A Hundred Miles Through the Desert by StarSpray  

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Two

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After spending so long in the quiet solitude of Lórien, coming upon all their brothers—and Daeron, and their nieces—all at once was almost overwhelming. Not in a bad way, though, Maedhros found as he was pulled down onto the picnic blanket in between Ambarussa. Pídhres tried to curl up on his lap, but was chased away by Náriel and Calissë, neither of whom were at all shy, and both very eager to see if all the things they had heard about their two absent uncles were true. They had all sorts of questions, and not just about his missing hand, and Maedhros could hardly answer one before they asked him three more. 

Neither, though, were they content to remain still for long. When they ran off in search of Maglor and Daeron, Celegorm said, “You two are really ready?”

“Yes,” Maedhros said. “We were looking for the way home when Huan found us.” Pídhres returned to curl up on his lap, and he ran his hand over her silky fur. “Is there really nothing else we’ve missed?” Fifty years both was and was not a long time, in Valinor. Anything might have happened, and nothing at all. And though he did not want to, he had to ask, “What of Atar?”

“He’s recently started tearing down our old house in Tirion, with the thought of rebuilding it,” said Curufin. “I think mostly for something to do, since he says himself he doesn’t really need a whole house for just him. I tried to help, but it was harder returning there than I had thought it would be.”

“We’ve seen him,” said Amras, gesturing between himself and Amrod, “and spoken a little, but it’s always been during larger gatherings, so none of us have said anything that means much.”

“I’ve seen him but not spoken to him,” said Caranthir. Celegorm just shrugged and looked away. “It’s easier to talk about him, now, but—well. Not much else has changed.”

“What of Ammë?” Maedhros asked, glancing toward where the girls had disappeared around a large tree.

“She sees him often in Tirion,” Curufin said, “but it’s…difficult for everyone, I think. For me, too. We fought before I left Tirion.”

“About what?” Celegorm asked, frowning. “You didn’t tell us that.”

“When was I gong to mention it, with Náriel and Calissë there?” Curufin replied. “It was about something stupid, just old frustrations bubbling over again. He’s trying to be better. That does not mean he always succeeds—or that I do.”

“You’re far more forgiving than I can be,” Celegorm murmured, plucking a bit of grass and some flowers to weave together.

Curufin shrugged. His look was troubled. “Calissë has started to wonder why all her uncles avoid her grandfather, though, and I do not know what to tell her.”

“I’m sorry, Curvo,” Maedhros said quietly.

“It’s not your fault. It’s his. He loves them, though, the girls, and they adore him. It’s almost like when Tyelpë was still very small, before all the whispers started.” Curufin shook his head. “I have no regrets. It’s just…hard, sometimes. Arimeldë and I will sit down with Calissë sometime after we get home.”

Maglor and Daeron returned then with the girls. Daeron pulled Maglor down to sit in front of him so he could wrap his arms around him from behind, resting their heads together, while Náriel and Calissë chased after the hedgehogs again. All talk of Fëanor was abandoned as Maglor cheerfully demanded to know what other small and unimportant bits of news and gossip they had to share. They talked mostly of Nerdanel’s efforts to expand her house so that all of them—including her grandchildren—could stay there comfortably without having to share rooms or retreat to Mahtan’s house on the other side of the plum orchard just to find a bed. Caranthir had many funny stories of the building efforts. There were tales too of Tirion and of the things Curufin and Celebrimbor were making, and of their cousins and old friends who lived there. 

They did not leave Lórien that day or the next, for there was too much to talk about and no one wanted to hurry. There was a sense of separation there in Lórien, as though the outside world was farther away than just a short walk through the trees, and could not touch them. It was perfect for taking the time to fall in with each other again, for Maedhros and Maglor to assure their brothers and Daeron that they really were well, and for them to see a little of the ways in which everyone else was different too. Celegorm was quieter and more thoughtful, but the anguish that Maedhros had seen in him before they’d last parted seemed to be gone. Caranthir had always been steady, but he could laugh about things now that he hadn’t before. Ambarussa were mostly unchanged, as cheerful and unconcerned as ever, and Curufin was of course a father again and so clearly thrilled to be so. In return Maedhros could tell how shocked and relieved they were to find him and Maglor able to laugh and smile so much more easily than they had before, to be able to speak of the past without pain—even to speak of Fëanor without faltering. 

Maedhros still feared encountering his father again, but it was not a fear that would cripple him. Not anymore. Whether anything would change going forward remained to be seen. He couldn’t even begin to guess one way or the other, not until he saw Fëanor again, whether those fears were still as founded as they had once been. 

When at last they left Lórien, they stepped out of the trees into bright summer sunlight that left both Maglor and Maedhros blinking for several minutes, so used were they to the gentler sunbeams and the shadows of the woods. The world seemed suddenly enormous, the wide fields and rolling hills stretching out before them, all green and gold and glowing under the bright blue sky. A river wound lazily through them, like a glittering ribbon. At Celegorm’s sharp whistle horses came trotting up, alongside a pony for Calissë. Náriel was yet too young to ride long distances on her own, and she perched before Curufin, who kept a practiced and steady arm around her, holding the reins with his other hand. Maglor hooked the hedgehog’s basket onto his saddle, and Pídhres jumped onto Maedhros’ shoulders before he swung himself up into his. 

“Really, though,” Caranthir said, glancing toward Pídhres. “How is that cat still alive?”

“Estë did something, I’m almost certain,” Maglor said. “I think she might be rather like Huan now.” Pídhres meowed. “She’s certainly able to make her opinions known the same way he does.” Maedhros reached up to scratch Pídhres, who purred into his ear. Maglor went on, “Even Leicheg lived longer than hedgehogs normally do, I think—it really is impossible to count the years in Lórien, though. You could tell me we had been gone ten years or ten hundred, and I would believe you either way.”

“Where are we going, then?” Maedhros asked as they started off, crossing a meadow filled with a rainbow of wildflowers to reach a road. The last time he had asked such a question they had been leaving on a very different journey, from a very different place—and they had had no destination at all. Now, though…

“Imloth Ningloron is closer than Tirion,” said Caranthir. “And we all assume that’s where you at least most want to go, Cáno.”

“It is. Does Elrond know we’re coming?” Maglor asked. 

“No one does,” said Curufin, “except Rundamírë, and Tyelko was pacing the length of the house the whole time I was telling her about it, trying to drive us both mad.”

“I certainly told no one, for I had no idea where I was going!” Daeron said, laughing. “One does not argue with Huan or ask many questions when he comes to drag one away from the banquet table. I’m surprised he let me change out of my robes and pack a bag.”

“You didn’t even tell Ammë?” Maedhros asked, surprise. “Or Tyelpë?”

“Oh, Tyelpë knows,” said Curufin. “He would have come too, but he is in the middle of a project he can’t just set aside.”

“Ammë is in Avallónë, teaching,” said Caranthir. “I left a note for Grandfather, but Tyelko was as impatient with me as he was with Curvo.” 

Maedhros glanced at Celegorm, who was unrepentant. “How did you even know it was time?” he asked. 

“I just did,” Celegorm said, flashing a grin. 

“Tyelko’s been very mysterious about it,” said Amrod. “But Galadriel is at Imloth Ningloron more often than not, and she always knows more than you’d think.” 

“She’s not there now,” Daeron said. “Or at least she was at the banquet in Taur-en-Gellam when Huan came to fetch me. Maybe she guessed what he was doing, but I was rather distracted at the time, trying to keep my sleeve from ripping while everyone laughed at me.”

“Huan wouldn’t have to rip up everyone’s clothes if you’d just follow when he comes to get you,” Celegorm said. 

“It was the middle of a banquet, have I mentioned? I was meant to perform before Thingol and Melian and Olwë that night!”

“Don’t worry about Elrond,” Amras said cheerfully, as Daeron and Celegorm continued to bicker over Huan’s timing and Daeron’s clothes. “He’ll be much too happy to see you to care about all of us descending upon his valley at once.” Maglor laughed. “We can write to Ammë from there—and Fingon, and whoever else you want to know you’re back.”

“I’m very eager to be back at home,” said Maglor, “but I wouldn’t mind it if we told no one but Ammë right away. I didn’t even see everyone before I went to Lórien, and I can only imagine it will be as overwhelming again as it was when I first came.” 

“I would like to see Fingon,” said Maedhros, “but I don’t think I’m ready for all of Tirion to descend on us at once, either.”

“Of course not,” said Amrod, wrinkling his nose. “That sounds awful.”

“Will Cousin Findekáno tell us how you lost your hand?” Calissë asked.

“Calissë Elenárë,” Curufin exclaimed, exasperated. 

“No, probably not,” Maedhros said, smiling at her. “Curvo, I really don’t mind. I didn’t even mind before. It’s just my hand.”

“It’s still rude.”

“Not if I say it’s fine.” To Calissë Maedhros added, because he was supposed to be the better influence, “You shouldn’t go around asking strangers about their scars, though. I don’t mind, but others might.”

“Can I ask Uncle Cáno why he’s got bits of white in his hair?” she asked. 

“No,” Curufin said sharply.

“He didn’t eat his vegetables,” said Amras at the same time. Daeron snorted and had to cover his mouth with a hand to stifle his laughter. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Calissë said. “I think you’re making that up to tease me. Anyway I like vegetables.”

“I don’t,” Náriel said, and stuck out her tongue. Curufin raised his eyes skyward, clearly struggling to remain stern. 

“I had many adventures away across the Sea,” Maglor said, smiling at Calissë, “and I ran afoul of an enchantress. She tried to turn me into a statue of ice and snow, but I got very lucky and escaped, and all she managed to do was leave bits of her magic in my hair. Maybe if you’re both very good, and listen to your father, and eat all of your vegetables, I’ll tell you the full tale sometime.” 

“You can’t tell a tale that you only made up on the spot,” Maedhros murmured a few minutes later, as Celegorm distracted Calissë with a short race down the road. 

“I certainly can, though I will admit I am out of practice—why do you think I put it off until later?” Maglor replied equally quietly, both of them aware that Náriel might still be listening, though she appeared to have dozed off, slumped against Curufin’s chest, for they had made an early start. On Maglor’s other side Daeron was still laughing quietly. “Anyway, I’m almost certain I got the idea from a tale out of the Shire. I only have to change a few details to make it sound like an adventure of my own once we get home and I can find it in the library.”

“Did you have any such adventures?” Caranthir asked. 

“Of course not. My wanderings were all very boring, until they weren’t. No, it’s fine,” Maglor added when everyone but Maedhros looked at him with concern. “I’m fine. Why do you think I went to Lórien in the first place?”

The road followed the river, meandering lazily through the fields. The day was warm but the breeze was pleasant. It was wonderful, Maedhros found, to be on the road again with his brothers—and with Daeron, who began a traveling song after a little while, and was joined immediately by Maglor. When Maglor had first come to Valinor there had been a thread of deep grief and mourning wound through his music, even when the songs themselves were merry ones. An echo of it was still there, but Maedhros was sure he only heard it because he was listening for it. Maglor had made music in Lórien, but it had been quiet and often private, wordless songs played on his harp where he sat hidden among the roots of one of the towering trees, or beside one of the many small ponds or streams. He’d played the same way that Maedhros had filled his sketchbook—most of the drawings ugly, many of them frightening, all of them as cathartic as tears. He hadn’t left that book behind, but it was shoved into the bottom of one of his bags, and when he was somewhere private he would burn them. They were not for any eyes but his, the way that much of Maglor’s music there had not been meant for any other ears. Now, though, he and Daeron harmonized as joyfully and effortlessly as though they had spent no time apart at all. They remained the two greatest singers of their people, and it was a wonder and a delight to listen to them.

This journey was much merrier than the last one they’d all made together. No one was angry with anyone else, and the past and its shadows was not dogging any of their heels. Even Celegorm seemed more at ease, though he was quieter and more thoughtful. When they made camp a few days into the journey, Maedhros caught his eye, and they walked away together along the riverbank. Maedhros put his arm around Celegorm’s shoulders. “How are you?” he asked quietly. “When we left…”

“I’m better than I was,” Celegorm said. They stopped, and he leaned against Maedhros. “I missed you, Nelyo. You and Cáno.”

“We missed you, too. But you seem different.”

“I went back to Ekkaia, a few years after you left,” Celegorm said after a moment.

“To Ekkaia? Why?”

“Nienna dwells there.”

“Did it help?” Maedhros asked. Nienna spent much time in Lórien, too, and he had spent many hours in her company. It had helped him, but he would not have expected the sort of comfort that Nienna offered to be something Celegorm would seek out. “What made you go back there?”

“I needed…” Celegorm paused—not hesitating, but as though he was putting his thoughts in order. That was different too. “I was so angry,” he said finally. “It was like…he came back and it was suddenly like I had never even left Beleriand. I hated it. I hated him, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Ammë told me I had to let it go. Curvo told me to find something that brought me joy instead, but I didn’t…I still don’t know what that is. I’ve left Oromë’s folk behind; the Hunt isn’t for me anymore.”

That was such a change that Maedhros didn’t understand the words at first. “Tyelko…”

“I remembered what Daeron had said—remember, just after we met? He called his old anger and hatred a poison, and said he’d left it behind long ago. I went to him and asked how he had done it.”

“Daeron never went to Nienna,” Maedhros said.

“No, but he put many years and miles between himself and—well, between himself and Maglor, and all of the western lands. I’d had years, and they didn’t help, so I thought the miles would have to do. And Cáno told me that he’d spoken to Nienna there, and whatever she said to him seemed to have helped.”

“She came to me, too,” Maedhros said, “that first night we were there.” She had appeared out of the mist when he’d slipped away from his brothers to go down to the water’s edge. He had still been too lost to really pay her words much attention, let alone believe them. “Are you still angry?”

“Yes. I don’t know if I can rid myself of it entirely. But it’s—it’s not something that rules me anymore. I can visit Curvo in Tirion and I can—I’ve seen Atar at a distance, anyway. I don’t know what will happen if I ever have to speak with him. I think, though, I can learn to be Nerdanel’s son rather than Fëanáro’s.”

Maedhros rested his hand on the back of Celegorm’s head, on his sun-warmed hair. They watched a flock of geese alight on the water upstream, and then watched Huan charge past and into the shallows to send them into flight again in a grate cacophony of fluttering wings and indignant honking. Behind them a burst of laughter erupted at the campsite. “I’m glad, Tyelko,” Maedhros said. “Are you finding happiness?”

“I am now—now that you’re back, and all of us are together again. But I just—I can’t be like Ambarussa. I need something to do, and I don’t know what that is anymore.”

“You’ll find it,” Maedhros said. “It doesn’t have to be any one thing.”

“I know.” Celegorm wrapped his arms around Maedhros, holding on tightly. “I’m so, so glad you’re back, Nelyo. I missed you so much.” He did not only mean Maedhros’ absence in Lórien.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Maedhros whispered. 

They returned to the camp to find Maglor and Daeron playing music for the girls to dance to. Celegorm sprang forward to scoop Náriel up and spin her around in time to the song, as Calissë tripped and fell into Curufin’s lap where he grabbed her and tickled her until she squirmed and shrieked with giggles. Maedhros sat down between Ambarussa, who threw their arms around him, laughing. Everyone was laughing; Maedhros couldn’t remember when last his heart had felt so full. 

As the afternoon wore on, Maglor set his harp aside, and then lunged suddenly toward Caranthir, who had started to pull out ingredients for dinner. “Caranthir! What’s this?” He grabbed at Caranthir’s hand, holding it up to show off a glint of silver on his finger, a slender band unadorned by jewels. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Moryo, why didn’t you say something?” Ambarussa exclaimed, abandoning Maedhros to tackle Caranthir from either side to get their own look at the ring. 

“Oh, get off!” Caranthir protested from underneath them, face bright red. “I can’t breathe, Ambarussa!”

“I thought we hadn’t missed anything else!” Maedhros said. “Was anyone going to tell us that Moryo had fallen in love?”

“We were waiting for Moryo to tell you,” Curufin said, amused in the way only a brother who had already suffered the same kind of attention could be. “When did you ask them, Moryo? Or did they ask you?”

“Who are they?” Maglor demanded. 

“I was going to tell you, just not in front of everyone,” Caranthir said as he shoved Amrod off of him. Amras was harder to dislodge. “Their name is Lisgalen, and they live in Tirion.”

“They’re a member of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” Curufin added. “But when did you exchange rings, Moryo?”

“Right before Tyelko came to kidnap me,” Caranthir said.

“It’s not kidnapping if you come willingly,” Celegorm said. 

“I hope you didn’t plan on marrying before we came back,” Maglor said. “I would never have forgiven you if you did.”

“Of course not! Amras, if you don’t get off me I’ll throw you into the river—”

“Please let’s not throw anyone into any rivers,” Maedhros said, to general laughter. 

Celegorm got up and hauled Amras off of Caranthir, who pushed his hair out of his still very red face and glared at the twins. “How badly did I ruin your plans, Moryo?”

“You didn’t. We weren’t going to make a big deal of it. I was going to write to Ammë about it and then just tell you and Curvo next time I saw you—Maglor!” Maglor pulled Caranthir into an even more crushing embrace than the twins had managed. He whispered something in Caranthir’s ear and kissed him before letting go. “Can I please make our dinner, now?”

“Oh, stop pretending it isn’t an enormous bit of news,” said Curufin, as Caranthir finally unpacked his pans. “Ammë is going to be thrilled.”

“We’re thrilled,” Maedhros said, as Celegorm sat back down, leaning back against Maedhros, who looped his arms around his chest. Huan flopped down just behind Maedhros, who leaned back in his turn, grateful for the soft warmth of him. Pídhres and the hedgehogs appeared out of the grass to cluster around Maglor and Daeron. The talk continued to center around Caranthir and his engagement, and around Lisgalen, who everyone liked and who, it was clear, Caranthir was very anxious for Maedhros and Maglor to like too even if he would never admit it aloud. 

The sun sank into the west in a blaze of brilliant red and orange clouds limned with gold. Maglor took up his harp again and played quieter songs as the stars came out. Náriel fell asleep on Daeron’s lap while Calissë tried valiantly to stay awake later than she should. Curufin indulged her, but it wasn’t long before she too was asleep, curled up in blankets beside him as he stroked her hair. Maedhros lay back and closed his eyes, letting the quiet conversation and the music wash over him alongside the sounds of the river and the crickets and frogs hidden in the reeds. Someone lay down beside him. “All right, Nelyo?” Amras whispered.

“Yes. More than all right.”