The Tale of Melilaurë and Mélaurel by Iavalir

The rays of Laurelin grew blurry in the vision of Maglor son of Fëanor as he held tight to his music mentor. When they parted the tears were wiped clean from his pink cheeks by the soft, gentle hand which taught him all he knew of harping.

“Weep not, my greatest pupil,” Elemmírë said. “We shall meet in happier times.”

“I see not how this will be possible,” Maglor said. “My father strictly forbade the relationship with any whom he deems will hinder our reputation further in the eyes of all in Valinor.”

“It is true the recent events are still fresh in their minds, but they will warm to your father again,” Elemmírë said. “In the meantime, go to your father and obey him. You must remain with your family, for you need each other’s support.”

Maglor sighed and glanced out to where his father stood waiting for him. It was not fair, he thought, to break his friendship with his former instructor simply due an element Elemmírë had no control over. He had half a mind to go and beg his father of this one mercy, unashamed how pitiful he may appear, but in that moment he saw Fëanor dismount his steed as though he could read Maglor’s thoughts. He approached them.

“I thank you again for all you have done in teaching Makalaurë,” Fëanor said to Elemmírë. “I know I have chosen a great mentor to instruct my gifted son. You have brought out his greatest strengths and I thank you for all you have done.” They bowed to each other before Fëanor turned to Maglor. “Makalaurë, come. Let us not tarry. There is much work to be done.”

But Maglor could not keep his eyes off Elemmírë, who had become closer to him than many of his kin. Sensing the agony inside him, Elemmírë took Maglor’s hand and said gently, “Go with your father Lord Fëanáro, my pupil. May the Two Trees light your future.” And finding no means to argue, Maglor nodded, embracing Elemmírë once more before leaving without looking back.

“Lord Elemmírë, he has really become close to you,” Fëanor said as they marched back to their party.

“Lady Elemmírë,” Maglor corrected. “And yes. She is like kin to me.” He sighed again. There was no word that could be used when referring to one like Elemmírë, an elf born with a body of both quendi and quendu. To most they referred to Elemmírë as a male and a Lord, though the minstrel and loremaster had requested a few times before to be considered as a woman. It was this very confusion, being perhaps the only one among the Eldar with this condition, that lead Fëanor to forbade Maglor to ever see her. Though her music was among the most beautiful to behold, for it filled the skies of the land with cheer and hope, a few regarded her with suspicion for her unique body.

“I will not forbid you completely from seeing him - her,” Fëanor said, breaking through Maglor’s thoughts. “You must understand where our reputation stands. Any connections with this sort will only inflame more the prejudice our family currently is faced against.”

“How vile it must be to judge one for their exterior,” Maglor said, “when inside Elemmírë is one of the most beautiful elves I have ever met.”

Smiling sadly, Fëanor patted his back and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I understand your pain, my son. I assure you, this period will not last. All is not lost with this new life. You are permitted to visit Artafinde if it will please you.”

* * *

The party traveled for many turnings of the Trees.

Formenos stood high upon the hill, its dark stone walls a black mountain among the greenery. Maglor stared in shock and revulsion. The very structure gave the sense of uninviteidness.

“And my home I left behind was all for this,” he said. “This is truly what my brothers and my father’s men built for us?”

Feanor pulled next to Maglor. “The sight of our new home does not please you, my son.”

“Aye, Father. I am sorry.”

Feanor smiled. “Judge not by the exterior. Is that not what you have told me before? This is now your home, and I am certain you will find a new joy within.”

Though hurt and upset that his father would use his own words against him, Maglor kept silent and chose not to pursue the matter further. Around him were similar looks for some, those who too shared his displease at their new home. But some showed interest and eagerness for the new life. Among this group were Amrod and Amras, the youngest brothers of Maglor. They regarded the stronghold with eyes large and teeming with excitement. They knew little of the reason which brought them here, and they along with their nephew Celebrimbor were the youngest to come to Formenos.

“To be cast away in this foreboding place,” Maglor thought to himself. “No child should be permitted in such a home.” Fëanor regarded him.

“There is no danger here, my son,” Fëanor said. “Never would I bring my beloved family into danger. This land was chosen for its distance from the other lands, yet there is nothing here which to bother us.” He sighed. “I have troubled everyone for long enough. I wish for nothing but peace for my family, and for you as well. Write to Artafinde, for I know you will miss your cousin greatly when you find yourself alone without chance to see him with your music mentor.”

Maglor nodded and thanked his father, but the words did little to ease the ill in his stomach.

* * *

Three tall stories was the stronghold built, and as wide as it was tall. Half was still bare and to be built, massive halls to be furnished, but there was enough completed to accommodate the family of Fëanor as well as a large portion of the Noldor who followed him. Maglor led his servants to the quarters that would be his new home. The living area for his servants comprised of two rooms for the men and women to sleep in, a washroom, a kitchen, and in the middle a medium-sized hall to be used by Maglor’s servants and himself. All this was barricaded from Maglor’s rooms by a double door; he only needed to walk three paces before entering another set of doors that led to his private rooms. The first in which he stepped in was a hall for guests and family. Maglor assumed it was also meant to be a dining room, for the cabinets about were appropriately sized for storing his food.

Around this hall branched out about three other rooms: one to be his bedroom, a washroom, and another that Maglor could only guess would serve as his music room.

“They built this well,” Maglor thought as he studied the music room. It was large enough to accommodate all of his instruments, and with a smile he noted the music stands already about as a little gift from Caranthir and Curufin. Lining the top of the walls, extending out throughout Maglor’s private rooms, were words of the song written in their tongue, artistically calligraphed with a steady hand in a tone of midnight blue. Vines of leaves spun about the letters, creating a beautiful effect that brought a smile to Maglor.

This room was meant for him, and Maglor was pleased with the work. But the only complaint he had was for the lack of windows. His own room and the music room and hall were thin strips to let in some of the light, but Maglor hardly considered that enough. He should not complain, he knew, for his brothers weren’t aware of what inspires him.

“But if I had some say, there would also be a balcony for which I can sit out all day and write my music,” Maglor thought. “But there is none in this place, much unlike our old home in Tírion. But I supposed this will do, and much consideration was already given to provide me with a place to comfortably call my home.”

He directed his servants where to place his belongings, and he took the time to fill his cabinets with his personal rations, and in his room his clothes. Each of his brothers visited him throughout the day to admire his new room, and he to their rooms when he had need for a break.

When the servants were finished, they left to prepare dinner for themselves. Maglor would not be dining with them on the special occasion of the first day. He made certain his servants were doing well before venturing into the heart of Formenos. There with his family he ate in the magnificent halls of his grandfather the exiled King Finwë. For what reason did he, a kindly king, choose to place himself in exile rather than continue to serve the Noldor of Tírion.

“Who would choose to come live here?” Maglor wondered as he dipped his spoon into the stew. He watched his grandfather speak with Fëanor in a loud jolly voice, as though this new home was just as cheerful as their former abode. Nerdanel too his mother seemed to have the tension lift that were pressing on her shoulders. For the first time that day she was smiling, even glancing at her husband with eyes full of their old passion.

Maglor smiled. “My father would have done this for us,” he thought, “as I would for him, for my King and grandfather, for my mother, and for my brothers. In the end, there is nothing more powerful than the bond of family.”

After the dinner Maglor stayed with his family for entertainment. The light of Telperion shone through the windows. Maglor played for his family until his hands grew tired; then settling back he watched his family.

“For this one night only, dear Pityo!” he heard Curufin begging the small child. “Surely your bed is big enough for your nephew Telpe?”

“No!” Amrod cried out. “He’ll wet the bed!”

“Really, Pityo?” Celegorm called out, laughing, before turning to Maglor. “Look at our little brother, preventing his elder brother from trying for another child.”

Maglor slapped his arm as his face turned a deep red. “Hush! It is improper to think why Curvo would want the room for himself and his wife!”

But this only made Celegorm laugh harder. “What other reason would there be? I suppose I will take Telpe into my rooms before the poor child has his own room set up. I will make arrangements to keep him with me until that quarter is fully furnished. I have had plenty of experience helping to raise Moryo and Curvo.” They shared a knowing smile. “Come to think of it, where is the babe?”

They soon got their answer, and both guffawed at the scene before them. Amras, singing loudly, was attempting to carry Celebrimbor across the room. Though older Amras was, he was still too small to properly lift his nephew, and the poor child’s feet barely touched the floor. But his cries were that of glee and his arms flailed, enjoying his uncle’s play. Right behind them was a nervous-looking Caranthir, ready to catch the infant in case Amras dropped him. When Curufin became aware of what was happening, he abandoned Amrod and rushed to the two children, screaming out.

“Rare it is to see that elf displaying so much affection openly,” Maedhros said as he approached Maglor and Celegorm. They watched as Curufin grabbed the infant from Amras, holding him close before his wife Lalinyë, a beautiful Noldor with large blazing eyes, slipped by his side, no doubt to question him why he left the infant unintended. None of her questions were laced with anger, but it left the others watching in amusement over Curufin’s seeking to explain himself.

By the time Maglor returned to his quarters, it was to find that his own servants had already retired to their rooms. He settled in his music room, taking the time to get used to being here. Though he was certain his family had taken the time to bless each room, as was the custom of the Eldar, he gave it his own blessing, walking about three times and blessing it with the name of the House of Finwë. Then studying the instruments around, he strummed a few notes, allowing the tune to infiltrate the music room.

“The acoustics here is pleasant for music-making,” Maglor thought. “They at least set this up well for a musician to create.” But there was still something missing, for the sense of being imprisoned was still deeply felt. He studied the slim windows on the top of the room. It was almost useless to have them there, for most of the light emitted from the blue light of his father’s invention.

“But what was done was done,” Maglor reminded himself. “I should learn to live with this atmosphere, no matter how deeply my heart yearns for my old halls in Tírion.” He turned to one of the instruments, a beautiful harp varnished in white gold. A sad smile spread over his face before he sprung into action. Out came a piece of parchment paper and writing quill and ink; and finally settling at his writing desk he composed a letter.

1490 in the Year of the Trees

With love, your Linlaurë

Maglor read over his letter a few times over before folding the paper neatly; a few drops of candle wax fell onto the flap of the envelope, and over it came the seal with the symbol of the House of Fëanor. The letter came with Maglor to his room, where it was set beside the bed on the bedside cabinet.

Yawning, Maglor stretched. The work and meal had tired him. Though a dark night had yet to come across Valinor, elves slept as their bodies tired. Each Tree blossomed for seven hours, with the first and the final hour of their light mingled with the blossoming or withering of the other Tree’s light. Elves slept only as their bodies and minds tired.

Maglor drew the curtain over the window and set the Fëanorian light down. The room was not shrouded in pitch darkness but rather dimmed to be as dark as a room could be in Valinor. Maglor could still make out the contours of his room, but it was enough for him to enter sleep. He slipped into his bed, taking in the scent of his pillow that will forever remind him of Tírion, and after a few moments he fell into reverie.

Sometime during his sleep, he was woken by the sensation of a body close to his. He opened his eyes to find a towering figure near him.

“Father, what is the matter?” Maglor asked sleepily, but no reply came from the tall figure. Maglor asked again, but the figure turned and slipped away; but before the figure disappeared beyond the doorway Maglor had already slipped back into sleep.

The following morning Maglor checked his rooms, but there was nothing that Fëanor had left for him. He had a small breakfast with his servants, then afterwards he tied the letter to a carrier dove and sent her off. He turned to his father’s smithy.

The smithy, Maglor thought grimly, was the only structure that perfectly resembled its counterpart in Tírion in its size and appearance. His father and three of his brothers did their work here as well as many of the Noldor who followed Fëanor to Formenos. Here they would continue their work forging the weapons that had them mesmerized since the conception.

Maglor made to enter but then he noticed his father behind him.

“Makalaurë! What a surprise to see you here!” Fëanor said, grinning. Maglor seldom came to the smithy, and it was an ongoing joke that Fëanor wished to claim Maglor as another smith each time he saw him.

“Father, I simply came to ask you what you came to tell me while I slept.”

Fëanor studied Maglor for a moment. “Pardon? I was not in your room, my son.”

Confused, Maglor apologized. “Then I wonder if it was one of my servants,” he said as he watched Amrod and Amras, playing outside, rounding into a corner of the stronghold. “I will have to ask them before I leave for Alqualondë.”

“So soon? You have just unpacked!”

Maglor smiled. “There is something of Finrod’s which I still have,” he said. “I sent him a letter by dove this morning, and I think I would like another trip. I will be leaving by the following day.”

“Then you must get your rest for the journey,” Fëanor said. “You have traveled long, and the road to Alqualondë is very far.”

He embraced Maglor in support and said, “I will miss you, but I understand your desire to see your cousin. May your journey be without pain.”

Returning to his quarters, Maglor’s confusion only grew at the revelation that not one of his servants had come to his bedroom. Forgetting his preparations for the journey, Maglor asked each of his brothers, then his mother if she knew of any who sought to speak with him, but the search was in vain.

“Perhaps your vision was in your dream, as vivid as it was,” Nerdanel said.

Later, as Maglor settled back in bed to rest once more, he kept his mind open to the ongoing inside his room as he slept. The slightest sound drew him awake, though most were noise from the adjacent halls where he servants lived, or of elves walking about outside the stronghold.

His eyes flashed open when he felt tiny hands on him. He jolted up in bed and spun around to see Amras staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Telvo? What is the matter?”

“Can I sleep in your bed?” he asked timidly. “We think there may be a monster in our room. I promise I won’t wet the bed.”

Maglor sighed. “Was Turco telling you two stories? Where is Pityo?”

“He ran to Moryo’s room and shut me out,” Amras said.

“Well, that wasn’t considerate of him,” Maglor said, laughing gently. “Come, little brother.” Amras eagerly slipped under the covers beside Maglor, burying his face in the pillow after mumbling a goodnight. Maglor draped over arm over his brother, smiling to himself, so thankful was he for the presence of Amras with him. “We both need the comfort of another,” he thought, “for this home is haunting us both.”

The search had delayed his journey for a few days. During that time Finrod had sent a reply by dove. Feeling guilty, Maglor set out for his travel.

“So soon?” Maedhros asked him. “It’s been but one week since we settled here!”

“I miss speaking with him,” Maglor said as he secured his bags to his horse.

“Do you tire of the company of your family?”

“You know that is not true!” Maglor said. “I just…need a change, some more loved ones to speak with.”

“I understand,” Maedhros said. “Come soon, for our envy of Artafinde will only grow every day.”

“Indeed, brother,” Curufin said. “Do not give us reason to go there to pry you off his house.”

“You will have your brother back soon!” Maglor said, laughing. “I need time to be away from this place, but I assure you I will return. I feel a need to be there.” He embraced each of them and bade them all a good day before mounting his horse.

* * *

The travel to Alqualondë took a fortnight. To Maglor’s dismay, his father’s words were correct. The journey took longer, and the distance only intensified the feeling of isolation Maglor felt in his heart from this exile. He grew more gloomy throughout the journey, and only at the first signs of the Telerin city did his heart finally lighten.

Finrod waited for him at the gates of his father’s palace. The house of Finarfin was Maglor’s favorite among all the palaces of Valinor. Pearly white were the walls, with large windows and spacious patios that elves could walk freely and hold meetings. Upon seeing his cousin, Maglor could not resist jumping off his horse and rushing into Finrod’s arms, enveloping himself in the arms of a loved one after the long journey.

“Linlaurë!” Finrod cried out, embracing Maglor close to him. “An eternity must have passed since our last visit, by the look on your face! How are you, dear friend?”

“I am exhausted, Finlaurë,” Maglor said. “The journey has been most tiring for myself, but I could not bear remaining in Formenos for long, not after severing ties with Elemmírë.”

“Ah, yes, about that,” Finrod nodded his head sympathetically. “I did have a chance to speak with her once. She gives you her blessings as always.”

Maglor could not suppress a grin. “I am glad to hear that.”

“Well, do you appear tired, cousin! Come inside and rest!” Finrod took his arm and led him up the steps, and as he did so Maglor looked about himself, breathing in the smell of the salty sea and the fresh palm trees that lined the golden beaches of the eastern shore. Though indeed fatigued he was, Maglor was ever glad to be back at Alqualondë.

* * *

Maglor’s body was far too fatigued from his journey to spend time with his cousin right away, so he was led to the room the family of Finarfin had set aside for him. No other guest ever slept here save for Maglor, who was considered part of the family here. Smiling to himself at finding his old rooms tended to for his visit, he unclothed himself and rested for a few hours, and later bathed to revive himself. An array of beautiful robes awaited him on the bed, none of which were robes he had brought with him.

“Had my cousin’s family went through the trouble of buying me more robes?” Maglor thought, touched and a little embarrassed. They always did this for him ever since his first visit when he was but an elfling. Though he was the son of Fëanor and had enough money to afford his own clothes, he still valued the gesture from his relatives, reminding him he was much loved despite his father’s attitude towards the House of Finarfin.

After getting dressed in the lovely robes of sky blue and turquoise, Maglor searched for his cousin, but it did not take long. His arm was yanked by Galadriel, laughing lightly and chattering about everything and nothing at once.

To a large hall she led him where Finrod sat with his family. Finrod ushered for him to sit beside him, which Maglor took after thanking Galadriel for escorting him. He thank Finrod right away for the new robes, which Finrod expectedly waved off as nothing at all.

Finarfin and Eärwen his wife each warmly welcomed Maglor to their home before calling for the servants to bring out their meals.

“It feels as though I have been gone for many years,” Maglor said as he studied the hall. High-roofed it was, with windows that reached to the roof. As everything else of the palace, there were windows at every wall, letting in vivid light which brought the serenity of the land of Valinor. “Just one week in Formenos and I feel I have been imprisoned.”

“In time Formenos will become home to you,” Finrod said.

“And may that day come soon,” Maglor said, “for my heart aches for your city, and for Tírion. Not even the roads which led me here were filled with beauty.”

The servant who set the plate of food down in front of Maglor gave him the warmest smile Maglor had ever seen, and he returned it automatically. He had never seen this servant before; very tall he was, his long golden hair carefully tucked to the back. His smile held all the compassion and love for the world.

“Thank you,” Maglor said, smiling still though he could not understand why. Something about this servant lit a glow inside him, chasing the shadow which Formenos has cast inside him. The servant nodded at Maglor’s words before setting the next plate before Finrod; when he was out of earshot, Finrod leaned into Maglor with an excited glint in his eyes. “He’s a new one for me.”

“In what way do you mean, cousin?”

“My father’s servant he was for a long time, but he was given to me as a traveling companion and servant just a few months ago,” Finrod said. “Elenaurel is his name, son of Ingalaurë my father’s servant.”

“‘The star elf of Valinor’?” Maglor said, smiling, rather enjoying the sound of the servant’s name. He glanced back to get another look at the tall elf, who would come to be known as Gildor Inglorion in tales of Middle-earth. Gildor stood proud among the other servants, his smile long and unyielding to any dark thought, and upon noticing that Maglor was glancing his way he gave him another nod of his head, his golden hair falling graceful off his broad shoulders.

The meal at the House of Finarfin was as delicious as Maglor had always remembered them, spiced to bring out the unique flavor of each fish. Few of his family would enjoy the Telerin meals; Curufin would simply storm out by the smell of fish, which happened to be among Maglor’s favorite food. His love for Telerin cuisines were such that often Finrod teased him, declaring him a brother long lost and raised by the strange House of Fëanor. But the food was just one reason for his enjoyment in coming here. At times he wished he were part of Finrod’s family. Neither pain nor conflict was ever hidden behind their smiles. Their family were not under criticism nor conflict with other elves of Valinor, and neither were they constantly under scrutiny. Though he was too polite to speak the words, Maglor at times envied his cousin for the easy life he led.

When dinner had adjourned and the family had their fill of stories and laughter, Finrod retired to his rooms. Maglor retrieved the item he had brought before joining Finrod.

Gildor was already busy preparing the vicinity for their arrival when the two cousins arrived.

“Thank you, Elenaurel,” Finrod said before taking a seat. Maglor nodded his thanks to Gildor, his eyes lingering on him for a moment, before settling himself on the chair beside Finrod. Satisfied with the elves’ comfort, Gildor stood beside the tall windows that opened to the vast sea beyond.

“So what present do you have for me?” Finrod asked.

Grinning, Maglor pushed the package towards Finrod, who settled it on his lap as best as he could without it sliding off. He ripped the packaging and gave a soft gasp.

“Hello, I remember you,” he muttered as he revealed the harp. “The memories which I associate with this!”

Maglor smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. The days we spent with Elemmírë just harping and singing.”

Finrod turned the harp over in his hands, reacquainting himself with every edge. “And the vacations spent in your old home in Tírion, angering each of your brothers with our constant playing!” Laughing, he shook his head before a frown came on his face. “How I wished I could have remained with you as a student under Elemmírë’s guidance, but as the eldest son my destiny was already sealed to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

“And that is why I am thankful for Maitimo,” Maglor said. “I know not how I would have managed if my entire days were to spend working alongside the King of the Noldor as his squire, though I am certain it is not completely horrible. I would just miss my music.”

“It isn’t too bad,” Finrod said. “You know how fun our grandfather can be.” They shared a smile. “But paperwork and politics would have sent you mad early on.”

Laughing, he plucked a few strings from his harp. Maglor glanced around and noticed Gildor studying the harp with adoration.

“Do you play, Elenaurel?” Maglor asked.

Gildor glanced at him rather shyly before speaking. “At times, yes I do.”

“At times, he says,” Finrod laughed. “Why do you stand there? A friend you are to me and deserve a seat beside me as my equal! Come here and show my cousin the songs you entertain me with!”

Gildor bowed and made his way to one of the vacant chairs. “I must apologize, for I am not the most talented of singers.”

“Rubbish! Just play one of your favorite songs to us.”

Maglor watched them as Finrod handed over his harp. Gildor fiddled with the harp for a moment, allowing his large hands sliding across the golden surface, feeling each inch of the elegant instrument. He plucked a couple times, took a moment to readjust the tightness of a few strings, then rested back.

Gildor’s singing filled the room; his voice joyous and his fingers gliding over the harp elegantly. His song spoke of the coming to Valinor and of the stars. But what was most captivating was the manner in which Gildor sang, for his voice carried the cheer that was always shone with his smile; there was an upbeat aura of his playing that made Maglor and Finrod bob their heads to the song.

“It is beautiful,” Maglor said when Gildor was done.

“You flatter me, Lord Makalaurë Kanafinwë,” Gildor said.

“I mean every word of it,” Maglor said. “And please, just Makalaurë is fine. Seldom do any call me by my father name.”

Gildor nodded. “Thank you. I apologize if my playing is no where near your expertise, as I have heard your music before.”

“Ai, you need not be so humble!” Maglor said. “I would take any chance to make music with you, if you would have my company.”

“I would much like that,” Gildor said. He offered the harp to Maglor. “I would much like to hear you play, if that is all right with you.”

They took turns passing around the harp and playing a tune. Songs ranging from the lighthearted ballads to mournful tunes filled Finrod’s room. Gildor always picked the happiest songs to play for them, Maglor noticed, whereas he himself picked the saddest songs. He was uncertain if either noticed this behavior, for Finrod seemed oblivious each time he sang a ballad of the elves; Gildor seemed to simply regard him after each song, his eyes full of an emotion Maglor could not put a name to.

He was finding Gildor’s company rather pleasant as well, though there was the initial hesitation at bringing in a new member into his circle with Finrod. Their conversation ran smooth, falling in harmony with the three elves at talk and joking. Gildor played many songs which Maglor cherished, and he found himself singing with Gildor in harmony.

When they tired of playing, they settled out on the balcony which extended into Finrod’s bedroom. Maglor studied the waves as he felt the wind against his cheeks. The water was woven with the great silver light of Telperion. Finrod settled against one of the lunge seating on the patio, his attention drawn to the beauty around them. Sleep came over him after little time. Maglor was much used to this behavior of his. Normally he would take the time to enjoy the scenery, or compose a new song, before his friend woke up. However, today his attention was drawn to the new elf, who studied his master for a few moments before turning to Maglor.

“I will be on my way, if you wish me not to be a bother to you,” Gildor said, bowing slightly.

“And why would I wish that?” Maglor asked, smiling. “Do not run off on me after sharing with us so many of your beautiful songs! Tell me, friend: who taught you to play and sing?”

“It was by my own hand that I taught myself,” Gildor said. “Which I am certain it shows in its inadequacy compared to your and Lord Findaráto’s playing.”

“Inadequacy? No reason to be humble about it, Elenaurel! You would impress my mentor Elemmírë; she would much like to have you as part of her assemble, if she knew of this.”

Gildor chuckled. “Well, to play music as a minstrel never did occur to me.”

“And why not?”

“I simply never entertained the thought. Music is my hobby and not so much a career I wish to make my life of. Additionally, my interests always rested in serving the great House of Arafinwë. To be called away to play for festivals would take me too much away from the family I vowed to serve.”

“I understand what you mean, to be constantly called away. Though for me it would be a blessing to find reason to leave my new home. “ Maglor fell silent as he looked out again to the sea beyond.

How lucky Finrod was! Here the trees swayed in the wind and the caws of the gulls reached his ears. Inspiration came in full bloom here. He had spent many vacations here, wishing he could live with Finrod in this house for the rest of eternity, though his love of his own family often drove him back. But how alive Alqualondë appeared from anything that he ever lived. The thought of returning to Formemos brought within him a sickening sensation of dread and melancholy. There was no life in that region. It was a prison for an entire people, punishment for a pitiful spat between his father and uncle!

“Prince Makalaurë,” Gildor spoke gently, “let your agony roll off your shoulders. There is too much needless pain inside you.”

Maglor startled out of his reverie. Looking up, he realized that Gildor was right beside him, peering at him with silvery eyes that glimmered with concern and compassion.

“How do you know how I feel?” Maglor asked softly. He felt Gildor’s hand slide over his on the place where he rested his hand on the rail: large wide hands, as unlikely as one may imagine to come from one of such skill in harping.

“The politics which trouble your family is well known to all of the Eldar,” Gildor said. “A servant I may be, but I am not unintelligent, dear Prince. The environment you live in is not compatible for one of such free and creative spirit. To succumb to misery so soon would only further harm your wonderful fëa.”

Maglor smiled. “Thank you, Elenaurel.”

Maglor knew the rest of his stay would not be as joyous as his first day. The following morning Lord Finarfin brought up the subject of his father and the recent debate with Lord Fingolfin. Maglor inwardly groaned at the thought of having to face with this pitiful issue, but as Fëanor’s only son in Alqualondë he was expected to fill Finarfin in.

Though the spat had ended with the casting of Fëanor to Formenos, the two brothers still fought over the simple matter of who owned their father’s circlet. As an exiled king, Finwë no longer had right to it, for it was a symbol of his power. Fëanor insisted that as his first son the circlet now belonged to him; there was also a matter of sentimentality in his yearning for it, for it was his late mother Míriel who crafted the circlet for her husband’s coronation. Fingolfin, however, declared the delicate circlet his own as the new leader of the Noldor.

“This matter will never cease,” Maglor complained to his friends. “The law is unclear on who should inherit this circlet. Even with Lord Arafinwë as an unbiased third party, this fight will go on. And should the Valar ever find a resolution, the brothers will find a new thing to quarrel over!”

“Promise we will never get on one another’s nerves,” Finrod said, laughing though he patted Maglor’s back in sympathy. “Let me fetch my harp - looks like you need an outlet to let out all that frustration.”

He sprung to his feet and made for his rooms, though his servant Gildor sat not to far off. He regarded Maglor with much concern.

“I am sorry to hear you are hurting, Prince,” he said.

“My father is not a bad elf, but he is horribly stubborn,” Maglor said. “And his stubbornness has cost us greatly. It was from that which I have lost contact with Elemmírë, whose absence is already filling me with sorrow.”

“You speak of her with much fondness,” he said.

Maglor smiled, grateful someone was using Elemmírë’s preferred pronoun. “Aye, I do.” Gildor moved closer, his hand tentatively reaching out to cup Maglor’s cheek. Maglor leaned closer to allow him.

“Your smile lights the world,” he said quietly. “May you never have a reason to cry, Prince, for you are worthy only of the greatest joys of this world.”

Maglor chuckled and he rested against Gildor’s touch. “Thank you, Elenaurel.” They peered into each other’s eyes, smiling as one, before they heard Finrod and broke apart to their dismay.

Maglor remained in the house of Finarfin for three months, during which he grew very close to Gildor. Though such close friendships were often frowned on among the Noldor, Maglor being the son of elven lords and Gildor among the servants, it never bothered any in Alqualondë, for the Teleri were open to all.

Yet happy though Maglor was in Alqualondë, his heart ached for his family, and soon he was on his journey back to Formenos.

The stronghold of Fëanor stood alone atop the hill, appearing neglected and void of life compared to the livelihood of Alqualondë. There was none of his kin around that Maglor could see, none to welcome him back. Sighing, he dismounted his steed and unfastened his traveling bag. He did not expect to find Amrod running across the field. It was then that he could see more of his family and his father’s people far off, around the other side of the stronghold. He simply had missed them on his way to the entrance.

“Pityo!” he called out happily. “How I have missed you, little one!”

The elfling paused and stared at him with wide eyes haunted by a darkness that Maglor had never seen before.

“Pityo?”

Amrod continued staring at him in complete silence before rushing off without even a glance back, not even as Maglor called out to him. He ran after the child, and almost collided with other elves as Amrod slipped through the crowd and ran into his mother’s arms.

“Makalaurë!” Nerdanel cried out. Maglor was engulfed in hugs and asked many questions, that any inquires about Amrod’s behavior was driven out of the conversation. Finally, fatigue caught up with him, and he apologized to his father and mother (and ruffled the hair of Amrod, who was quiet the entire time and pressed against his mother’s chest) before heading back to his quarters. After greeting his servants he finally made his way to his rooms.

He was so fatigued by the time he slipped into his rooms that he did not bother to unpack any of his bags. He threw them on the table of the kitchens and threw himself on his bed, sleep already overtaking him. But he did not sleep for long. The light of the trees had not yet turned when he awoke again to the sound of some muffled screams outside.

He got up, sighing and shaking himself awake. He heard the elflings outside scream in their mirth as they chased one another. After washing Maglor returned to his kitchens. He put away the jars of Telerin goods Eärwen gifted him, and he was in the middle of laying out cookies onto a large plate when his doors banged open and Celegorm rushed in.

“You’re back!” Celegorm said, distracted, before rushing past Maglor. He place a chair under the slit of window high on the wall, and climbed up. Before Maglor could question him, laughter erupted. “Yes! Just in time!”

“Turco, what are you doing?” Maglor shot up from his chair. In that moment the doors slammed open again and Curufin rushed in.

“Is he doing it?” Curufin asked. “Oh, hello there Laurë. Thank Eärwen for these.” He picked a cookie from the plate then patted his stunned brother on the arm before pulling up another chair next to Celegorm. He took one peak out the window and roared with laughter.

“What is happening here?” Maglor yelled.

Celegorm spun back with a sinister smile, nearly falling off. “It’s Moryo.”

The door creaked open this time, and Maedhros stepped in. “I thought I heard several of my brothers here - welcome back, Kano.” He snatched a cookie from the plate. “Has he kissed her yet?”

“And I am seeing every moment of it,” Curufin said, chuckling. “Little does he suspect that he isn’t getting much privacy here.”

“And neither am I!” Maglor yelled, annoyed. “Nelyo - these are mine!”

Maedhros grabbed another cookie, ignoring him, and strolled up to his brothers. Unlike them, he needed only to raise himself on tiptoe to peek. He ate his cookie silently while Curufin and Celegorm whispered among one another.

“He is so foolish like this!” Curufin laughed.

“Can you hand over that plate, Kano? I want another cookie,” Celegorm called out.

“Can someone explain to me why I have come back to a completely different family?” Maglor called out.

“Apologies, Kano,” Celegorm said. “Some time after you left, Moryo had become infatuated with one of Curvo’s servants.”

“Not much of a servant,” Curufin said. “She is the daughter of one of the blacksmiths. She wanted to try her hand at cooking for my family for a short while. But I never saw much of her. Now I understand why.”

“Lucky she is not a true servant,” Maedhros mused, “lest our father would be most unpleased by this union.”

Maglor knocked over one of the jars and grabbed it just before it shattered on the floor. “Would he?” he asked as calmly as he could. “Even if such a union would be best for them both?”

“Of course,” Curufin said. “He wishes for the best for us all. He would not take to any of us settling for any partner less than our status.”

“Take it from an elf who married a blacksmith’s daughter, as our father had done!” Celegorm said, grinning. “We were just talking about this yesterday.”

“A marriage with a servant would only further hurt the image of our family,” Maedhros added. “This should be a favorable union for our father’s approval.”

“Well then, I hope for the best for Moryo and his love,” Maglor said, though he felt the words as though they were spoken far away. A terrible lump had settled in his throat, and suddenly he wished he were back in the bliss of Finrod’s house, speaking with Gildor and without a care or thought of the politics that hung over his shoulder. “Would he have approved of any union, had it been in a happier circumstance?”

“Why do you ask?” Celegorm asked, grinning. “Have you set your eyes on a lovely maiden servant from the House of Arafinwë?”

“I thought you fancied -”

“Enough, Curvo! You are stealing all of my food - all of you! Bring those back!”

“Cookie…”

“Telpe! Look at that appetite!”

“Your father will be proud, child!”

“Can I have a cookie too?” came a tiny voice as Amras suddenly appeared.

“By Eru has Telpe eaten everything! Look at that, Curvo!”

“No! That was an entire month’s ration!”

“Do not shout so much, Kano! Moryo will hear us!”

“Impossible! These walls are thick! No one single voice can penetrate the walls, not even Kano’s mighty voice!”

“That is not true! I was woken earlier by the sound of children outs-”

“But there weren’t any children outside!”

“What is all this shouting going on here?” yelled Fëanor as he suddenly appeared. “What are you eating there?”

“MORYO IS SMOOCHING A BLACKSMITH’S DAUGHTER!” Celegorm yelled in excitement without first thinking, and this time he did slip off the chair, though he landed gracefully.

“Pardon?”

Then tiny Celebrimbor clambered towards Fëanor in tears. “Tummy,” he squeaked before vomiting over his grandfather’s robes.

* * *

Later, after Fëanor was washed, Maglor’s floor wiped clean, and little Celebrimbor given mint to ease his nausea, the family dined together to celebrate Maglor’s return home and Caranthir’s betrothal to his soon-to-be bride. Telpenië was her name and she was fair to look upon. Her hair fell in cascades of long dark silvery waves; intelligence shone from her heavy-lidded eyes as she studied each of the attendants silently. Though glad he was for his brother’s happiness, Maglor could not shake the cold dead weight that had settled in his stomach. He could focus on only half of their conversation, and a few times Fëanor had to rouse him from his reverie. None questioned him of his behavior, brushing it off as fatigue from his trip (and the chaos which ensured in his kitchen earlier.)

The one thing that stuck out in his memory from that evening was looking up from his plate to see Amrod squirming and laughing in his seat as he chattered with his mother. Confused, Maglor then wondered if his own prejudices of this home had colored his views, or if the happy news of an addition to the family pleased the small elfling, ridding him of whatever sorrow he previously had.

The one bit of mercy in of all this was that Finrod would be invited to the wedding, and by extension Gildor would be there. He wasted no time in writing the letter to Finrod before the official invitation was released. There was no doubt in his mind that Finarfin would be invited to Formenos before the wedding for the matters which needed to be discussed between Fëanor and Finarfin. He hoped Finrod will be with them, as he was the eldest and thus held the responsibility to attend with his father.

When he was done writing and slipped back into his bed, the reality of his own situation hit home, and he found it difficult to rest his mind. In the months that followed he busied himself with the preparations for Caranthir’s wedding. Even the thought of Amrod’s strange attitude had left his mind, for the child exhibited none of the peculiarities of before. He was the chipper little elfling of before, though Amras Maglor noticed had suddenly seemed very quiet.

Many letters were exchanged between himself and Finrod. But he wished dearly to speak to Gildor, though he knew not how to deliver a letter to him through his cousin. Though Finrod would most likely not have minded, Maglor wished not to reveal his true heart in such manner. He kept to himself, scavenging Finrod’s letters for any mention of Gildor with the hope that Finrod’s words bore news of his servant and friend.

And it seemed Gildor’s thoughts were along his own. After the first three months of hearing no news of Gildor, Finrod’s letters began to be filled with tidings of his friend. First, it were mentions of Gildor wishing him well. Little by little the messages grew: of Gildor’s well being, of his deeds at the House of Finarfin, of any words meant to comfort or amuse Maglor. From between the lines Maglor caught a glimpse of the true meanings of Gildor’s words. How deeper the messages became with each letter! Fonder they grew of each other as the absence of seeing one another lengthened. Before his rests Maglor would reread each note, tracing with his fingers the letters that made up Gildor’s name.

The time seemed to pass fast and slow at once. Finarfin’s arrival to Formenos were delayed until one month before the wedding. When they arrived, Maglor had been sitting in his family room going over one of the songs he had composed for his brother. He overheard Maedhros and Amrod arguing.

“But I read that already!” Amrod was complaining loudly.

“You still need practice with your vowelization,” Maedhros said. “Read it again.”

Amrod sighed loudly and annoyingly as he flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book. “Imin and Iminyë awoke on the shores of Cuiviénen…”

Maglor chuckled, watching his brothers, when he heard the ring of the bells to signify the arrival of a party. He jumped to his feet and dashed out before any of his brothers responded. Outside he saw Fëanor and Nerdanel standing by each other. Fëanor gave Maglor an amused look.

“No more stands in the way of your friend, dear Kano,” he said. “Join him, but do not tire him quickly! It has been a long journey for them all.”

“Of course I will not tire him!” Maglor said, laughing. He saw Finrod with his servants existing from one of the carriages, and his eyes immediately fell on Gildor.

“Finlaurë!” Maglor called out as he ran to his cousin. “Elenaurel!”

“Linlaurë!” Finrod called back as Gildor raised his hand in greeting.

The cousins embraced tightly, their exclamations mingled. When Finrod finally let go, Maglor turned to Gildor, breathless, about to embrace him. But suddenly he remember whose eyes were watching him, and he held back.

“Well met, Lord Makalaurë,” Gildor said, bowing politely.

“Well met, friend,” Maglor replied, silently cursing his fate. The absence has caused his heart to ache for any touch from Gildor. But he held back, allowing himself just moments to study Gildor’s handsome face.

Fëanor, followed by a few of his servants who already picked up their luggage, greeted them then. Fëanor’s servants escorted them into the stronghold and showed them to their rooms. Maglor followed them.

“Where are your rooms located?” Finrod asked.

“Ai, I’m afraid I am located far from your quarters,” Maglor said, his heart sinking as he realized where they were headed. Had Fëanor not wished to have him close to his friend? He thought they had made an agreement.

“Well, it is not as dreary as I had feared from your description,” Gildor said when they entered the guest rooms meant for Finrod.

“Ai, this…this is far less polished than my own quarters,” Maglor said, feeling suddenly embarrassed for them.

“But it is sufficient for our needs,” Gildor said as he offered Maglor a warm smile. Finrod shared in his enthusiasm.

“We will not be remaining in this part of Formenos for our entire stay,” Finrod said. “We will be next to you so often you will sicken of us!”

Gildor gave Finrod a glance, and his master nodded. He turned back to Maglor and said, “Lord Makalaurë, may I speak with you privately?”

Slightly confused, Maglor nodded. Gildor took him aside to the room that would become his bedroom during his stay. He pulled from his robes a small envelope with a golden wax seal. “This is for you, my lord.”

Maglor broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

My dearest Makalaurë,

Elemmírë

Maglor brought one hand over his heart. The letter should not have affected him this deeply. Since their parting Maglor never contacted Elemmírë and neither received any word from her.

“I…thank you, Elenaurel,” he said. “This letter will be treasured forever with me.”

“My cousin would not have me come to Formenos without her first sending this to you,” Gildor said.

“Elemmírë is your cousin?”

Gildor chuckled. “Yes. My mother is of the Vanyar, and her sister is the mother of dear Elemmírë.”

“But never did she mention you before!” Maglor threw his arms around Gildor, embracing him tightly. “Unless…you are that cousin who loved to make music but never took it far.”

“Aye, that would be me,” Gildor said. He returned Maglor’s embrace, kissing him lightly on the top of his head.

Sighing, Maglor took in Gildor’s scent, his big arms about him, and the soft long hair which his cheek was pressed against. So tall was Gildor that Maglor felt he could nearly disappear into his embrace. But they pulled apart too soon for either’s liking.

“It is best we don’t,” Maglor said nervously. “The situation here…”

“I understand,” was all Gildor said gently. And with a pat on Maglor’s shoulder he left the room.

As Maglor feared, his only chance to speak with Gildor was limited to his moments with Finrod, for anything beyond their one private meeting could raise suspicion. Finrod kept Gildor close due to their friendship, which Maglor’s family was quick to point out as strange.

In their stay Maglor adopted Gildor as one of his own servants in attempt to see more of him. Despite all this, Maglor could not get Gildor alone. In the following weeks the most they could exchange in communication was by means of glances and brief touches. When they gathered in the dining halls for the feasts, Gildor worked alongside Maglor’s servants to serve him and Finrod.

“Another drink, my lord?” Gildor asked Maglor, his voice soft and close to Maglor’s ear.

Maglor broke out of his discussion with Finrod and turned to Gildor. He smiled, nodding his head, and held his goblet out. Their eyes met as Gildor tipped the pitcher, the tip submerged into the goblet as the clear sweet-scented liquid poured. Gildor’s hand, so close to Maglor’s own, brushed against him. They shared a smile, and suddenly Maglor felt a faint line of the liquid trail down his fingers.

“Ai, my apologies, Prince.”

“It is no problem, Elenaurel.”

Gildor smiled. “Drink well.”

“So fond has Elenaurel become of you,” Finrod said when Gildor had moved out of ear shot. “Since your leave from Alqualondë he spoke of you frequently.”

“Has he?” Maglor said, as nonchalantly as he could though his heart leapt at the news. “We have a few interests in common. I believe my compliments on his musical talents may have left an imprint on him!”

He smiled faintly before taking a sip from his drink. Finrod was watching him intently, and for a moment Maglor feared his cousin had seen into his heart.

“And he is related to Elemmírë my beloved music mentor,” Maglor added.

“Well, may this be a bright and joyous friendship between you two,” he finally said.

* * *

The day of the wedding had come, and at the first hour of Laurelin’s bloom. Maglor spent the morning dashing between his rooms and Caranthir’s, chasing out the children from harassing his brother and helping him into his ceremonial robes, then back to his room, settling down one of the elflings who had crawled onto his writing desk to retrieve his music sheets.

“What is happening today?” Amrod kept shouting.

“Today is your brother’s wedding,” Maglor said as he studied at his music. “Haven’t you been paying attention all year, little one?”

“What’s a wedding?”

“Our brother Moryo will take Telpenië for a wife! She will become your sister, as Lalinyë is.”

“Who is she?”

Maglor sighed loudly. “Come now, child! We do not have much time!”

Outside of his quarters the entire castle was filled with the chaos from the preparations. Maglor had to be thankful that the guests invited had brought their own servants. He tugged on the black case for his instruments as he struggled his way outside, slowed by the crowds of elves rushing about and by Amrod following him closely, his arms wrapped about his legs. Nothing he said could take the child off him, and he squealed and screamed whenever Maglor requested a servant to take the child off him.

“Of all my brothers, you have been the worst in raising,” he thought to himself and immediately felt guilty thinking that.

Gildor was outside, setting the tables with the rest of Maglor’s servants. Maglor called out a greeting.

“Lord Makalaurë, good day!” Gildor said. “How has your day been thus far?”

“Everything is a mess!” Maglor said. He winced as Amrod squeezed his leg.

“What’s in there?” he asked, pointing to the black case which stored Maglor’s harp. “Whose servant is he? Why is he so big? Is he a Maia? Will I get a bride too?”

“Pityo, go! This is no place for you!” Maglor snapped in his exasperation. The elfling broke off from his leg and ran down the slope of the hill. Maglor turned back to Gildor. “Ai, he has been maddening me all day! But now I fear I’ve hurt him.”

“Worry not - he will sulk for a while but return to his normal self by the time of the ceremony,” Gildor said.

“I hope you are correct.” Maglor sighed heavily and heaved the black case up, grunting as his arms ached from the pressure. The activity from the day was already tiring him.

“Want me to help you move it?”

“What? No! No - I have this.”

“My lord, you do not look well,” Gildor said. “Here, sit.” He pulled Maglor to one of the nearby chairs, chastising him whenever he protested. He poured out a glass of water for him. “Sit. Stay. You need your energy to sing and harp for us later.”

“Thank you,” Maglor said. “This day will drive me mad if I am not careful.”

“As all weddings are,” Gildor said. With ease he delivered the case to the front and set them up immediately. Maglor watched him with a smile, grateful yet also embarrassed to be the only one sitting sipping from the cool drink.

“I have tuned the harp as my cousin always taught me,” Gildor said upon returning. “But if there is any particular string you wish me to tighten or loosen -”

“You’ve done enough!” Maglor laughed. “Sit down!”

“I am certain I must be standing, Makalaurë.”

“You are a guest here under Artafinde,” Maglor said. “Sit with me, Elenaurel.”

It was the manner in which Maglor said his name that finally convinced Gildor to settle beside him. He glanced around himself in a vague nervousness as if his actions were upsetting the other servants. Maglor smiled as he watched him, realizing that this was the first time he had ever seen Gildor appearing anything other than calm and content. Pulling the pitcher towards him, he poured a glass of the icy water as Gildor continued to study his surroundings.

“Refreshment, Elenaurel?”

Gildor settled his eyes back to Maglor. “Certainly. Thank you, Lord Kanafinwë.”

“Makalaurë is fine enough for me, my friend,” Maglor reminded him. “None of my family known by their father name - save for Curufinwë.” He pushed the glass towards him, and their hands touched for a moment. Maglor pulled back quickly, smiling shyly at Gildor.

“I noticed that you do not grow your fingernails,” Gildor said before taking a sip from his drink.

“Aye. And against Elemmírë’s advice,” Maglor said. “But I wear my nails down too quickly. It is the only thing we do not agree on, but for our own sanity we never bring it up.” Both chuckled, and Maglor took that moment to study Gildor’s own hand.

“Do you not worry about bleeding or blisters?” Gildor asked.

“Only if I play for too long,” Maglor said. “Lucky that I also have a lute which I can play with my pick.”

“A lute? I would much enjoy to listen to you play that!”

“I can play you a song after the celebration, if you wish.” Smiling, Maglor leaned forward. “I wish it could be like this, us both just sitting here and talking. It was near impossible to get you alone since you arrived.”

“But we cannot be seen like this often,” Gildor said softly. “It is not appropriate for a servant to be treated as an equal to a lord in our custom.”

“But I often dine with the servants of my house!” Maglor said. “Would that this barrier not have exist between us. If only you could leave your life as a servant and serve only yourself. It was by this little tear in our customs that made my brother’s love for one acceptable in my father’s eyes. Why have you remained a servant when you had a chance to leave and study under Elemmírë your cousin?”

“Life is not unpleasant as a servant,” Gildor said. “Your house has many serving one. Would you say they are miserable? Depending on whose servant you become, of course. For some they may be required to work at every moment, but to others we are given time to let our minds wander. We are free of the restraints that are upon your shoulders as prince. I feel that in this life I am given a chance to truly appreciate everything that others are too busy in their own lives to notice.”

“That does make sense,” Maglor said. He recalled his own servants, of their easy-going demeanor even when there was tension in among the descendants of Finwë. Perhaps he was one of the lesser demanding lords, for besides food and having his quarters cleaned he required little of them. As a child he even played with some of their children until his father forbade him. But they were so happy! They played on their musical instruments and filled his house with song. Though he never told this to any, he had bought for them instruments from the most skilled crafters in Tírion so his life would always be filled with the music filling the kitchens and his rooms.

“It would be nice to be a servant of my own house,” Maglor mused. “To be free beside the occasional chore. Indeed, when I think on it, it must be truly nice to not worry about keeping your status, unless of course you are seen frolicking with the higher ups.”

Maglor chuckled, but his words had an entirely different effect on Gildor. “Which reminds me, I must leave before we are seen.”

“No! Stay sitting!” Maglor grabbed his wrist, and realizing what he had done he bit his lower lip. “You are a guest, not a servant in this ceremony - remember that.”

“But I come as a servant of Artafinde. I am bound by the customs wherever I go. Even my robes for this occasion do not match the splendor of what was made for you and your family.”

There was nothing to argue in that. Though Gildor appeared handsome even in these robes, the material was far below that which were made for Maglor and his family. “I wish to ignore these customs.”

Gildor studied Maglor with a look of forlorn, and tentatively he brought a hand over Maglor’s. But their moment was suddenly gone at the sound of a few yells. Startled, Maglor straightened himself as Fingon plopped himself between Maglor and Gildor. Moments later Finrod settled himself on Gildor’s right, and on his right sat Maedhros looking rather disgruntled at something.

“You appear quite enthusiastic over something,” Maglor said to Fingon as more elves filled the vicinity. The fact that Fingon’s father did not join them had no effect on him.

Fingon studied about himself, looking like he was about to jump out of his seat at any moment. “How splendid are weddings! A bride for myself may be among this crowd. I tried to find someone for Maitimo, but he refuses.”

“That may be why you look upset,” Maglor said, chuckling as he glanced at his brother.

“I tell everyone repeatedly I wish not to marry!” Maedhros said.

“Easy, cousin,” Finrod laughed.

“Perhaps I must leave,” Gildor said after taking note of who he was sitting with, but as he made to stand Finrod grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“You are sitting with us!” he said, laughing. Maedhros and Fingon gave each other looks as if wondering at this strange seating arrangement, but they said nothing.

“Now where could my future love be?” Fingon said as he studied the crowd. “Ah - do you see the lovely one over yonder? Has a funny-looking nose, though.”

“That is Carnistir’s bride!” Maedhros yelled.

“Ai, I’m too late.”

Laughter rippled across the table. Maglor and Gildor shared amused looks. Around them the tables were all nearly filled. As the call of the ceremony’s start was announced, Galadriel and Aredhel slipped into the seats on Maglor’s left, joined by a couple of their servants. One was dressed elegantly for one of her status, and she gave Fingon a hopeful look. But he was glancing at others and ignored her, and this was not lost to Maglor, who gave Gildor a slightly disturbed look before turning his attention to the central stage.

Caranthir appeared then with Telpenië, both appearing stunning in their ceremonial robes. Caranthir’s bonding to Telpenië was reminiscent of Curufin’s own bonding with Lalinyë. The bride and groom stood atop a dais as to be seen by all who attended. They each spoke out their welcome and gratitude at those who came to see them wed.

“Welcome, welcome,” Caranthir called out in a loud and clear voice. “Ever glad is my heart to see you all here, to wish myself and Telpenië a joyous union.”

Several raised their glasses and cried out their blessing.

“Same announcement as always,” Fingon whispered just loud enough for everyone in his table to hear. “And as fake as ever.”

“Indeed, it does not suit someone like him,” Galadriel replied softly.

“With each word he struggles not to roll his eyes at his contrived lines,” Finrod said. “His bride is doing no better. The two are a good match.”

Maglor had to fight back a laugh. Curufin had looked foolish on this part of their announcement, and now so did Caranthir. He was not one to show such overt emotions, and his effort to bring enthusiasm into his words were not lost on them. And indeed Telpenië too seemed as unenthusiastic as him.

“This is not my brother,” Maglor said softly. “Poor thing to have to obey our customs.”

“If left to his own devise, his announcement would be no more than a single word and curt nod,” Maedhros said. “Which means our bellies will be filled sooner, and we will be gladder!”

“Ai, cousin, you constantly think of the food?” Aredhel said.

As the two argued, Maglor glanced around to find his other brothers and found them sitting together in a table larger than their own and closer to the dais. Celegorm and Curufin were finding it harder to keep their faces void of amusement, their shoulders shaking in their silent mirth. Sitting with them were Lalinyë and the three elflings, with little Celebrimbor leaning into his mother. The unoccupied seats near them were meant for Fëanor and Nerdanel, who at the moment were standing near the rectangular table reserved for King Finwë and Queen Indis, positioned right behind the dais.

When the scripted speech was at last over, they took their vows, which thankfully were more heartfelt than the precious speech. The parents of the bride and groom then stepped unto the dais to offer their blessing to the couple. The exchanging of silver rings to golden rings partook, and afterward Fëanor placed a beautiful silver necklace around Telpenië’s neck while her mother did the same for Caranthir. About the silver chain were rubies fashioned in the style that only one as gifted as Fëanor could have designed.

The audience applauded as the couple then exited the dais together, their arms linked. To the table with the king and queen they were settled in.

“This is the time for me to take my leave,” Maglor said as he stood up. He gave them a quick bow before heading to the front where the bride and groom sat. Caranthir gave Maglor a small smile, which Maglor returned.

“Greetings and welcome to all who have come on my brother’s joyous day,” Maglor announced. “May their life together be blessed with good fortune and children -”

“And soon!” someone yelled in the audience, with some embarrassed giggles following.

“Well - yes, that too,” Maglor said, fumbling. Not wishing to delay things, he bowed to the audience before seating himself by his harp. Though he had played before a crowd countless of times before, he was not immune to the effects of being on stage. His heart leapt to his throat, and his fingers trembled as they were positioned over the strings.

He glanced up and saw Gildor giving him his utmost attention, and even in this distance he could see the bottomless love in that elf. Rush of love overtook him, and before he knew it the song had begun. He played with abandon, letting his heart lead him through each note. The first tune was just with the harp, and the following song was joined by his words, his powerful and majestic voice carrying through the awed crowd.

As the song faded applause roared in Maglor’s ear. He opened his eyes to witness the standing ovation for him. He bowed, smiling as he noted the cheery and pleased looks in Caranthir and Telpenië’s faces, of his proud father and grandfather the king. He gave his blessings to Caranthir and Telpenië before heading back to his table.

“Beautiful song!” Finrod said as Maglor took his seat again and was patted on the back by Fingon.

“That is one of the greatest songs you have composed, cousin,” Galadriel said.

“Truly inspired,” Gildor said.

Maglor glanced at him and fought back a smile. “Yes, yes it was inspired.”

They ate and drank and shared stories and laughed as the light turned from gold to silver. Other minstrels had appeared to play their tunes - “They better not touch my harp!” Maglor said, making them roar with laughter - and elves got up to dance. The open plains surrounding the stronghold were teeming with dancers until servants and lords were mingled as one.

Maglor and Gildor remained sitting. Galadriel had asked Maedhros to dance with her, and Aredhel followed, taking the hand of her servant who had eyed Fingon. Fingon had disappeared as well, no doubt in search for his own bride, while Finrod located where the rest of his own family sat.

They laughed together as they witnessed little Celebrimbor pulling on Telpenië’s hand towards where the others danced.

“He is trying to steal my bride!” Caranthir roared, followed by much laughter and applause.

“It has been a beautiful wedding for your bother,” Gildor said. “Do you not wish to dance?”

“It does not interest me,” Maglor said. “I would be performing more songs for them, but my brother wished for me to play just this one song and then to rest on his day. But to be honest, I would be more interested in playing another song, perhaps for you, on my lute.”

“You wish for us to retire to your rooms?” Gildor said. “I will be willing to do so. But before we take our leave, I will go wish the newlyweds well and then meet you inside.”

Maglor rose up. “I hope there won’t be any inside to disturb us. Want me to wait for you?”

“I will find my way, I am certain,” Gildor assured. “Do not feel pressured to leave if you find anyone present. I will see you soon, dear Makalaurë.”

Thankfully, there were none which Maglor could find in the stronghold. He waited until he saw Gildor’s large form in the doorway. Then grabbing his arm he led him through the maze towards his quarters.

“There is always the chance that one of my servants remained behind,” Maglor said. “It will be best if we entered by way of the back.”

“And why are we being secretive?” Gildor asked with a smile.

Maglor chuckled. “Just in case.” Gildor winked. He led Gildor not through the hall of his servants but up a flight of stairs situated in the other side of the stronghold. Without taking a peak through the other door, Maglor rushed Gildor into his quarters and locked the door.

“Very secretive indeed,” Gildor said, laughing heartedly.

“I wish for none to think ill of us,” Maglor said, though he felt a slight tingle at the thought of being truly alone with Gildor for the first time.

“And why would they think that?” Gildor said, but his sly grin betrayed his thoughts.

Laughing, Maglor pushed through Gildor, crying out, “Ai, you tease me cruelly! Come with me - the music room is right here.”

Gildor settled himself where Maglor indicated, and he studied about himself in genuine interest.

“It is very beautiful here,” he said. “Conductive to creativity.”

“It could be more pleasant,” Maglor said. “More windows, like in Finlaurë’s house. Overlooking the sea.” He settled down before Gildor with the lute nestled in his lap. “Now what to play first for my lovely audience?”

“Your favorite,” Gildor said. “Show me what you can do with that instrument.”

Maglor’s fingers slowly glazed over the neck of the lute, smiling as he studied Gildor’s face. “I believe I found my first song.” The song he sang first spoke of his travels with family as an elfling to the forests and valleys of Valinor, of the great light that basked his world and the love and comfort which were plentiful. This Maglor sang with his eyes closed, as he had done before at the wedding ceremony, and when he opened them but briefly he could see Gildor hanging on to his every word. Though he was not one to show off his talent, no matter how much his music was renowned and cherished among the Eldar, he felt a sudden urge to display his talents at their fullest. Song and after song he went through, filling the room with his mighty voice until at last he grew weary of playing.

When he opened his eyes it was to find Gildor was leaning just inches from him. “I…must have gotten a little carried away,” he said.

“They were all very beautiful,” Gildor said as he peered into his eyes. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with his smile. “Very beautiful. You wrote all of these songs?”

“Not all,” Maglor said. “Some I, ah, made up as I went along.”

“Truly? That is a real talent indeed, Makalaurë.”

“I follow my heart and fëa,” Maglor said.

“It is a very passionate fëa then.”

“Aye, and full of desire, though not for music right now.” Maglor glanced away.

“Then what?” He felt Gildor lean closer.

“You are teasing me again!”

“How so? What does your fëa yearn for?”

Maglor turned around and they shared a smile, both just a mere inch apart. He leaned forward and shyly kissed Gildor on his cheek. “You, silly elf.” They closed the space between them, their mouths meeting. First a chaste kiss, then slowly, deeper it went until they were lost in the fiery, needy kiss. Gently Gildor slid the lute from Maglor’s hand and set it down at the table next to them; now with hands free Maglor brought them to Gildor’s chest, gently rubbing him around his nipples.

All too suddenly, Maglor pulled away from him. “To my room, please,” he begged gently.

Gildor nodded. “I was about to suggest the same.”

With a trembling hand Maglor clasped his and led him to his rooms. He studied about himself, his heart hammering at the thought of what was about to take place. “Perhaps we should change out of this,” he said. Before he could reach for his robe, he felt Gildor’s hands on his shoulders, and with one tug his outer robes slid down. Smiling though nervous, Maglor helped with ridding himself out of the overly frivolous robes. When he turned back around it was to find Gildor had already stripped himself nude during the time when he was looking about his room.

“Eager, aren’t we,” Maglor teased before making his way to his bed. How weird it felt to walk like this before another. He was suddenly aware of how the skin of his thighs rubbed against each other, of his testicles and penis bobbling slightly between his legs as he walked. Of the gentle breeze against his warm body and how he could feel Gildor’s eyes feasting on his body…

He plopped onto his bed, and shyly looked up at Gildor before leaning back and sliding his legs open as offering. “Why do you remain standing there?”

“I am still a servant here under your roof,” Gildor said.

“Come,” he commanded, fighting with himself not to stare too much at Gildor’s body.

“Yes, my lord,” Gildor said. He leaned over Maglor, kissing him. “So shy and polite for a prince! Does your fëa not yearn for us?”

“It is not an area I am comfortably versed in,” Maglor said. “But yes. I want you. Since the days of my visit in Alqualondë. I yearned for you, your touch, to feel your own fëa fused with mine, to feel you fused with me.” They kissed.

“That is my wish as well,” Gildor said. He motioned for Maglor to lean back, fully exposed and vulnerable in this position. “I hope I am not too heavy for you.” He brought his lips to Maglor’s neck, electing a soft moan from the prince. His fingers slipped into with Gildor’s hair, carefully playing with the braids until they came undone; he was rewarded by feeling Gildor’s hair slide over his shoulders and tickling Maglor’s nipples. He gave a small gasp of delight.

“Does everything excite you, beloved?” Gildor said.

“Everything from you excites me,” Maglor said. He playfully rubbed at Gildor’s nipple with one thumb, watching his love’s own reaction at his touch. “And it seems the same is true for you.”

Gildor met his lips again, though it lasted shorter than he would have liked. “Close your eyes,” Gildor said.

“Ordering a prince now?” Maglor said, but he did as he was told. Immediately he did not regret his decision, as the touches now were more pronounced, and mot knowing where Gildor would kiss next only excited him further. He felt Gildor kiss down his neck as his hands kneaded his shoulders before roaming down to his nipples. A wet hot tongue flicked across them, and he shivered, feeling the slightly cool air against his nipples moisten from Gildor’s lips. The kisses traveled downward, to his stomach where Maglor next felt the warm tongue dip into his navel, tickling him and sending heated sparks through his body. Whimpering, he squirmed underneath Gildor.

“Please - I am too sensitive there!” Maglor cried out softly, his fingers squeezing Gildor’s shoulders.

Gildor kissed him right below his navel. “You are giving me weapons to slay you with, my lord.”

“Ai, you have slain me already,” Maglor said, gasping. “And you must call me Makalaurë!” He felt Gildor slide over him once more, meeting his lips.

“Anything you say, my lord Makalaurë,” Gildor said, his amusement clear in his voice. Gildor laid kisses over Maglor’s face, cheeks, and right below his ear, nibbling playfully at the lobes, before trailing his way back to his neck. As he did this, Maglor drew circles over Gildor’s back, pulling him close and grinding his body against his. He felt their erections pressed together and moaned as he felt a hand wrap around them, stroking them together. Another hand he felt close to touching his cheek, and gripping it he brought the fingers closer, sucking on them to match the rhythm of the attention Gildor was giving their erections.

His eyes opened and noticed the loving and hungry look Gildor was giving him as his hands continued to work them close to completion. Maglor peered into his eyes as he continued sucking on his finger, coating them with his saliva. Gildor’s other hand suddenly stopped, and instead he brought it up to cup Maglor’s cheek. Gently he slipped his slick fingers from Maglor’s mouth.

“Do you wish for this?” he asked.

Maglor nodded as he swung on leg over Gildor’s hip. “Aye. You are the one slaying me, remember?”

He nestled against Gildor’s chest as he felt the first penetration by a finger. Each of Gildor’s heartbeat was felt, rather than heard, and Maglor realized then that their fëa had already begun to fuse together.

A sudden pain brought out a cry.

“Ai, forgive me!” Gildor held him against his broad chest as he quickly slipped his finger out. “I did not mean to hurt you!”

“That is fine,” Maglor mumbled. He kissed a spot on Gildor’s chest right over his heart. “Perhaps another position would be better?”

They shifted till Maglor was flat on his stomach, his legs spread, with Gildor right on top. He kissed and teased the prince with his lips and tongue while his hand worked on making him comfortable. On this went, with Maglor gently rocking to get his body comfortable with the act, allowing himself to enjoy each finger, each stroke inside his body. Gildor explored inside him, finding more areas that made him squirm.

“It feels so strange and wet there,” Maglor commented, unable to stop himself from laughing. His giggles intensified as he felt more liquid suddenly against his opening.

“I believe you are seeking to destroy the mood, my lord,” he heard Gildor’s amused response.

“Ai, I am sorry, Elenaurel!”

“I am enjoying this!”

When at last Maglor’s body had become accustomed and was well coated with a mix of saliva and semen, Gildor placed a pillow under Maglor’s hips, prepping him up. As Gildor entered him, Maglor gripped the bedsheets, easing himself into it. As big as Gildor’s erection had already appeared to Maglor, it was no where to how he suddenly felt inside. He was being stretched till he did not think it was possible. Yet there was no pain, only the momentary surprise at how filled and incredible it felt.

“Are you doing well, Makalaurë?” came Gildor’s husky question, whispered tenderly in his ear.

Maglor moved slightly to allow more of his mate inside. “Aye - aye!”

Gildor was only able to slowly thrust a few times before Maglor gave a pained gasp. “I am sorry! I am ruining everything!”

“Do not be distressed!” Gildor kissed him. “I daresay it would be harder if it were me. Come, let us try for another position.” He kicked the pillow aside and guided Maglor to another position before penetrating him once more. They experimented with several positions, moving slow and steady till Maglor found a position that brought him the greatest ecstasy. He rested on his side, his back pressed against Gildor’s chest, while one leg was raised slightly to allow for the other elf to thrust into him at a steady pace. One large hand held Maglor protectively on his stomach. This position was good for them both, Gildor thought, for he could enjoy the sight of his lover’s erection and feel Maglor’s body squirming against him, and it was easy for their lips to meet.

How long they remained as such, none were certain and neither cared. They moved slowly, savoring each ripple of pleasure that consumed them both at once. Their fëar, they both felt, had merged into each other. Maglor’s begs were now felt inside Gildor, rather than heard, or perhaps it was just his own mind playing tricks on him as their lovemaking steadily quickened to a fast tempo. Yet there was no denying the strange intensity that overtook both of their bodies. Each heartbeat and each breath came in unison. Their bodies moved in harmony, legs and arms entangled just as their fëar were, together reaching their climax.

Gildor’s hand slid from its position on Maglor’s stomach and gripped his cock, pleasuring him. Maglor took hold of his free hand, tangling their fingers together. He kissed his hand and repeatedly and gently bit him. His other hand slid back to roam over Gildor’s side, but it was not easy for him to keep this position, and he resorted to anchoring himself on the bed.

Communication was now exchanged through their minds, though it was not by words but with emotion - yet it was clear and vivid and intoxicating to them both. Their declaration of their love and devotion, their vow to be one, all announced in their mind, body, and spirit their reached the apex of their shared bliss.

“Ai, Elenaurel…” came Maglor’s suddenly soft cry, almost a whisper, and Gildor felt when Maglor hit his climax. Maglor fell forward, burying his face in the pillow; his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth flew open as if to cry out, but no sound came. He rocked against Gildor’s body, and when he raised his face, Gildor could see the bliss cross on his love’s face as his body rode on the wave of his orgasm. Gildor could feel all of Maglor’s joy deep within himself mingled with his own approaching orgasm, which left him shuddering on top of Maglor until the two were collapsed on the bed, catching their breaths. Gildor brought up his hand filled with his love’s nectar.

“Look,” he said in Maglor’s ear. Maglor tentatively opened one eye, studying the pearly white nectar before hungrily bringing Gildor’s hand to his mouth. He lapped at his own essence before kissing Gildor feverishly. “Mine,” he said repeatedly. “Mine. Mine.”

Sleep was fast coming over him. Gildor guided him to sleep before taking a towel and wiping as much as he could of their essence before finally slipping under the covers besides Maglor. Like this they remained until their bodies recuperated from the intense ordeal of the union of hröar and fëar.

It was Maglor who woke first. A sense of great happiness was upon him, and he smiled broadly as he studied the ceiling, for the first time finding beauty in his new home of Formenos. He turned around to study Gildor beside him.

Even in sleep Gildor smiled, looking as peaceful as ever. Maglor would have laughed. Did he always smile, even while relieving himself, Maglor wondered cheekily. But his optimism was one of the things that attracted Maglor to him. Unlike the other elves as well as his large build. Whereas most elves were tall and slim, Gildor was tall and board-shouldered, and up close Maglor studied his strange physique in mesmerization.

“He could carry me easily as if I were a toy,” Maglor thought. “My husband is strong in body but very handsome.” But the bright thought darkened as the realization dawned on him on what he had done, to have bonded with a servant without first the blessing of one’s father and mother would stir such a dire scandal should any learn of it. Worse still was that his bonding with Gildor could easily be detected, for an Eldar had only to peer into the eyes of another to see if they were taken by another.

“What have I done, to be so weak as to surrender to my own body’s desire?” he wondered.

“Melilaurë?” came a soft voice as Gildor raised his head, and Maglor jumped at hearing his husband’s epessë for him. Clearly he held none of Maglor’s worries, yet he studied Maglor’s face with concern for him. “I felt the distress inside you. How do you fare, beloved?”

Maglor related to him of his fear as Gildor held him close.

“The past cannot be changed,” Gildor said, “and our fëar would have eventually seen to our union. There is naught we can do save to live our lives as we have before.”

“And to love in secret,” Maglor said. “It is not how I envisioned my future would be.”

“Seldom can we predict our future,” Gildor said.

Maglor leaned back to study him. “How long have we been away from the others?” Somehow it seemed like they were away for years, taking advantage of what time they could have together in secret. And how foolish it all was in the end! He was still a prince, and Gildor still a servant who was led into an elf lord’s bed. He had no business to offer advice to one of higher status, or indeed to touch him as he had done. But it was by Maglor’s own doing that the line was blurred, and finally realizing the full extent of implications of their act, a wall seemed to have suddenly formed between them.

“Your lord will be looking for you,” Maglor said, hating how hard his voice was. “Go.”

Gildor bowed his head. “Yes, my lord.” He slipped out of bed before turning to Maglor again. “Ah, I…haven’t fully washed after-”

Maglor shook his head. “Go.”

Nodding, Gildor quickly dressed before departing without another word. When Maglor heard the front door of his quarters close shut behind Gildor, no longer could he stop the tears.

He glanced about himself and noted the mess on the bedsheets, and he pulled on his hair and wept. Soon his servants would come and see the evidence of his deeds. He considered filling the bucket in the washroom from the faucet and drenching the bedsheets, but there would be questions. He needed something else to distract them.

Then the idea came to him. After he washed himself completely in the bath, he kept the bucket filled with water. From his kitchen he produced a small knife, and with it he cut himself deeper than was enough to draw blood over his bedsheets. Immediately following this was some water from the bucket. Maglor scarped the parts of the blanket until most of the semen was well enough disguised in the greater mess he had created.

Dressing himself in a simple robe, he stepped out and cried out for a servant.

“What has happened to you?” one of them exclaimed as she studied the blood still dripping from Maglor’s arm.

“I was bathing, and upon my return to my rooms and I slipped and cut myself over my bed,” Maglor said. He was rushed to have a healer look at him while his bedsheets were washed. He was glad for the distraction though he worried someone would notice the other stains on the bedsheets. But fortunately, none noticed, for all attention was on Maglor and his injury.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent with him working up the courage to leave his rooms. He dined with the servants and sang with them, reveling in the joys of being among those who he knew all his life. But he knew soon he would have to leave to congratulate Caranthir on his wedding, which meant a greater chance of bumping into Gildor.

Their bond was such that Maglor felt him everywhere: as he spoke with his mother or sat quietly in the music room to compose. Their bond had created a continual connection between them. Even in this distance Maglor knew how Gildor felt, and it almost annoyed him to know that the damn elf was still as cheery as ever. But the annoyance disappeared throughout the day, replaced with a deep longing and sorrow as the light of the trees turned from gold to silver and gold again and Maglor saw nothing of his husband. He thought the absence would be met with relief, to take a much-needed break. But the bonding was still too new, and his body still yearned for his touch, or just to be in his arms. Looking at his brother Caranthir only made his pain worse. This was a time for the couple to take delight in their bonding, yet here he was hiding what should have been cherished and celebrated.

Finally, he made his decision. With effort he located Finrod, trusting that Gildor will not be far behind.

“Linlaurë!” Finrod called out, embracing him. “How many blooms of the trees have passed before seeing you!”

“Forgive me,” Maglor said. “It was most impolite of me to not see you after my brother’s wedding!”

“Well, it would not have been possible to meet,” Finrod said. “The firstborns of every son of our haru have been called to meeting, and so it has been ever since the wedding.”

Maglor nodded in understanding. “It seems my father is not wasting any time to bring forth this issue about our haru’s circlet. I am sorry, Finlaurë.”

“It is no problem,” Finrod said, studying Maglor’s eyes. “If you do not mind me saying this, cousin: there is something different about you. Your eyes seem brighter than before.”

“Master?” Gildor appeared behind Finrod, carrying a small briefcase. Maglor breathed a sigh of relief.

“Aye, thank you, Erenaurel!” Finrod said as he took back the briefcase. “I almost forgot this. It was for another issue your father has been having with my father.”

Maglor’s heart leapt at the sight of Gildor, though a feeling of shyness crept as he peered into his husband’s eyes, taking note of how they too have changed. “I miss you, Mélaurel,” he said in his mind, and Gildor smiled at hearing Maglor’s epessë for him for the first time.

“I miss you too, my Melilaurë,” Gildor replied back, loud and clear in Maglor’s mind, full of the tender love that always accompanied his words.

“I’m getting hungry,” Finrod’s words broke through their silent conversation. “Shall we break the fast?”

The two elves agreed to it and followed him, allowing Finrod to walk in front of them.

“I should have found you again,” Maglor continued in their conversation of thoughts. “I was too distraught over the implications of our actions. I could not fathom the thought of what my father would do upon learning that I had bed a servant. The sheets were a mess, and I feared my servants would grow suspicious.”

“I have heard of your injury,” Gildor responded. “I knew of it before the news spread, for I felt your distress. Did I cause you this much trouble?”

“It is not that I regret the time with you,” Maglor thought. “Nor do I regret our bond.” Though all elves carried the gift of telepathy, the communication was far stronger with the one the elf had bonded to. And Maglor realized this instantly. Hearing Gildor’s voice was as clear as him speaking to his ear. It brought shivers down his spine, and his body hungered for more of his husband’s touch.

“I can feel what is in your heart, you know,” Gildor said in his mind.

“As I can feel your own need,” Maglor replied. “It is cruel we must be apart during this period.”

“But how would we be together and avoid any suspicion?” Gildor thought. “None would think twice upon looking at me, for my status are of no one’s concern.”

“Ai, you prove again why you are luckier than me,” Maglor thought. “Some have already questioned me, including my cousin just now, but all I can do is avoid their questions as best as I can.”

“Why are you both quiet?” Finrod asked, turning around briefly to smile at them. “You two must be famished. Come!” He led them into the halls where the smell of food was thick in the air. They ate in silence, and though Maglor was hungry, the food held no taste on his tongue. Just the presence of Gildor nearby brought such sorrow in his heart he wanted to scream. Just to kiss him and to hold his hand…he needed nothing less. And when Gildor glanced up, Maglor saw the same sorrow and longing.

“When my cousin sleeps, come to my room,” Maglor said in his mind. “Call me in your mind, and I will open the door for you.” His only reply was seeing a flicker in Gildor’s silvery eyes, but it was clear enough answer. His smile was great to Maglor and he broke the silence with a joke, and before long the tension had subsided as the three friends fell into carefree talk.

Maglor waited anxiously in his rooms afterwards, though Gildor sent him several messages to calm him. When it seemed Finrod would never fall into sleep, he finally heard Gildor’s voice in his mind: a whispered, “I am here, Melilaurë.”

Maglor rushed to the door, and without any greeting, he pulled Gildor inside and locked the door behind him.

“Well, good day to you too,” Gildor said, chuckling.

“I am sorry, I cannot risk anything,” Maglor said as he leaned back on the door. “You are far too precious for me to lose.” Their eyes met, and in the silence there was a surge of energy. Suddenly Maglor lunged at him, pressing their lips together firmly. Finally able to feel Gildor his bondmate and love pressed against himself, Maglor moaned softly, begging for more of Gildor’s touch.

“Ai, but we cannot make a mess again,” Maglor said softly as his robes were unbuttoned.

“I am a servant, you forget,” Gildor said. “I could wash the sheets afterwards.”

“You are my husband, not my servant!” Maglor whined. “And what if my cousin sees you and questions you?” He pulled away from their embrace. “The washroom. Please. Our secret can remain in there, washed away.”

“But it is cold!” Gildor said, but he allowed himself to be led inside. After helping Maglor off his robes, he suddenly gripped him about the waist and led him to the marble step where one sat as they bathed. It extended from the wall a few feet, allowing for comfort as one bathed. The hose and bucket of water was nearby.

“What are you doing?” Maglor asked as Gildor slid off his robes before Maglor, taking care to slowly reveal his body. He gently laid Maglor on his back, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the marble slab. He got on his knees before Maglor.

“Comfort, beloved,” Gildor said before sliding down and taking Maglor’s cock into his mouth. A few careful licks, and Maglor was stretched out, grinning, on the slab, feeling one long finger enter him as Gildor’s tongue drove him into a state of bliss.

They spent much time exploring and tasting one another’s bodies. Though both had climaxed repeatedly, still they found themselves seeking more of the other’s touch. This both amused and frustrated them.

“How much longer will our bodies hunger of this before it wanes?” Maglor said, moaning into Gildor’s chest as they rubbed their shafts together.

“It will not be for some time yet,” Gildor said, amused. “It is in the science of elven bodies to seek as much intimacy for the production of elflings early on.”

“But neither of us are female!”

“Our bodies do not know that! And it seems they are trying to make up for the time lost since our bonding night.”

Maglor groaned loudly. “I am getting tired.”

“Of me?”

“Of course not, silly elf!” Maglor playfully bit Gildor’s ear lobe and nuzzled against him. “I wish to simply hold you. My body is tiring of this activity.”

It was Gildor’s turn to nuzzle against him. “We will, promise. Do you wish to stop right now or continue this?”

“One part of me would hate me for stopping, but the rest of me has indeed grown weary,” Maglor said softly.

Gildor nodded and helped his husband settle on the floor. As he washed him, Maglor felt himself slipping in and out of sleep. It did not seem he slept for long, though, and he was surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself tucked into his bed.

“Did I wake you?” Gildor questioned in a whisper. Maglor looked around himself, blinking off the sleep from his eyes.

“Did I fall asleep while you bathed me?” Maglor asked.

Gildor nodded. “You were not joking when you said your body tired.”

“Only you could make me feel this way,” Maglor said, smiling to himself. He snuggled closer, letting their bodies press together. How he wished to remain like this for eternity, warm and safe and content, next to Gildor whom his heart and soul was bound to.

The world faded in and out again for him. No words were spoken between them, for the words exchanged in their hearts was enough, lulling Maglor back to sleep. Many happy dreams he had, of merry life back in Tirion, with Gildor and he, blessed under his father and mother, the green plains and the bright light of the Two Trees. The euphoria of his dream faded only when he became aware of Gildor’s absence, and he opened his eyes at the same time that the entrance door to his rooms shut. The feeling of loneliness seeped in, the same sadness of his first day at Formenos. He openly wept.

Finding no reason to continue resting, he finally slipped out of bed and got dressed. He sought for the company in the music room, but he could not shake off the sorrow. Finally after drying his eyes he left his rooms, seeking for company. By chance he saw Finrod exiting from the room where Fëanor commonly held his meetings.

“Finlaurë!” Maglor called out with as much joy as he could muster.

Finrod glanced up at him with forlorn.

“Ai…what has happened, cousin?”

“My hope to spend the rest of the year near you has been destroyed!” Finrod cried out.

All the air seemed to leave Maglor. “What has happened?”

“To Tírion I must go with your father and the exile King to meet with Lord Ñolofinwë!”

Maglor struggled with whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He had feared somehow his secret with Gildor had been revealed, but he was uncertain how to take this news either.

“Surely, it will not be for long,” Maglor said. “You will return soon, I hope?”

“I doubt that,” Finrod said. “Our dear uncle, who hadn’t even bothered to come to Formenos for his nephew’s wedding, is requesting we fix this problem about the circlet as soon as we could. How long will this take? Well, you know how he can be.”

“And my father is allowed to return there?” Maglor said, stunned.

“Just for this trip. He will be under watch at all times.” Finrod grabbed Maglor’s arm, motioning for them to move away. “He feels humiliated to go and be treated like this. He doesn’t show it, but everyone knows how he truly feels about all this. It took a long time for my father to calm him. Findekano tried to as well, but you can imagine how that turned out.”

“Lucky I have one uncle who is unbiased in all this,” Maglor said. He sighed. “And what of my brother and our cousin Findekáno? Are they going as well?”

“They are coming, of course, being the eldest in their house,” Finrod said. “Hopefully Lord Fëanáro will not pulverize our cousin Findekáno before we reach it. He’s been more quiet than usual; he meant well, but you know how sometimes his words come out wrong. But at least King Finwë is coming along.”

“It seems everyone is leaving!”

“Only the ones I have just mentioned. And some of our servants, so Elenaurel will be with me.”

Maglor felt his heart sink as his suspicion was confirmed, and he wished his stubborn uncle would change his mind regarding their visit.

“I will miss everyone,” Maglor said. “May your journey be short and your labors minimal.”

“You have no idea how much I hope for this as well,” Finrod said.

A period of silence followed before Maglor spoke up again. “And when will you be leaving?”

“But the next blossom of Laurelin,” Finrod said.

Maglor froze, silently cursing his luck. “But that is too soon!”

Finrod sighed. “I know.”

The following day Maglor stood upon the steps of the stronghold, far sooner than he would have thought. He embraced Finrod and wished him well, and looking over his shoulder he said his farewell to Gildor in his mind. Gildor, who stood right behind Finrod, smiled back in comfort and brought his hand over Maglor’s own. But he retracted his hand quickly before Fëanor turned to them.

“May the Two Trees light your path,” Maglor said, bowing to them and then to his father and grandfather the King of the Noldor. They took their leave. He watched them, his eyes focused on Gildor, until they disappeared beyond the horizon.

“You act as if they never will return,” Nerdanel said, one hand on his shoulder. “The time will pass fast, and your cousin will be with you again.”

“Thank you,” Maglor said, fighting back the guilt for missing another more than his cousin. As they went inside and parted ways, Maglor caught sight of Amrod, and he went to him. But Amrod’s eyes suddenly flashed dangerously and he rushed off.

“I may never understand that child,” Maglor though to himself and frowned. He passed the day busying himself with meeting with his brothers and engaging in activities to take his mind off the emptiness of the stronghold. But in time the socializing and the amount of reading eventually tired him once more. He spent time in the music room composing a song, but all that came out was a tale of how his heart wept for his love which served only to depress him further.

At last he retired to his bed, the need to rest his mind and body great. As he slipped under the covers, he heard Gildor’s voice suddenly in his mind.

“You grow weary, Melilaurë.”

“Only because you grow weary from your travels, Mélaurel. I can feel it. How are you, beloved?”

Maglor smiled, feeling rather than hearing Gildor explain his emotions throughout their trip. The sound of his voice, so soothing and lush, lulled Maglor to sleep, but he fought to stay awake. Just for this, to hear his love again.

“I miss you being near me,” Maglor said when Gildor was done.

“Ai, your body still hungers?” Maglor smiled as though it was Gildor smiling through him.

“Not hunger in that sense, Elenaurel my love. Just to be near you.”

“Then perhaps a story would entertain you?”

Maglor smiled. “I would enjoy that very much.”

* * *

The weeks which followed was less lonesome than the day Finwë and Fëanor left with their party to Tírion. Maglor lived for the moments when he could settle on his bed and listen to Gildor’s stories. He recounted tales of his childhood, or of his life at Alqualondë, his melodic voice often lulling Maglor into reverie, and Maglor swore the images he envisioned had to have in some way been created by Gildor. At times the tales would turn to them, and Maglor could almost feel Gildor’s hands on his body, massaging him and slowly bringing him to climax.

The songs Maglor wrote afterwards became greater in their strength and lyrical beauty, inspired by Gildor’s stories and the exchange of emotions between the elves. Unbeknownst to himself, Maglor became happier and less lonely during his waking hours. Life at Formenos at first appeared it would become as joyous as his life in Tírion, but there was always something in the back of his mind troubling him.

Amrod’s behavior was becoming more and more destructive, while Amras only grew more quiet and resolved. It pained him to watch his youngest brothers behave so oddly. At times it maddened his mother, who had to lock her workshop to keep Amrod away from breaking every one of her creations, as he had once done not too long after the party’s departure. Of her family, Nerdanel was still loved by the inhabitants of Valinor and commissioned for her work, but with Amrod’s recent behavior she found her work coming along at a sluggish pace. No amount of scolding, or lecturing, or even holding him seemed to take effect on the elfling.

A few times Maglor sought to speak to Amrod, often with help with his mother or one of his brothers, only to be met with a cold, hard stare. He would next turn to Amras, gently trying to pry answers from the quiet child, but all efforts were fruitless. He suspected Amras may have been kicked out of the rooms, and with Celegorm gone on a hunting trip with Oromë Maglor sought to it that Amras slept in his own rooms instead. And on those occasions he often woke to the smell of urine, a pool around the elfling who had not, to his knowledge, ever been known to wet the bed before.

And still Amras refused to speak.

* * *

It was on a particularly bright day, when the light of the Two Trees mingled, that Maglor received word to meet a messenger at the door. On he way he passed the children playing, his brothers, nephew, and elflings of some of the servants; and he smiled faintly for the three elflings seemed as they were before, happy and content. Little Celebrimbor was giggling and staggering around, getting used to the miracle of walking on his feet so fluidly. A tiny slip and he collided with Amrod. Amrod sat transfixed for one stunned moment, then suddenly in a flash like lightening he lunged at Celebrimbor and knocked him to the ground.

As Maglor rushed in, he heard Curufin’s roar. “No, you despicable elfling!” He grabbed Amrod’s arm and yanked him off Celebrimbor, who lay there crying and thrashing; Amras sat frozen watching them, his face ashen and still. But Curufin’s attention was on Amrod and he raised his hand to strike.

“Curvo, no!” Maglor gripped hold of Curufin’s wrist tightly. “He is your brother!”

“He meant to harm my son!” Curufin shot back angrily. “I have been keeping an eye on him all these months. He has become violent and dangerous! Why he is still allowed to play with the others -”

“Curvo, please,” Maglor begged softly. “Your son needs you.”

Curufin’s eyes flickered from Amrod to Celebrimbor, then finally he let go of the elfling. He scoped up the crying Celebrimbor in his arms, holding him close and whispering soothing to him, and rushed off, leaving Maglor to Amrod.

“Why did you do this?” he asked gently. “You made your nephew cry, Pityo. I know you meant not to hurt him.”

But all Amrod responded was with a glare. He spat at Maglor’s shoes and ran off before Maglor could grab him.

“What has come of this child?” he wondered aloud. Turning he saw Amras, who was sat till frozen as a statue. Maglor went over to next ask him, but Amras scuttled off to a group of elflings and pretended Maglor wasn’t there. Sighing, Maglor continued on his way, his mind buzzing with the concern of his brothers’ strange behaviors. “Since coming to this house, nothing has been right,” Maglor thought.

His thoughts were temporarily halted when he reached the entrance to find a messenger dressed in the manner of the Teleri.

“I hope all is well,” he said.

The messenger bowed, keeping hold of a package in his hands. “Lord Arafinwë and Queen Eärwen present to you a gift from the seas of Alqualondë.”

Maglor smiled, remembering. This was their yearly present to him, knowing how very well he loved their food. “Ai, thank you!” And he relieved the messenger from the package, noting the ice that was wrapped around the fresh meat. He called for servants to take him to rest from his journey, and Maglor turned back to his quarters. He brought it to the chefs and asked, rather shyly, if it could be prepared for him right away. The thought of fresh fish from the seas of Alqualondë was too tempting, and he wished not to let the meat sit out longer. He also wished to take his mind off the matter of Amrod, whose behavior shook him too deeply.

But as he settled at his small dining table, his meal ready, he could not think of anything by Amrod. There has been too much misfortune since their coming, as though the stronghold itself was a curse. His own feelings of sadness, his brothers changed in their behavior, Celegorm almost falling off the chair…so many little near accidents. Perhaps unnoticeable to the unobservant, but there was an obvious increase in the frequency of these strange occurrences.

Slowly and carefully he ate, taking care not to accidentally eat one of the bones. With all of the incidents at Formenos, he wished not to risk choking without anyone there to help him.

The door to his quarters sprung open and Curufin marched in. He suddenly halted upon seeing Maglor and his face screwed up in disgust.

Maglor laughed. “Care to join me, brother?”

“You know quite well how much I detest fish!” Curufin settled himself as far as he could from Maglor, eyeing the dish with disdain.

“So why do you come here?” Maglor said though he knew the answer to that already.

“I have been thinking a lot about our brother’s behavior,” he said.

“As have I. Have you noticed anything else that has been happening?”

“Such as the fact that Moryo and his wife have yet to conceive?” Curufin said.

“Pardon?”

“Three months, brother. And they have been trying hard. Still no child.”

Maglor chewed slowly before swallowing. “Perhaps it will just take time for them?”

“Nay. I too have been trying for another with Lalinyë. No one has conceived since our coming to Formenos, despite many couples discussing having children. Save for the elflings who were conceived right before coming here, no elfling has been born in Formenos.” His hands balled into fists. “And one of my own servants almost lost hers during labor. This happened during your visit to our cousin.”

“Ai,” was all that could come out from Maglor at first. “Ai…I did not know that. This is grave!” And he told Curufin of all he has observed. Curufin studied him carefully with his sharp eyes.

“Do you believe Formenos is cursed?” he said when Maglor was done.

“What other explanation is there, brother?”

“I wish not to believe it,” he said. “I helped build this place. Only the Noldor touched the stone that made this! But it would be foolish to blind myself by pride. Something must have happened to this place, but what?”

Maglor went back to eating as Curufin’s words turned into murmurs and his fingers moving quickly over the table as though he were drawing or working on a puzzle. Maglor always admired his younger brother for his genius, though it often gave the elf strange habits that often intimated those who didn’t know him well.

“Accidents, near accidents, our brothers affected, no conception…but why?” he said aloud. “Do we truly live under a roof of misfortune or are we chasing superstition to blame for our own deeds? Perhaps it is our punishment to no longer bear any children, though it is cruel. Perhaps the near accidents are just a coincidence.” He glanced at Maglor. “But then Pityo and Telvo never harmed anyone, and neither have you. And yet one child has turned violent and the other lives as if walking on eggshells, while you have had to bond in secret.”

Maglor nearly swallowed a bone, though thankfully a small piece. He coughed and cleared his throat. “You know? Do the others?”

Curufin grinned, suddenly shaken out of his contemplation. “Of course I know. It is rather difficult to walk around with the aura of the bond so clear in your eyes. I suspect I know the identity of the elf in question. I have seen how you pined for that servant of Artafinde. You did not wish anyone to know, otherwise why even do this in secret? Not to mention your little ‘injury’ seemed suspicious from the beginning, but others are just ready to take your poorly-constructed lies for you are known as a polite and honest son.

“The others do know of your bond deep within their souls, although they are happy to deny it and fool themselves into thinking otherwise. But do not worry, brother, I will not divulge your secret.”

Maglor leaned back, uncertain if he should laugh. “Ai, well…thank you for understanding.”

Curufin just shook his head. “Despite our glaring similarities, I am unlike our father in many ways. I see no problem in one of high status marrying one of the servants. We were all created equal under the eyes of the Ilúvatar, and so I shall follow that. Even our father would have welcomed this union had we been in less stressful times.”

Maglor sighed. “Then we do live under a roof of misfortune, that I should bond with my love in secret and shame.”

Laughter erupted from his younger brother. “There is no shame! Though I must admit I admire you. Of us all I never expected you to be the one to rebel against the system. You surprise us all, Laurë.” He leapt to his feet and paced around Maglor, giving his shoulders a playful squeeze. Smiling, Maglor clasped Curufin’s hand, and they stayed like this for but a moment before a crash followed by an anguished cry sounded in the adjacent halls.

The two brothers scrambled out of Maglor’s quarters and made their way to the halls where Maglor’s servants lived.

“What has happened?” Maglor demanded, startling one of the servants, who then pointed to the kitchens where a small crowd had gathered. Curufin had to push his way through to get his brother to the source of the commotion. One of the elves lay sprawled, her leg covered in the dark red tone of blood, pooling around her in massive amounts. Shattered glass and a small wooden ladder, its legs in pieces, surrounded her.

“Pick her up!” Maglor commanded loudly, unable to tear his eyes from the blood. “Take her to a healer, now!”

“I will do it,” Curufin said. He swept down and lifted the shaken elf. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his chest, muffling her howls of pain. Curufin had to push his way again, taking care not to cause further injury to the wounded woman.

“What happened?” Maglor asked one of the chefs as he studied the scenery.

“She was climbing up a ladder to get some of the goblets for our meal, but the legs of the ladder broke, and she knocked over the glass bowls in the process.”

“Did the step ladder appear old?”

“No, my lord.”

Maglor nodded and crouched down, careful not to touch the blood. He studied the ladder, taking note of the brilliant color of the thread around the legs. “It is a new ladder.” Sighing, he straightened up. “Clean this mess.”

Maglor was back at his quarters when Curufin reentered. He took one shocked glance at the state Maglor was in before recovering quickly. “She will be well again,” he told Maglor. “Shaken by it, but otherwise unhurt. It is not every day that a dozen glass pieces fall on top of anyone. But with some rest her wounds will heal by the morrow.”

“It could not have been by some accident,” Maglor said. “The legs of the ladder were sturdy. There was nothing to suggest it would break under her weight.” Sighing, he covered his face with his hands. “Indeed we do live in a cursed house.”

“Indeed the events were unsettling, but think no further on it,” Curufin said.

“What of the elflings? Where are the little ones we call Ambarussa and your son?”

“I will look out for them,” Curufin said as he gently tugged on Maglor’s arm. “Here, get up and go to your bed. You are in a right state, and I will not have my brother succumb to illness.” Finding it useless to argue against him, Maglor allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. He chuckled as he was tucked in by his younger brother.

“Just like the days when you were small and I tucked you into bed,” Maglor said.

Curufin smiled. “Wish for me to sing you a tale? Though I cannot guarantee it will be any good. Let the thoughts of this past few hours leave your mind. Rest well brother.”

“Please look out for the elflings,” Maglor begged. “I worry for them.” He took Curufin’s hand in his, stopping him from leaving. “Do you remember when you were a small elfling? I was looking out for you one day. We were in the city, but Melkor was near and tried to lure you away from the crowd. It was by chance that I caught you just in time. I never did trust him, and that day gave me all the reason to warn our father of him.”

The words affected Curufin, who thought for a moment how things would have been different had he been abducted.

“May our family not be cursed.”

Curufin nodded and patted Maglor’s hand. “Rest well, brother.”

* * *

But Maglor could find no rest. “Not whatever is cursing our house has turned to violent attack,” he thought, and again he thought of his younger brothers and nephew, and of the elflings of the servants. He had half a mind to get out of bed and seek his brothers, tucking them in bed alongside him and protect them from this invisible fiend.

But he kept himself stationed in his bed, waiting for Gildor’s voice to come in his mind. He was late this time around, and just as Maglor was giving up, he finally heard his voice.

“Melilaurë.”

“Mélaurel.”

“I apologize for my lateness - I was in no position to be alone until now. There is much distress I sense inside you. Beloved, what has happened?”

And Maglor recounted everything to Gildor, of the strange happenings in Formenos and of his discussion with Curufin. Gildor listened patiently as he spoke, and Maglor could sense his husband’s own thoughts mingled with his own, just there at the surface before being brought out.

“When will you return?” Maglor asked. “This is a matter I believe my grandfather and father must attend to. They need to give the stronghold their blessing lest this continues. Someone may be slain soon.”

“I know not what to say,” Gildor said. “Is it not the custom to bless the stronghold before living in it? No one has ever blessed their home twice.”

“But I feel it is important!”

“Have you not seen anyone who should not be there?”

Maglor shuddered, though he could not put an answer to why. Suddenly a memory flashed in his mind and he gave out a horrified gasp: his first night in Formenos, waking up to a tall dark figure hovering over him. “I thought he was my father or possibly my mother,” Maglor said, telling Gildor of the event. “There may be more I have yet to realize. Ai, I cannot sleep here alone!”

“Beloved, your words are concerning me. Would you like to speak with your cousin? Though I cannot tell him that we are communicating.”

“Yes, if this will help convince my grandfather and father to return soon. Is he available?”

“Let me check.” Minutes ticked by. “Yes. I hear him playing his lyre in his room.”

“Thank you.” Maglor sat up, mustering all his strength. Communication with one his fëa had bond to was easy, but communication with any other - no mater how close of kin they were - was always weaker. He needed to take deep breaths, gathering all of his strength before sending out the message.

Moments passed in silence. Then finally, “Linlaurë?”

Maglor recounted everything then to Finrod which he had just discussed with Gildor. His cousin seemed perplexed yet listened. “But how can your home be cursed? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Please, cousin, this is urgent! There have been too many incidents!”

“I will tell my father and we will talk with it to your father. I believe that will be best.”

By the time Maglor was done communicating with Finrod, he flopped back done on his bed, drained. Using the last of his strength he channeled his thoughts to Gildor.

“Have you discussed with Lord Artafinde everything then?”

“Aye. He will speak to my father about it. May they return swiftly. I am ready to leave this place. I wish to sleep, but I am afraid.”

“Close your eyes, beloved. I may be far in body but I am right beside you.” Maglor felt his lips tingle as though they had just been kissed. He smiled, letting Gildor’s thoughts spread through his body, massaging him. Phantom lips touched his again, as the hands caressed his belly and downwards, drawing out a soft moan and a smile from Maglor. As his orgasm dwindled, he closed his eyes and sleep came fast upon him.

He dreamt of Formenos, of his family laughing as they spent time outside where the wedding had taken place. Maglor reentered, making his way to his quarters, though it seemed he moved slower. He noticed with curiosity how the place looked as it had done on their first day, with some parts of the castle still unfurnished. As he passed by the dark corridor that had never been furnished he glanced towards it and froze.

An mask-like face, pale white and slim, its eyes blazing bright, a grin which stretched from ear to ear, the darkness veiling the rest of its form. Maglor released a cry that his family never heard. Someone had grabbed him and was shaking him, and he kept screaming.

Someone called his name and he opened his eyes and found himself not in the hall but back in his bed, looking up at the face of a kindly servant from his own house.

“My lord?” he said. “You were screaming in your sleep. Are you well?”

Maglor, his breathing heavy, became aware than he was drenched in cold sweat. Gingerly he sat up, looking about him apolitically at the other servants who had come to help him.

Suddenly there were screams far off, but the words which did reach them turned the contents inside Maglor’s stomach: Nerdanel! Fire!

* * *

Maglor held Nerdanel, wounded yet doing well, as he fought back his tears. He had almost lost his mother. It was by most strange chance, she had said, that the candle which was always located far from her drawings had fell exactly on her sketchbook, bursting into flame and nearly trapping her inside her drawing room. She did not recalling being dragged out of the room, and it was with difficulty that they were able to get her to breath.

Maglor had to keep telling himself that she was fine, but he could not stop embracing her, his heart aching at the terrible thought of losing his mother. He opened his eyes to look about himself and at the ashen faces of his brothers and his sisters-in-law and the servants who were tending to her.

His eyes met Curufin’s, and his message was clear in their minds: Get Father.

“He will be here in two days time,” Curufin said in his mind.

“But…this is so soon!”

“They are receiving aid to quicken their travel. They are not stopping until they reach us.”

* * *

No fire was lit and everyone moved in caution as they waited for King Finwë and Lord Fëanor’s return. Maglor kept himself busy outside, where a few nervous servants also sat. Some wished to leave, but as Curufin pointed out, it would take them all a very long time to relocate everyone. The matter would, hopefully, be settled within the next day or two.

Maglor was just glad to have the elflings within their sight, though Amrod was being kept away from them out of fear of hurting another. His behavior continued to be strange, and Amras as well, almost deathly quiet and reserved.

At last Maglor saw the host of the riders nearing them, and he rushed out to meet them half way. His grandfather and father continued to the house to meet Nerdanel, giving Maglor a chance to embrace Gildor (and he could not resist, being this close, to kiss his neck.) If Finrod thought it odd to see his cousin with his servant in this manner, he made no comment on it.

“Goodness, you are shaken!” Finrod said instead. “Has anything happened since our last communication?”

They spoke as they made their way towards the grounds of the stronghold, the rest of the party already far ahead. Maglor had to fight to remain calm, hoping nothing happened to his family once they were indoors, or even outdoors, should a piece of the building suddenly collapse on them.

He shook his head to get his mind off the terrible thoughts. Gildor gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. King Finwë and Lord Fëanor had entered the stronghold, followed by a great number of their house. As they neared the entrance, their attention was stolen by little Amras, who was watching them before running up to them. They halted in their steps, and Maglor crouched down, studying his youngest brother’s face. Upon seeing Finrod and Gildor Amras took a step back, glancing at his feet and swaying slightly.

“Is there something you wish to tell us, Telvo love?” Maglor said gently. Amras looked up, his eyes teeming with the words he could not speak. He was still too young to master communication of the minds, but it was obvious what he was trying to do. Realizing his failure at communicating his fears, the child burst into tears and made to rush off, but Maglor grabbed his arm in time.

“Brother, please! My heart is breaking seeing you suffer so! What is the matter, my child?” He turned to the others. “He knows something! All this time - but what is it? Has the fear cost his ability to speak? Telvo? Please answer me!”

Finrod and Gildor also crouched down to his level.

“Please, cousin, you can trust us,” Finrod said.

“No one can hurt you with a big rock like me around,” Gildor added, smiling at the small child. Amras studied their faces, inching closer as if to show his trust of them. But suddenly he wiggled out of Maglor’s hold and made for the field around the corner where the wedding had taken place.

The three elves followed, each wondering if there was a significance to the location, and each felt they were correct when Amras paused and turned towards them. His tiny body shook as, struggling, he lifted one arm to point in a direction at his far right. Maglor had a sudden flashback of the time shortly after his first rest, speaking with his father in front of his smithy as he watched his brothers run off in the direction where he now pointed.

“There is something there which changed you and Pityo,” Maglor said. “It happened on that day then.” Amras gave the smallest of nods and cried harder. He made to run away but Gildor swooped him up in his arms, holding him close. He hummed gently in the elfling’s ear.

“Show us where, young Prince,” he said. “Whatever has scared you will harm you no longer. We will see to that.”

There was a call behind them and Curufin and Fingon appeared.

“They are wondering where you’ve been,” Curufin told them.

“Telvo is trying to tell us something,” Maglor said. “Take us there, Elenaurel.”

Gildor nodded and the others followed.

“But there is nothing there!” Curufin said. “There is nothing but barren land in the back, so we never had plans to put anything there.”

“All the more for something to hide,” Finrod said.

“But there is no place to hide!”

“Then what about this?” Gildor said, indicating with a nod at the ground. There was what seemed to be an entrance to a cellar, the tall grass hiding its location from view until one was right beside it. Amras glanced over his shoulder at the doors, then wailed and wept against Gildor’s chest.

Curufin approached the doors, and his face was pale as he tapped the door with the tip of his boot. He glanced up at Fingon, who also studied the door with a slightly open mouth.

“This was barricaded when we were done building the stronghold,” Curufin said. “Done with the infrastructure, at least. We used this as a shed to store our supplies. When we no longer needed it, we just locked it, expecting nature to take its course and cover it with grass.”

“Yes, and I can attest to that,” Fingon said. “I helped to build Formenos - sent by my father of course. He thought it was best to have me as a volunteer.”

Curufin’s lips thinned at the memory. “Yes, I remember that. Point is, there should be no reason for the doors to be revealed like this!”

“A child could not have done it,” Maglor said. “They would not be strong enough to take apart the wood. But I have reason to believe they went inside, for I saw them playing in this direction a year ago.”

“So if it was removed by a child, then who?” Curufin said. “And what had happened to the wood?”

“One who wished us all ill,” Maglor said. “Remember what I told you earlier, brother?” He gave the door a look of unease. “Where does this lead to?”

“I…am not certain, actually,” Curufin said. “We never meant for it to be connected to the stronghold, but…” and suddenly he too seemed nervous. “It would lead to a hallway we never had a chance to finish. There is no light in there.”

Maglor sought to hide the shudder that racked his body, remembering his dream, but it was noticed by all around him. “Ai…that was where I saw it…in my nightmare.”

“The only way we can figure anything out is by going in there,” Fingon said. He bent down and with ease unlatched the door and swung it open. The crying from Amras intensified, but Gildor hushed him softly, rubbing circles on his back.

“Did you enter here to play?” Maglor heard Gildor ask his brother, who did not respond.

The others also heard him and they gave one another a slight pained look.

“Let us go in,” Fingon said. “Walk carefully on the steps. They are steep, but it should not be a long way to the bottom.”

“Is there any light in there?” Maglor asked.

Grinning, Curufin whipped out a small black stick where a Fëanorian blue light shone from the tip. “You need these at all times when working on the forge,” he said before following his cousin. Finrod went in next, with Maglor and Gildor, still holding Amras close to him.

Perhaps it was just the doing of Maglor’s own troubled mind, but he felt himself growing colder as they reached the bottom. He looked about to watch the others. Finrod also appeared nervous, and Curufin was looking about him as though confused about something. Gildor stayed quiet, but Amras gave tiny wails and gripped hold of Gildor. Only Fingon kept going.

“Someone was here,” he said. “The shovels have been pushed around.”

“It could have been the elflings,” Maglor said.

“No, this is far too recent,” Curufin said as he crouched down and wiped one finger over the edge of one shovel. He showed Maglor his finger, nearly clean of dust.

“How big is this place?” Finrod asked, looking around.

“Just big enough for our supplies,” Curufin said. “The end of the hall is what touches the side of that unfinished hall in the stronghold.”

Finrod gave Curufin an incredulously look. “I think there is another hall here.”

An involuntary shiver spread over Maglor as he glanced at Gildor nervously. Amras continued to cry, his sobs growing louder and frantic.

“It will be fine,” Gildor said soothingly to him. “The monster will disappear soon.”

Amras raised his head, though his eyes were squeezed shut, and whispered something to Gildor. The tall elf looked up.

“It was in the other hall when he was here,” he said. “He said…they can slip through the walls…because this cellar wasn’t blessed.”

Curufin’s face paled as he studied his youngest brother. “Once I find the fiend I will pulverize it!”

“I am getting terrified,” Maglor admitted. “Curufinwë, it is approaching us. I feel it.” His body gave it away. He shuddered violently with dread, his heart about to rupture with how fast it beat. Amras began to thrash, and no amount of Gildor’s words could subdue him.

“I feel it too,” Finrod spoke up. Though he stood straight the fear was clear in his eyes. He covered his mouth, his eyes widening as though he could see the terror materialize before them.

Fingon took the Fëanorian light from Curufin and said, “Bring your father - now!”

Not even flinching at being given an order, Curufin rushed back up the steps. Maglor gripped Gildor’s arm, the scream in his throat.

* * *

They never saw the fiend, though it was felt by all as though one was standing right beside them; but to Maglor he thought he saw the demon in his mind, taking many forms, including that which he saw in his dream. It was no wonder why his brothers had been acting so strange. Young and innocent of the world, their minds were full of frightful images and the feeling about them drove them into madness. Amrod turned to anger and Amras turned to tears to endure their trauma.

It took great effort from King Finwë and Lord Fëanor to vanish the spirit from the storage room, and each of the others participated in the cleansing and blessing of the room in the manner of the Noldor (which Finrod struggled with, being more familiar with the Telerin blessing). All except Gildor did this, for he still held Amras, who struggled against him as if in the middle of a nightmare.

“This is the very last time Melkor will touch our family,” Fëanor said. “Think I do not recognize the stench of him in here?” He paced around, paused, then turned to Gildor. His eyes narrowed.

“Put him down, slave! For what reason do you hold him and bring him here where he had suffered!”

“I apologize, my lord,” Gildor said, bowing his head. “He was frightened, and I comforted him.”

“And who gave you the permission to watch over an elfling? That is not your duty, is it? You have no business touching my son! Release him at once!”

Finrod looked from his uncle to his servant and friend in silent shock, while Fingon frowned and studied Gildor as though there was some dark secret to him. Maglor felt his own heart clench at the words; he felt Curufin’s hand on his shoulder. The events had driven from their minds the status of each and together they worked as a team, but now all was becoming aware of the servant who held a young prince in his arms.

Gildor said nothing but bowed once more before setting Amras down, who clung on to his robes until he saw the look in his father’s eyes. He let go and ran into his father’s arms instead.

* * *

Gildor was not bodily punished, but he was ordered to never return to Formenos even during Finrod’s visits. Maglor sought to speak with his father in defense of Gildor, which only earned him a ban to never communicate with him even should he visit Alqualondë (“And I will be sure of it,” he said.) All too soon, the party for Alqualondë prepared for its departure. Maglor stood in the front as he had during their arrival. It agonized him to be unable to speak to his husband, not since that day in the storage cellar. Gildor’s arm was the last thing he had touched, Maglor kept thinking, and his heart ached to touch him, just to embrace him, again.

All he could do was stare into his silvery eyes as he helped his masters pack and prepare for their journey. When all was done, he glanced up, his eyes meeting Maglor. No words were exchanged between them, for their eyes was all they needed to convey everything to one another.

At last as they left, Maglor turned to his father. “Elenaurel is a friend to me, and now I cannot speak with him.”

Sighing, Fëanor said, “That I understand, Kano. How deep that bond between you goes I do not know, but it is apparent and that makes everything worse. The law is the law. I cannot bend it for anyone. He held a child when he was under no one’s order. To forgive him would only hurt our image further. Did you not see how Findekáno regarded him?”

“He was acting on compassion.”

“I am no fool, dear Kano. I did not say I agree with the law, but it is our customs and to it I must stand true to it.”

“It’s a cold thing, following our customs. Do you not care for anything else, Father?”

At this Fëanor’s eyes flashed. “I am doing the best for my family, Makalaurë! You recall who was in the cellar with us? There was Findekáno who would have blabbered the entire story to his father, who is held in such high regard in Valinor. You wish for our name to be muddled further by the compassion of one servant? They are not seeking compassion but normalcy and abidance from us! They banished us to live in the barren of lands as mockery!”

“Father, I am sorry, I -”

“Do you think your father wicked? Would that I have first gotten to know this elf myself to feel secure with his intensions. And indeed had I know the friendship between you I would have bought him from your cousin! Otherwise, I can risk nothing! After nearly losing Curvo to Melkor when he was but an elfling, I keep a watchful eye on all my children! Whenever I can.” His voice faded as he looked about himself at the stronghold, clearly disturbed. “Everything about our family is a curse,” he said to himself before marching back inside and leaving a tearful Maglor behind.

* * *

1495 in the Year of the Trees

Your very loving husband, Melilaurë