elf sighs and the light returns to normal. "I am Maeglin, son of Eöl, remember my name for I shall not repeat it. Now, name the one you serve lest I have you cast from my presence and into the mud, never to return."
"Damn, the kid was really hopin' ya were one of his brothers." Ranger sighs. "He calls himself Nelyafinwë Mae somethin' Russando, or was it Russandol?"
The elf before him frowns in concentration, ignoring Ranger's muttering as he tries to remember the kid's far too long and complicated name.
"Nelyafinwë, Nelayfinwë." The elf mutters, more to himself than Ranger. "Of the house of Finwë certainly, the evidence is overwhelming, or is it?"
The elf snaps his fingers to interrupt Ranger's thoughts. "Human, who is the father of this 'Nelyafinwë'?"
"Oh, it's fëa…" The old man frowns in concentration. "The eldest son of Fëa na ro."
The elf stares at Ranger in disbelief. "Maedhros? Maedhros the tall?"
Ranger frowns once more. "Never heard him call himself that. He is tall though. Ya know him? Red hair, dark eyes, got somethin' wrong with his right hand?"
Ranger isn't exactly a people person, so he can't really tell what the emotions racing across the elf's face are. Maeglin mutters to himself in a language that he doesn't recognise, and that doesn't really sound like Nelyafinwë's tongue. Then the elf looks to him with a fierce gaze.
"Tell me, human, what does the eldest of Fëanor's sons want with me?" Maeglin asks.
"Ranger, a moment if you will." The kid said.
"Sure kid, what do ya want?" Ranger replied.
"Firstly, I wish to thank you for volunteering to search for the noldo in my stead." The kid inclined his head in that way he did that implied he thought he was too good to bow.
"No problem, figured ya keep me around to hunt and this seems like a hunt ya really care about." Ranger demurred.
"Regardless, it is not a matter a take lightly." The kid paused. "Ah, forgive me, I should not insist on the matter. My thanks are yours, but that is not why I wished to speak to you. I wished to ask you to do everything you can to bring the noldo back to these halls."
"Figured ya would want to keep an eye on yar brothers." Ranger nodded.
The kids face twists in something Ranger can't identify. "I… do not believe that this is the case, but on the off chance that this noldo is not in fact of House Fëanáro, still bring him back to speak to me."
"Sure, I can do that." Ranger said with a shrug. "Any reason ya seem so worried about this."
The kid sighs through his nose. "There are a number of noldo who would be, less than pleasant for you to deal with. Turgon for example is likely to be unwilling to do anything for anyone."
"I'll keep it in mind kid. Just don't expect a miracle." Ranger said with an eye roll.
Frankly, he hadn't really believed the kid, but this Maeglin elf was proving him right. Something about those black eyes has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
"Well, truth be told, I think he was hopin' ya were one of his brothers." Ranger says ruefully, scratching at his beard. "He wants to have a meetin' with ya, don't get me wrong, but ya know, he's probably goin' to be a little disappointed."
"Of course." Maeflin replies, gaze softening as he focuses his mind elsewhere. "Just make an appointment with Alana outside with at least three days' notice."
"I think he was kinda hopin' ya would come visit, maybe permanent like." Ranger says hesitantly. "He's got a mansion in the forest, and apparently ya folks like that sort of thing."
Again many emotions flash across the elf's face, too fast for Ranger to identify. He does however recognise what it comes to rest on.
Fear.
"I don't think that would be wise." Maeglin says shortly. "I believe it better if he comes to see me."
"Are ya certain?" Ranger asks. "The kid was really excited to meet one of his own. I think he's kinda lonely. Sure ya can't come?"
"I have responsibilities." Maeglin replies, glaring.
"I get that, so maybe ya can't stay, but can't ya at least visit?" Ranger tries.
"No." Maeglin responds. "Our time is up, leave."
Ranger tries one more time, "Are ya sure I can't convince ya…"
The room turns dark and a chill wind seems to blow though no paper moves. Maeglin's dark eyes bore into Ranger. "Leave."
Ranger returns to Endataurëo to find the whole place in an uproar. Apparently one of the elves (the locals not the ones that work for the kid) did something stupid and everyone's getting ready for a war.
The kid's out and Ranger doesn't get to meet him until after dinner. Even then, the kid's apparently running off to a meeting with Merrill. Ranger holds back the temptation to grin knowingly and wiggle his eyebrows at that. The two will work it out eventually.
Ahh wait, the kid's actually some kind of ancient warrior from a distant realm. Damn, now he feels bad for the girl.
"Sorry, I couldn't get him to come over." Ranger apologises quickly, not wanting to waste any time.
The kid's face twists with a strange combination of weariness, sorrow and 'I should have known better'. "It was not my brother then."
"Sorry kid." Ranger says.
"No matter. Who was it? Surely not Tyelpo?" This time the kid sounds almost afraid.
"Nah, Maeglin was the name." Ranger replies.
If Maeglin's office had felt like a cold wind, this room feels like being outside in a blizzard without a coat.
It's still not as cold as Nelyafinwë's voice. "Maeglin?"
Buying and Selling
At first, Martin can't find Delora despite his best efforts. It's pretty obvious the young elf is avoiding him. Fortunately or not it proves impossible to do so indefinitely. The first time he manages to actually speak to her is when they meet up to load the carts for the week.
The moment he sees her standing there, he walks over and asks in a neutral voice, "Delora, before we begin with work, can we have a quick chat?"
The elf glances at him then rolls her eyes. "What do you want human?"
"Maybe not here?" He replies carefully. "I don't really think it's the kind of thing we want to discuss in public."
For a moment Martin is worried that the elf will refuse to move. However, after a silence that stretches on longer that he'd like, Delora begrudgingly begins to walk towards a nearby nook.
The two of them, safely away from the main courtyard, face each other.
"Well?" Delora asks defiantly. "What now?"
Martin takes a deep breath. He's run through this speech a few times in his head, consulted with his wife and friends.
"First, I wanted to say that the way you spoke to me in the Alienage was unacceptable." He says firmly. "Whatever else we are, we are coworkers and there is a certain degree of respect due to the other at all times."
Delora glares at him, but he does not stop speaking. "And on that note, the way I spoke to you was also unacceptable. For that, I apologise."
The elf looks taken aback, so Martin extends a hand towards her. "I am willing to forgive and move on, to put this behind us, if you are willing to do the same."
The elf glances from his hand to his face, indecision writ large on her face. Finally, just when Martin though it was all for nothing, the elf slowly extended her own hand.
"Sorry for yelling at you I guess." She says quietly. "Was just worried."
Martin breathes a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I shouldn't have yelled back either. I'm supposed to be the mature one here."
Delora glares at the human. "Oi! What's that supposed to mean?"
Truth be told, the aftermath of an argument often feels somewhat awkward to Martin. While apologies had been given and hurt feelings have settled, it feels as though there should be some change or like any casual conversation might reignite the conflict. It's not particularly rational, but it's there.
"So, Delora." He says to the elf as their carts creak along the road. "How are your parents?"
"Didn't get to catch up with them last week." She replies, somewhat sullenly. "But they were fine last I checked."
Martin winces. "Sorry about that."
"'S fine." Delora mumbles. "Happens sometimes."
An awkward silence descends once more. Martin casts about for another topic, but can't think of anything else.
"What were you doing in the Alienage anyway?" Delora asks suddenly.
Surprised, Martin hesitates to answer. This results in Delora twisting in her seat to glare at him.
"You weren't up to anything creepy, were you?" She accuses.
"Maker Delora, what's with the suspicion?" Martin snaps. "I wasn't expecting the question, that doesn't mean that I'm trying to hide something nefarious."
The elf doesn't yell back, fortunately, instead she glances away suddenly the tips of her ears turning red.
"I didn't. I mean…" The elf sighs. "Sorry. It's just… never mind."
Martin looks at Delora's raised shoulders and red ears and sighs. "I just wanted to see what the Alienage is like. You're always talking about it and how terrible it is, and I thought that if I wanted to understand you better, I should see it."
"Oh." The elf's shoulders raise even higher.
Martin bites back a sigh of his own. Honestly, this girl needs to stop taking this so personally. It's behind them. Actually…
"You know, I never did get to see much thanks to that elf. Maybe I should head back. Mind coming with so I don't get into any trouble?" He asks.
Delora whirls around to look at him, eyes boring into the human. Martin gives her the most innocent and earnest look he can. So he probably looks like an evil mastermind scheming against her, if his wife is correct about his acting. Delora turns around slowly.
"Sure." She mutters.
The alienage seems just as intimidating entering it with Delora by his side as it did when he was alone. There is something about the place that just seems as though it were deliberately designed to invoke feelings of desperation. Worse, he is actually getting more strange looks than when he was alone.
"Leave it." Delora says after the fourth time he glares back at someone. "They just think you're trying something with me."
"Wait. I'm just supposed to leave that alone?" Martin squawks.
"Telling them you're not isn't going to convince them, so why bother?" The elf replies.
A fair point it may be, but it still feels like a surrender.
"Where are we going first?" Martin asks.
"We'll check out the central square and the vhenadahl." Delora replies. "It's where most important things like weddings and religious services happen."
Martin follows the elf through the narrow streets and patchwork buildings. Eventually they emerge into a cobbled square largely overgrown with moss. Even calling it a square is generous, as it's rather oval in its shape. The ground bucks and rolls like a miniature field of hills, cracking the cobbles to reveal the dirt beneath.
The cause stands in the centre of the 'square'. A vast oak tree thrusts its many thick trunks up into the sky. Even the twisting plant seems to be stretching towards the sky as if trying to escape the place it grows. Many small candles, broken oil lamps and the occasional dull ribbon adorn the tree.
"This is the Vhenadahl. It represents our home, Arthlan." Delora says, in the distracted tone of one discussing something obvious. "People hang offerings and stuff on it for good luck."
Martin stares up at the tree. "I kind of assumed Denerim was your home."
The elf scoffs. "How could it be? It's not like they want us here."
Martin winces. "Sorry."
Delora sprawls down, leaning against a leaning house wall. "'Salright. You don't live here either."
Martin settles down next to her as she starts to talk about life in the alienage.
The Son of Darkness
Maedhros. The name sends a thrill of excitement and fear up Maeglin's spine. The eldest son of Fëanor is a legend, featuring both in his mother's tales of distant kin and the grimmer tales of the First Age. Had a younger Maeglin been thrown into a new world with him by his side it would have been a grand adventure.
Now, well, Maedhros has other titles that now concern him a great deal more. Kinslayer, orc's bane, greatest swordsman of the Noldor[3], oathsworn foe of Morgoth.
Maeglin hadn't had a choice! Morgoth had been right there and mightier than any elf could possibly have imagined. Anyone would have bent; anyone would have broken.
Maedhros had hung on Thangorodrim for thirty years, defiant to the last. Had chosen death rather than dishonour, and returned to fight once more.
But neither Fëanor nor his sons were renowned for their mercy, nor were they known to tolerate those with differing views. He could not risk it, dare not risk it. It did not matter that his heart cried out to hear his mother tongue once more, to see an elf who looked like one rather than the bizarre mockeries from the slums of this city.
"Sir?" The secretary girl, Elen, asks. "Was the news bad? Should I cancel your afternoon meetings?"
"Cancel them." Maeglin replies, not looking at her.
The human bows her head and scampers back. For several long moments Maeglin stares at his hands, then in a burst of frenzied rage he grips his desk and upends it.
Was it too much to ask for fate to give him a break? He'd already been concerned about facing one of the sons of Fëanor, but Maedhros was arguably the worst of them. All the ruthlessness of Curufin, but with all the ethical pretensions of Maglor. Worse yet, Maedhros was, without contention, too skilled for Maeglin to defeat! The elf had slain dragons! If the stories were believed it had taken a horde of orcs and at least three balrogs to capture him before he took to the study of the blade in earnest!
The son of Eöl sank down back into his chair, staring at the ruin he had made of his office.
'I need to calm down.' He thought to himself. 'This has achieved nothing, and every moment that passes may bring Maedhros closer to acting against me.'
He did not believe for a moment that the 'meeting' had been offered in earnest. Whether Maedhros was truly unaware of his identity or not, the meeting would inevitably turn into an ambush.
Maeglin stood up and threw the door open. He stalked out as Elen and Alan, the guild master of the local chandler's guild jerked at the sudden noise. He stalked past them without acknowledging the guest.
"I'm going out, have someone clean my office!" He barked at Elen.
The woman mumbled an acknowledgement as Maeglin exited the building. He had work to do. Knowledge was power and Maedhros had to have been here for a while. Maeglin was still a prince of the Noldor, mighty and cunning. He would find something that he could use against the former king, somewhere, somehow. When he found it he would remind the world why Gondolin was the mightiest of the Noldorin kingdoms.
If the son of Fëanor wanted his life, then Maeglin would make him pay dearly for it.
[1] The old style of post station, the one that keeps horses not mail.
[2] It's cheaper, but the costs add up every time you reach another post station. If you have to go further than about half of Ferelden it's probably cheaper to buy a horse, but there's upkeep costs and so on.
[3] A disputed title admittedly, but Maeglin isn't exactly thinking straight right now.