High in the Clean Blue Air by StarSpray  

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Forty Six

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The letter was unexpected. Celebrimbor brought it to Elrond after breakfast, as the dining hall emptied out; it was another fine day and very few would linger inside for long. “I’ve been making sure my grandmother knows all that’s going on,” he said, “and I wrote to tell her that we plan to leave for Tirion soon—and this came with her reply, and a letter from my father.”

Elrond took the letter, startled to find his name written across it in Maglor’s hand. It was not long, and looked hurriedly written.

 

Dear Elrond,

I am at my mother’s house just outside of Tirion, having arrived this afternoon. You will have learned from Mablung and Beleg that Daeron joined me on the road, so I have not been alone—I know you were worried. You need not have. Daeron is an excellent traveling companion. We went all the way west to the shores of Ekkaia, in the end. I will tell you all about it when I see you in person. While we were there we met all of my brothers—NOT a chance meeting, since it seems that Gandalf has been sticking his nose where it isn’t wanted, not to mention conspiring with Huan. We all came back east together. I will tell you more about that when I see you, too. There is too much to put into a letter, even if I could find the right words for it. 

My mother has been receiving regular notes from Celebrimbor, it seems, and has told us that you are hosting what sounds like half of the House of Finwë. I hope they aren’t causing too much trouble for you and Celebrían. When they leave at last for Tirion, which I am told will be soon, I will come back to Imloth Ningloron myself. Daeron intends to come with me; I promise he will be a much better-behaved guest than any of our extended family. 

Give my greetings and love to the twins and Celebrían, please, and to my cousins if they’re still there—particularly Galadriel, just to spite Finrod. I miss you, but I promise I will see you soon.

Maglor 

 

Celebrían had been reading over Elrond’s shoulder, her arms looped around one of his. As he folded the letter up again she turned to Gandalf, who was sitting nearby sipping tea and nibbling the remnants of a seed cake. Breakfast was over, and most of the household had drifted away; it was a beautiful day, with a cool breeze to relieve the heat of the bright sun, and there would be very few who chose to stay inside. “You’ve been meddling, Gandalf,” she said sternly. “How in the world did you convince all seven of them to go all the way to Ekkaia?”

“I didn’t,” he said mildly, taking a sip of his tea. His beard twitched in the way it always did when he was trying not to smile, and his eyes glinted with amusement. “I may have suggested it as a destination. They were all going that way anyway, and it is quite lovely in summertime.”

“I did ask you to warn me if you were going to meddle,” Elrond said, trying to sound stern. But of course he had meddled, and of course events had unfolded as Galadriel had predicted. He should not have been surprised—but it seemed that he’d been hoping without realizing it that Maglor would manage to avoid such a meeting. Whatever had happened to put them all on the road together back east, that first meeting must have been hard. 

“I thought you were talking about Fëanor and Fingolfin,” Gandalf said, in that same surprised tone that Bilbo had always adopted when trying to pretend he hadn’t just said something outrageous—Bilbo had, invariably, been trying to make Frodo laugh, both with the tone and the outrageous statements. Gandalf, presumably, was only trying to entertain himself.

“You’ve been meddling there, too, I’m sure,” Celebrían said. “You know, I’m sure the Valar could find something else for you to do if you’re that bored in your retirement.”

“I’m sure they could,” said Gandalf, laughing, “but where is the fun in that? So they all met after all, did they? How did it go?”

“Well enough that they came back east together,” said Celebrimbor, who had his own letters in hand. “But I don’t think your interference is much appreciated, Mithrandir. My father also mentioned it.”

“It will be in time,” Gandalf said.

“One of these days,” Elrond said, “you will be wrong about something, and you’ll find no pity from the rest of us.”

Gandalf raised his mug of tea in a toast, and winked. “But not this time!” 

“Is there any other news?” Celebrían asked Celebrimbor, turning away from Gandalf. 

“No,” said Celebrimbor. “Just that they’re back, and together. What did Maglor say?”

“He and Daeron are coming back here soon,” Elrond said.

“After we all leave, you mean.”

“Yes.” Elrond was glad that he had had such company, and that he had not been alone when he met with his brothers, but he wished Gandalf had not decided to meddle. No matter how it turned out in the end, Maglor had not been ready. “He does not seem very pleased with Gandalf, either,” he added, voice raised just enough that Gandalf could hear. It only made the wizard chuckle again before he finished his tea and wandered away out of the dining hall. 

Later that morning, Elrond found Galadriel and Finrod with Elladan and Elrohir in the library, laughing over some histories that apparently got a few details wildly wrong. “I’ve had a letter from Maglor,” Elrond told them as he sat down between the twins.

“Really?” chorused Elladan and Elrohir, sitting up straight.

“Where is he?” Finrod asked. “Is Daeron still with him?”

“Yes. They are at Nerdanel’s house, along with all his brothers too.” Elrond handed the letter to Elladan, who passed it on around the table. Finrod snorted when he read it.

“Just to spite Finrod,” he said. “Well, he can’t be in too much distress if he’s remembering to tease me. I, for one, think Mithrandir had the right of it. It isn’t right to delay such meetings indefinitely.”

“You might not agree if it were you in Maglor’s place,” Galadriel said. 

“You only say that so you can remain his favorite,” said Finrod with a brief smile, before growing serious again. “But for Maedhros’ sake, at least, it is better this way. Whatever has passed between them, at least they have seen one another and spoken together. Surely there is a foundation there now that they can build upon, even if they can never be what they once were.” He folded the letter and handed it back across the table to Elrond. 

Elrond hoped that Finrod was right, but he did not expect to hear any such thing from Maglor when he returned. The subject turned from Maedhros to Daeron then, as Finrod asked Elladan and Elrohir what they thought of him; that turned into tales from Doriath, which Elladan and Elrohir listened to with rapt attention. Elrond knew them already, but he was happy to hear them again, though he found his mind wandering. 

He had not been worried, not seriously, until he had read Maglor’s letter. It was trying too hard to be cheerful. It sounded false, like a smile that didn’t reach one’s eyes. Maglor had been deeply unhappy when he had left, but Elrond had expected him to return in a better state of mind. If his meeting with his brothers had not gone disastrously, it had not gone well. If it had, Maglor would have said so, instead of delaying all details until they could speak in person. Elrond couldn’t imagine why he had agreed to travel with them across the whole of Valinor. 

He said so to Galadriel, when they were alone. “He had been thinking of going to them before, remember,” she said. 

“Yes, but that is very different from a chance meeting far away from everyone and everything else.”

“True. But he did travel with them, and he lingers with them still.”

“Only because he does not want to come here and see Fëanor instead.”

“He does not need to stay at Nerdanel’s house in order to avoid Fëanor,” Galadriel said. She laid a hand on his arm. “You have not been worried about him thus far, Elrond. Don’t start now just before he arrives home!”

“I have been worried,” Elrond said. “Now I wonder if I haven’t worried enough. I wonder if I should not have convinced him to go straight to Lórien instead of coming here, or if I should have insisted that he go there instead of away into the wilderness when he left after seeing Fëanor.” Even as upset as he had been, Elrond thought Maglor would have listened. There were any number of people who would have gone with him to Lórien if he did not wish to make his way there alone, though it seemed Huan had left the valley intent upon herding him out to Ekkaia from the start.

“I spent time in Lórien after coming back,” Galadriel said after a moment. Outside Elrond could hear Lindir burst into a merry song, tra la la lally and a nonsensical verse about black eyes and frightened ducklings. “But I did not go right away. It was easier to go after I had found my footing again here. I’m not sure that I can explain to one who doesn’t know exactly what I mean already, but…we left this place a very long time ago, in darkness and anger and bitterness and pride. Maglor and I have lived far more of our lives in Middle-earth than we lived here. It is hard to come back to those who expect you to still think of this land as your home, rather than the lands you knew so much better, so far away. Even now, when I think of home I think first of Lothlórien and the mallorn trees flowering in springtime beside the Celebrant.” She sighed. “It was hard to decide where I wished to live and with whom, and harder still to watch those who had known me in my youth struggle to reconcile those memories with who I have become.”

“Did it help, Lórien?”

“I was so weary, after bearing Nenya for so long, after striving against Sauron for so many years. Going to Lórien certainly helped me to find rest, but had I gone there immediately, before I had a sense of what had changed and what had not, of where I might go afterward, I think it would have been even harder to return. I needed to spend time with my parents and my other family, first. That was as healing as the gardens of Irmo and the powers of Estë. I do agree that Maglor should go there; I have even spoken to Celeborn of his going. Estë helps those who suffer weariness beyond that of the body, and Nienna comes to those who are grieving or sick at heart. But Maglor did not choose the timing of either Fëanor’s coming or his meeting with his brothers. Let him decide when he is ready to go. It may be that what he needs now is to be here, with you and your family, among familiar faces who know all of his past already and do not need him to always be speaking of it and explaining it anew—and for those who love him to trust that he is able to make his own choices, to decide for himself what it is he needs and when.”

It was sound advice, and had Elrond been thinking more calmly it was likely what he would have told himself. “Thank you,” he said. 

“He is not alone, Elrond. He has had Daeron with him all along.”

“I know, but I do not know Daeron well enough for that to be reassuring.” 

“I do,” said Galadriel. “Or I did, long ago, and Celeborn tells me that he is not so changed as one might expect, though he has wandered even farther than Maglor, did, and had many adventures of his own east of Rhûn. He is precisely who I would wish to accompany Maglor on such a journey. He is not one to be cowed by Fëanor’s sons, even all seven of them at once.”

That was, Elrond admitted, heartening. He still found himself wishing all of his guests were gone already, so that Maglor could feel safe returning home. 

He did not have to wait very long. It was not a long journey by any means, but there was still enough preparation necessary that the household turned into a veritable beehive of activity. Fëanor took little part in it, but disappeared into the workshops again. “He has one more project he wants to finish before leaving,” Celebrimbor told Elrond. They walked together along one of the many streams in the valley. The sunlight glinted on the blue strands of glass beads woven through Celebrimbor’s hair, and on the rows of small silver hoops lining his ears. He had an easier set to his shoulders than he had earlier in the year, and reached out to run his fingertips over the blue irises that grew along the water, bobbing gently in the breeze.

“What is it?” 

“A gift for Maglor.”

Elrond frowned. “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

“He’s just going to leave it behind for him—to use or not to use as he wishes. It was my idea,” Celebrimbor added, “to leave a gift and a letter. He did not get to say what he wanted to say when he saw Maglor, so I thought this a good compromise. I think he’s a little like me—sometimes, if you cannot speak to someone in person, it is easier to make them a gift instead, to show them instead of just telling them how much you love them. Words written in a letter can feel flatter than they are meant. He does care. He cares so much, and he is trying.”

“I know that,” Elrond said, though he doubted the gift would be taken in the spirit it was intended. “You’ll be going to Tirion as well?”

“Eventually. I’ll leave with them, but I’m going to my grandmother’s house first. I want to see my father; I think Maglor isn’t the only one struggling this summer.”

“Are you worried?”

“Yes, of course. But—I don’t know. I’ve been worried about them all ever since I came back, and so it’s lost any urgency it might once have had. My father did write to tell me that he and Celegorm are again on speaking terms, which I had long ago lost hope for. However much Maedhros is struggling in himself, he has been working to bring the others together again.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Elrond said. 

“I know you aren’t fond of him,” Celebrimbor said, glancing at him with a rueful look in his eyes. “It must be very tiring to hear the rest of us speak of him the way we do.”

“It isn’t,” Elrond said. “I hope for his healing as much as the rest of you do. I wish that I knew him as someone other than what he became in the end. I know that if he was not someone who cared, deeply, he would not be punishing himself as he is. Has your grandfather made anything for him? Or his other sons?”

“Yes, and he’s written to all of them too. That’s another reason I am going to my grandmother’s house.”

“You can also tell them more of him, and perhaps up them more at ease,” Elrond said. “You’ve spent more time in his company than anyone except Fingolfin.”

“That too,” said Celebrimbor with a smile. He looked as though he couldn’t quite believe his luck. Elrond did not think he had seen Celebrimbor so lighthearted or full of hope for the future since the founding of Ost-in-Edhil. “It’s been—it’s gone far better than I would have ever expected, really. We’re peers now, and can talk to each other as such, but he is still also my grandfather who I loved so much as a child, and who I never doubted loved me, in spite of all that happened at the end. It’s a second chance I never thought we’d get.”

That was what Valinor was, for so many of them. A place of second chances—of reunions longed for but despaired of, for new beginnings, new life. Elrond watched Celebrimbor retreat down the path, toward the workshops, and sighed. He thought of Maedhros, still punishing himself for things long past, and wondered if there might ever be a second chance for the two of them. He regretted, suddenly and sharply, not seeking Maedhros out himself, long ago, rather than letting the distance between them remain as it was just because it was easier, because to do otherwise would have been uncomfortable. It would have been better for both of them.

It was not too late, maybe. Had he not said as much to his mother?

Elrond stood for a while, watching a butterfly flit lazily between the irises and a nearby bush of bright pink eglantine, listening to a nightingale singing in the hedgerow nearby, and to ducks paddling in the water. Farther away someone burst into bright laughter like a peal of silver bells. Then he went to write a letter to his parents—to Elwing for now, and to Eärendil whenever he next returned—to share all that had been happening, and to tell them that he loved them.