Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

Mablung paused in the act of collecting pinecones for playing and raised his head, listening. Had that been his mother calling him? He hastily climbed down the tree he had been sitting in, trying his best to wipe the sticky resin off his hands, and made his way back to the shores of the lake. As he drew closer, he could tell that a vast number of people was already gathered there, and more were approaching -like he was- out of the woods or from further down the shoreline. Amidst the crowd stood Oromë, towering over the Quendi, yet looking as excited as a young boy. Despite the serene expression on the Vala’s face, Mablung felt rather cowed by him, and when he spotted his mother at last amid the crowd he hurried to her side, pressing his face into the rough fabric of her gown. She stroked his head reassuringly and took him by the hand, leading him closer to where Oromë stood.

Clutching her fingers tightly, Mablung allowed his gaze to wander over the assembled crowd, and marvelled- never before had he seen so many Quendi in one place, or at least he could not recall it. They all looked towards the lake, where Lord Oromë stood central by the water’s edge. By the Vala’s side was a golden haired elf that Mablung had seen only a few times, and of whom he knew nothing apart from his name being Ingwë, and that he was a prince of the Minyar. Ingwë smiled a little, a smile that showed both his excitement and his confidence, even as he comforted the young child in his wife’s arms.

Mablung did not understand much of what was being discussed, only enough to grasp that Oromë wished them all to leave (which was no news, of course), and that, given that the Quendi were hesitant, he intended to take three ambassadors with him to the Blessed Realm, so that they could see with their own eyes that Oromë’s tales were true. Ingwë , it appeared, had at once volunteered, despite having a small family of his own to look after, and as Mablung now watched, Finwë rose from where he had sat on a boulder with his betrothed, to stand beside Ingwë, thus volunteering himself for that journey. Mablung rolled his eyes a little. He dearly loved Finwë for all the adventures they shared and more still for his kind heart, but he was as indecisive as a leaf caught in the wind. Not so long ago, Finwë had been convinced that the Vala told naught but lies, and now he was prepared to follow him into the unknown. Oromë nodded appreciatively.

“It fits well.” he said. “The last in direct line of the house of Imin- or at least the last that can make such a journey, the last in direct line of the house of Tata…”

Mablung, with a feeling that bordered on foreboding, glanced quickly to where Elwë sat with his brothers. Surly Oromë would not think of taking Elwë with him, who had so recently lost his parents and now was responsible for raising his youngest brother?

It appeared, however, that the Vala was thinking along precisely those terms, for he looked at Elwë too, saying gently: 
“Rightly, as the last in line of the house of Enel, it falls upon you to take the place of the third ambassador, Elwë. Are you willing to accompany me to Aman, representing your house and the tribe of the Nelyar?”

All around Mablung, a murmur went through the crowd, and they all watched silently as the young prince stood, proud, but also very obviously trembling with fear.

“I am!”

A kind smile lit the Vala’s face, but even as Elwë bowed, little Elmo jumped to his feet as well, wrapping his arms around his brother’s legs, nails digging into his tunic.

“Don’t go!”

Elwë gently stroked his little brother’s silvery head, looking down at him with a sad smile on his face.

“I’ll be back! And then I’ll tell you all the stories of…”

“Don’t go!” Elmo repeated, sobbing now. “I don’t want to hear any stories, I just want you to be here with us.”

Mablung’s heart clenched with pity, for it needed little imagination to guess how Elmo must feel. Mablung himself was several years older than Elmo, and yet the mere thought of losing his mother and father and then being left also by the sibling that now acted the role of a parent brought tears to his eyes. Trying his best to chase them away, he pressed himself harder against his mother, feeling her reassuring warmth, comforted by the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder.
Elwë had meanwhile detached himself from Elmo’s clutches and knelt down so that he could look the crying child in the eyes.

“I promise I will return.” he said quietly, with as much reassurance as he managed to put into those words while his own voice shook with suppressed emotion.

“Take me with you Elwë, don’t leave me, please!” Elmo pleaded desperately.

“I am not leaving you, Elmo. I will return, Lord Oromë will see that we will come to no harm, and everyone here is going to protect you. But I need you to be very brave now, to be brave for me. And to keep an eye on Olwë, or he’ll think he can do whatever he wants while I’m gone!”

This small jest did nothing to cheer Elmo up, and as Elwë rose, Olwë lifted their little brother up from behind, cradling him softly. For a long moment, Elwë and Olwë just looked at each other, saying a wordless farewell, then Olwë lowered his gaze, pressing Elmo yet more tightly to his chest, whose sobs rang in Mablung’s ears.

“What will happen to Elmo now, Ambe?” Mablung asked his mother timidly, snuggling still closer to her.

“He will be cared for by his wider family. The Quendi care for their orphans, you know that! It has always been so, and shall ever be!”

Mablung watched as Elwë turned away from his brothers, and as he did so, his face was briefly illuminated by the light of the campfire, and Mablung saw the tears glistening on his cheeks. Still Elwë walked over to Finwë and Ingwë and Oromë, and Mablung felt strangely moved. He thought about all the times he had come running to Elwë like the other children, to ask him to play with them, or to help whenever someone had got themselves hurt under, well, circumstances the adults wouldn’t approve of, as they liked to call it. He thought of the countless adventures all the children of the Nelyar and the Tatyar undertook together under the guidance of Finwë and Elwë, and about the feeling of love and admiration he always felt for them, he along with everyone else.

But there was another feeling now that stirred in his chest as he saw Elwë’s tears- the urge to run out to him and comfort him, as no one else seemed ready to do so. Mablung could not understand why all the others would just stand by and watch. After all, Elwë was little more than a child himself, and someone, anyone, ought to have taken notice of his distress. But nobody moved, nobody spoke, they all just watched as Elwë straightened his shoulders, now standing proudly beside Finwë. Mablung felt awed by the sight of the three, and he knew, without knowing how he could know, that they were their lords now, and that they would rise above all their sires. Glad though Mablung was to be still a child untouched by those matters, he nonetheless felt a fierce pride flame in his heart at the thought of one day calling Elwë his lord, and to follow him wherever it was he might lead him.

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A sigh of content escaped Mablung’s lips as he stretched out his legs in front of his very own campfire. His very first, very own campfire. He had grown up (well, a little at least, a small voice within his head said defiantly) during these past years of wandering. While he had always walked with his parents and little sisters in the beginning, he now chose his friends’ company over that of his family more and more often, and tonight he had succeeded in making a fire himself, with no help, for the first time. 
His chest swelled with pride, he still thought a little wistfully of his parents and sisters, though he quelled the feeling quickly, knowing he would see them the next day, see the elflings’ wide-eyed look of awe for the boldness of their brother, and the gentle appreciation in his parents’ gazes.

His heart was warm with the love he felt thinking of them, but at the same time weighed down with pity. He was very lucky to have his family intact, while so many of his companions had set off orphaned, or like Nowë with just one parent left. Many had left the graves also of children or siblings behind, or like Beleg any chance of ever finding their own roots. 
Found sleeping soundly in the forest by hunters one day, no-one truly knew who Beleg’s parents had been, only that they must have been among those that had left the shores of Cuiviénen for the forest, and of whom none remained now. So Beleg had been raised by the tribe itself, belonging nowhere and yet everywhere, ever leaving a smile on every face his bright eyes gazed into. Mablung's friendship with Beleg had begun when they had both been still very unsteady on their feet, and had grown ever since. Their childhood by the shores of the still waters had been beautiful, and a small twinge of regret was always there whenever Mablung thought back to the place of his birth. And yet, what awaited them was a better, a safer place. At least so Elwë said, and when Aman was good enough for Elwë, then it was good enough for Mablung.

As if summoned by Mablung’s very thoughts, Elwë sat down beside him not long thereafter, groaning a little.

“Forgive me for joining you unbidden, but that fire looked just so inviting.” he muttered apologetically, closing his eyes for a moment.

Mablung felt rather pleased with himself at the praise of his fire, which crackled merrily.

“You are very welcome.”

Elwë opened his eyes once more, looking appreciatively at Mablung.

“You are doing really well. ’twas a long walk since our last rest. Elmo’s fast asleep already. Well, truth be told, I don’t even know when he fell asleep, as I carried him for the last hours* of our march.”

Mablung scowled, folding his arms defensively before his chest, even while he silently pitied Elwë. Elmo was a lot older than Mablung’s own little sisters, and he knew how exhausted his parents were from each carrying one of the twins while keeping up with the march. Still, his annoyance outweighed his pity now.

“Ai! I’m older than Elmo by quite a bit.” he said indignantly, and was all the more annoyed when Elwë chuckled.

“Maybe. But you can still sulk like you could as an elfling…”

“You…”

Mablung aimed a fist at Elwë, but the older elf parried his swing easily, grinning even more broadly.

“I what, little one?” he teased, making Mablung snort and turn away.

He would never admit it, even less as he knew perfectly well this was just good-natured mocking, but Elwë’s words stung. Elwë seemed to have noticed himself, for he laid a consoling hand on Mablung’s shoulder.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you. It is just… I sometimes miss our trips around Cuiviénen, the teasing, the laughter. I miss all of you. ”

This time, pity won. He had never realised that it must feel somewhat lonely to be singled out like this, regarded all of a sudden as lord rather than friend by the people one had grown up with.

“I think of that a lot, too.” he said. “Seems like an eternity ago, doesn’t it?”

Elwë nodded gravely.

“It does. All the more grateful I am to have friends like you with whom I can share those memories. Beautiful memories…”

“Childhood memories.” Mablung added, and was pleased that apparently, Elwë had learned from previous mistakes and refrained from reminding Mablung that a child could hardly have childhood memories. “It was you who made it so special for all of us.”

Even by the firelight, he could see Elwë blush.

“I enjoyed that greatly myself. And it helped me so much with Elmo later.”

“Nay, it didn’t. You’d have managed well anyway, as you have always been great with children.”

“Stop it, Mablung, really. But… you know, sometimes I wonder whether that was simply a gift by… fate. Not my parents’ death, of course…” he added hastily, his expression stricken “…but my being allowed to raise Elmo.”

“No need not sound so melancholic, you’ll raise your own children soon enough.” Mablung said gently, sensing his friend’s pain.

Elwë shook his head.

“I don’t think so. For one, Elvish law forbids me to wed ere our journey is completed…”

“Aye, and who ever cared about law when falling in love?” Mablung asked with a small smirk.

Ha, he thought, now it’s your turn feeling awkward. Serves you right for belittling me earlier!

“True. But I truly would not want to. Elmo is still a child and needs me and honestly, I cannot even imagine a time past this journey. Valinor has never seemed further away. And also… I don’t know. Finwë has his Míriel and even Olwë spends all his free time with a maiden of his host he claims is just a friend, but…” Elwë waved his hand in a gesture that said clearly “…but everyone except them knows it’s more than friendship.”

Mablung chuckled. He, too, had noticed that.

“I do not feel likewise with anyone.” Elwë went on. “There are so many I love dearly, but that is not… not like they say this one bond is like.”

Mablung tilted his head slightly.

“You believe it then? That the Quendi form only one union in life?”

Elwë nodded, gazing into the dancing flames.

“I do.”

“Well, then a lot of bonds will be formed on this journey.”

They both chuckled, not needing to explain any further- everyone knew of all the romance going on in their camp.

“Aye, but that is testing, is it not, not truly bonding?” Elwë said softly. “I mean, how are you supposed to know if you are drawn to a nís or a nér if you don’t know how you feel when things get more intimate? I could not tell for myself, certainly.”

“Lucky Lord Enel can’t hear you speak now.” Mablung pointed out with a barely suppressed laugh in his voice, and watched Elwë wince at the very thought. “But I agree. One could argue, though, that it needs no testing, that you would recognise your love when meeting them, regardless of their sex? And that maybe it only feels to you like one needs to know in advance because you feel you have to push any thought of bonding away from you right now? That you cannot even give in to the idea of feeling for anyone so deeply?”

Elwë regarded Mablung for a while, looking at him in something like admiration.

“You have a wisdom far beyond your years, Mablung.” he said. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I will find out one day. But be that as it may, I am truly glad to have you as my friend. And not just because you already give more solid advise when it comes to love than most adults.”

Mablung smiled even as a strange sensation welled up in his chest. He looked at the firelight dancing on Elwë’s silver hair, and inwardly sighed. If only he could give himself such solid advise, for try as he may, he could not have denied his feelings towards Elwë had his life depended on it.

As he lay by the dying fire later, Mablung tried to recall exactly when the admiration he had always felt for both Elwë and Finwë had turned into more, if indeed seeing Elwë leave Cuiviénen to venture into the unknown had been the turning point. True, what he had felt then had been something quite apart from admiration, but rather sympathy and a feeling of dread. He had very much feared for all three ambassadors, and his thoughts had ever been on them, though he had stopped voicing them after his parents started to be concerned. They had told him that he was too young to shoulder such sorrow, and that trying to make everyone well was impossible, most of all for a child so young.

Despite his parents counsel, Mablung had started to spend much time with Elmo, and before long, they had truly become friends. Mablung would make sure that Elmo joined their games rather than sit alone, and when the elfling would suddenly be overcome by tears in the middle of even the most joyful games, Mablung would comfort him. Mostly, that was due simply to Mablung’s nature and his friendship to Elmo, but a small part of him also felt that this was something he could actually do for Elwë.

The day Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë had at last returned to them had been one filled with joy and wonder. Changed they were indeed, a light shining in their eyes that faintly recalled that which shone in Lord Oromë’s, and they had been dressed in fine raiments that had sent Míriel into fits of excitement. Mablung chuckled at the thought even now, and how they had all teased them about Míriel being happier about Finwë’s clothes than his safe return. But the moment that really stood out clearest in his memory was of Elmo running at his brother, blinded by tears, and of Elwë kneeling down in the gras regardless of his fine raiments and enclosing Elmo in his embrace.

Somewhere between then and now, all those emotions had mingled into a true and deep love, and young though he was, Mablung knew in his heart that this love would be at once his greatest treasure and gravest peril.

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The Quendi only bond once in life, and physical love is important only for reproduction, and also marks the consummation of marriage.

That was, in very shortened form, what they had all been told by their elders, and how life had appeared to work at Cuiviénen. By and large, Mablung agreed with the first part of the statement, though he found it unfair that all attention should be given to the marriage-bond, while the love that almost all Quendi bore for their friends and kin was so neglected. The second part of the statement… well. The thought of it almost made Mablung laugh even now, even as he rolled onto his back with a satisfied sigh, the heat of his breath forming small clouds in the icy air. Beleg beside him stretched comfortably like a sleepy lynx and put an arm lazily around Mablung’s waist. What an insult this would have posed to the Elders back at the lake, the two of them proving their sacred teachings so very wrong.

Firstly, physical love mattered a great deal, at least to Mablung, now that Beleg had introduced him to the pleasures of it. It felt good and comforting to be so close to another elf, to feel the warmth of their skin, to receive what they would give, and give back in return. Secondly, and more importantly, Mablung had quickly realised that fucking was not boding, at least not in the way that they had always been told. Beleg was still very much his best friend just like he had been before, their friendship only deepened by the way they would at times caress each other, or find relief deep within the friend’s body. Mablung wondered what there was to the rule then, if it was different between nís and nér, though he couldn’t see why that would be so. It seemed to him much more likely that if two quendi were meant for each other, their bodily union would complete that of their Fëar, sealing the bond forever more so that their connection could not even be broken by death itself.

Beleg sighed contentedly once more as he snuggled closer to Mablung for warmth, which nudged Mablung out of his musings and into stroking his friend’s hair gently, picking out a few dry leaves from Beleg’s silky tresses. Beleg grinned, and propped himself up on his forearm.

“That was nice.”

Mablung hummed his agreement as he put his arms back behind his head, gazing up at the stars. He felt warm and comfortable and happy. Beleg always made him feel that way, ever since they had first started their little romance, or rather since Beleg had started it, like he had so many others. Apparently, his friend took it upon himself to bed every single unbonded quende in the camp, and they all teased him about it a lot. Not that it bothered Beleg at all, he ever took all the teasing in his stride, supremely unconcerned. That, Mablung mused, was what he loved about his best friend so much. That, and the fact that he could share all his feelings, all his thoughts with Beleg and always find an eager audience, a shoulder to lean on and solid advice if needed.

“You are beautiful…” Beleg muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to Mablung’s upper arm, making the latter blush violently. 
He was not -and had never been- one for compliments. Beleg, obviously sensing his friend’s embarrassment, laughed.

“Oh, you’re as bad as Elwë. Or not quite, as there is no one on this earth who is as uptight as him, but…”

Mablung did not listen. A shudder had run involuntarily through his body, his Fëa, even, at the mention of the name, and even more so when the implication of what Beleg had said started to sink in. Mablung propped himself up on his elbows, frowning at his friend.

“Are you saying…”

Beleg shrugged, sitting up.

“No, not yet. I am working on it, though. There is not much else to do after all, since apparently folks have decided to sing to every pebble they find along the way for at least a few days*. I love Elwë a lot, we’ve been friends for as long back as I can remember, so why not? And besides, I like the challenge.”

Beleg’s eyes twinkled as he grinned down at Mablung, who did his utmost to keep his feelings at bay.

“You could join me in that quest.” Beleg added casually.

“Never. I would never pester him if he does not want…”

Beleg laughed openly now.

“He wants to. He needs that break and he needs to come down from his understanding of intimacy. Lord Enel’s take on morals has a firm grip on him still. But honestly, Mablung, you don’t really think I would persuade anyone into sleeping with me against their will or better judgement?”

Mablung felt himself blush, and hurried to rectify his words.

“Of course not. Forgive me, my friend. I spoke rashly… it is just… oh, I don’t know. I just think that Elwë really has no need of any more trouble on his plate at the moment.”

That, of course, was very true. In the long years they had travelled since leaving Cuiviénen, so many of both Elwë's and Olwë's hosts had turned back, or left the journey to venture forth alone into other parts of these lands. Even those who stayed with them would often despair at the sight of deep lakes, high mountains or fast-running streams, so Elwë would ever encourage them, urge them on, try to find solutions that suited everyone, and the strain was starting to tell on him.

“And it is very much not your responsibility to worry about him for that!” Beleg stated firmly.

“But whose is it, then?”

Beleg frowned, scrutinising Mablung shrewdly.

“I don’t know… but why yours? Wait, are you… oh Mablung” Beleg looked at Mablung with a mixture of amusement and dismay “… you are in love with him, are you not? Like truly in love?”

Mablung nodded, his throat so tight that he hardly managed to speak.

“I always have been. But I know that it cannot be, and I shall not risk his friendship for anything in the world, and most certainly not by confessing my feelings to him only to have any interaction be awkward afterwards.”

Beleg remained silent for a while, then said gently: 
“Why can it not be? He cares about you a lot. I know that he will not wed before we reach Aman as he calls it forbidden.” he suddenly laughed again, rolling his eyes at the stars. “We should remind him sometimes that among this people, his word is law. But there we are back at Enel’s brainwashing. Anyway… why not try the same way I do, or rather with me, so it will not be so awkward? And then see what comes out of it? The worst thing that really can happen is that everything stays the way it is now. And if you do get him involved into some kind of romance, you'll at least get beautiful memories out of it if not more.”

Mablung swallowed hard.

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes.” Beleg said firmly, and snuggled back up to Mablung, stroking his head. “Poor Mablung.”

Mablung allowed himself to sink into his friend’s warm embrace, his heart more hopeful than it had been in a long time.

“Thank you. It feels good to be able to confide in someone.”

Snorting, Beleg touched his palm to the top of Mablung’s head, imitating a blow.

“You know, as I am your best friend, you could have done so sooner? If I ever were lovesick, you'd be the first I would confide in!”

“You are the first I confide in…”

“Fine. You still should have done so sooner, not suffer alone. And also, I would never have tried to get Elwë to fuck had I known how you feel about him, at least not without talking to you first.”

Mablung was lost for what to say, for no words could have expressed how grateful he was for Beleg’s kind words, and his unwavering support.

See? he thought defiantly, as if his thoughts would reach all the way back to Cuiviénen and enter the minds of the Elders There is more than one way to love.

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The fire that had not long ago crackled merrily to their songs and merrymaking had burned itself into a heap of glowing ambers. No sound could now be heard but the occasional rustle of a cloak as it was adjusted to cover its owner more snugly against the cold, the cry of an animal far off and the whispered talk of elves settling down for the night. The stars gleamed overhead, unveiled by even the slightest wisps of mist, and the air was still and freezing. 
Mablung did not mind, huddled between Beleg and Elwë as he was. Beleg gazed idly into the dying ambers, Elwë had his face turned towards the heavens as was his custom. Nowë claimed that his cousin had been named after the stars for that very reason, and whether it was true or not, it made a nice and fitting tale. As if he had taken up Mablung’s thoughts, Elwë started to sing softly, not one of the cheerful songs they had sung together earlier, but a praise to Varda, the star-kindler, Queen of Arda and Heavens alike. Mablung had heard him sing this song before, but it moved him to the core each time anew, so he remained sitting in silence even after the song had ended, still enthralled by the beauty of the moment. That was until Beleg broke the silence by getting up, stretching and yawing. He smiled at the other two, apparently not caring at all the he had just broken the spell of a moment that Mablung had rather enjoyed.

“I’m off, my friends. I still have to find a cloak to share for tonight.”

Elwë raised his eyebrows, clearly daring Beleg to truly mean what he implied to mean.

“What?” Beleg asked innocently. “It is cold, and I hate spending nights alone.”

He bent to run his fingers through Elwë’s silver hair, twirling his braids around teasingly.

“… and as you keep being reluctant, I have to seek my fortune elsewhere.”

With that, he brushed his finger over the tip of Elwë’s ear, a caress to shamelessly sensual that Elwë gasped, unable to hide the shudder that went through his body.

“Beleg!”

The archer only grinned back in a very unconvincingly innocent fashion, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He bestowed a mock bow upon his lord, then turned away, but for the briefest moment his eyes met Mablung’s and his gaze said only too clearly: you owe me!

Mablung’s mouth went very dry. So Beleg had planned this all along, had timed all of his actions as perfectly as he would time the drawing of his bow while hunting. That was not what Mablung had bargained for, he didn’t feel ready for it at all, had no idea how to do it. Elwë meanwhile seemed quite untroubled by the situation, for he just shook his head and smiled wryly after Beleg.

“He sounds like he is gathering trophies…”

Mablung snorted with laughter at Elwë’s remark, and to his great relief, that laughter seemed to deal with his apprehension, too.

“Well, you could argue that he is a hunter.” he chuckled.

“Verily. But I am no game, and he knows full well that I cannot afford such… things.”

Mablung swallowed. It was now or never.

“What would you do, though, if someone just came up to you…” he drew a little closer to Elwë, laying his hand gently on his cheek “… and simply kissed you? Like this, for example.”

He tenderly pressed his lips to Elwë’s, and when the latter did nor draw back, Mablung plucked up his courage and let his tongue brush against Elwë’s lips, parting them softly. For a moment that felt like all Ages of Arda they stayed thus, every nerve in Mablung’s body tingling, his heart about to burst in his chest from the trepidation he felt, until finally, he felt Elwë relax into their kiss, and his hand wander into his hair, and was lost. The world seemed to dissolve around them and form anew, and nothing was tangible but the elf in his arms, and the feeling of Elwë’s skin beneath his fingers as Mablung slunk a hand under Elwë’s tunic.

When finally they broke apart a little, Elwë drew breath to speak, but Mablung forestalled him, laying one finger over Elwë’s lips.

“Hush. Don’t say it. This is not about bonding, I know you will not.”

“I do not want to hurt you.” Elwë whispered breathlessly against Mablung’s cheek. “You are far too dear to me for that. I can never lose you as my friend, Mablung, ever!”

“You will not hurt me and you certainly will not lose me. I know what I am offering. I shall say it again- I know that this has nothing to do with making the bond for life. We’ll fuck, and stay friends, like I do with Beleg. I am happy when you are happy. Does that sound good to you?”

Elwë nodded, and Mablung could feel the trembling of his whole being, speaking so clearly of relief the likes of which no words could express.

“Beyond good” Elwë mumbled, his lips caressing Mablung’s jawline and neck.

Lights exploded before Mablung’s eyes like a thousand stars as he gave himself to Elwë wholly.

It was lucky, perhaps, that Elwë had his face turned away from Mablung, and was focused so much on his own body and the thin line between pleasure and pain that he noticed nothing around him anyway. Mablung would have been loathe to admit to the tears that ran down his face before his friend, whom he had always sought so much to impress. Beleg, of course, would have called crying while fucking all sorts of things, mawkish being perhaps the nicest of them, and yet Mablung could do nothing against being overcome by his emotions. Like he had said to Elwë earlier, he knew what he was offering, knew of the trap he was putting up for himself, but still it was a bittersweet thing. He tried his best not to think about what would happen once they reached Aman, and frankly, he did not know what he wanted to happen. He would never love anyone else the same way he loved Elwë, but the mere idea of being his companion once he was crowned was ridiculous.

He would come back to that when he had to deal with it, Mablung mused, at last giving his attention wholly to the moment. He knew that this was the first time for Elwë, and so he was careful, giving his friend the time he needed to get accustomed to every movement, every touch, every caress. It was clumsy and awkward and devastatingly beautiful and Mablung savoured each moment, took in every detail of Elwë’s body, every sensation, and by the time they both found their pleasure, Mablung felt as blissfully raw emotionally as he knew Elwë must feel physically.

Elwë’s duties kept him far too busy for Mablung’s liking in the time that followed, but he knew well enough himself that it was better that way, so that things would not get too serious between them. And when they would find the time, Mablung whole-heartedly enjoyed being the one to whom Elwë fled whenever he could not bear being in charge any longer. Mablung loved being the one who could make Elwë relax, and to feel tension slowly leaving him as he held him, but he also cherished the rare occasions on which their roles were exchanged. Every one of the times Elwë claimed him stood out clearly in Mablung’s memory, when it was he who could give himself entirely to his sensations, to Elwë’s gentle caresses and kisses, and when the thrill of not losing balance on the thin line they walked concerning bonding was almost as arousing as each other’s touches.

As the years passed, they were helped in keeping said balance also by Beleg, who would often join them, something Mablung was quite grateful for. It made pretending so much easier- pretending to have with Elwë what he truly had with Beleg, apart from the fact that it was just outright beautiful to have these intimacies with his two dearest friends. Looking back, this was what Mablung easily called the happiest time of his life, and even in all the grief and pain of his later years, there was still this one comfort- that he could not have cherished that time more even had he known what was yet to come.

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Mablung laughed, rejoicing, as beside him Beleg’s bow sang. It was wonderful to get out of the camp for a while, away from all the brooding and restlessness that made people snap and snarl at each other for no reason at all. They were all worn with the long journey, and even if they knew that it was now almost over, patience was still worn thin. All the merrier his and Beleg’s little escape felt now, and the prospect of sharing their freshly hunted meal over a little fire away from all the others.
Something caught his shoulder, and he turned, but there was nothing there. 
Frowning, he reached up, only to realise that someone was shaking him.

“Mablung, wake up!”

The worry in Elmo’s voice roused him far more effectively than the shaking of his shoulder, wiping every trace of his dream away. He had obviously re-lived the hunt again in his sleep, and oh, it had seemed so very real.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up, all drowsiness gone in the instant he looked into Elmo’s eyes and saw the fear there.

“Has Elwë told you where he went?”

Mablung rubbed the back of his head, trying to make his brain work. He had not seen Elwë in days, nor talked to him.

“What d’you mean? He has gone to visit Finwë, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. But he should long since have returned. He promised Olwë to hurry, that he would only briefly take counsel with Finwë and return as swiftly as possible. We expected him back three days ago, and he is not one to break his word, especially not to Olwë when he is frantic already anyway. He would never…”

“I know.” Mablung agreed.

A horrible feeling of fear gripped him. Elwë would never leave his brothers alone and worried when he had promised to be quick to return. As Elmo had just said, Olwë had had an even harder time than Elwë of keeping his host together and moving, and now that they had at last caught up, he was as exhausted as any of his people. It was not like Elwë to stay away longer than he had promised and so add to Olwë’s plight.  Something must have happened to him, and the thought alone was enough to curl Mablung’s blood.
If Elwë was wounded, they needed to find him quickly, ere the enemy did. Had servants of the old Shadow overpowered him, had he fled them and now cowered somewhere, bleeding and without any hope safe in staying hidden? Mablung could hardly bear the idea, but losing his head now would help no-one, least of all Elwë.

“I am sorry to wake you like that now, but I want to get a head start in searching before the whole camp is buzzing with the news.”

Elmo sounded so desperate that Mablung hugged him quickly, feigning a calm he did not feel.

“That is quite alright. I was… I did not realise that Elwë was gone this long already or I would certainly not have slept so soundly.”

All he and Beleg had wanted to do was pass the time while Olwë’s people rested, and he knew that Elwë had wanted to likewise use the time to meet with Finwë once more, to learn what Oromë plans were, now that they had come so close to the sea. Mablung had been quite glad of this for Elwë’s sake, as he knew how much it irked Elwë to be always the last to learn any news, and to be separated from Finwë, who was after all his closest friend. Had it somehow come to pass that he and Beleg were separated, he would have felt and done the exact same thing.

Mablung followed Elmo to where Olwë and Nowë stood together, both looking grimmer than Mablung had ever seen them. He wondered, briefly, how much was known to them about his relationship with Elwë, why Elmo had chosen to wake him but not Beleg. But none of the others seemed to deem his presence strange, so Mablung took it in his strides, glad he was able to actually do something and look for his beloved.

The feeling of gladness did not last long, however. All too soon, it turned to panic as they retraced the steps they thought Elwë must have taken, through woods and over plains, without finding even the slightest sign of him. When they reached the woods in which the Noldor had camped and found their encampment deserted, hopelessness overcame them. They therefore did the only thing that seemed sensible to them, which was to follow the Noldor’s tracks to the shores of the sea.

Had Elwë been with them, Mablung thought, as he first gazed out over the endless waves and listened to the ever ongoing rush of the tides, he would have marveled, would have longed to stay there. He wandered the beach, feeling the water play around his ankles, and yet his heart ached with sorrow and grief for his friend, his beloved, the elf he had always called his lord. He had not even said a proper goodbye, and now, safe by some miracle, he would not see him again.

But they did at least learn some news as they made the the acquaintance of the Maia Ossë, who told them of the Noldor’s departure and of Finwë being in good spirits then. That made it clear to them that whatever ill had befallen Elwë must have done so on his way back, for Finwë would never have been content to leave without talking to his best friend first.

Over time, Mablung’s blank panic slowly burned itself into an omnipresent dread, weighing heavily on his every waking thought, haunting his dreams. In those he would sometimes see Elwë curled on hard rocks under bushes, terribly wounded, his tunic ripped, and his silver hair matted with blood, whispering all their names as if remembering them were a lifeline, or a comfort in his dying hour. At other times Mablung would just dream of his friend standing as behind a veil, smiling sadly at him, but never speaking. Nerve-wracking as those dreams were, Mablung still knew them to be just that- nightmares. Dreams his mind produced as a result of his ever whirling thoughts, not visions that might give him a clue that could help them in their search. Elwë’s disappearance remained a mystery.

It was a day following one of those nightmares that Olwë first voiced what they all dreaded, but never spoke of aloud. They sat huddled together that rainy night, when Elmo suddenly asked: 
“He is dead, isn’t he? Elwë?”

“I hope so, Elmo.” Olwë answered, tears glistening in his eyes. “For the only alternative I can think of is too terrible to imagine. Yet I fear in my heart that it is indeed so, that the Shadow got hold of him. Were it otherwise, we would have found his body. I only hope that he… that he escaped, and be that only through death. I cannot bear the idea of our brother being tortured and mutilated.”

Even as Mablung watched Olwë’s betrothed pull him into her arms to comfort him, those words rang in his head. He looked around at the others, many of whom nodded, looking stricken. Beleg sat silently, but Mablung knew him well enough to perceive that his friend also agreed with Olwë. Elmo beside him shook with silent tears- why then could Mablung not shed any? 
But then he looked at Nowë, and knew in that instant that he at least still kept hope, and would continue to search, and as long as Nowë did not give up on his cousin, neither would Mablung. And yet, just as he had felt no real grief at hearing Olwë’s words, he now felt no relief in Nowë’s persistence. He did not know what to believe. Up to this point, he had always been able to rely on his feelings to lead him well, but not this time. This time he knew not where the truth was in all the turmoil of his thoughts, what was foresight and what an illusion, the wisdom of his heart swayed by both his hopes or his fears.

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That year, they still called it. 
Words that were still spoken with downcast eyes and longing and regret in the speaker's voice, for the years that had passed since had not brought solace. Nobody had walked away from the shores unscathed then. For Mablung, that year marked the parting from his parents and sisters, and oh, how terribly he missed them. Nonetheless, he was glad that they were safe now in Valinor, and would live forever in the bliss of the Treelight and under Olwë’s gentle rule. Olwë… the memory of Olwë’s pain still haunted him almost as much as the parting from his own family. He had been so distraught at leaving Elmo and Nowë and at the guilt he was feeling for taking Elwë’s place.

Unbidden, Elwë’s words slunk back into Mablung's mind, like they had done at the parting and so many times since. The gleam in his eyes when he had talked to them about the sea and its beauty, and how they should all come and see it for themselves, and then decide. He had spoken of the sundering of the elves then, and that he saw no way to avoid it. Oh, what irony that was. Hardly anyone of those who had remained in Beleriand would have chosen to stay behind. On the contrary, many of them were those who had been moved the most by Elwë’s tales of Valinor, and the most eager to reach it. And yet it was them now who stayed on these shores now out of loyalty for Elwë.

Mulling all that over once again in his mind, Mablung, upon hearing the name of his friend again, did not at once realise that the name was called by real voices, not just by thoughts in his own head. But then he glanced up, and his world tumbled around him all over again. He turned around in disbelief, and found Beleg standing close by, looking as dumbfounded as Mablung felt. Together, like moths to fire, they drew closer to the little group of elves that was the centre of everyone’s attention.

Mablung gazed in disbelief at Elwë standing with Nowë a few feet away, and the -in want of a better word- elf-maid beside him. So many feelings raced through him that he was unable to grasp even a single one of them, safe perhaps utter astonishment. He stood and watched as Elmo was brought to the scene, as he confronted Elwë, as Elwë explained who Melian was, and what had happened to them during the past two centuries. Mablung was utterly flummoxed. He had thought it through so often, had tried to think of every possible solution to Elwë’s disappearance, but nothing had come even close to him coming upon a Maia, and falling in love with her.

Did he, in his heart of hearts, now feel betrayed? But no, he must not, he told himself, that had been precisely why Elwë had so long held back, because he had not been sure of his feelings. It had been he, Mablung, who had pressed him after all, and he would not blame his friend now for falling in love with someone else. Yet adamant as Mablung was in this, he could still not deny that it hurt terribly, nor would it prevent him from curling up under his cloak later and let his tears fall. He gave himself into his pain, and said farewell to his hopes and dreams. Bitter these hours were, but in the end, a grim determination came of them as well. He had lost Elwë as a lover, yes, but he had not lost him. And Mablung would do all in his might to remain by Elwë’s side, even if all he could do was watch over him.

It was for that reason that Mablung, still very nervous about meeting Elwë once more, went to seek him out a few days later, once Elwë had had time to catch up with his closest family, and to get to terms with his little brother, for whom Elwë had always acted the role of a parent, now being a father himself. Mablung knew Elwë well enough to guess the emotional turmoil that knowledge must cause him, and one part of him truly felt sorry for Elwë for missing out on all this. The other -much larger- part of his mind said quite clearly: serves you right for abandoning us. It was no use telling himself that Elwë had not intended to leave them, Mablung knew that himself, and still could do nothing against the savage satisfaction those thoughts brought to him.

When he finally stood before Elwë, he silently looked him up and down, his heart pounding in his chest. Elwë looked so different from the way Mablung remembered him, gaunter, with every last trace of the soft features of boyhood gone from his face, but that only enhanced his beauty. There was also a feeling of power about him that reminded Mablung vaguely of Ossë and Uinen. Well, he thought wryly, being enchanted by a Maia certainly left its mark. Yet changed though Elwë was, the look in his grey eyes was still painfully familiar to Mablung. He read pity there, remorse, insecurity- yet he would not deal with that now, as he had made up his mind during these past days. Feelings -least of all Elwë’s feelings- did not matter now.

“Mablung…” Elwë began at last, his voice low and hoarse “I… I do not know what to say.”

Mablung shook his head.

“You need not say anything. I am immeasurably glad you are back. Nothing -nothing- else matters. You’re alive!”

Elwë inclined his head.

“That I am.”

They kept standing for a while like this, just gazing at each other, with so much that remained unsaid between them. Then, finally, Mablung knelt down, bowing his head.

“What…?”

“Willst thou suffer me to remain by thy side as thy vassal then, my lord?”

“Suffer it? Mablung, I would be honoured… but you need not…”

Mablung steeled himself against all the feelings that came with hearing the utter astonishment in Elwë’s voice. He had made a decision, and by this he stood.

“Then I pledge my allegiance to thee, lord. I swear to defend thee and thy realm with my life if need be, and to hear thy word at all times.”

Elwë did not answer, and Mablung remained kneeling, his eyes cast down. A part of him -the one he was not particularly proud of- again felt a grim pleasure in making Elwë this uncomfortable, and was greatly sated by the awkward silence between them now. But then he felt Elwë move, and was astounded to find him crouching down, grasping Mablung’s arms gently.

“Get up, Mablung, please. I will have you swear no oaths‚ none of you. You have all proven that you are faithful to me, more so than I would ever have asked you to. I could never want for more. And I have never doubted your loyalty anyway, and never shall.”

Mablung raised his head and looked straight into Elwë’s eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

“And yet I swear them.” he said firmly, rising to his feet as Elwë did the same. 
For a moment, they looked silently at each other again, then Elwë held out his hands to Mablung, and Mablung took them in his own, and stooped down to press his lips to Elwë’s slender fingers.

“And I shall accept them.” Elwë said solemnly, cupping Mablung’s face in his hands and kissing his brow in return.

Looking back, becoming accustomed to the new situation was easier than Mablung had expected at first. For one, seeing Elwë and Melian so deeply in love moved Mablung to the core, and heartened him, and made him feel that his own heartbreak was worth it. For another, a vast part of his affection for Elwë had ever been his will to protect him, and that he could still do. It had always felt to Mablung that he was the only one to feel that Elwë needed protection, to see his vulnerability. Everyone else overestimated his strength, now more than ever before. But look like one of Melian’s own kin as he might, Mablung still saw the youth in him who had cried bitter tears as he turned away from his brothers, still saw him stumble with exhaustion after carrying his sleeping brother through half the night, still heard him beg Mablung to take him as he pleased, if only that meant release from responsibility for a little while, and remembered with piercing accuracy Elwë’s sincere gratitude whenever Mablung complied, and how he had slept in his arms afterwards.

So even while he watched with all the others as Elwë knelt before Nowë (or Círdan as they now called him for his shipbuilding) a year to the day after his return, receiving crown and staff, and listened to him promise to keep them all safe and happy to the best of his ability, he did not share their feelings of gladness of having a king now who would protect them.
And who is going to protect you? A voice was screaming in Mablung’s head. You can’t stand there, alone, pretending that you’re stronger than you are.

But then, deep within his heart, he suddenly knew the answer, and that almost made him cry tears of gratitude. Melian. Melian would, because she saw him, him, not the mask he was wearing, and for that, Mablung would love and honour his Queen almost as much as he did Elwë himself. 

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“Ai my friends, is not life sweet today?” Galadhon asked of his companions, letting himself fall onto his back amidst the soft grass.

The stars were twinkling overhead, and the general atmosphere among the captains of Eglador was cheerful. It had become custom over the centuries to meet from time to time for some merrymaking, to discuss matters that had nothing to do with their duties, and more often then not to share some wine or cider or other treats among them. Today it was Beleg who had brought a small sack filled with various nuts, and Galadhon had braved a bee-hive for some honey.

“And what has you so happy? Apart from the fact that you got the honey again without being stung. You never get stung. How do you do it? I went honey-hunting already when your father was a babe in arms, and still I never manage unscathed.”

They all laughed at Beleg’s mild indignation, but also at his boasting. Surely a tiny elfling climbing up a tree to prod the bees for a dare hardly counted as a serious attempt to collect honey.

“I talk to them, Beleg. They give it freely.”

Galadhon’s tone was one he might adopt to explain to a small child something very obvious.

“Aye, I talk to them, too. But all they ever answer is psssssswwwwwwww”

Beleg made a noise as if of angry bees, which had all his companions double over with laughter. After a while Galadhon sat up again, idly dipping a nut into the honey and popping it into his mouth.

“There is going to be a feast, did you know that?” he asked in response to the question what made him so happy, acting as if the discussion of bees had never been.

“What do you know that we do not?” one of his fellow captains asked suspiciously.

Galadhon grinned broadly.

“Many things. But this one, this one is very glad tidings indeed.”

Mablung frowned a little. Thusly announced tidings were always ones of new life, though Mablung felt fairly sure that Galadhon himself was not the one who would welcome a new child into this word, given that his firstborn was still so little. But whatever it was, Galadhon’s joy by itself was a beautiful thing to behold, even if he tried to play over it with his jesting.

“Say on!” the others urged him, and Mablung inwardly groaned, sure that now Galadhon would make this announcement as lengthy as earthly possible just for the fun of leaving them groping in the dark.

“Have a guess.” Galadhon replied with a smirk, instantly proving Mablung right.

But only a moment later, he laughed again, saying: 
“Nay, you cannot guess. Should I tell you, then? Or let you all be surprised tonight at the feast?”

Mablung saw Beleg smirk, and he, too, had to suppress a grin- as if Galadhon could ever have kept silent.

“Oh, go on then. What is this news?”

Galadhon beamed from one ear to the other.

“Before you, my friends, sits no longer the heir to the crown of Eglador, as my dear aunt, our beloved Queen, is expecting her first child.”

There was a heartbeat of utter silence following that announcement, then everyone seemed to be talking at once.

“What?”

“I did not think that even possible! Oh this is wonderful, wonderful news.”

“How did they do that?”

“Well, how do you think they did it? Need we explain to you how elflings are made, little one?” Beleg teased, and the young captain who had asked the question blushed crimson while he endured the others renewed laughter.

“Oh, you know what I mean. It is not like the Queen is an elf, now is she?”

“Elf enough, apparently.” Galadhon answered earnestly. “But they were both quite surprised that it really worked, too. it is for that reason that they kept quiet for so long. But Melian cannot possibly keep the secret any longer now.”

Alone among them, Mablung had kept silent the entire time. He felt both exhilarated and gutted at the same time, unable to explain his feelings even before himself. He had no reason, no right to feel anything but joy, and yet… 
Beleg’s hand on his shoulder tore him out of his musings.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low whisper.

“Of course I am. Why would I not be? This is fabulous news.”

Beleg smiled gently in a way that told Mablung instantly that he could not fool Beleg anymore than he could fool himself.

“Verily. But you know what I meant.”

Mablung kept quiet for a while, then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. 

“Help me, Beleg…” he wheezed, trying to whisper while still laughing hysterically.

Beleg, perplexed, stood beside him, patting his arm somewhat helplessly.

“Can we… can we talk somewhere? Alone?” Mablung managed to say at long last, noticing with horror that the tears that were running down his cheeks were not solely of mirth.

Beleg nodded, leading him away into the woods and to the bank of a little brook that ran burbling between rocks. Mablung splashed his face with the cool water, feeling his usual clam returning to him now.

“I am sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, Mablung. Those news hit you hard, did they not?”

Mablung nodded.

“I thought I had outgrown that. I thought I had come to terms with… well, with Elu and Melian and everything.”

“And so you have.” Beleg said sternly “You did marvellously, if you would allow me to say so. I am proud of you, Mablung.”

Mablung was silent for a moment. He truly had thought he had come to terms with it once and for all. His mind was firmly set on the matter, and the gradual change in language had greatly helped him, for he then could use a name to speak to and about his king that he had not uttered in husky whispers while sheathed in him. And yet, being around Elu was still somewhat uncomfortable for Mablung, but being parted from him even more so.

“Please do not judge me by what I am about to say now, but… I think that what got to me so much there was… well, to get Melian pregnant, he must have come.” Mablung screwed up his face even as he said it, knowing perfectly well how stupid that sounded. “And I see him still, Beleg, I know his expression, I know how he feels… worse, I still feel him. Will that never go away? I so, so want to let the past rest, to let him be happy with Melian and their little one, to…”

Beleg gripped his arm firmly.

“Talk to him. Really. You suffer and he suffers just because you are both too embarrassed to admit to what you once shared. I know that there is this silent agreement among us of what happened on the Journey stays on the Journey, but you cannot deny the bond of friendship you once had? You know Elu probably better than anyone safe Melian, and you love him still, so of course your nights together would come to your mind.” Beleg bend over to him, and pressed a tender kiss to his temple. “I am here. I will always be here. It was I who got you into this mess in the first place after all.”
Mablung wrapped his arms around Beleg’s neck, holding him tight. What ever would he do without him by his side?

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The feast that Elu and Melian gave in honour of their unborn child was a joyous one, and one that was long remembered among the Eglath.

Melian smiled rather shyly at them after the announcement, clearly not altogether comfortable with all the renewed attention. It must be unpleasant, Mablung mused as he sat with the other captains and lords, to reveal news like that and knowing that all of Beleriand would wonder about how they had achieved what was natural to everyone else.

Or have their captains do nothing more sensible than imagine them… well, doing as husband and wife did, Mablung scolded himself silently.

He still had no clue as to how he could have ever overlooked it in the first place, how anyone could have overlooked that Melian was expecting. True, with the year being an unseasonably cold one until now, the queen had easily been able to hide her growing belly under her mantle, but she was so much changed in her whole demeanour that his ignorance had Mablung marvelling at himself. 
He marvelled even more at the fact that he had not noticed the change that had come over Elu, for that, at least, was his duty to notice. Like Melian, Elu was radiant with joy, and it was very clear how much he looked forward to welcoming their child. Still underneath all his joy, Mablung noted now for the first time how worn the king looked, and that he winced ever so slightly at loud noises.

Naturally, Mablung mused. The Quendi raised their children together, and unlike with beasts, the fathers took great share in bringing their children into being, pouring their very selves into those new elflings at their begetting. Mablung remembered well the time when his mother had been pregnant with his twin-sisters. Weary though she had been towards the end, his father had been no less so, as he had ever aided her in spirit, strengthening her and watching over her sleep so her mind could truly rest. 
This sharing of duty must have an even greater effect if the child was not wholly an elf. Coming to think of it, he had no idea how Elu had even done it- sire a child that must be so much mightier than he himself was. Mablung was quite glad he had not known in advance, or else he would have truly feared for the king.

Mablung was stirred out of his thoughts when Elu rose to his feet, excusing himself from the feast for a while. Beleg, who sat beside Mablung, wordlessly nudged him to go after the king, which Mablung, too perplexed by Beleg's sudden proposal to object, obediently did. In passing, Beleg handed him a jug of wine as well, and Mablung could have sworn that he saw a rather knowing smile passing between Beleg and the queen. This distracted him for a moment. Was Melian aware of his plight? Had Beleg told her? But no, he would surely not, and anyway, Mablung had other things to focus on just now.

His heart beat very fast as he quietly followed Elu through the forest. What in Arda was he supposed to say? That whole idea became more and more ridiculous in his mind with every step he took. On the other hand, he could not deny that Beleg’s plans had worked out in the past, so he had in truth no reason to assume that this time might be different. He resolved to watch, therefore, as Elu sat down by the roots of a tall beech, leaning against its trunk and closing his eyes for a moment. He looked very exhausted.

“My King?”

Mablung did his best to keep his voice formal and cool, but that there was no possibility to fool Elu was in truth clear from the start. And indeed, as Elu looked up, there was knowing smile on his face.

“Mablung. You came after me worrying after I so unseemly left the feast. You need not have. I was merely escaping the bustle for a while.” he said, inclining his head in a gesture of greeting.

Elu’s tone, too, was polite and formal, and Mablung bowed.

“I shall leave you in peace then, my lord. Forgive my intrusion.”

“Oh no, not at all. You are most welcome to stay with me if you want to. I was not fleeing company, merely the noise. And besides, you are always welcome at my side, though you seem to have forgotten that lately.”

Mablung lowered his gaze, but followed Elu’s invitation to sit down beside him on the grass nonetheless.

“You look tired, lord.”

He could not stop the words from escaping him, as much as he wanted to.

“That I am. It is the price of… well, of begetting a child that is half Maia.” Elu answered, thus proving Mablung right. “But there is no need to look so worried, Mablung, I am quite alright. Melian was very anxious about it as well, but as I already told her, I did not drop dead after begetting that babe, soI will not do so now. And even were it so, I should find it to be a small price to pay. I never dared to dream that Melian and I would become parents one day.”

“You will be a wonderful father.”

At that, Elu suddenly laughed.

“I do hope so. But to be honest with you, I have never in my life been so scared. And you know what my charming brother did when I confided in him? Told me to stop being such a baby myself and that all my exhaustion was really just nerves. Well, I guess he must know.”

Mablung chuckled now, too. He could well see why Elmo would have greatly enjoyed that conversation- being the more experienced for once must surely be very satisfying for him. He did not say so, though, but silently passed Elu the jug of wine, from which the king drank deeply before offering it back to Mablung.

“I shouldn’t do that.” Elu mumbled, more to himself than to Mablung. “I have had quite enough wine already, but… ah well.”

They grinned at each other, and a warmth spread through Mablung that had nothing to do with the drink. 
He could not tell how long they sat without speaking, just enjoying each other’s company and the drink, but at length Elu said:
“I miss your friendship, Mablung. You know that?”

“But you have it, lord, you always…” Mablung started to protest, but Elu would not let him finish.

“I have not been clear- I miss being able to talk to you as I could on the journey, when the fact that I was your lord has not bound your tongue. Nor aught else.”

Mablung sat up straighter.

“Have I leave to speak openly, then?”

Elu looked at him, bewildered.

“You always have it. Forgive me, I… I never thought of telling you that, as I thought it obvious. Do you think I have forgotten what we shared? Do you honestly think that you are nothing more to me than my captain? Do you think I do not remember the nights I slept soundly only because you held me close?”

Mablung took another swig of wine, very thankful of Beleg’s foresight. He would need quite a bit more of it for that conversation.

“Not forgotten, but repented.” he said, without looking at the king.

“I would never repent of it. I loved you ever, and I do so still, as a friend. You are dearer to my heart than I can express with words, and always will be. 
I hoped to find you had left with Olwë, together with your family, so that you would be safe, and free to find happiness across the sea. Call me very selfish for it, but my heart rejoiced nonetheless when I found you had not, and that it was our fate to meet again on these shores. My life would have been so much darker, so much more bereaved had you sailed. 
But for your happiness I grieve, Mablung. I found my true love, my soulmate, and I so wished you had as well.”

Mablung looked long in silence at Elu, then, his tongue loosened by the wine, said:
“You know perfectly well that I have done just that, long before you found Melian. I loved you as long as I can remember, and growing up, that love grew, too. Nay, do not say that you are sorry for waking false hopes, for you did not. I always knew what situation I got myself into. I knew you did not return my romantic feelings. I will not say it did not hurt to see you with Melian at first, but as I said when first I bedded you, I am happy when you are happy. To this I hold. I am happy with life as it is, and my heart desires no other life, not the tree-light, not another companion. If I am allowed to remain by your side, and see you happy and well, then I am more than content.”

“I’m still sorry…” Elu sniffed, and Mablung looked up to see him wipe his eyes.

The king was quite drunk by now, something Mablung admittedly found rather endearing.

“Don’t be.” he answered, noting as he did so that his thoughts and speech were not altogether clear, either. 
Unsurprisingly so, perhaps, as they had emptied the entire jug of wine between them by themselves. As it was, Elu looked ready to nod off even now, which made Mablung laugh once more.

“Lie down, Elu. Before you fall asleep where you sit.”

Elu merely hummed drowsily, and without another word curled up with his head on Mablung’s lap, whose throat was suddenly very tight. He had never imagined to ever share such an intimate moment again with the elf he loved, though if he thought about it, it was perhaps not so great a surprise. Elu had ever been one for cuddles, be it with his brothers or his friends, and surely he must have sorely missed them, singled out by his position as he was.

“Some things never change, it seems?” Mablung asked, but received no answer, so he busied himself with stroking loose strands of hair behind Elu’s ear.

For a while, he remained as he was, savouring the moment and waiting for his head to clear, then he slowly and carefully disentangled himself from his king and rose, spreading his mantle over Elu's still form.

“Sleep well.” he murmured, then went to find the Queen.

Mablung found Melian sitting in the glade where they had held the feast, with Lady Thônwen braiding her hair. They both smiled as they beheld him, and Mablung bowed low.

“Have you two at last talked it out?” the queen asked, unveiled mirth in her eyes. 
Mablung felt himself blush violently, but nodded all the same.

“We did. But I am afraid we emptied the jar of wine and…”

Thônwen snorted.

“Is he behaving in any way that will warrant me denying our kinship?"

Now Mablung allowed himself a smile as well.

“Nay, lady, he’s sleeping soundly. But I deemed it prudent to let the Queen know anyway.”

Melian returned his smile, and got up, covering the distance between them dancing, clearly rejoicing in being able to move freely again.

“It is wonderful” she said, as if in answer to Mablung’s thoughts “… not to have to hide it anymore.”

She stroked her rounded belly tenderly, then bade Thônwen goodnight and followed Mablung to where he had left Elu sleeping.

“I apologise for making you so uncomfortable earlier, Mablung.” she said after a little while in a very earnest voice. “I did not mean to.”

“That is quite alright, my lady. I was merely… astonished that you knew.”

Melian laughed.

“How could I not know? Elu told me even before we left Nan Elmoth. You hold a very special place in his heart, as I hope you know. He would have told you so again tonight, I assume?”

“So he has.” Mablung answered gravely.

“I thank you, Mablung, for being so generous as to not begrudge me our love, as you easily might have done, and have been right in doing.”

Melian’s words came somewhat surprising for Mablung, and he felt the heat creep into his cheeks once more.

“Nay, lady, how could I? Much rather, I should thank you for not shunning me for what I did.”

For a while, Melian walked beside him in silence, then she said: 
“Shun you for loving my husband still? What fell creature of Melkor would I need to be to do that? Nay, Mablung, I’d much rather call you a dear friend for it, if you should permit it? Our fates are tied together anyway through our shared love for Elu.”

Mablung felt overwhelmed in a very beautiful way. He had not counted on Melian offering him her friendship, but that she had seemed to lift a heavy weight off his shoulders.

“I would be honoured, Lady Melian. You have my love anyway as my queen, and as the one to make Elu so very happy. I… he is everything to me.”

“That I know.” Melian said earnestly, and she smiled at him before she went to where Elu still lay sleeping.

Mablung remained standing where she had left him. As relief now truly started to sink in, a deep peace settled over him. It would be alright, he thought. Now it would finally be alright.

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The day was balmy, with a soft wind caressing the grass of the glade they all sat in. Daeron’s flute and Galadhon’s harp sounded from among the branches of the trees they both perched in, alongside many others of the court. Mablung sat by the roots of one of the trees instead, occasionally catching a nut that Beleg dropped from above, cracked it open between two stones and shared the sweet kernel with one of the Queen’s birds.

In the middle of the glade, Lúthien danced. Flowers sprang beneath her feet as usual, and all around her, fireflies whirled like stars.

It was funny, Mablung mused as he watched her dance, that despite having long been grown up, she still had the air of a child that saw wonders everywhere, that rejoiced in life itself. He wondered if that would change once she found her mate. If, indeed, she would ever do so, for she did not seem to lack anyone in her life. On the contrary, she rejoiced so much in the freedom of body and spirit that Mablung wondered if bonding would not just make her downright unhappy. After all, she was loved so deeply by all the kingdom -and most of all by her parents- that she certainly never lacked affection. And with Daeron by her side, she had a faithful and steadfast companion who accompanied her through all that life might throw at her.

A shadow of pity passed over Mablung’s heart as he thought of the minstrel. It was no secret that Daeron had long loved Lúthien, loved her in a very different way from how she loved him, which was as a brother. Mablung sighed deeply. He could relate very well to Daeron’s heartbreak, and yet he had never approached him, never spoken to him of their shared experience. Beleg was the one to befriend Daeron, and to console him. 
Well, Beleg at least has experience in such talks, Mablung thought wryly.

Mablung was torn out of his thoughts by the royal couple entering the clearing, and he swiftly rose to greet his king and queen. One look at their grave expressions made all merry thoughts vanish from Mablung’s mind instantly, to be replaced by a feeling of dread. They had just bade farewell to the lord of Belegost and his people, so it must be something they had learned from the Naugrim that so worried them, and Mablung tried to think what news those might have been.

Clearly, others than he had noted, for the music ceased, and Lúthien walked over to her parents, concern written clearly in her features. Elu, looking around at all the suddenly serious faces, smiled.

“There is no need to look just so worried. Not so grave are our tidings, though you all judged our hearts rightly- a council shall indeed be needed. The sooner the better, and as I see that we are indeed complete- yes. Let us not waste time, and address the matter now.”

They all gathered again about them, and at last the Queen spoke.

“The Naugrim speak to us of fearful whispers, carried to their halls from their kin that dwell far in the east. They tell tales of shadows that still haunt the lands beyond the Ered Luin, and creatures creeping through the crevices of the mountains…”

“Orcs?” Beleg asked, aghast.

Melian shook her head, saying: “That I do not know, but it seems likely. They may have long since passed away from these land, but my heart tells me that this peace will not last forever. For a while only was Melkor chained, and I fear that we have not seen the last of him and his creatures. We must think, therefore, of means to keep ourselves safe, and be prepared.”

“The lord of Belegost indeed gave me an idea, when he marvelled at our living freely in the woods, without any dwelling. They themselves live in fortresses under the mountains that cannot be assailed lightly. So when the Naugrim return, I will ask them to counsel us in the building of a like abode.”

It was plain from Elu’s tone that he was not asking advice, but merely informed them of a decision he had already made.

“Last time I looked, we were Eldar, not Naugrim, who live in caves?”

Elmo stood beside Mablung with his arms crossed, frowning at Elu, and many nodded in approval, glad that Elmo had voiced their concern so openly, unhindered by courtesies.

“Surely no elf can truly live underground in the darkness for long?” Beleg added, and again many nodded their approval.

“You shall see. Certainly, we shall not dwell in underground halls forever, but it is still prudent to have a place to flee to, should evil befall. As it surly will befall, for I do not doubt the forebodings of my Queen.”

“Nor are the halls of the Naugrim dark caves.” Lúthien came to her father’s aid, somewhat to Mablung’s surprise. He would have thought that she above all others would object to giving up their wandering life in the forests.

“Indeed. They tell stories of fires and lights, and many mirrors like water. A fair place their cities are, I think, at least if their tales are true, and I see no evidence to the contrary.” Galadhon added, looking at Elmo. “Though however fair, I guess nothing would get you nor Nana to make their house underground?”

Elmo shot his son an annoyed look, but then started laughing nonetheless.

“True. And many others with us.”

There was mirth also in Elu’s eyes as he said: 
“We shall find a solution for all those restless spirits that would not be restrained. Yet still the day may come that you will thank my foresight, little brother.”

“I hear you…” Elmo said sceptically, scowling a little as being dressed thus before all the court “… but your words still have to be proven.”

“I shall be glad to be proven wrong, Elmo.”

The king again let his gaze wander from one face to the next, silently offering any of them the possibility to add their counsel. When his eyes met Mablung’s, Mablung nodded his approval. He did not find the idea of living like the Naugrim at all appealing, but they were right. Cuiviénen was but a faint memory now in his mind, but he still well remembered the dread of the Shadows that hunted in the woods, and if they were to come upon them again, then a safe place would be of immeasurable value.

As the crowd started to dissolve, Elu beckoned Mablung to his side, along with the members of the royal house, and Daeron and Beleg. Before Mablung had had any chance of asking what this was about, the King bade them follow him, leading them through the wood to the banks of the river, and then up the slopes of a rocky hill. It was a treacherous ascend, with many loose rocks on which to slip, and the river rushing far below. Mablung wondered with some unease in the pit of his stomach if one would actually survive the drop from the sheer cliff. Maybe. But that would be of no use whatsoever, as the gushing waters of Esgalduin would then take whoever was lucky -or unlucky- enough to survive. He did not have too long to dwell on his fear, for Elu soon said softly: 
“Here!”

Mablung looked and saw that they stood above a fissure in the ground, just broad enough for an elf to slip into, which Elu now did.

“What…”

“Just trust me!” came Elu’s voice from within the rock, and by the way it echoed, Mablung knew that the fissure must open into something like a cave below the surface.

They followed one by one, all with expressions of great doubt on their faces, but as Mablung’s feet at last touched the ground, he was amazed. There was just enough room for them all to stand, but he could tell just by the sound of the echo that this was a whole system of interconnected caves that stretched deep into the hill.

“What is this place?” asked Elmo in a hushed whisper.

“Be quiet.” Elu answered softly. “And listen.”

For a while they all stood in silence. Mablung could hear running water, probably little underground brooks that made their way down to Esgalduin below.

“The wind…” Daeron said suddenly, and there was an almost tender note to his voice that showed how moved he was.

Mablung listened, and then he heard it, too. 
The wind is playing its own music, he thought, as if the caves were its pipe.

No matter in whose face he looked, they all mirrored his own awe and wonder. Daeron and Galadhon, the musicians, looked most touched of all, for both had tears in their eyes, and Melian smiled as if she heard tidings in the music of a long missed friend.

“This is going to be the place of our city.” Elu stated at last, rather unnecessarily, as they had all guessed as much already.

“How did the Naugrim know of this place?”

“They do not, or at least it was not them who told me. I always knew these caves existed. You see… they were long ago discovered by two friends, who both stole away from their duties to have some time alone. Very inquisitive lads they were, too.”

Elu’s voice shook as he spoke, and Mablung understood at once, as did Elmo and Beleg by the sudden look of pity on their faces.

“See, when I visited Finwë for that last time, we undertook one last adventure. He had heard of strange music on one of his scouting trips through the forest, music that seemed to come from the hill itself, so naturally we went to investigate, and thus discovered these caves. We spend a view hours here, listening to the wind and the water, and here it was that we parted, also. I never thought this would be our last farewell.”

Elu could not hide the tears that glistened in his eyes, and Mablung’s heart ached, too. Not only out of pity, but also out of longing. He missed Finwë dearly as well.

“Oh Ada…”

Lúthien put her arms around her father, hugging him tightly, and Melian too laid a consoling hand on Elu’s shoulder.

“No, don’t feel sorry for me, it is perfectly fine. I would not change my fate for anything, you all know that. But do we have an agreement that this is indeed the right spot for us to make ourself a home?”

They all nodded in unison. 

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Mablung was shaking violently, trying his best not to add his moans to those of the other wounded men that lay around him. He wondered vaguely how many of them were dying, longing for nothing more than a comforting touch or a kind word before they left these shores. He himself wished that Beleg were here, that his friend were one of those tending to the injured. But Beleg was far away, hidden in the birch trees of Neldoreth, shooting any foul creature that escaped battle and sought to come close to Menegroth. Menegroth… Mablung smiled despite all the pain he was in. Fair their stronghold was, and Mablung had not felt so much at home anywhere since leaving Cuiviénen. They had laboured long, Dwarves and Elves alike, and through Melian’s gentle voice, the caves had awoken, become almost sentient. And now that orc attacks came ever more often, and ever closer to the gates, even those who dwelled in the woods surrounding their city rather than within it sought refuge there. Nevertheless, they had lost many people, and even more had come to know and fear the orcs’ blades and arrows.

Morgoth’s assault had still come unlooked for, despite all warning and quiet preparations. How many of those Mablung himself had commanded now lay dead or dying? How many had followed him to their deaths? Mablung mourned them, and yet was not certain that he would not yet come to follow them in return.

Pain, so much pain.

Two of those learned in healing had already shifted his shattered bones back into their correct position and staunched the bleeding as best they could. All Mablung’s determination not to acknowledge his agony had become vain at that point. Never before had he known himself to yell in pain, and the memory of the hurt still lay like a shadow on his spirit. It did not help, either, that the splint with which they had sought to keep his mangled knee in position did nothing at all to make the pain more bearable.

He was so preoccupied with his own plight that he hardly noticed when someone knelt down beside him and took his hand. His very Fëa seemed to relax at the touch, and that told Mablung at once that it was the king himself. A wave of relief washed over Mablung, now that he knew Elu to be alive and well enough to do his duty among the healers. He had last seen him in furious pursuit of every last orc his blade could reach, after the horrors they had witnessed on Amon Ereb. How Elu had seen during that chase, Mablung had no idea, for tears had all but blinded him, and yet no sword-stroke of the king had gone astray, and the orcs had fled before him. But then Mablung, who had held the rear guard, had been wounded, and had known little of the battle thereafter. Fear for Elu had mingled with his excruciating pain there in the mud of the battlefield, his only comfort being the fact that had the king fallen, he would surely have known.

“Mablung, stay awake, I implore you.”

Elu laid his other hand on Mablung’s cheek, and the captain could feel him tremble, so he forced his eyes open once more, becoming aware that he had closed them only in doing so.

“I’m cold…” he breathed, “… and so, so thirsty.”

Fear flickered in his king’s grey eyes. Nonetheless, Elu wrapped him more tightly in his mantle, then held his own waterskin to Mablung’s lips.

“I know…” Elu’s voice shook as he spoke, noticeable even as he tried to hide it. “That is the blood-loss. Drink, and then let me see to your wound.”

Mablung did as bidden, bracing himself against the pain he knew was to come, but Elu’s touch was exceedingly gentle as he laid his hand over Mablung’s knee, singing softly. The song seemed to seep through Mablung's skin and flesh, filling him, and with every word, he felt himself become calmer, and warmer, and the pain more endurable. He had almost dozed off by the time Elu withdrew his hand.

“Can you feel and move your toes?”

“Aye.” Mablung answered, startled out of his sleepiness, and saw relief flicker in Elu’s gaze. Clearly, he had feared that Mablung might lose his leg. He himself had almost expected it, though he had been heartened by the fact that the healers had actually set his fracture, not just tied the leg off.

“Melian could have done so much more, and Thônwen would probably roast me alive for calling that healing, but I think you will be alright. You will live, and likely walk, too. But you need to keep still now, and focus on mending that knee. It still is a serious injury, and you lost a lot of blood.”

Mablung nodded, even managing a faint smile at the idea of what Elmo’s wife would say to all this healing work done on battlefield, and especially healing work done by Elu, who was counted among the healers only because it was an ancient elvish custom to teach the art of healing to the lords from the start. And of course because he was so tightly connected in spirit to the most skilled healer that dwelled on this side of the sea, but Thônwen, who was chief of the healers, very much opposed to that. Mablung cared not at all. Even Melian herself could not have brought him the relief Elu had.

“We will stay here for at least three days. After that, I think, you will be fit to ride.” Elu added now, speaking more to himself than Mablung.

“You cannot tarry on my behalf, lord!” Mablung protested, his sense of duty returning with his strength.

“That is mine to decide. But I do not tarry for your sake only, but for that of all my men who share your fate. Half of them are wounded too severely to safely make it back to Menegroth, and there are those who need to be buried before we head home, anyway. Besides, travelling with so many who are unfit to be moved at all would make us very vulnerable. Should the orcs indeed return, I would much rather meet them here, where we can defend ourselves, than being ambushed on the road. Nay, we will stay here, and rest as best we can. You especially, Mablung. You fought valiantly by my side, allow yourself time for healing from this hurt as well.”

With that, Elu made to rise, but Mablung grasped him by the arm.

“You saved my life.” he whispered, but Elu shook his head.

“Thank the healers who first tended to your wound. Without their skill, my part would only have been to bury you…” his voice broke at the last word, and it was a while ere he had mastered himself again. “Try to sleep a little. I need to see to some other people as well, but I will be back as soon as I can.”

Mablung nodded, and watched Elu walk away, giving orders quietly concerning their makeshift camp and its protection. He meant to stay awake, meant to learn more about who lived still and whom they had lost, but he could not. His eyelids drooped at last, and he fell into a light slumber that momentarily relieved him from his pain.

He woke as he sensed Elu’s presence again. So he had made true his promise and returned to Mablung’s side. But then Mablung heard someone else walking near by, and opening his eyes he saw that it was Galathil, looking teary and battleworn, yet luckily unscathed. Or at least unscathed in body, Mablung thought, for as Elu’s banner-bearer, Galathil had still had to watch his father fall. Nonetheless, he had stood dutifully by the King’s standard until now, until, it seemed, grief had at last got the better of him.

“Will we rest here tonight?” he asked, bowing before Elu, who nodded gravely.

“For tonight, and likely longer. Too many lie desperately wounded, who need the time to heal and rest.”

“Then, lord, I ask leave to join the King’s guard tonight.” Galathil’s voice trembled as he looked up at Elu at last, and added in a low whisper: “I want to be close to you.”

Elu, foregoing all formalities, pulled his grandnephew into his arms, holding him tight and stroking his head gently.

“He did not suffer, did he?” Galathil asked between bitter sobs.

“No. He felt no pain, and I know that his Fëa goes to a good place. I am sorry you had to watch this, little one.”

It was a mark of both their grief that Elu had slipped into belittling Galathil like that while the latter was on duty, and that Galathil did not object, if indeed he had even noticed. For a while, they just stood hugging each other tightly, then Galathil stepped back, straightening his back and wiping his eyes.

“The guard it is, then?” he asked, once again returning to a more formal manner.

“If you wish it, I shall be honoured.”

As Galathil made his way to the other guards, Elu turned at last to Mablung, sitting down on the ground beside him with a deep sigh. He looked exhausted.

“How is the pain?” he asked, trying -and failing- to keep his voice steady.

“Better.” Mablung answered, trying to prop himself up a little, but Elu quickly restrained him.

“Keep still! I believe you without proof.”

Mablung laid back, noting for the first time as he did so that the King’s armour was cleft at his shoulder, and that a bleeding cut ran there from his neck.

“You are wounded as well…”

Elu clicked his tongue impatiently.

“You are unbelievable, Mablung, honestly. You just escaped dying or being crippled for life by the narrowest margin and make a fuss about me being a little scratched? Will you stop worrying about me for nothing and focus on yourself?”

“It is my duty to worry about you, lord.” Mablung answered, though not without a small smile.

They lapsed into silence, yet Elu’s gaze moved ceaselessly over the camp, and Mablung could sense his tension.

“They are restless.”

Mablung bit back a grin.

“They are restless because you are. Nobody here will settle down until you settle down.”

Elu looked utterly bewildered at this, which made Mablung laugh in earnest. Elu had become a wise and mighty king in the uncounted years since his return, but he still made an abysmal warlord. Commanding people had never been his strength, and that showed now more than ever. Mablung chose not to tell him so now, however, saying instead: 
“You are their king. They follow your example. So if you want the camp to settle, find yourself a place to rest for the night.”

Mablung had fully expected for Elu to be somewhat annoyed by the taunt, and so was taken aback as the king hung his head and buried his face in his hands.

“How could I rest after all this? After Denethor and Galadhon?”

His voice broke as he spoke his nephew’s name, and Mablung reached out to grasp Elu’s hand.

“I know. That is why my heart urges me back to Menegroth. So that we shall not lose more people still.”

“No, Mablung. As I said before, we are safer here for now than on the road, and the journey itself would probably kill most of those who are grievously hurt.
And also, I am a awful coward who dreads returning to Menegroth much more than he dreads the orcs. But I have no idea how I am supposed to step before Elmo.”

Mablung winced at the disgust in Elu’s voice, and pressed his hand more tightly.

“You mistake the care for a loved one for cowardice, I think.” he said softly.

Elu snorted.

“Fair words, Mablung. But they make me sound nobler than I am. We buried Galadhon only two days ago, and I should grieve for him, and yet here I sit, alive and well, and fret about my own fear of telling my little brother that his son…”

Elu could not go on, but pressed his hand over his mouth, stifling a sob. Pity gripped Mablung’s heart. He could easily imagine that the dread of telling Elmo that his only child was dead was more terrifying right now to Elu than his own pain, that after all was his business alone. And he had seen Elu trying to keep Galadhon from riding with him, seen him waste not a single thought on his own safety as he had jumped foolhardily from his horse when Galadhon had been wounded. Mablung himself had done all he could to keep his king from harm while the latter had crouched beside his dying nephew, heeding no danger. The actions of a caring uncle, spectacularly unbefitting for a king on battlefield.

They had buried Galadhon together so that his body would not be defiled by hungry orcs, and Mablung had never seen Elu so deeply shaken. Yet they had lingered longer than they should have, as became apparent when Denethor was slain within their plain sight, and yet unreachable for them. Mablung would never forget Elu’s cry of frustration, of grief and guilt, nor the blind fury with which he had charged after the orcs.

“It seems you do grieve after all.” Mablung now said softly, still keeping a firm hold on Elu’s hand, who had by now lost the battle against his tears. “You told me before to allow myself some rest after all this hurt, and the same holds true for you. And if you still need an excuse before yourself, then let it be to keep me company.

“Alright.”

Still trembling with grief, Elu rid himself of his sword and gear and tentatively settled himself more comfortably beside Mablung, before drawing his mantle around himself. As Mablung knew it would, the camp became quieter almost at once, so he allowed himself a small moment of smugness.

“See?”

Elu merely grumbled, which made Mablung grin. This little jest was bliss among all the sorrow and pain, and as healing as any ointment or song.

“Go on, say it.”

“You counselled me well, Captain.”

“I know. But thank you for your praise, my lord!”

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The soft clip-clopping of their horses’ hooves sounded muffled on the leaf-strewn path, and yet loud in their wary ears. It felt strange to have left Doriath and its protection, making it hard to believe that only a few decades ago, they had roamed these lands freely in their hunts. It felt like another Age.

“Well, it IS another Age.” Beleg had pointed out when Mablung had voiced his concerns upon their parting. 
Everything was changed now, new and wondrous, but also bright and merciless. Gone was the brilliance of the stars, for even when the moon was not out in the night’s sky, it still seemed to dim the starlight, that had, for so long, been all the light they needed. Even worse -in Mablung’s mind- was the sun, garish and loud. He had never thought that one could hear light, but he could. Everything seemed loud now.

“Is this really the light you once wanted to lead us to?” they had asked their King when the sun had first risen, but Elu had not answered them. His gaze had been upon the new light, looking deeply troubled.
“It is, and yet is not.” Melian had answered in her husband’s stead, seemingly sharing his unease without being able to explain further.

It might yet be, Mablung thought now that he rode beside Daeron, that I shall grow to love the sun and its light and sparkling colours. 
Daeron had assured him he would, as the minstrel had seemed to accustom to the brightness much quicker, just like Lúthien. Yet as for now, Mablung could not, feeling suddenly as a stranger in the lands that were his home. The Eldar they were called after all, the star-people, not the people of sun or moon.

Mablung was rather roughly shaken out of his musings as his horse halted suddenly, nickering softly. Between his stallions black rimmed ears, he could make out colourful tents in the distance. So they had reached their destination at last. He glanced sideways at his companion. Daeron seemed at the same time apprehensive and excited, and Mablung thought he felt the same. He was very curious about the Noldor and their tales, and honoured to be sent as emissary by the King, but still he felt his heart beat somewhere in his throat- what was he, a captain, a warden, supposed to do at a feast that was meant for the great?

Hours later, when the sun that had been starting to rise when they had arrived already began its journey towards the western ocean, Mablung found himself alone among the crowd for a moment. Daeron had left to play with Maglor, so Mablung took the time to let his gaze roam over the scene before his eyes. He could not look his fill on all the colourful hangings and the lamps that were already emitting a soft light, though there was no visible flame within them. And of course on all the different colours and styles of the Noldor’s raiments. 
Proud and in fiery red stood the princes of the house of Fëanor, with their father’s many edged star embroiled upon their chests. Blue and silver were the colours of the king and his house, cool and fair as the moonlight. Only the princess deviated from this, being clad all in pure white. The children of Finarfin were clad in green, gold and a silky fabric embroiled with many shimmering pearls, that seemed blue at times, at others green or grey. Mablung recognised it with ease as the craftwork of Olwë’s wife, or at least as craftwork done under her tutoring. They had all marvelled at it, long ago on starlit shores, and not a few had wondered then whether Uinen had not taught her to weave the sea itself into fabric.

Beside Finrod, who wore so much jewellery that his whole figure seemed to sparkle, Mablung spotted Círdan, and his heart ached with remorse once more. True, Círdan had waved away his and Daeron’s words of regret, and had embraced them both with joy, but Mablung still felt guilt burn within himself. Kind and forgiving as Círdan was, there was no denying that Elu had abandoned the Falas, to hide his people behind Melian’s magic. Mablung had often tried to reason with himself, that they had all been too wounded, too exhausted, too much reduced in numbers to achieve anything but to be utterly destroyed in the quest to free the Falas, and that Eglarest and Brithombar were well walled, but the fact remained that they had abandoned them, and be it with the heaviest of hearts. Elu had not bidden Mablung to bear Círdan any apology, but only to invite him to come to Menegroth if he would, so that Elu might seek his pardon himself. Círdan had gladly accepted the invitation into Doriath, so Mablung willed himself to truly believe that Círdan held no grievances against them.                      

Mablung had let his mind wander, and so did not immediately realise that Fingolfin himself approached him now. He started as Fingolfin spoke, then hastily made to bow to the king, so as to hide his surprise. At the first glimpse he had had of him, Mablung had felt a fierce, piercing pain to his heart, for Fingolfin was the very image of Finwë as Mablung remembered him, safe perhaps that his bearing was much quieter and sterner than Finwë’s had ever been. Soon, however, that pain had been replaced by a sense of unease. There was something strange about all the Noldor, something secretive. They did not mention Finwë or Valinor with even a word during all the talks, nor explained aught about their true motives of their coming back to Middle-Earth. It had been exactly the same with Eärwen’s sons when they had come to Menegroth, and that, together with Queen Melian’s reservations against the Noldor in general, urged Mablung’s heart to caution.

Funnily enough, as he now talked to Fingolfin -being questioned a little about Doriath in general and their strife with Morgoth and about Mablung’s position within the realm- he realised that the king, too, was not altogether at ease.

“It seems I underestimated you, Captain Mablung.” Fingolfin said at last “I will be honest with you, I was a little dismayed to find that of the venerable realm of Doriath, none but two messengers had come. But you are not only messengers, it seems?”

Mablung smiled for the first time, shaking his head at that.

“We are, and again are not. You see, lord, our realm is protected by our queen’s power, as  surly you are aware. But she herself cannot with certainty leave her realm now, and our people do not trust Bauglir to remain in Angband forever, and thus will not risk tearing our protection asunder. And the king would not attend a feast such as this without his queen.”

Mablung was so focused on how to word his answer, in order to at once assure Fingolfin that it was no discourtesy by Doriath’s royal couple not to come in person and at the same time not reveal too much about Melian’s enchantments, that he almost missed the flicker of pain that streaked across Fingolfin’s fine features. He wondered what grief lay there, and what had happened to Fingolfin’s wife to make him and his children come hither without her. But that, truly, was none of his business, as it was no business of Fingolfin’s that the true working of the Girdle was far more complex.

“I see.” Fingolfin said now, apparently overcoming his brief moment of weakness. “So it fell upon you and Daeron to represent your realm. I must say, I would not have thought it possible to ever witness a display of music keener and more skilful than that of my nephew, but it seems that Daeron is more than his equal.”

Again, Mablung inclined his head, smiling.

“Daeron is more than just a skilled minstrel. He is also our lore-master, and there is none who knows more about the history of our people, safe perhaps king and queen. But most of all, he is very close to the king himself, as am I. We both are honoured with our lord’s unlimited trust.”

Something softened in Fingolfin’s solemn face.

“Good.” he said, before biding Mablung farewell for the moment, who sighed with relief.

Whatever stood between their two kindreds, he did not yet know, but at least there were no animosities between them now. He smiled to himself as Daeron and Maglor again began to play together. Elu himself would certainly not have done any better at keeping things friendly, and for that, Mablung was quite pleased with himself.

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“Go now.”

The King’s voice was deadly calm, and Mablung could not blame Finrod and Angrod for wincing. He himself could not recall having ever seen Elu so angry, but that hardly mattered now, anyway. He felt empty, bereaved, betrayed. True, he had ever sensed that some secret was hidden there, but he could never have imagined it being something as horrible as this.

Had he not, at Fingolfin’s feast, sat at the table with the sons of Fëanor and how many others who had robbed and slaughtered his kin? How could any of them have looked him in the eye? Had he not seemed important enough for them to consider that he, too, had kin there in Alqualondë? Had they even bothered to think about it? There they had sat in their colourful robes, behaving towards Daeron and him and even Círdan like they were the kindly teachers of ignorant children, while they had all carried that secret within their hearts.

Had they slain Mablung’s own family, also? The icy fist of dread closed around his heart at this thought.

You do not know that, he reminded himself, it might well be that your parents and sisters are safe.

But deep within his heart he knew that this was an empty hope, for even if they had escaped the battle, they could not have escaped the terror it brought upon all their people. Mablung could hardly bear to think of them now. It had been he who had remained behind, he about whom his family had worried at their parting. Never would he have dreamed of it being the other way round, of harm coming to them instead. They had thought they were heading to eternal safety.

And Olwë… Olwë had thought he was leading his people to a life free of the terrors of the Shadow, only to be assailed by their friends. By Finwë’s sons- the children of his brother’s dearest friend. And, Mablung realised with a new streak of horror, by the family of his daughter. How could Olwë possibly live with that grief?

It took little imagination to go from that to guessing how Elu must feel about the kinslaying… not only were these originally his people, he must also feel that Olwë had shouldered his burden, that this terror should really have come to him instead. And knowing Elu, that knowledge would weigh almost as heavy as his grief. He had always been determined to protect his brothers from all evil after all.

What would go on in the king's mind regarding the fact that the kinslaying had been done by Finwë’s sons, however, Mablung could not even try to guess. Elu and Finwë had been  inseparable. True, had Finwë lived still, that might never have happened, for he was sure that Finwë would never have suffered his sons to draw swords on Olwë’s people. But Finwë lived not, and nor did now many of their friends and kin.

Distantly, Mablung heard Elu talk, and he felt humbled. He knew not what he might have done had it fallen upon him to deal with the situation, but rather certainly not contained his wrath, keeping it from spilling over the bringers of such horrid tidings. Even so, Eärwen’s sons left the table with their heads bowed in sorrow, and Mablung willed his anger to cool and to pity them, as was his custom. They, he reminded himself, had lost kin there also, only to be now drawn into that hideous crime themselves. They truly deserved compassion, not scorn, yet Mablung could not at the moment bring himself to that emotion.

Slowly, the company dissolved, all of Menegroth buzzing with the news. Elu stood with his forehead leaned against Melian’s shoulder while the queen stroked his back gently, her face filled with sorrow. Lúthien seemed livid, but also somehow subdued by her father’s grief and anger, and as Melian lead Elu away quietly, Lúthien followed her parents like a shadow.

At length, Mablung found himself beside Elmo, who stood deep in discussion with his grandsons and Galadriel, all looking stricken.

“Why ban their language, though?” Galathil asked heatedly, and Mablung wondered if he was speaking on behalf of his sister-in-law.

Elmo rolled his eyes.

“Who knows what is going on in my brother’s fair head at such times. Do not ask me, I am at a loss.”

Elmo had a knack of growing sarcastic when very moved by some uncomfortable emotion, but Mablung still had to work hard to bite back a very unbefitting comment. Before he could re-phrase what he wanted to say into fairer words, however, Galadriel spoke. She had not said a word since the King had confronted her brothers at the feast, and only silently watched them leave, her expression unreadable. All the more surprising her words were now.

“They deserve it. Or they would, if they bothered to understand. But they will not, I know them and their hearts much better than I like to admit. ’twas a weak move. Elu should have asked for the Fëanorian’s heads as weregild, that is the only thing they actually get. I would have seen to it myself, had Olwë not held me back, and I would gladly do so now.”

The assembled ellyn all looked at her in dismay. All safe Celeborn, who laid a pacifying hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Taking even more lives will not bring the swanships back to Olwë’s haven, nor return those slain to their bodies, nor avenge the betrayal of your kin by your kin, beloved.”

Wise he is already, Mablung thought, looking appreciatively at Celeborn. Wise, and also gentle and loving. Galadhon would surly have been very proud of him now. Yet Celeborn’s words also made Mablung wonder if Galadriel had let anything slip at all. If she had, how had Celeborn managed to keep quiet, to leave all his kin and friends in the dark about that atrocity? And if she had not, how could he be so calm now, how could he not see it as a betrayal of trust? What ever was the truth, Mablung deeply admired the depth of their bond.

“What a mess.” Elmo sighed, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. “I really should find Elu and hear his reasoning and also… well. I think Olwë would expect us to draw together and pity him united rather than having me question Elu’s decisions.”

“He surly would.” Galadriel agreed tonelessly.

Elmo bid them goodbye and left, and Mablung watched him go with his heart heavier than it had been all evening. How could such a crime ever be forgotten? How could such evil be endured?

In hindsight, Mablung laughed openly about those feelings, a cold and mirthless laugh. Had anyone told him then, as he stood there below Menelrond with his heart aching so horribly, that within a few short centuries the kinslaying would seem almost like a trifle compared with the grieves that were to come, he would not have believed it possible.

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Mablung drummed his fingers against his thigh impatiently while he waited for Beleg to rid himself of his bow and baggage, seemingly without a care in the world. That, at least, was as it always had been. For Beleg, with his abode in the forests, far away from Menegroth and the madness that had fallen upon it lately, there was not a care in the world- at least until now, Mablung thought grimly.

He still failed to wrap his head around the events of these past months. The Girdle had been breached- that was not supposed to happen. The person doing the breaching was a Mortal- that should even less be possible, for Elu had long since made it very clear that no man had any business being within Doriath's borders. And then Lúthien had somehow fallen in love with said Girdle-breaching man, Daeron had betrayed her to a very upset Elu, who had since sent Beren to Angband to steal one of the Silmaril’s from Morgoth’s crown- and that, of all things, should certainly not have happened.

Everything that had befallen since… well, Mablung thought wryly, either this was a very bizarre dream his mind sought to mock him with, or else a considerable number of people within Menegroth had recently taken leave of their senses.

When Beleg finally seemed to be ready, Mablung seized his chance and pulled him away from the gates and onto a tree, ignoring Beleg’s faint protest.

“What… Mablung, I need to make my presence known… Mablung, stop!”

Beleg pulled his hand from Mablung’s grip, staring at him.

“Oh no, you need to hear me out first before you step before the king and queen. I need to tell you what has befallen.”

There was unease flickering in Beleg’s eyes, but Mablung did not have time to be concerned with that now. Instead, he plowed straight into the story, allowing none of Beleg’s calls of wonder or indignation to interrupt him. By the time he had ended, Beleg just looked at him in utter bewilderment. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but seemed to think better of it each time.

At last, he just asked:
“He did what, again?”

“Locked Lúthien in a treehouse.”

“Ah” was all that Beleg said, before they lapsed into silence. After a while, he asked again: “He is aware that his daughter is also Melian’s, is he not?”

“I suppose so.”

“And this is no foul jest?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Mablung watched Beleg pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“Has Elu gone mad?”

“Evidence suggests as much.” Mablung answered stiffly, and there at last, a mirthless snigger escaped Beleg.

“That is no laughing matter, Beleg.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, with the same stunned disbelief that filled all Mablung’s heart etched into Beleg’s features.

“No, in all honesty, what does he think he may gain from that? I do not know if even Melian could restrain Lúthien, so Elu does not truly think a treehouse can?”

Mablung shrugged, every last hint of amusement gone from him.

“Do not ask me. It is a matter of time only before Lúthien gets bored with playing helpless and I tell you, that will be ill for all of us. I am afraid, though, that we rather deserve it. We all played along.”

Beleg smiled a true smile now.

“Don’t be so gloomy, Mablung. It will turn out alright, and after a while, we will all be laughing about it.”

“I do not think so.” Mablung replied solemnly “Do you not see what has been done? Have you not listened to what Galadriel and Angrod have told us about the Silmarils? Elu asked Beren to get one…”

“Which is ridiculous. Nobody can ever hope to win one of those jewels back, least of al a mortal Man. Elu truly told Beren to be gone and that sooner would orcs learn to dance before he…”

“Yes.” Mablung interrupted, testily “So he did, thinking himself incredibly clever. But the fact is that he did not say what he meant. He gave Beren an option, and Beren is determined. I tell you, this will come back on us. As Elu should have known!”

For the first time since Elu had asked for the Silmaril, Mablung’s anger at the his king’s actions broke through the restraints of love and loyalty that had held it subdued. Oh, Mablung would have loved to just shake Elu back into his right mind. How could he do something so inexpressibly foolish? And Beleg, it seemed, saw the whole affair as laughable rather than dramatic.

“Do not judge him so harshly, Mablung. You know what Lúthien means to him, so you could hardly expect him to keep a cool head? You know how he gets when he feels trapped. It’s like pushing a wild beast into a corner- they will lash out and tear everything asunder without pausing to think. That is why you don’t push wild beasts into corners. Nor our dear king. 
But he will calm down, and think about what he has done, and hide in a tree himself for a while because he will be so ashamed of his own actions. And once tempers cool a little, they will talk it out, and all will be perfectly fine. But I really need to go and greet the king and queen. And maybe once I return, you will be in better spirits.”

With that, he let himself slide from the branch on which they had sat, turning only to add with a smirk:

“…although you’re adorable when you’re grumpy!”

Mablung scowled after his friend, but did not follow. He avoided being within Menegroth as much as possible at the moment, or being anywhere near Hírilorn where Lúthien was imprisoned. True, as they had discussed, the only reason why the princess still remained in that tree was because she was still biding her time, but he felt like he was betraying her nonetheless. Had he not sworn, long ago, to protect her as he protected her father? What cruel irony that the one he should protect her from now actually was her father. In this, he could be loyal but to one of them.

It hurt deeply to have them fight each other like this, and to see Melian caught up in that fight as well. Mablung remembered in all detail the moment that Elu had first introduced him to little Lúthien, and he allowed himself to escape back into this memory for a little while.

Elu walked through their camp, with his newborn daughter cradled against his chest so that her tiny head rested on his shoulder. When he spotted Mablung, he walked over to him, and so Mablung first gazed into Lúthien’s -very open- eyes; he was instantly enchanted.

“Alas…” Elu said, with a very brave attempt at a smile “…judging by your expression, I gather that she is still looking?”

“I am afraid so. But, oh Elu, she adorable.”

“I never denied that. But she is also…” he carefully picked her from his shoulder “… very much not interested in sleeping, which little elflings must do, even the most curious ones. Even half-Maiar elflings.”

Lúthien looked up into her father’s face with bright interest, waving her tiny arms around excitedly. When one of her fists touched her face, she instantly turned her mouth towards it to suckle on her fingers with passion. Mablung felt Elu tense.

“Ai Lúthien… Nana will not be happy when we tell her you are hungry again.” Elu told his daughter, then turned to Mablung  and added quietly “Melian is exhausted. She has had a hard time giving birth, and this little one has not let her sleep at all since then, and she is still in a lot of pain whenever Lúthien latches, and… oh, I hate seeing Melian like this and not be able to do anything to help. Thônwen is sitting with her now, and I had hoped carrying Lúthien around a little would perhaps get her to settle down, but I hoped in vain, it seems.”

Mablung smiled at Elu, with an unlooked-for tenderness within his heart. His feelings at the news of Lúthien’s begetting might have been marred by his own desire, his feelings now were not. The warmth and affection that welled up within him as he heard Elu talk like this about Melian left no room for any bitter feeling.

“It will be alright. I shall not claim to know much about children, but I seem to remember from when my sisters were born that it does get better after the first few days.”

Elu nodded, even as Lúthien started to protest about him not moving, or else about her empty stomach.

“Thônwen said that, too. I hope you are both right.” 

How, Mablung wondered, as the wind’s soft caress brought him back again to the here and now, could something that had started with such tenderness have come to this? To a treehouse in Hírilorn and a heart burning with the fear of loss?

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Once upon a time, before the delving of Menegroth, stone had just been stone to Mablung- lifeless, cold, uncaring. That stone could do something like mourn had then been beyond his imagination. Yet Menegroth did mourn now, not just its inhabitants, but the living rock itself, its brooks, even the river. The birds of the Queen would no longer sing safe in lament, keen and beautiful but hauntingly so, and Melian herself seemed so very withdrawn these days. All her focus went into the Girdle now, into keeping safe who could be kept safe.
Mablung could not even try to guess her pain, having no children of his own. But Thônwen and Elmo could, so it was a good thing that her sister-in-law was with Melian to support her now. That was, if any elf within Doriath could master their own grief enough to comfort anyone else.

For the briefest moment, it had seemed that they had been spared. When Beren had taken Lúthien’s hand before the thrones, the possibility of escape from their doom had been within arm’s reach. Laughable, really. As if anyone could escape. Slowly but surely, fair Beleriand was turning into a pit filled with frantic game, and wolves prowling around its rocky edges, waiting, savouring in anticipation the feast that was to come. There would be no escape. For no-one. Not anymore, not now that Lúthien was dead.

Even thinking it was painful, and Mablung quickly bowed his head to hide his renewed tears, his insides numb and cold. Everything seemed cold, even while a glorious summer caressed the lands in warmth and gentle winds. Whatever the weather was doing, though, Menegroth seemed to be caught in the ice of the north, like the Helcaraxë had suddenly decided to come down into their green lands. And there was no escaping it, ever. Lúthien had been the bringer of spring. Even in the cold of the starlit years, flowers had sprung at her very touch. And that spring had now been taken from them forever.

Mablung forbade his thoughts to stray back again to the childhood of the princess, but failed dismally. She had ever been so lively. Even as a babe in arms, she had never wanted to miss even a moment, and so Elu had spent evening after evening walking through their camp, rocking and singing her to sleep. His lullaby for Lúthien had been picked up by the elves of his court and become all their evening song, a ritual beloved and cherished for as long as it had lasted. And later, when she would no longer be carried around but roamed freely, it was Lúthien herself who brought to them the melodies of their songs, and who danced through their midst like a draft of balmy winds. So how could she, who had never ever kept still, be dead, her body lying still and silent in her cold grave, with her husband just as dead at her side?

Ai Beren, what have you brought upon us?

There was no accusation in those words even in Mablung's head, and how could there be? He had seen the true and sincere love in the man’s eyes and known then that Beren and Lúthien belonged together, and that nothing would keep them apart. He had much liked Beren, too, and grieved for his passing almost as much as he did for that of Lúthien, yet still, there was no denying that doom had followed thee man's footsteps to Doriath, disguised as love.

But all that mattered little now. They had looked almost peaceful, their bodies lying side by side, Lúthien with one slender arm still around Beren’s bloody chest. Whom had this fool of a man thought to save when he had thrown himself before the wolf? Proud the son of Barahir had been, and valiant, but why cast away his life to prove an already settled point? Had he forgotten, then, that he and his beloved only had what time they had in Middle-Earth? That their paths were forever sundered by death? Had Beren considered even for a moment what his death would mean to Lúthien? And what horrendous consequences it would have on those who loved her as well?

Mablung cursed Morgoth for it, for this most hideous robbery, for his accursed beast that had stolen away so much bliss, a life not even half lived, a love, and Lúthien, their Lúthien. And, it seemed, also their king. Mablung shuddered as he thought of Elu, his chest contorting with fear. He had not been seen among his people since that dreadful night, and judging by the royal house’s utter silence concerning him, it was going ill for them all.

It was for that very reason that Mablung set out to talk to Elmo in the first place, needing to know the truth and hoping that Elmo would remember the time, so long ago, that he had come to seek him out while everyone else slept, to bid him aid their search for Elu, and so would not see his questions now as intrusion into the royal house’s affairs. 
He need not have worried, though. Elmo embraced him like the friend he was to him, and Mablung tried to put all that he could not find words for into that hug, in addition to all the comfort he could muster.

“You want to know about Elu.” Elmo said in a hollow voice as they broke apart, a statement, not a question.

Mablung nodded, trying his best to keep his fear in check.

“Come with me, if you really want to. But be warned, Mablung- I know how much he means to you, and you will not like what you see.”

Again, Mablung nodded, falling into pace beside Elmo. He had not expected anything else.

“He is like… I do not even know how to explain his state. He is not himself but like a dumbfounded child that will do as you tell them while their mind is paralysed with terror. Nay, even that does not explain. It is like his grief and guilt drove away all his will to live, all himself, if you get me. He will do as I tell him, but he rejects all touch, all attempt at closeness. Even Melian…”

Elmo’s words caught in his throat as he uttered his sister-in-law’s name, and it took him a moment to pull himself back together.

“She needs him.” He went on “Desperately so. They just lost their daughter, is that not enough? Must he… he would not even let her enter the room until I made him. Oh, do not misunderstand me, this is not at all aimed to wound her, he simply despises himself and his actions so much that he fails to see how much he is loved regardless. Melian tethered him to life, and I understand why, of course she could not bear to lose him as well. I was so grateful for it at first, but… but if this is how life is going to be from now on for my brother, for us, then truly, I think it would have been kinder to let him die, too.”

Mablung said nothing, but only silently laid an arm around Elmo’s shoulders as the latter wiped his eyes, composing himself enough to go on.

“He talks now, at least. Ever since I convinced him to let Melian at least stay with him at night, he will answer questions when asked. If that is so much of an improvement, though, I do not know. See for yourself. 
But there are more pressing matters, too. I am not sure how much longer Doriath can be held without anyone ruling it. Melian cannot do so, even less now that she needs every last bit of her strength to keep the Girdle, and Elu just does not care, or cannot care, I would not know.”

They had reached the entrance to a chamber that had natural light, and Mablung guessed that it had been Elmo’s aim to let his brother at least have the light of the stars by night.

“Who’s there?” someone asked as soon as they had entered the room.

Had Mablung not known that it was the king himself, he would not have recognised his voice, but that was hardly the most frightening thing about the whole situation. Elu sat in his chair like a statue of marble, cold and still, and indeed Mablung might have taken him as such but for the bloody scratches on his arms, cheeks and neck that Mablung knew were the marks of Elu’s own fingernails. He started when Elmo beside him answered, having momentarily forgotten that he was there.

“It is I, and Mablung.”

The look Elu gave them as he turned made Mablung quail, and he lowered his gaze quickly, unable to bear the loathing in his king’s expression.

“What do you want? What is it that you deem of my interest?” Elu asked coldly, and yet Mablung made himself move, made himself step up to Elu’s chair and sink to his knees beside him.

“Nothing lord, I merely…”

“Then leave.”

“Lord…”

“I told you to leave, did I not?” Elu asked with a dangerous note to his voice, before he turned away again, making Elmo hiss in anger.

Mablung however bowed low, trying to keep his face concealed, for tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor. He would rather Elu had taken a knife and run it through his heart than send him away in scorn like this.

“If that truly is thy will, Sire, I shall obey.”

“No!”

Mablung had seldom known Elmo to shout, much less shout at his elder brother, but as he turned now to face him, he saw the wrath in his face and intuitively stepped between the siblings.

“See?” Elmo strode around Mablung, crouching down beside Elu and grabbing him none too gently by the arms. “Do you see, you ungrateful oaf? Mablung here is so loyal to you that he would even fight a friend to keep me from ripping your head off. Have you any idea how much you are adored? And direly, direly needed? But you do not care, do you? Nothing matters to you but your own grief, and I get it. Oh, I get it. There is nothing within Arda that hurts as terribly as the loss of a child. Remember, brother, that I lost my only son, too? That Galadhon was my only child as Lúthien was yours? I know of the pain that threatens to tear your heart into pieces with every beat life forces it to beat. But even that most profound grief does not give you permission to hurt everyone around you even more. Because guess what, Melian lost her only child, too, and Thônwen and I lost our niece. Do you need to add to that pain by pushing everyone away who reaches out to you? Have you ever comforted your wife? Maia she may be, but she is still a mother, and make no mistake, here grief is by no means less than yours. But she bears it, and holds the Girdle regardless, and then you will not even give her the comfort she needs.
But fine, have it that way if it so pleases you, my King. You know, you hurt me too, as I care about you more than anyone safe Thônwen now. I have sat by your side night in, night out, holding your hand and begging you to return to us, but if all that is to be achieved by that is you snapping at everyone, then I will leave you to stew in your own misery!”

Elmo released his brother and scrambled back, his chest heaving. Mablung had expected Elu to raise to the challenge and argue back, or else command them from the room once and for all, but he did nothing of that sort. Instead he sat as Elmo had released him, showing no reaction whatsoever, until tears slowly started to run down his pale cheeks. It was pitiful to watch, and Mablung turned in dismay, only to see Elmo smack his own forehead with his palm.

“Oaf I am, too, it seems.” he told Mablung with a grimace “For there goes the work and achievements of days.”

He took deep, steadying breaths, then walked back to Elu’s chair and put his arms protectively around his brother’s trembling form.

“Hush. It is alright. I got frustrated, that is all, I did not mean what I said. I have got you. I’m fine. It’s alright.” And when Elu struggled feebly, trying to free himself, Elmo added: “I know you do not want to be touched. But you need it. And I need it. So that is what we will do.”

Mablung made to bid them farewell quietly, but as he made to stand up, Elu’s fingers closed over his hand.

“Stay. Please.” the king whispered hoarsely, and Mablung felt his heart be flooded with sudden emotion. Elmo looked at him over Elu’s head, his eyes wide with wonder, as if he could not believe what he had just seen and heard.

“Of course.” Mablung whispered back, his heart pounding in his chest.

Again, he sought Elmo’s gaze, and they tentatively smiled at each other. Small victory it might be, but to Mablung, it just now meant everything. 

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“Are you sure you will not need horses?”

“No. And there really is no need for you to accompany us any further, Mablung. I do know these paths.”

Mablung inclined his head.

“Better than even I, I doubt it not.” he said courteously “But I know which paths will be clear of prying eyes and eager ears. I figured that you would not want to be confronted with any more people who want to say their farewells.”

Lúthien made a small noise of surprise, but said nothing more to the matter, so they went on walking in silence. Mablung had not as yet been able to wrap his head around what had happened, even though it had been days since Beren and Lúthien had returned alive to Menegroth. He had not believed it at first, had thought this some fell jest of Morgoth’s even, something to mock them with. But then Lúthien had walked up to Elu and laid her hand on his cheek, and at her touch he had stirred out of his frozen state, much like an animal that was awoken from hibernation by the first warm sunbeam of spring, starved and weak and filled with incredulity and joy at finding itself alive. That more than anything else told Mablung that Lúthien truly was back.

All the more horrible it had been to learn how she had achieved it, that truly, her return was but a final farewell. Mablung’s throat constricted even now as he thought about the moment of their learning the truth, and at the memory of the King and Queen’s reactions. Melian’s pain had been almost palpable. She had grieved for Lúthien before, yes, but there had always been this deep trust within her that she would see her daughter again, and that Lúthien was well cared for in the Halls of Mandos. To see the Queen lose this lifeline now still made Mablung's heart ache, for Melian was dear to him in so many ways.

He had also rather expected Elu to fall back into the darkness of his grief, but that he had not done. Instead, he had borne Lúthien’s revelations as a wrongdoer would bear his just punishment. 
‘As he should’ some had said, and surely, it was the reaction that the Iathrim expected from their King. 
After all, he was the one to whom they ultimately went to set any arising quarrels, in whose judgement they trusted. So how better to show that he was indeed worthy of this trust than by proving that he did not hold himself to be above justice? Mablung, however, knew Elu better than that. Not that he doubted the sincerity of Elu's remorse, or else his readiness to bear his grief as punishment, but that did not spark confidence in him at all, quite the contrary. Yes, he had been furious with Elu for how he had handled Beren and Lúthien’s romance, and had been terrified when their deaths had so unhinged him, but to now see all fight go out of him was a whole new terror to Mablung.

He had not watched his King bow to the consequences of his actions, he had watched his utter destruction.

This is not just, Mablung thought. Elu had not hurt Lúthien on purpose, had not even taken direct action to harm Beren. Mablung vividly recalled Elmo claiming that no pain could be greater than that of losing one’s child, and he wholeheartedly believed that to be true, even if he had no children of his own. So how than could anyone see it as just for Elu to not only go through this pain as a consequence of his own actions but to lose his daughter completely, when no other elf ever had had to go through this? 
But just or not, it would not be changed, and so Mablung had watched silently as Elu had bidden Lúthien and Beren goodbye in the morning, unable to hide his tears. Melian had not been able to face this farewell at all. Now his own grief was small compared to theirs, Mablung was aware, but still it hurt to know that he himself  had to say farewell to them in this hour, too.

“I think…” he said, carefully keeping his voice even and free from the emotions that were raging within him “… that you can now trust to be left alone even without my guide. This, therefore, is the time of our parting.”

Lúthien and Beren halted beside him, both facing him with the same expression of mingled regret and anticipation.

“Mablung, I… I cannot thank you enough for all you did for me, not least for keeping our departure unwatched.”

He bowed low.

“I shall ever be at your service, my lady. And at yours, Beren.”

They both inclined their heads as well, then Lúthien said:
“I shall miss Doriath. More than I would like to admit.”

“I assure you, lady, that you shall be missed even more gravely.”

Lúthien sighed deeply.

“I know…” she said “But I cannot remain here, not after what I did. I cannot remain here and pretend to be princess of an immortal realm still, when I am no longer… well. Besides, I think I have hurt my parents quite enough already without them having to watch us die a second time.”

“I am afraid that you will wound them further whether you leave here or no.” Mablung replied quietly.

“Watch over them for me, Mablung. Nana and Ada. Please? And over Elmo and Thônwen and Galathil and little Nimloth and Celeborn and Galadriel and… everyone.”

Tears glistened in Lúthien’s eyes as she spoke, telling clearly of the love she still bore for her old home and her family.

“That I will do to the best of my ability.” Mablung replied earnestly.

When Lúthien spoke again, it was with a desperate note to her voice, as if she were pleading with Mablung to believe her.

“I never intended to hurt them. I love them dearly, all of them. But I could not… I could not take any other path.”

“Nay, Lady Lúthien, do not apologise. I would have done the same, had such a decision come upon me. I would have gone to Angband and even the Void for the one I love, too.”

Was there a knowing look to her eyes at his words? Would it trouble him if she knew, Mablung wondered? He believed not.

“Still I wish it had never come to this.” he added. “I wish fate had not taken such twisted paths.”

There were so many ways in which that calamity could have been avoided. From the very beginning, all their interactions had been flawed by the customs of their peoples. Beren need not have asked Lúthien’s hand at all. If they had just wed in accordance to elvish law, they could have confronted Elu and his court with that fact, and nobody needed to get hurt, safe perhaps Elu’s pride. Or else if they had just decided to abandon their quest and returned without that accursed gem after some time, after the mood had cooled. Or if…

“One thing there is that I still need to know before we part, Beren, or my mind will likely never rest. Why did you step before Carcharoth? Why, when you must have thought your paths to be sundered, did you throw your life away when you were newly wed? What were you trying to prove?”

Beren stared at him, aghast.

“I never… I never thought of it that way. But I was not trying to prove anything but keep that monster from tearing my father-in-law to pieces. I…”

“You deemed yourself harder to overcome than an elf?” Mablung asked with a wry smile. 
However tragic the matter, Beren’s knack for overestimating himself was rather amusing. The man scowled.

“I don’t know how quickly the Eldar can do their thinking, but I can say so much for Men- there was not enough time for me to think about anything, not even…” he glanced apologetically at his wife “…about Lúthien. I just moved. I would have done the same had it been you or Beleg that Carcharoth had aimed at.”

Mablung nodded silently. What was done could not be undone, but it greatly put his mind at ease to know that there had been no scheming on Beren’s side. As if he had read Mablung’s thoughts, Beren asked indignantly:
“Did you think I did that on purpose? To somehow punish Elu for the quest? I assure you, I did not. For even had I held a grudge against him still, which I did not then and do not now, I would not have forfeit my life for revenge, and much less Lúthien’s love. And besides, how could I have known what Lúthien was prepared to do, or that even the Valar would bow to her stubbornness?”

His hands had curled into fists by his side, yet still Mablung could not prevent his tears from falling now.

“Your thoughts have been dark, Mablung.” Lúthien said sadly “Yet I do not blame you.”

“Nor do I.” Beren added sincerely.

“Will you ever return?”

Mablung had not meant to ask so boldly, but the misery that almost choked him left no more room for politeness.

“We will.” Lúthien assured him, taking Beren’s hand and smiling at him. “Someday. And when we come to visit, it might be that we do not come alone.”

Mablung smiled, marvelling at Lúthien’s words, a spark of new hope flickering in his heart.

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Before the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, Mablung had considered himself to be a seasoned warrior. He had, after all, commanded Doriath’s marchwardens together with Beleg and Oropher for centuries, had hunted uncounted orcs, had fought the first battle of Beleriand alongside his king. That, in his books, qualified as ‘seasoned warrior’.

After the Nírnaeth he would never again call himself that, he promised himself as he cowered on the blood-soaked earth. The horrors he had seen here he would never forget, but even less all the pain. Each maimed corpse on the ground, be it elf or man or dwarf, had had a story, a life, someone dear to their heart that had made fighting this battle worth-while. Mablung’s heart ached, ached as it had never yet done, and he wept for every single one of them.

Worst of all had been King Fingon’s fall, and Maedhros’ and Turgon’s anguished cries as they had witnessed it. Mablung was no stranger to yells like that, speaking of a pain that pierced the heart with a shard of ice. Speaking of ice… it was so cold. Mablung recalled the first battle and his injury, and how cold he had felt when he had almost bled to death. Oh, he felt just as cold now, only that this time, he was not wounded. This time, nothing accounted for his uncontrollable shivering but the icy winds, and the terror within his own Fëa.

“Come on! Mablung, come on, the battle is lost, we need to be gone.”

Beleg’s tone was frantic, and Mablung struggled to his feet. All his garments were stiff with dried mud and blood, and his heart was so heavy within his chest that he felt like its weight dragged him down.

“Move!” Beleg urged him, tugging at his arm, but Mablung could not.
His legs simply refused to obey his command, and he sank back to the ground, despite Beleg’s moan of despair. He felt his friend kneel down beside him and share what little water he had left with him, then stroke his cheek tenderly. Beleg’s fingers felt icy even to Mablung’s own cold skin, and as he looked up, he saw how exhausted his friend looked.

Nevertheless, Beleg’s voice was low and gentle as he addressed him again.

“Mablung, dearest friend, I implore you, gather what strength you have and come with me. I promise we will rest as soon as we find a place to hide, and once we are again strong enough, we will go home.”

“Home?” Mablung croaked, his voice as reluctant to obey his command as his limbs.

“Yes, home. Melian’s protection still stands. We need but reach the boarders of Doriath, and then we’ll be safe.”

He wanted to find hope in Beleg’s words, wanted it with all his heart, but he could not. He had seen too much. Had borne too much. He wanted to sleep.

“And how long will it stand, now that Morgoth has unleashed all his forces? It is over, Beleg. The world is ended. Let’s just stay here and die.”

Why, ah why had he ever left Doriath, where Queen Melian kept them safe from this horror? What foolhardy hope had he seen in joining the battle? He could not recall it now, even to himself, and he bitterly rued the day he and Beleg had asked leave to join this senseless slaughter.

“We promised, Mablung.” Beleg sobbed now, his tears leaving lighter traces on his grimy cheeks. “We promised to return, don’t you remember?”

Of course he remembered. Even thinking it, he found himself standing again in the throne -room of Menegroth, heard the familiar trickle of water and twittering of birds, and Elu’s voice. Mablung winced. Hearing him sound so cool and distant was deeply unsettling.

“Alright then. If it truly is your will to join this madness, then I will not hold you back, even if it is against my -and also the Queen’s- counsel. But I will not suffer you to join the forces of those who vowed to end my life, and my realm, your home. Under that premise only I will give you leave to go, that you will not swear allegiance to any son of Fëanor’s.”

Beleg frowned.

“It is King Fingon’s host that we intend to join, who has ever proven true to his words of friendship towards Doriath, and who left his own young son in Lord Círdan’s safe-keeping, rather than trusting the strength of his own kin. But you should really know the two of us better than to assume otherwise, lord. As it is, it might well be that one or another Fëanorian buttock might find itself pierced by one of my arrows for the atrocity of threatening you, given that I have any to spare.”

Mablung feebly attempted to turn his laugh to a cough, but as even the Queen grinned at Beleg’s remark, he did not try too hard. Elu alone seemed unmoved, and Mablung wondered again where the elf he had once known so well had disappeared to, the elf who would have laughed openly at the mental image of Celegorm with an arrow sticking in his backside, and who would not have let them ride to their probable deaths without a fight.

It was not long ere Elu’s somber mood once again engulfed them all, and Beleg and Mablung made to depart. Melian’s voice was full of sorrow as she rose to wish them farewell.

“May your path be blessed with good fortune, and may you find your way back to us unscathed.” she said, her bright eyes glistening with emotion.

Beleg and Mablung bowed low in unison, then turned to leave, their own hearts heavy.

They had not walked ten steps, however, ere the king’s voice rang out behind them.

“Wait. One last thing.”

They turned, and were astonished to see Elu rise from his throne and step down from the dais to stand beside them, glowering down at them both.

“Just so you know- if you two don’t return to Menegroth safe and sound, if you dare to die on that accursed battlefield, then I swear I shall follow you to Mandos out of pure spite, just so I can dismiss you from my service forever, have I made myself very clear?”

Both only nodded, lost for anything to say. It was only when they had indeed left the Hall behind them that Beleg mumbled:
“We love you very much, too, Elu.”

His reminiscences must have smoothly slipped into dreams, Mablung realised as he started, awoken by the feeling of falling. Beleg jerked upright, too, though Mablung quickly felt him relax again as he realised that what had startled Mablung had been his own body falling asleep rather than anything going on on the battlefield. Beleg curled back up on the frozen ground at his side, his tears now falling unrestrainedly.

A new spark had alighted within Mablung’s mind, though, a tiny spark struggling not to go out again. A thought, not happy, not hopeful, but piercingly clear among all the numb indifference- if they died here, they would tear their realm down with them. He did not doubt even for a moment that Elu, stubborn as he was, would make true this threat. And that, really, settled the matter. Mablung would not be responsible for the destruction of Doriath, to which both he and Beleg were sworn. Even less would he spare Morgoth the trouble of having to fight his way into their realm if he wanted its demise- and least of all would he do anything to hurt Elu further. Death the king may secretly welcome, and Mablung respected that, but he knew how the news of their deaths would hurt him, and that Mablung would not suffer.

So with an effort that demanded every last bit of determination he had, Mablung forced himself to his feet, pulling an astounded Beleg with him.

“Home.” he muttered through gritted teeth, and holding onto each other for support, the Captains of Doriath escaped the battle of unnumbered tears.

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“Ha!”

Mablung chuckled. Túrin very seldom showed any emotion -joy even less than sorrow- so seeing him burst out in that gloating yell warmed Mablung’s heart considerably. The boy had from the very beginning been uncommonly skilled with the sword, surpassing even his elven peers in his learning. Beleg insisted, however, that a thorough training in archery was an essential part of any soldier’s education, and a soldier Túrin ever aimed to be. And given Túrin’s dislike for fighting with anything but his much preferred sword, he did extraordinarily well in today’s archery lesson.

Mablung leaned back against the trunk of one of the linden-trees that surrounded the sparring-grounds, watching his fellow captains observe the training of their men, or indeed exercise themselves. Mablung himself sat cooling down after his own fighting- practise, his mind and body still full of the joy training brought to him. And as the king’s chosen sparring-partner, those sessions had special... benefits for Mablung as well, other than just having his thoughts occupied. He was close to Elu then, and could look his fill of him without it being strange at all. But most of all, it was good to see Elu forget his pain through hard training for a little while, and be himself again, truly himself. He would even jest at times, calling his men a bunch of unfaithful traitors to general amusement when they chose to cheer on Captain rather than king. Hearing Elu laugh was the most precious thing to Mablung. It was as if all of Doriath laughed, the veil of grief and foreboding lifted for a moment.

Today though, his thoughts were less on his king than on the latter’s fosterling, whom they both sat watching now. Mablung remembered well the famished boy that Húrin’s son had been when he had first reached Menegroth. The change that had come over him in so short a time was all the more astonishing for that. Well, Mablung mused, short for an elf. For mortal Men, even those few years must indeed be a long time and Túrin certainly could no longer be called a child. Fair he was, and tall, and as he had not yet started to grow a beard, he was almost indistinguishable from any elf as long as he kept his hair open.

The next jeering sound came from Beleg himself, accompanied by the tell-tale thud of the apple hitting the ground. Mablung counted quickly.
He got all of them, he thought admiringly. 
The boy really was making quick progress. Mablung would have to congratulate Beleg on his teaching skills, and also make a mental note never to challenge Húrin’s son in any shooting competition. That could only end in his utter embarrassment.

“I am very proud of you, Túrin!” Mablung heard Beleg say “Not so much because of your archery, but because you worked so hard despite your dislike for it. And it paid off!”

Túrin’s face glowed at the praise.

“Now, are you too tired out already? Or should we delve a little deeper into weapons you would not readily call your own?”

Mablung and Elu both laughed at the expression on Túrin’s face as he turned to Beleg, positively bristling with indignation.

“Tired out? Beleg!”

A mischievous grin spread over Beleg's face.

“I thought so. Well then, as I have them here, how about asking Mablung and the King to show and tell you about their weapons of choice?”

A slight frown creased Túrin’s brow at this, and he glanced uncertainly at Elu.

“But… Mablung usually fights with an axe, but… is not your weapon the sword also, lord? As it is mine?”

Elu smiled gently at Túrin as he answered:
“That really depends on how you define ‘weapon of choice’. I much love my sword, and take great pleasure in sparring, but the weapon I'd choose should I find myself under attack and in dire need of defending myself would still be a very ordinary wooden spear.”

“And make no mistake, Túrin.” Beleg said earnestly “Before you stands, without flattery, Doriath’s most skilled spearman. What I can do with my arrows, he can do with a spear, the limitations of the weapon taken into consideration, obviously. But that is not for today. Today’s lesson will be the use of spear and axe in close combat, and we will let Elu and Mablung show us what can be achieved with those weapons. Let's see how long it takes them to beat me in combat.”

Mablung enjoyed the demonstration greatly. It was very satisfying to be able to show what he could do with his axe, and hear the onlookers admiring cheers. Not many Elves chose the battle-axe as their preferred weapon, that was much rather a thing of the Dwarves, and indeed, it was from the people of Belegost that Mablung had originally learned the art of axe-fighting. Many of his own kinsfolk considered it too heavy, but that was precisely what made Mablung love it. Moving the axe was like taking it to a dance, with all the elegance that involved, and it brought him great joy to be able to show that to others as well.
That joy was quite overshadowed by Beleg, however, when the latter caused gales of laughter by throwing his training-weapon to the ground mere moments after he had picked it up to face Mablung, rubbing the side of his neck.

“Yes, and this is why I do not fight with a weapon that has two ends to put to use… I just beheaded myself. Nay, the axe is not for me.”

Once he was able to control his laughter enough to stand straight, Mablung ruffled Beleg’s braids, which made the archer snarl.

“Head seems still fairly attached to me.” he stated, to another round of cheering.

Beleg grimaced at him, his grin not altogether hiding his wounded pride. Mablung knew perfectly well that the defeat, caused by Beleg's inexperience rather than his own skill, still stung his friend, even if he tried to hide his feelings under a decent amount of self-irony. Not for nothing was Beleg called ‘the Mighty’, and being humbled in combat was not an experience he was particularly used to.

It was probably that which made Beleg fight all the harder with the spear, a weapon with which he was much more familiar. Though more evenly matched against Elu than he had been against Mablung, Beleg still lost to the king- that was, had he not downright refused to acknowledge this defeat. Before long, what had started as a formidable demonstration of spear-fighting ended in a brawl. Mablung chuckled. Sparring with Beleg always ended like that, sooner or later, and everybody knew that it would.

“You’re dead twice already Beleg, so get.. off.. me!” Elu panted, trying to get out from under Beleg, who had pinned him to the ground.

“Unfair, this is. If you order me off, I will have to obey, but you are really only saying that because I am winning this fight!”

“Aye, you would, if you were not dead twice already!”

As Mablung turned away to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes, his gaze fell upon Túrin, who looked back at him in utter bewilderment, staring in disbelief at his foster-father and his tutor, rolling around in the sand like young boys, all dignity forgotten. It had never occurred to Mablung before how very strange that must seem to Túrin, whose own race was ever limited in their play by the confines of the aging of the body, to witness such a thing. He therefore laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, saying:
“Do not take this too seriously, Túrin. They’re playing by now. A little reminiscence of long lost times and oh, I cannot tell you how my heart rejoices. I never expected to witness this again.”

Later, when the fight had at last been settled and the crowd dissolved, Mablung found himself walking back to the caves side by side with Beleg. His friend had hummed and smiled to himself all through cleaning and putting away their equipment, and did not cease to do so even now. He seemed happy, and though Mablung would never begrudge his friend this happiness, it still made him feel a little lonely. Playing over those feelings, he said:
“You know, I’m going to get jealous soon. You never came to Menegroth to visit me here, and now you spend almost more time training Túrin than you spend on the boarders.”

Beleg chuckled, though rather apologetically.

“It is not so, Mablung. But you come to the marches regularly, while Túrin is still much too young to travel so far on his own.”

“Not for long, I think.” Mablung answered. “Soon, he will reach manhood. Surely he will join you then?”

Beleg nodded, his expression turning suddenly serious.

“I would guess so. He is fierce, and determined, and has a fiery heart. Ultimately, of course, he longs for the moment he will leave the confines of Doriath for good, hoping to wield a deadly blow against Morgoth. I dread that day, Mablung. He can but meet his end beyond Doriath, and yet his heart urges him on. He deems his time for action short, and the need of his people great. What am I to say to that? What am I to answer if he asks me to come with him?”

“It might still be that you can convince him of this errand being folly. He listens to you more than to anybody else.” Mablung said gently, sensing Beleg’s pain.

“Aye. But my hopes are not high. Even we, Mablung, who have lived for uncounted years, thought to find glory in battle before the Nírnaeth taught us better. Túrin is a mortal…”

“… and he loves you.” interjected Mablung, noting the red tinge that crept into Beleg’s cheeks. “That counts for much.”

For a while, neither of them spoke, then Beleg sighed.

“I love him, too. I have long tried to deny it, but… I cannot, not truly.”

Mablung bit back a smirk with difficulty. Beleg was clearly uncomfortable, and Mablung himself had too much experience with pining to not feel sorry for his friend, but still it made a very nice change to be the one to comfort for once.

“You need not deny it, Beleg. Nothing hinders you…”

“Yes it does.” Beleg interrupted. “Oh, not mortality, I do not fear that. I know his time is short, but that is not what bothers me. Truth be told, I do not even know what is. I know what he craves, what he wants, and yet I will not encourage him. That must sound so hypocritical coming from me, who fucked his way all through the Great Journey, but this time… no. It is almost as if our relationship were too sacred for such a mundane thing as physical love. Do you remember how we used to abuse Enel for his believes? Well, maybe he was right and we were wrong, but only too young back then to understand?”

Mablung was not altogether sure that he agreed with that, but did not contradict Beleg. This were his feelings after all, and Mablung would not dare to judge their validity.

“I think Túrin is content also with our friendship as it is…” Beleg went on “…and with being brothers-in-arms. Which makes me realise that I have to apologise to you, Mablung. I always thought you were lying to yourself when you said that you were content with the way things are with Elu because I just couldn’t imagine…”

Beleg’s voice trailed off, and Mablung laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smiling.

“That is true love, Beleg. When the other’s happiness weighs more heavily than your own, and becomes your own. When you would make a fool of yourself for just one laugh, one moment of bliss. When you would forsake your life to save your beloved.”

Beleg nodded, but seemed lost for words otherwise, something that in itself was neigh on unheard of.

“Follow your heart, Beleg, wherever it might lead you. It has never lead you astray, nor me. Only -should it come to it, to you accompanying Túrin on whichever errands are to be his- watch out for yourself as much as him, alright?”

A smile graced Beleg’s lips.

“Don’t you worry about me, Mablung. I always get by, you know me.”

“Yes, I do. This is exactly what has me worried. You are careless.” 
And when Beleg huffed, he added:
“Only remember, will you, that dead is dead in reality? There is no dying twice just because you enjoy the brawl, not even for the mighty Strongbow?”

Again, Beleg nodded, and Mablung, acting on a sudden impulse, slung his arms around his friend.

“I am happy for you, for now. Take every moment of happiness while it lasts. Just promise me to survive the grief of parting from Túrin when it inevitably comes to pass, and return to me. Can you do that?”

Beleg drew back enough to grasp Mablung’s hands, and lock his fingers tightly with his friend’s.

“I promise.”

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The ground on which Mablung sat was cold, and however much he tried to cover himself with his cloak, he could not get himself comfortable. It was a moonless night, and breezy, and under the glimmering stars he could make out the summit of Amon Ethir looming above the treetops. He had no desire to go there, no desire to go even a step further. But he would have to, as soon as the morning dawned, and hope against hope that Morwen would heed his command and stay there, so that he need not look out for her while he tried to find out what had befallen in Nargothrond. Not that he truly expected Morwen to do as he told her, but he still kept a faint hope that she might after all be subject to reason, at least occasionally. Her valour notwithstanding, there was no way she could do any good in entering the caves with them, so Mablung prayed that she would stay out of danger at least of her daughter’s sake.

When they had first discovered that Nienor had followed them, Mablung had almost laughed, a little, very much to himself. How Morwen could have expected her daughter to stay behind when she herself chose to forego Melian’s counsel? Headstrong they all were, and Nienor was very much her parents’ daughter there. Mablung was also rather impressed by how she had fooled them into believing her to be one of the guard, and how she had stood up to Morwen with love and steadfastness rather than Túrin’s cold rage, but very affectively for it. And oh, it served Morwen right to have her own counsel and dread disregarded, and then she could see how she liked it… but no, no, he must not think such a horrid thing. He knew little of Morwen’s suffering, he must not be so mean.

Overall, he had to admit that his good upbringing seemed to have recently left him, especially where Húrin’s wife and daughter were concerned. It was very unseemly to argue with them as he had done earlier that day when he had called them both fey, but he could not help it. A dread had settled on his heart the moment he had stepped out of the Girdle, and it intensified with every hour they travelled.
He could imagine no way in which this could end in anything but catastrophe. Maybe it was that which made him so irate, that he saw no possibility for a good ending to that errand, one that in itself was grim enough. Mablung well remembered Finrod, and Orodreth, and had very much liked them. The mere thought of going to investigate the remnants of their realm and of what he might discover there made his blood run cold. Why, why, were they in such a situation now, where there was no way out?

Again and again he had wondered where he had gone wrong, what he could have done to prevent getting where they were now. He had defended Túrin, had he not, and reprimanded Saeros? Had he not met Túrin with kindness and respect even after that vain fool that had been Saeros had been slain? Had not Túrin’s case been handled by all within Doriath with the uttermost fairness and goodwill, and his mother and sister received with honour later on? Where had they gone so badly astray that they deserve such wrong as they now faced? Where had they gone so wrong as to deserve losing Beleg?

Mablung buried his face against the rough wool of his mantle, trying his best to stifle the sob that wanted to escape him. He had tried so hard all along not to think of his friend and wonder again how it was that he had met his end, but it was no surprise that his grief had proven stronger than his will in the end. Never before had Mablung felt so alone. He missed Beleg more horribly than he could ever have imagined, his counsel, his strength, but most of all his never-ceasing optimism. While Beleg had lived, Mablung had always managed to hold onto hope, or regain it, but now that Beleg lay dead, all seemed lost. Now that Beleg lay dead… how could the archer be dead? Beleg, who had been so bubbly, so full of life, who could not be restrained by neither friend nor foe, what evil could have befallen him in the end? And again, Mablung wondered where his grave was, if, indeed, his body rested in a grave. He could not imagine him dead.

Mablung looked up only when he sensed someone stir close by, and was not at all surprised to see Morwen rise from her camp. She found rest no more than he did, and Mablung did not expect her to, now that she had come so close to discovering her son’s fate.

“I, um, apologise for what I said earlier. I should not have insulted you so, my lady, nor Nienor.” he said, rather awkwardly, as she walked over to him.

“And yet you stand by your words, Captain.”

Mablung nodded.

“I do so indeed. This is a delicate task, and I fear that we are going to do great evil with it.”

He wanted to say more, to lay open his thoughts once more to Morwen, but he knew that that would come to naught, so he let silence fall between them. Only after some time, Morwen broke it, saying:
“I don’t get you, Mablung. You are valiant, and you scorn no danger, and saying of your brave deeds run afar in all Beleriand, and yet you ever counsel caution. What is it you fear? Death?”

Mablung thought about her words for a while.

“I do not fear death…” he said at length “…at least not my own. But I do fear the suffering of those I cherish, and the destruction of beauty, and good. I fear Morgoth’s horrid designs.”

“Trust an elf to fear that. But you say you do not fear your death, well, nor do I fear mine.  I fear to never reunite with my kin ere I shall vanish again from this world without a trace. Why can you not understand this? Our years on this Earth are short compared to yours, we must spend our time with those we love ere it is…”

“Spare me with the predicament of mortal transience, lady, I implore you. My people know of its bitterness.”

Mablung had not meant to interrupt her, to display once more such rudeness to her, but his unrest had got the better of him for good. And also, he could not bear any thought of Beren or Lúthien on top of everything else -especially Túrin- tonight.

“And yet you would confine me.” Morwen argued heatedly, though her voice was still low. “You would keep me from my son until all hope to see him once more is gone beyond recovery. If, indeed, there is any. But even burying his bones should put my heart at ease more than remaining in a cage.”

“Doriath is no cage, Lady Morwen, but a refuge. Your parting was not hindered, nor your children’s. The Queen keeps none prisoner. You asked me what made me ever counsel caution- well, this does. Wisdom does. Melian does not think that Morgoth is a foe that can be conquered, and even were she not a being more wise than any of us, I would agree with her.”

“And what would you do instead? Would you hide forever? And let Morgoth wrack all the lands that are not protected? And then what? What do you think will happen when Morgoth turns at last towards Doriath in all his fell might? Do you truly trust that the Girdle will withstand that?”

To this, Mablung said nothing. 
No, he did not think the Girdle would stand forever. How could it, when they said that there was no mightier being within Arda than Morgoth? He did not tell Morwen that, however. Instead he said gently:
“I perceive your impatience for the shortness of the time you linger within Arda, and yet, would you not rather spend that time in peace than seek to shorten it even further, and make it more grievous?”

At this, Morwen laughed a mirthless laugh.

“Do you have children, Captain?”

Mablung shook his head.

“Then you know naught of grief!” she shot at him, her eyes gleaming.

It is too much. Mablung jumped to his feet, drawing breath to speak, no, shout at her, throw at her that the knows grief, even if he does not know that grief. Or at least not the way she knew it. But was he not forced to watch that selfsame grief tear the one he loved beyond all else to pieces? Was not that grief the very thing he feared would one day tear the protection of their realm asunder, when all that she had endured that her race was not meant to endure finally brought Melian to her knees? And yet no word crossed his lips.

His sudden -albeit silent- outburst had startled her, which he had not wanted, so he let himself sink back to his knees, raising his face instead to the star-strewn skies. That same starry sky had watched his birth, his childhood games, his long-lost home. But to Cuiviénen there was no returning, they said, nor to the days of their journey. And the words came to his lips as from a former life, along with a long buried memory of a burnt-down campfire and the comfort of friends, and the exhilaration of a first kiss.

He sang, and with every note his heart was relieved a little more of the crushing fear that held it ransom. It was only when he had ended, his face cold and wet with tears, that he noticed Morwen staring at him.

“Well. And there was I thinking I understood the alliances within Doriath. I may be mistaken, but is that not the tongue the princes of the Noldor speak amongst themselves? And is it not forbidden by the law of your King? Then you are bold indeed, Mablung!”

Her words were hard, though he discerned the pity in her voice nonetheless, which told him that she had noticed his tears.

“Nay lady, ’tis not, though you cannot know it. And the King would not begrudge me this song, as it was he who once brought it to us, a praise of our Lady Elbereth, who gifted to us the light of her stars. I named her Varda in my song as I believe the exiles do still. Yet my words were not their language, but the tongue of our childhood that we spoke when these lands were free and hale, and no blood nor grievances divided us from our kinsfolk. Alas, alas for all the hurts, old and new, and those yet to come.”

To that, Morwen said nothing.

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Autumn had come this year with storms that whipped through the woods relentlessly, and piped their eery notes within Menegroth itself, mournful and keening. Mablung stood listening, waiting for the subtle music to start calming him down. The Caves had always done that for him, their ever-ongoing song -be it glad or sorrowful- able to soothe him like little else could.

Not this night, though. Tonight he felt anxious, and tense, and trapped, without being able to pinpoint the reason. True, the overall atmosphere within Doriath grew ever grimmer as the years passed, but this was something else, something more. All conversations within Menegroth seemed hushed these days to Mablung, though they were… not, at least so he thought. His uneasy restlessness reminded him painfully of his encounter with Glaurung before the ruins of Nargothrond, or more precisely the aftermath of the same. Mablung shuddered. Then, too, deep-seated fears had mingled with longing and resentment to create a state of mind in which it was impossible to tell where reality stopped and foreboding started. Or grief.

They had lost so very many. Beren and Lúthien, though Mablung always tried to keep himself from thinking that, for they lived… and yet, and yet. Thônwen with her daughter- and grand-daughter-in-law, shot with all their nandorin guard on their return-journey from Tol Galen, from what should have been a joyful visit, a spark of hope amidst all the darkness. Mablung thought of the two little princes, and how now the shadow of deaths they wouldn’t even remember would lie upon them forever more. He thought of Nimloth and how horrible the news of the attack must have hit her, just after she had had her sons. And he thought of Galathil and Elmo, who in their grief terribly rued their remaining behind. It was no use to tell them that it would not have made a difference, that they would have achieved nothing by accompanying the ellith than being slain themselves. Their feelings guilt would not be assuaged by anything anyone said.
And then there were still Túrin and his family, and of course Beleg. Mablung’s vision blurred at the thought of his friend, grief gripping his heart yet again. He missed him more horribly than he could ever have imagined, his counsel, his strength, but most of all his never-ceasing optimism.

Hardly noticing where his feet were carrying him, he was startled by a soft splash of water, and only thus noticed where he was. To his left, an archway lead to a small grotto, where one of the many underground brooks formed a little pool ere it found its way back into the rock to eventually swell the waters of Esgalduin. The pool was not very deep, and its bottom smooth, and crystals within the grotto’s walls made for spectacular lighting if a lamp was lit within.

Mablung frowned. In summer, that pool was gladly used by many to bathe, but now that winter was almost upon them, the water must be bitterly cold. Surly no-one in their right mind would choose to take a bath in it now? The very thought sent shivers down Mablung’s spine. Even the dwarven smiths accepted gladly the offer to use the heated baths, and they were even hardier than the Elves, and loathe in general to share such private places with their hosts.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Mablung slipped into the room, calling out, so as to give whoever was this mad time to deny him entry. When he received no answer, unease settled in the pit of his stomach, and he called out again, more urgently.

“Why is it of such interest to you who is there, Mablung?”

Mablung stood thunderstruck, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on land. Of all the people he had not expected to see here, the king himself was the most unlikely. His silver hair was dripping wet, damping the tunic Elu had obviously just pulled over his head. 
Mablung understood instantly what this was about. Whenever Elu was overwhelmed with his own emotions, he would do things like that. Not strictly speaking harming himself, but hurting himself, like this was some weird form of punishment.

A feeling that was remarkably close to anger stirred in Mablung’s chest.

“Explain yourself.” he said cooly, and then, correctly interpreting Elu’s hiss, added: “You once told me to speak openly around you whenever I wanted to, so I repeat- please explain what by all the Valar you have been doing, and don’t say 'taking a bath'. I surmised as much.”

“Why ask, then?” Elu asked, not meeting Mablung’s gaze, but combing his hair over one shoulder.

Had Mablung been in a more forgiving mood, he might have let that pass as just the easiest way to comb and re-braid one’s hair, but he knew this was not what this was about. 
Aye, get your whole tunic soaking wet, and then sit outside and be as cold as earthly possible. You unutterable fool! he thought. Changing tactics, he said instead: 
“Forgive me, lord, I overstepped out of surprise. I meant to ask, why not use warm water to wash? As any other sensible being within Menegroth does?”

“That need not be of any concern to you, Captain.” Elu said evenly, still without looking at Mablung, who felt his heart clench at being addressed thus.

But then Elu straightened up and stepped into the brighter light of the aisle, and Mablung stared at him aghast, all wrathful thoughts leaving him. He had not seen his king in a while as Elu spent so much time watching the dwarves work, and the state he was in now downright frightened Mablung. It had always been a bit of an understatement to call Elu slender, as he had ever had always been lean and lanky and had a habit to go off food whenever he was under pressure, but now? He was emaciated, there was no other word for it, and so pale that he looked more like a corpse than anything else.

Mablung knew that he needed to do something. Elu had spent most nights outside in the woods ever since Húrin had cast the Nauglamir at his feet, and Mablung did not doubt at all that he would do so again- or try to do so again, for Mablung would not let that happen. Unable to openly hinder his lord he may be, but he would certainly not be contented with being politely dismissed, even if he chose to let Elu keep this delusion for the moment. He bade the king goodnight, therefore, and took his leave to hurry down to the storage rooms where all the spare clothes were kept.

The room was dark, but Mablung found what he sought quickly nonetheless, borrowing one of Elmo’s cloaks as the king ever kept his own within the royal chambers. Pausing only to warm the clothes by the fire in the Hall, Mablung then swiftly made his way outside into the freezing cold night. He found Elu in exactly the tree he had expected to find him in. Letting out an exasperated sigh no-one could hear over the howling of the wind, he started to climb up as well, calling his lord all sorts of names under his breath as he went.

“I have got you clothes. Warm ones. Don't you dare argue!” he snapped once he reached the branch on which Elu was sitting, by way of any other greeting.

He had half expected anger, but Elu only gazed at him for a moment, then pulled his wet tunic off. When Mablung handed him the dry robes, however, Elu proved unable to put them on, shivering just too violently.

“Will you allow me to robe you, lord?” Mablung asked gently, and was relieved beyond measure to see Elu nod.

As he reached behind Elu’s back to tuck his wet hair out of the fresh tunic, however, that relief turned quickly to sorrow. He had not been so close to Elu in a long time, and holding him now in this would-be embrace tore at Mablung’s heart. He felt like he were holding a dying fawn that was starved and exhausted by a long and merciless winter, and would be hurt by even the gentlest touch. How long, he wondered, would it take one of the High-Elves to starve himself to death? Maybe his dismay showed on his face, for as he faced Elu to fasten the cloak beneath his chin, the king’s expression was one of mingled gratitude and remorse. 

“I just needed to feel the cold. The smithies are stiflingly hot.” he whispered in a shaking voice.

Mablung did not challenge the lie, choosing to keep to the portion of truth that was hidden within. Instead he said:
“I can imagine that. Why not take a break, though? It is not like you are helping them.”

“I cannot. Everything seems so dark whenever I am parted from… whenever the… well.” He struggled for words for a while, then looked up and asked blankly: 
“Am I losing my mind, Mablung?”

The words stabbed Mablung’s heart like knives, but even more so the utter defeat in Elu’s expression.

“I do not know…” he whispered, biting back his own despair “…but even if you are, I stand firmly by your side. As does Melian, and Elmo… but Elu, you look horrible. When have you last eaten?”

He could not hold the question back. Ever since he had seen Elu step into the light, he had wanted to ask precisely that.

“I do not recall it.” Elu answered tonelessly, proving Mablung’s fears right.

“Or slept?”

“I cannot sleep. And I do not dare.”

“Nightmares?” Mablung asked gently.

Elu just nodded. He looked so lost that Mablung would have loved nothing better than to embrace him, hold him, even more so as Elu added:
“I wish all of this could end.”

Mablung forced himself into staying calm. It was not exactly news what Elu was telling him now, but hearing it spoken aloud still caused Mablung significant distress.

“Does Melian know how you feel?”

Stupid question, Mablung chided himself. Of course Melian knew. What he should have asked was ‘Have you told Melian how you feel?’. He suspected, however, that he knew the answer to that question as well, something Elu confirmed a moment later.

“I do not know. I am too ashamed to step under her eyes.”

What for? Mablung almost asked, but caught himself in time. He knew that truly, this was about Lúthien, and probably more directly about Elu’s falling ever more for the light of the Silmaril. They had been fine for so long, or as fine as Elu could be, and Mablung really had no other explanation as to why Elu would go back to where he started after Lúthien following Beren to Mandos. Then, too, he had kept his distance from Melian out of shame, and just like then, that fact quite annoyed Mablung, as this was truly no fault of the queen’s, and she suffered from that separation just as much as Elu did himself.

“That is idiotic.” he said at last. “You know she never blamed you, not even after you tried to lock Lúthien up. Even then, when she was rightfully angry at you, she wanted you by her side. I assure you, she will do everything she can to make life a little easier for you, as she loves you with all her heart, whatever mistakes you might have made or shall make in the future.”

“I don’t deserve that.” Elu said flatly, not even noting the insult Mablung had bestowed upon him.

At this, Mablung grabbed his king by the shoulders.

“You need not deserve it. Love, Elu, is nothing to be deserved, or I should never have deserved to be allowed to be your captain, despite my feelings towards you that were then… let us call them conflicting? But I beg you, please stop torturing the being I cherish above anyone else. Stop torturing yourself! I know I overstep, and I shall readily pay any price, but quite apart from my love towards you that never wavered, you and Melian are both dear friends, and frankly the only thing like a family I have left on these shores. Please Elu, whatever darkness you walk in where it seems to you that no light exists but one long perished, spare us all a thought occasionally whenever you feel the need to do something like dousing yourself in ice-cold water and then walk out into a storm— us all who love you. Please.”

Even as he said it, though, Mablung knew, with a keen and heart-wrenching certainty, that all this would come to naught, that in truth, the king was already lost.

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In Mablung’s memory, there would forever more be two different versions of events, and at times in later ages, he would not be able to tell with certainty which one was true, and which one a fabrication of his mind.

There was the one in which he stood unmoving in the doorframe until the first wave of terror had passed, then shouted to the guards, covered the body, waited for the Queen. That was the one he told later when asked, the one he chose to remember even after Mandos, the one where he behaved as was expected of a captain of Doriath.

In the other version, he did not stand petrified with shock, but sank to his knees beside his lord, trying, trying with his bare hands to make the blood-flow stop.

“No, Elu, don’t die, please don’t die, you cannot… leave us. Please.”

It was futile. His senseless babbling as well as the pressure he tried to put on the wounds. Nobody could survive such an injury, and Elu’s heart had already ceased to beat before he had knelt down in the pool of warm blood. Mablung had in truth known from the start, yet admitting it straight away would have been simply too much to bear.

His own breathing sounded deafening in his ears. He should not be here, not like that, he should call for help, make Menegroth aware of that hideous crime, that betrayal, should avenge what those dwarves had done… nonetheless, he remained motionless on the smithy’s floor, staring down at the dead king.

Elu lay as he had fallen, blood still gushing from the terrible wound that split his torso, a knife protruding from his back. Mablung instinctively reached for the handle to pull the knife out. The blade had severed Elu’s spine, as Mablung was sure it had been supposed to. This had been the stroke to bring the King down, so that they could deal him his death, which they had done with a brutality that quite unsettled Mablung. He grasped Elu’s hands and examined his palms, which were unscathed. So he hadn’t even tried to defend himself. This was not a strife that had got out of control- this had been an execution.

Elu’s eyes were open still, and Mablung dreaded to look into them and see them devoid of the light that had ever been mirrored there, see life gone from them. He could read the shock in Elu’s gaze, but more lay in it that he could not decipher- pain? Dread? Disbelief? Regret? Longing? Relief? Mablung could not tell.

Carefully, he reached out to cup his hand around Elu’s pale cheek, acting upon a sudden impulse that remarkably resembled madness.

“Grant me this last kiss, my king.” he murmured softly, bending down to press his lips onto Elu’s, not minding the blood, not minding anything.

For the briefest moment, this felt to Mablung so normal, as if Nan Elmoth had never been, as if four millennia had not passed since they had last shared a kiss.

“I love you.” Mablung whispered against Elu’s lips before he straightened up again, tears at last streaming down his face.

He tore his mantle off with one hand and covered Elu as in a blanket, so as to shroud his torn flesh, but could not bring himself to cover his face as well. Not yet.

Instead, he carefully pulled Elu’s body into his arms, and rocked him gently as if he were comforting a distressed child. All the while he stroked his head, noting only dimly that the blood on his hands dyed Elu’s fair hair scarlet. That would surely have upset Elu quite a bit, Mablung mused, getting his hair bloody. His silver tresses had always rightly been his pride, and he had meticulously taken care of them even in his earliest youth. Unbidden, an image slunk into Mablung’s mind, of Elu combing out his hair carefully before joining him and Beleg for the night, and of Beleg making fun of their friend’s vanity. The memory of those days clawed at Mablung’s insides like some fell monster, and he cradled the body ever more tightly to his chest.

“Oh Elwë, beloved Elwë…” he sobbed, using the ancient form of his beloved’s name for the first time in many thousand years “…remember how Beleg and I used to tease you, call you our princeling? Remember that? You will see him again now, and Galadhon, and Finwë. You go now in peace, you will not be alone over there, I promise it will be alright… but alas, need you leave me behind? I would have defended you to the death, or fallen side by side with you. But even without me… how is it that you could not find anything to defend yourself within a smithy? Have you been planning this? Did you really mean it when you said you wanted it all to end? Did you want to be killed?”

“I wondered about that also…” said a quiet voice beside him, and Mablung started.

He had not heard Melian arrive, as for the first time since he had known her, her nightingales were not beside her, nor did they sing within Menegroth. Instead, Mablung heard distant calls and shouting. So they had found out even without him telling anyone. All the better.

The queen was very unsteady on her feet as she walked over to Mablung and crouched down beside him on the bloody floor, and Mablung, his heart aching like it wanted to tear itself to pieces within his chest, helped her to hoist Elu’s body securely into her arms. He wanted it, wanted Melian to hold her husband, but it still meant letting go at last of the elf he had loved all his life. Melian’s composure slipped at that moment, and tears started to fall from her bright eyes, wetting Elu’s cheeks as if they could wash his face clean of the blood.

“That is all I have been able to think about on my way down here…” she said thickly “… that all is over now, that he is free to seek healing. That maybe he just had no other way out, that I imprisoned him in the end. That he suffered so much that he could not bear it anymore, and I failed to see just how badly he was truly doing. For then, we should really be glad, but… it hurts just so much.”

Melian kissed Elu’s forehead, and like Mablung before, she cradled him gently, whispering assurances, and telling him again and again how much she would always love him, no matter what. After a while, she lifted her gaze to Mablung again.

“Did he… were you with him when he… when he…”

She faltered, and for a moment there, Mablung considered lying, just so as to assuage her sorrow for a moment, but could not. He had never been able to tell lies, not even white ones.

“No. I came too late.”

“So he was alone. He died alone. My Elu, who would use a night spent alone as self-punishment, died all alone.” Melian sobbed so much that Mablung could hardly understand her words. “Oh Mablung, he must have been so terrified. Even if he did embrace death, he… I felt his fear, his despair, but I hoped… that he found solace before the end.”

Mablung just nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Melian lifted the cloak a little so as to examine the wound, but looked away again quickly, closing her eyes for a moment.

“It was not for long…” Mablung managed to say, and Melian nodded her agreement.

That at least was a comfort- that Elu’s death throes would not have lasted long.

“Stay here with me, Mablung. Please.” Melian bade at last, a note of pleading in her tone.

He would not dream of ever disobeying an open request from his queen, but that was not what made him nod and clasp her hand tightly- he had been unable to prevent his king’s death, had been unable to fulfil his vow to always protect him, so if the one thing he still could do for Elu was to support his widow to the best of his ability, then that was what he would do, and that was why he had to continue living, however horrible the pain.

All that came after was hazy to Mablung, he could remember no coherent string of events, but only shards of memory. Those small isles of sharp mind amidst the sea of despair haunted him all the more for it, playing over and over again before his minds eye, whether he was waking or sleeping.

The king lying in his own blood, with his chest and stomach ripped open. 
 

The light of the lamps shimmering on the bloody floor as in a twisted, horrible mockery of the stars that had been reflected in the waters of Cuiviénen.

Pressing Elu’s eyelids shut over his glassy gaze, in which the light of the dying embers still flickered. Silently, foolishly, telling him to sleep well.

Melian sitting still as stone beside his body as it lay in state, tears running ceaselessly from her eyes.

Elu, who looked so very peaceful, so much like the untroubled prince he had once been, so long ago. He was laid out in the utmost splendour, dressed in fine robes and covered in a shroud that bore his device, crowned and with slender hands folded over his staff. Mablung had never seen anything so beautiful, yet so heartbreakingly sad. Mablung had stood guard beside the king and queen one last time.

The wide-eyed look of blind panic and a grief far beyond tears in Elmo’s eyes as the two of them lowered Elu’s body to his grave while the storm battered the trees, making the woods sing a moaning lament of their own.

Elmo, crouching down to kiss his brother’s cheek and hug him as best he could in a last farewell. Snowflakes were whirling about them, settling on their hair and raiments. On Elmo’s hands and face, they melted instantly. On Elu’s still form, they did not.

Elmo trembling so badly that Mablung could hardly hold him as they watched the King’s guard do their final duty and build a rough wooden shelter over the king’s body, then cover the whole thing with stone and frozen earth.

Mablung forced himself to remain standing, to not betray his feelings to the outside, when truly, he wished for nothing more than to creep under that wooden roof and snuggle up to his beloved, and fall asleep, and be buried with him, and be by his side once more.

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Mablung sat unmoving before the door of the treasury, his axe resting on his knees, his gaze fixed unseeingly on the ceiling. He hardly ever left his guard-post these days, dutifully doing his Queen’s final bidding. Only in the wee hours of the morning, when he could be sure to be left well alone, he allowed himself the relief of tears, and would at times even nod off. Not that sleep brought him any true rest. It mattered not whether he re-lived all the evil that had happened in his waking memory or his uneasy dreams. There was no escaping either way.

He screwed up his face against the pain, but could not hold back the soft wail of despair that escaped his lips, startling the little bird that kept him company out of its sleep. He reached up to pick the bird from his shoulder, its soft feathers warm and comforting to the touch.

“We need to send word to the Isle of Balar. Lord Círdan must learn of what has befallen.”

It were the first words that Mablung consciously remembered speaking, though he must have talked before, he only could not recall it. Melian nodded.

“He must.” she answered thickly “And so must… Lúthien."

Mablung looked at the Queen in concern. She had not rested at all since Elu’s death, had left his side only once to take back the Nauglamir at the gates. Even now, as all of Doriath seemed to be busy, preparing to lay its King to rest, she sat beside him, her fingers clasped over his hand.

“I shall send messengers to Tol Galen also as soon as the burial is over. But I could not find it in my heart to deny anybody the possibility to say farewell.”

“Nor should you. There is naught Lúthien or Círdan can do, anyway. I would go to Tol Galen myself, but… oh Mablung, I cannot bring myself to. I still see Lúthien as a child, flinging herself into Elu’s arms, and I cannot bear to tell that child that her father is gone. And the stupid thing is, that I am in truth telling a grown woman is no comfort at all, because what I fear even more than hurting her is that she might not care.”

Mablung tentatively reached out and pressed Melian’s shoulder.

“Nay, lady. Lúthien will be distraught. It was I who bade her and Beren farewell when they left Doriath, and believe me, she left both of you with a heavy heart. She bears no grudge against Elu, nor does Beren. But even if they were, learning of his death would still be horrible for Lúthien.”

“All the more should it be I who tells her, but I … can’t. Also because then I would need to let her go again and…”

Her voice broke, and Mablung tightened his grip. He could well imagine that Melian, tormented by her grief as she was right now, could not face that final goodbye from her daughter on top of everything else.

“I rather think, my lady, that Lúthien might prefer not to hear such news from you. Seeing your pain will only hurt her more.”

Melian nodded, then pressed her husband’s hand once more and rose, looking Mablung straight in the eyes for the first time that day.

“Take heed of the Silmaril, Mablung. The doom of Arda is woven around these jewels, and the one won must be guarded well. If it is, then there might still be hope, though I do not see it.”

“Neither do I. But I shall do so regardless. Guard it.”

They looked at each other in silence for a while, and Mablung slowly began to understand that this was another parting, another farewell. It did not surprise him, but it grieved him greatly all the same.

“You are leaving us.”

Melian nodded.

“Dior will soon be King. Believe me, Mablung, I wished I could leave my grandson a realm that is better protected, and not lay that burden upon him and Nimloth, but… I have no more strength left, no power to repel the evil that is now engulfing all of Beleriand. And without Elu, I cannot hold the Girdle. I am of no use to my people any more, though they will likely not understand, will hold themselves abandoned by the queen that once vowed to protect them.”

“They will understand. No-one who saw Lúthien die out of grief for Beren will expect you to… to overcome Elu’s death. No-one who saw you two so in love.”

It was true, Mablung thought. The queen could not die according to the ways of her own kin, but this was probably as close to the death of the Firstborn as a Maia could come. She, like her daughter before, would succumb to the grief for her beloved, would shed her body and travel West as spirit alone.
Maybe his feelings had showed on his face, or Melian had gathered what he was thinking otherwise, for she managed a teary smile at last.

“I can never thank you enough for everything you have done for me, for us, for all of Doriath. Please take care. Do not get yourself hurt.”

“Death shall be my reward, Queen Melian. I shall not leave Elmo, but other than that… I am tired, lady.”

To that, Melian said nothing, but wrapped her arms around him and embraced him, and he held onto her tightly.

“We will meet again, Mablung. I promise.”

“I shall hold onto that.” he mumbled into her black curls, and felt her tighten her embrace.

“And if it is through death that it should come to pass, if you meet Elu in the Halls…”

“…then I will keep an eye on him for you. And see that he gets himself in no trouble, as this seems to have become an unfortunate habit of his lately.”

Melian made a noise that was half sob, half chuckle. Mablung miraculously felt himself smile, too.

“And tell him I will never stop loving him.” she added, tears choking her voice once more.

“He knows. But I shall bear him your love anyway. I look forward to that.”

He felt himself getting drowsy in Melian’s arms before he could think or say any more, and woke again slumped against a pillar, carefully covered in his cloak. Melian was gone, and it did not need much scrutiny to work out that she must have engulfed him in her enchantment, so that he fell into a deep sleep.

He was all alone now beside Elu's body. Or almost alone. Something chirped softly close by, and by the movement of its small feathery body he realised that he held a bird in his hand. He stroked the nightingale’s brown head with one finger, and it looked back at him with beady eyes. Mablung smiled. He could well use a friend right now, as Melian surly had known when she left him this little parting gift, and also, it felt comforting that one of her birds still remained within Menegroth.

It was by the frightened squawk of that selfsame bird that he was aroused, unsure whether he had only been reliving Melian’s parting in his thoughts or actually fallen asleep. There was uproar in the upper levels, that had afore been so quiet. He scrambled to his feet, still drowsy, but gripping the handle of his axe tightly. He knew those shouts, those noises- there was battle in the Thousand Caves, and Mablung was torn between his desire to find out what was going on -and most importantly whether he could do anything to prevent the city’s fall- and his sense of duty, which dictated that he stayed where he was, as was his lady’s final bidding. Ultimately, though, he could not stand to stay put and wait, so he ran as silently as he could up the stairs to the higher levels, and found battle there immediately. A hot wrath rose in the pit of his stomach as he saw who the attackers were. Was it not enough that they had murdered their king? What for did they now return, they whom Mablung had once counted as friends?

The battle was fierce, but for Mablung, the end came swiftly. He had not fought long on that stairwell ere he was joined by Elmo, but even their combined efforts could not prevent the dwarves from getting past them, their true purpose only too clear. Giving chase, Elmo and Mablung caught up with them again before the very doors behind which the Nauglamir was kept. Mablung fought there as he had never done before, and Elmo beside him wielded Elu’s sword, but in the end they were overpowered.

A dwarven blade caught Mablung in the chest and buried itself deeply in his ribcage. He would have yelled in pain, had he only managed to make any sound at all. Instead, hot blood sputtered sickeningly from his mouth as he fell, and he realised with terror that if not one of their attackers chose to finish what they had started, he would drown in his own blood.

The dwarves, however, had no interest in killing for good measure, but only in getting what they had been after from the start. So Mablung was forced to watch, as he lay on the floor coughing and retching, as Elmo was being slain, and the door to the treasury wrenched open at last. Frustration slunk into his dying thoughts. All this had come to nothing. How cruelly fate sought to mock him now, that he could not even revenge his king, his lord, his true love, nor keep the promise he had given his queen.

But then something miraculous happened. As the light of the gem fell upon him, he suddenly felt a great peace, and a calm within him. He cared no more about the pain and the blood, nor about Elmo who lay beside him with an axe embedded in the back of his head.

The light called to him, yet not in a sinister way. It was calling him home.

And as his vision slowly dimmed, he realised with a well of emotion that Elu had died just like that, that he had looked into that selfsame light, perhaps found the same comfort in his instant of death. Mablung had no air in his lungs to mutter his last vow- that he would follow where Elu lead. Where you go, I go. Still, the mere thought was enough to put him at ease,  to console him, console him like the gentle voice of Námo that called him by his name. 

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Mablung sat by the sea, watching the sun’s beams painting the waves in orange and pink and grey. It was a beautiful sight, one that calmed and warmed his heart like in long Ages past the music of Menegroth had done. It was hard to imagine that it was all gone now, the caves, the woods, the whole of Beleriand. That it had long since passed into legend, tales of the most ancient time.

That thought in itself seemed strange to Mablung, as he did not feel like a tale from the most ancient time. Indeed, he felt like time had stopped passing altogether since he had returned from Mandos. Lady Nienna had said that it would be so, that this was the way of Aman, and that this way of being was in truth better suited for the nature of the Eldar than the life in ever-changing, ever-aging Middle-Earth, where time would at once pass so swiftly an elf could do hardly more than grasp at wisps of flying smoke, and drag so much that in made one weary of life itself.

Gulls cried overhead, circling over the bay and over the far off coast-line of Tol Eressëa, just visible in the evening’s haze. The island became ever more populated now that almost all who had lingered in Middle-Earth had left it for good, while at the same time Mandos was emptied of most of its dwellers. It was the home now of many tribes of different woodelves, especially those who liked to keep their distance from the Valar, and of those of the Sindar that kept under their own rule, rather than reuniting with their kin in and around Alqualondë.

Dior and Nimloth had established their realm there, and with them dwelled so many Mablung had loved dearly in his first life- the majority of his own men with their kin, Galadhon with most of his wider family, Oropher, who governed his own people now, helped by his grandson. Thinking of him actually made Mablung chuckle. He knew of course that Oropher desperately longed for his son just because he was his son, but most often Oropher stressed the point of how much he longed to pass rule again on to Thranduil. Mablung privately agreed. Oropher had always been a brilliant and most beloved captain, but Mablung could not imagine him as a king. Of course, Thranduil had been little more than a child when Mablung had died in Menegroth, but he had always liked the boy, and given the reverence and love with which everyone talked of him, he must have done well in leading his people, and in keeping them safe.

Mablung, however, had not made the island his home, and nor had Beleg. However much he agreed with Dior being King of the Sindar, it still hurt just too much to call Lúthien’s son that- for it was a steady reminder of who was missing among them. As if Mablung could ever forget anyway, even for a moment.

Beleg on the other hand had made nowhere his home, but roamed Aman freely, from the cold wastes of Araman to the ever flourishing pastures of Yavanna, and from Lórien to Tol Eressëa itself. That roaming life, Mablung knew, brought Beleg great solace, and he did not begrudge his friend this comfort in the slightest. True, he did rather miss him whenever they were apart, but even so would never even dream of discouraging Beleg in his lifestyle. His own grief seemed as nothing to the burden Beleg bore within his heart, which was after all one of the most profound, most painful hurts there was in Aman- the longing and mourning for a beloved soul that had travelled beyond the confines of Arda.

It humbled Mablung deeply to know that Beleg had willingly shouldered this pain and had still returned among the living, thus honouring Túrin every day anew. Mablung was sure that Túrin would have wanted his companion to truly enjoy life again, so as to show Morgoth that he had no victory at all, not even over them. If it was true what was told, then the passing on of Men was actually a Gift, and after all Túrin had sought to die, had sought relief in death from the torture he had been subject to. He liked to think that all Húrin’s kin had found that- and so if Túrin was in a good place where Morgoth could never reach him, and Beleg was alive and well here in the land of Morgoth’s conquerers, and they held each other in love within their hearts, then the victory in the end was truly theirs.

Mablung often told Beleg that when they spoke of Túrin, which they frequently did when they were together. Sometimes he wondered if they had talked of those things in Mandos as well, he and Beleg, and Elu also. Mablung felt they must have, but could not be altogether sure.

Memory of the Halls was a curious thing- if outright asked, none of the rehoused elves could recall anything from their stay within the Halls, not what they looked like, not what they had learned there, not how it was to have no body. Yet sometimes, one would come across something, the story of an event that had taken place while one had been dead and then suddenly remember that one had already known. That fact made little sense, and Mablung had long since given up to explain it to those who had never known the Halls. They found this state of remembering yet not remembering most often alarming, whilst the rehoused -and Mablung among them- found it to be peaceful, and part of their new life. It was as a dream from which one awoke in the morning and that slipped from one’s grasp even as one tried to remember it, until nothing was left but a warm, reassuring feeling that it had been a good dream.

The only thing that no elf could recall was the rebuilding of their body. Námo himself had explained to Mablung upon their parting that this was a thing better not remembered, and Mablung had no reason to question those words. He did remembered though how very strange it had felt in the beginning, to have eyes again that were blinded by the bright sun, and ears to hear the chatter of the birds. They were so very loud. And skin to feel the soft grass. He had then been given clothes by Vairë and been blessed by Nienna, and then the three Valar had left him alone to get accustomed to being truly alive again. Only once he had achieved that did he notice that he was being watched by tiny black eyes.

“You!” he had exclaimed in joy, “How come you’re here?”

He would have recognised his bird everywhere, but failed to understand how it could be here. He had thought that it must long since have perished, even if it had escaped from Menegroth initially. The bird, however, had hopped onto his hand, twittering almost indignantly.

As if I am a normal bird.

Mablung had smiled.

“Forgive me, little one. I never actually thought about this, and I admit I thought you were.”

And Huan is a normal dog, is he?

“Of course not.”

Good. Now, if you have stopped being stupid, I might inform you that you need not walk far to find your parents and sisters, who are eagerly awaiting you.

Mablung had wasted no time following the bird's advice, and flung himself into his family's awaiting arms not long thereafter. Their reunion had been beyond happy, even if at first Mablung had had no words to talk to them, no names to call them. It mattered not. Glad tears needed no language, nor the gentle braiding of hair or the holding each other close. And once he had grown used again to living among his family, he had also found that he could easily accustom to the tongue of Alqualondë, where his family had dwelled since it was built, and where Mablung chose to settle down as well. 

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Mablung sighed deeply as the sun sunk ever lower behind the mountains, and the colourful waves turned dark. Much as he loved the starry night, it still made him sad that this play of colours was ever so short lived. Still twilight brought other joys, like the birds’ evening song. Mablung sang with them without thinking, that being such a deep-seated habit. It was still how the Iathrim, and especially those that had lived within Menegroth or close to it, were easily discerned by everyone in Aman, even if they wandered or lived among others- they would sing their morning and evening songs with the songbirds no matter what, and Mablung was no exception to that. He also was not at all surprised to find a few nightingales land next to him, his own bird among them.

“Well met.” he said softly. “Have you brought friends?”

The bird chittered, making it sound as though it were laughing, and Mablung laughed, too. The arrival of the birds had stirred a memory in him, a memory that never failed to amuse him. As it was he had been very suspicious of any friends his bird brought for quite a while, ever since the memorable day one of them had materialised into his former Queen, and so almost sent him back to Mandos out of fright. Melian had at least had the grace to be apologetic at first- or at least appeare to be. Soon, however, she had moved on to tease him rather than be abashed about scaring him so, and had not ceased to do so ever since.

He could not quell the flood of emotion that welled within him as he thought of Melian. Prior to her revealing herself to Mablung, little had been seen nor heard among the elves of Doriath’s fabled Queen. All had assumed that she had just chosen to live among her kin somewhere in the gardens of Lórien, and cared not to reunite with those she had once called her people. Not Mablung, though. He knew her better than that. She had given him her word that they would meet once more and so he had been sure that if she chose to keep her distance, there had to be a reason behind it. It had not taken too much imagination to understand that this reason was her overwhelming grief.

Mablung had not, for all his knowing Melian, thought of the Queen as a being of Spirit that could actually take whatever shape pleased her, however, and the sight of a very innocent-looking bird turning into Melian in all her Maia-radiance had been quite the shock. Once that had subsided, and Melian had again managed to control her laughter, she had explained to Mablung that she had indeed mostly lived among her birds ever since her return to Valinor, staying first in Lórien, then with Vana and Yavanna, and then, when Thônwen had been re-embodied, had kept her company in bird’s-form. Mablung felt very honoured to think that after her sister-in-law, who after all had ever been her dearest friend, he was the first she had revealed herself to.

Melian had nonetheless kept living in the shape of a bird most of the time, and in that form kept Mablung company through many sunsets and sunrises with no-one being any the wiser, apart from her closest kin. Not even Olwë had known of her presence in his city- that was, until that fateful day they had first learned of the ships.

Even after so many thousand years, Mablung was still torn between amazement, sorrow and anger when he thought back to the day that Manwë himself had sought Olwë out in Alqualondë, with a very upset Melian in tow. That in itself was close to unheard of, as Manwë so seldom descended from Taniquetil, least of all to seek out another- and moreover, Melian had never been one of his Maia, and had usually no dealings with the Elder King whatsoever.

The reason for this highly unusual visit had been explained to them almost as once, when Manwë told them about the fleet of the Númenóreans heading for Valinor, and revealed the likely consequences of their coming. Even Mablung had felt stricken then, because little though he knew about Númenor, he was still aware that these Men were descendants of so many he had known and liked, or even loved. And one had needed to be no genius to know that for Melian, this was a hundred times harder.

In the end, Manwë had turned to Olwë, saying:
“I shall leave Lady Melian in your keeping, King Olwë. I put my trust in family-bonds to prevent her from getting involved in any strife.”

The astonished disbelief of Manwë committing Melian to his care had been very apparent in Olwë’s voice when he finally found his speech again.

“I… meaning no offence, my Lord, but… you want me to keep a Maia in check?”

Having her brother-in-law speak so to Manwë about herself over her own head had not gone down particularly well with Melian, and nor with Thônwen, who had stood with Elmo just behind Olwë. Mablung still chuckled at the memory of her cuffing the king around the head, displaying just the same endearingly familiar impertinence towards him as she had done towards Elu in Doriath.

“Melian is not ‘a Maia’, Olwë, she’s our sister!” she had snapped.

Manwë, too, had shaken his head with a very gentle expression, even if it was not an outright smile.

“No, Olwë. As Thônwen has said, Melian is your sister-in-law and I want you to step up for your brother and keep her safe during this event, that will undoubtedly be upsetting to her in ways that the rest of us Ainur cannot even begin to comprehend.”

Thônwen had rushed past Olwë once Manwë had taken his leave to embrace Melian, who had still looked rather haughtily at Olwë. The king had recoiled, and Mablung had not blamed him at all, feeling quite glad that he had never been on the receiving end of a look like that.

Any cool feelings between Melian and Olwë had been totally obliterated by the arrival of the mighty fleet of Númenor, however. All of Aman had been eerily silent, no breeze nor bird had stirred- and nor had any elf within Alqualondë. Olwë had stood, in all royal splendour, on the quay beside his queen, so that all within the city could see them, and could see that their king and queen would not move a muscle, regardless of what the Men did. Half a step behind him on either side had stood Melian, Elmo and Thônwen, and Galadhon together with Mablung himself. Galadhon’s wife Celebren had stayed together with their son in the woods of Tol Eressëa with Dior and Nimloth, and though Galadhon had left his home only very reluctantly at the Valar’s bidding, he had understood after all that this event needed special precautions. The Valar had not only insisted on complete silence by all inhabitants of Aman, but also put much effort into separating and securing the ancestors of those now assaulting the Blessed Realm. Dior and Nimloth stayed within their own realm, with Beleg and Finrod bidden there in the hope of keeping the royal couple from doing anything stupid. After all, Finrod had been close to Beren, and Dior deeply respected him.

Tugron, Anairë and Fingolfin had been put in the firm but gentle keeping of Finarfin and Eärwen, whereas Idril and Tuor had been allowed to stay with Eärendil, Elwing and her brothers. The idea there was that Tuor and Idril would be more occupied with comforting Eärendil than with their own sorrow, while the twins could perhaps calm Elwing a little.

Thus far had had been the theory. Mablung had had his doubts about whether it would be working out, admittedly, a feeling only reinforced when he had glanced at Melian when standing on that quay. She had glowered at the flagship and the figure dressed in gold that stood upon the bow, mumbling under her breath, looking nothing short of livid.

“Traitor!” she had hissed “Shame of my blood!”

“Aunt…” Galadhon had tried to reason, looking at the same time alarmed and slightly amused “…please let not that…”

He had had no chance to finish the sentence, for Melian had snapped back:
“What? Let not that what? Anger me? Upset me? These fools are defiling the memory of my daughter, your cousin, Galadhon. Do you think Lúthien would stay put and let them destroy everything?”

“You are not Lúthien though!” Thônwen had argued feebly.

“Indeed.” Melian had growled through gritted teeth, still with her eyes fixed on the ships.

“At least get your unworthy hands off that sword.”

Mablung had winced then, and did so still when thinking back. Only her words had made him realise that the sword Ar-Pharazôn had been wielding, the sword he had taken to its watery grave, had been Aranrúth. The King’s Ire…verily. Only that it had once been named for wrath borne of love, not greed, and Mablung felt sure that the difference would be just as important to Elu as it was to himself.

It had seemed to take an eternity for everything to be over, and Mablung had possibly never been so very afraid. The earth had been shaking beneath their feet and the skies and seas had roared, and even Melian had looked terrified. Olwë, though quaking from head to toe, had stood his ground, giving hope to his people even as the waves crashed around them. They had all drawn strength from his unwavering trust in the Powers, and after what seemed to them like endless ages, it had finally come to an end. And when the sun had risen again, and the sea calmed, they all had stirred as from a stupor.

There had been nothing of the Númenóreans or their ships to be seen, and though everything had looked exactly the same as before, Mablung had known instantly that it was not, and would not be ever again. There had been some unfathomable, root-deep change to the very land, the very sea, the very earth.

Thônwen and Elmo had had their arms around each other and their son, Olwë had been supported by his wife, strength finally failing him, which had not surprised Mablung at all. He himself had felt very weak at the knees, and he had not had to stand his ground and watch the horror happen. Over Melian on the other hand yet another change had come. She had been very pale, and rubbed her fingers together as if testing the feeling of her own skin, seemingly deep in thought.

There had been no making head or tail of it for Mablung, until none other than Yavanna herself had appeared in Alqualondë not long after the Great Change. That in itself had been somewhat alarming, for it was almost as rare for Yavanna to come among the Eldar as it was for Manwë. Melian, however, had not seemed surprised at all. Rather, it seemed that she had in truth awaited the Valie. It was of course common knowledge that Melian was called kin of Yavnna and Vana, but he had never before truly anticipated what that meant. Before he had worked out whether that made Yavanna feel closer or Melian stranger, however, Melian had broken the silence, saying:
“I was going to seek you out, for you must know… or at least to you I shall speak openly. I…”

“I know, Melyanna. This is why I am here. Do you think such a change can come over one of our own without our notice, even in this hour of upset and grief?”

All the while, Yavanna had been smiling down on Melian gently, but neither that nor the Valie’s words had seemed to hearten her. If anything, she had looked more deeply confused by it, still rubbing her fingertips together in that peculiar way.

“How?” she had managed to utter at last “I made no such decision.”

Mablung had not understood a word of it, but Yavanna obviously had. And what was more, it seemed to quite amuse her, for she had chuckled:
“Ai, little cousin, I think you may find you did choose, though you seek to conceal the truth even before yourself.”

The look that Melian had given Yavanna had been apprehensive, and the latter had hastened to continue:
“Just to be clear, this has nothing to do with any choice your husband has made, or may make in the future. This was your decision alone. After all, no other among our kin has ever meddled so deeply within the matter of Arda itself. You have borne child, and it seems that after all, this weighs heavier than the very fabric out of which you were made. Maybe it was simply your time to realise, maybe it was that you felt the One’s will more closely when He demonstrated His might against those Men, maybe you needed to be confronted with your own flesh and blood once more to realise- but you have long since chosen to live as one of the Firstborns, like you were when you were dwelling in Middle-Earth, when they called you their queen. Do not marvel at it, thus. Trust your heart instead.”

Melian had stood with her head bowed, so that her black curls obscured her face. Mablung had known that she was crying nonetheless.

“I… I will not deny my heart, not at all. It is just… my beloved has been more deeply wounded by our daughter’s fate than even I, and I fear that he will never overcome this hurt. And you see, as a being of spirit, I might have… might have convinced Námo to let me be with him, should he indeed decide never to return among the living. But now…”

Melian’s voice had broken at that point, and it had taken all Mablung’s self-restraint to keep a calm face, to not betray his own emotions to the onlookers. Yavanna had placed her hand under Melian’s chin and gently made her look up, and when Melian did, Yavanna had stoked strands of her hair behind her ears, and wiped her cheeks clean of tears.

“I know. But it is indeed otherwise than you think. You think of a door closing that was never in truth open to you, when the opposite is the case. Now, there is a choice, though one I pray you would not make lightly.”

And when Melian had said nothing but instead only gazed at Yavanna in incredulous wonder, the Valie had added:
“I am glad that your mind shall hitherto be at peace where this matter is concerned, but I will not deny that I shall miss you, fluttering among my branches with your birds.”

“I shall miss that greatly, too. But if there has to be a choice, it can only be this.”

“Indeed so.” Yavanna had said, and embracing Melian in farewell had departed.

That had of course explained the change that Mablung had perceived in Melian, though at first had not realised what it was. She had chosen to bind herself to her elvish form once more, and walk among them as if she were an elf. And as this was the way she had always been in Middle-Earth, as this was the way Mablung had best known her, it was not so surprising perhaps that he had not noticed the true nature of her transformation at once.

“I… was unaware that this choice was before you, my Lady.”

Olwë’s words had startled Mablung out of his musings then, for he had not noticed before that the king himself was among the onlookers.

“Forgive me my… tactless and… stupid words at your coming to my city. I did not mean to offend you, nor snap ties between us before they were even formed.”

“I have taken no offence.” Melian had whispered back.

A few moments had passed with them just looking at each other, then they had both smiled tentatively.

Ever since, Melian had travelled between Lórien and Alqualondë, often accompanied by Thônwen, who quite rejoiced in trading the sea for the woods from time to time, and by Mablung himself. He seldom left Melian’s side, for apart from the deep friendship and shared grief that bound them, by her side was where he felt he belonged. And having found that place was a very, very comforting thing.

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It was almost completely dark when the crunching of gravel made Mablung turn around, prepared to greet whoever had sought him out here, or else just stumbled across him. It quite caught him by surprise as the cloaked figure drew back his hood, and revealed himself to be none other than Elmo. Mablung frowned. Elmo had left Alqualondë together with the king and Círdan a few weeks back, to what errand Mablung knew not- but it was in any case not uncommon for Olwë’s presence to be required in Tirion, or else in Valmar, and as his chief counsellors, Elmo and Círdan would often accompany him. What was uncommon was that he had heard nothing of the king returning to his court, which he ought to have if Elmo was back.

And for some reason, that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Mablung had no time to mull that over, though, as Elmo was now close enough for him to see his face, and thus see that he looked positively exhilarated. Mablung rose to greet his old friend, but could hardly get the words out before Elmo had wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“What…”

“What?" Elmo asked innocently, though he could hardly hide his wide grin as he detached himself from Mablung "Not happy to see me?”

“I am always happy to see you, as you know very well yourself, especially seeing you so happy. But what is the matter? You seem to be out on an urgent errand.”

“That I am indeed. And so are you. You are going to pick whatever you need for a trip to Lórien, quickish. And then you will accompany me, and if all works out as it should and Galadhon actually manages to find Thônwen and Beleg on their hunt, we will meet up with them on the way.”

Elmo had said all this quietly but with a tone that allowed for no contradiction, and Mablung was in the act of nodding before all that Elmo had said had sunk in.

“What?”

“No time for questions now, Mablung, just come with me. We are in a hurry.”

“Alright.” Mablung said, hastening to fall into stride beside Elmo. “But you still have not told me why we are in such a hurry to meet them that we have to leave at night? Or why we need to meet Thônwen and Beleg now when they are away on their hunt?”

Mablung’s bewilderment grew with every moment. Ever since they had both been returned to their bodies, Thônwen and Beleg had left for hunting trips in Oromë’s woods every few years. They had always been close friends, and Thônwen had been Beleg’s mentor, had taught him the language of the trees, and the art of healing and hunting alike. For both, these trips here in Valinor had become a treasured ritual, and if Elmo chose to call his wife back from that trip a month before they were due to return, the cause had to be something serious.

“True. But both would be even more annoyed with us if we did not call on them, trust me. Now, get what you need swiftly, and do not talk to anyone but your family. I would quite like to keep this unnoticed as long as possible.”

Now, finally, Mablung reached the end of his patience.

“What do you want to keep unnoticed? What am I to tell my family? I am not going to move one inch before you tell me what this is about!”

There was a curious look on Elmo’s face, and it took Mablung a moment to realise that it was something close to pity.

“What?” Mablung asked again, desperately. “You are scaring me, Elmo!”

Elmo, however, smiled and shook his head slightly.

“Please trust me, Mablung. There is no need to be scared at all. Do as I told you, gather what you need, tell someone you might be gone for a while, and come with me. I promise I will tell you as soon as we are on horseback, and away from eager ears.”

Mablung hesitated for only a heartbeat, then nodded. There were not many people in Arda whom he trusted more than Elmo, so he turned on his heels to head back to the city.

He packed up a spare set of clothes, a comb and some dried fish and fruit and just in case an empty waterskin, put it all into his cloak, bundled and tied it up and slunk it over his back. On his way back to Elmo, he ran into one of his grand-nephews who just got ready to board his boat and set out with Alqualondë’s fishing fleet. They quickly exchanged a few words, Mablung wishing his nephew luck at sea, and his nephew him a good journey. It was not unusual for people to travel around Aman, sometimes for days, sometimes for several years. It mattered little, but it was still custom to let one’s closest kin know.

Why then, Mablung wondered, did he still have this peculiar feeling in his stomach that he was once again leaving a life he had grown accustomed to behind?

Elmo already awaited him with both their horses, and bade him mount as soon as Mablung reached him. Resignedly, Mablung did as bidden, knowing that Elmo's determination to keep his errands a secret would not be swayed and that therefore, Mablung would have to be patient.

But Valar, was that hard.

They had ridden for quite a distance before Elmo at last bade his horse halt, and looked at Mablung in the darkness.

“Have you guessed by now where I am taking you, and to what purpose?”

Mablung shook his head, unease again flooding him, more so as Elmo reached out to grasp his hand tightly.

“Ai Mablung, your mind once was sharper. Or else you are so afraid to admit it that you hide the truth even from yourself. We have Elu back, Mablung, and he desperately, desperately wants to see you.”

If ever Mablung might have fainted from shock, it was this moment. As it was, he did feel quite dizzy as Elmo’s words sank in, and also completely unable access his emotions. Dimly, he noticed Elmo tighten his grip on his arm.

“Breathe for me, Mablung. It would not do for you to fall from your horse out of shock.”

Though Elmo sounded a little worried, Mablung could still discern the amusement in his tone quite easily.

“But…” he gasped. "...but..."

He could not put his thoughts into words, not yet. Instead he just shook his head, and leaned forward to bury his face in his horse’s mane, so as to hide his face while he came to terms with all the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were hurling through his head, making him feel quite sick in the process. Elmo stroked his back gently, and Mablung, taking comfort from that, tentatively allowed himself to dive into that pool of whirling thoughts and actually think them through.

He had prayed and pleaded with who knows whom for exactly that every moment since his re-eembodiment- to have Elu back, even if deep down he had long since given up that hope. How was it then that now that his wish was granted against all odds, he had no idea whatsoever how to deal with it? He would not be able to continue living as they had done in Doriath, would not be able to go back to hiding his feelings. Was this how all those that awaited the return of their sundered kin from Middle-Earth felt? Were they just as much at a loss of how to resume life after Ages spent apart?

But they at least knew how and what they should feel. Mablung did not, and for the briefest moment, he wished that Elu could just have stayed dead. That thought, however, instantly sent a white-hot pain through his heart, and though it made him sob in despair, it was a comforting feeling all the same. No, he most certainly did not want Elu dead. But what else did he want?

“But… but they said… even Melian thought he would not return, that he could not return… and as he renounced kingship in Dior’s favour I assumed that he truly did not want to return himself.” he managed to stammer at last, sitting back up and wiping his face.

“So we all thought. That he could not come back.” Elmo agreed softly, still rubbing Mablung’s back. “And indeed he is not wholly… well, he is not as I was when I left Mandos, or you. Lord Námo explained that to us, that Elu is not truly healed from the grief that ripped him apart even in life. That he cannot be free from that, ever. But still, Námo aims to return all who can be returned to their bodies, and so released Elu from his halls even if he was not… well. You will see.”

Mablung nodded absent-mindedly, but did not speak, and after a while Elmo went on:
“I never realised just how serious your relationship was, Mablung. Forgive me. I always thought you just… had a crush on him. I thought that had long since burned itself into just friendship. I never knew that you loved him all your life, I realised that only after, ah, after I had a conversation with Thônwen and Melian here in Aman that I am loathe to recall, for it left me feeling like an ignorant elfling. Oh Mablung, I am so sorry that I left you alone in that mess after Beleg had died. I was so… consumed by my grief for Thônwen that I did not notice that my brother was dying long before the dwarves wielded their weapons. I knew that he was not doing too well, but I thought… you know how he was after Lúthien forsook immortality. He had those bad phases and then would get back onto his feet, and I just assumed that it was a little worse then.”

“It was not.” Mablung muttered through gritted teeth. He had never talked about that time to anyone safe Melian only, but he could not help it now. “He kept himself off food and sleep, would sit in the cold… that is, whenever he was not locked up in that smithy. You know, had the Nauglamir taken a little longer to complete, I reckon Maedhros would not have been the first Elf to succeed in taking his own life.”

“I know. I knew the moment I knelt down beside his body and saw what he had done to himself. But by then it was too late. By then I had already let him down, and Melian, and you. And still you comforted me when we laid Elu to rest. It should have been the other way round.”

Mablung shook his head. As if Elmo could have comforted anyone then.

“No. We all did what we could to just stay alive. But let us ride on. I fear that reunion more than I can say, and I cannot imagine how it can possibly turn out alright, but I long to see him nonetheless.”

If Mablung had thought that knowing in advance would make the actual meeting any easier, he had been widely mistaken. Their journey was quite uneventful, and meeting up with Beleg, Galadhon and Thônwen even drove Mablung’s anxiousness back a little, but when he finally, really and truly stood before Elu, his emotions overwhelmed him just as much as they would have done had he not known beforehand, engulfing all his senses, so that he could do nothing but stand motionless and gaze at the elf he had pined over for aeons. He watched Galadhon fling himself into his uncle’s arms, watched Thônwen pat Elu on the back in greeting, then think better of it and wrap her arms around him properly, and then Beleg do the same.

He himself could not move. Or at least not until Elu’s gaze met his at last, and he spread his arms a little awkwardly- only then did Mablung feel his muscles move, and accept the invitation, and next moment he found himself face to face with his former king, and gripped his arms tightly. He tried to do his very best to suppress his shaking, but to little avail. Seeing Elu standing there, in the same sort of robes he himself had been dressed in as he had left the Halls was.. too much. Where before all had been numbed by the sheer amount of feelings that wanted to be felt at once, there now seemed to be no escaping his senses, that had become keen and clear all of a sudden, and focused only on one thing- the elf before him. And yet, he could do nothing but gaze into Elu’s eyes in despair, unable to imagine what might come next.

Melian, who looked happier than Mablung had seen her in many millennia, glanced between them, at last finding Mablung’s gaze. He held hers and felt as if she could look right past his eyes into his troubled mind, and knew all the thoughts and feelings that wreaked havoc in his head.

“Oh Mablung…” she sighed at last, a very curious smile on her face. “Oh, saying this aloud feels awkward, but alright, here goes- I think it is high time that we settle something here. Mablung, I trust you know of the degree that was passed for Meadhros and Fingon and a handful of others? That if all parties are willing, bonds of more than two people would be suffered under very special circumstances?”

Mablung nodded, bewildered. What had that to do with anything? Elu, it seemed was taken even more by surprise, for he spluttered:
“They what?”

Melian giggle at the incredulity in her husband’s voice, but explained patiently all the same.

“Be quiet, love, and listen. It is as I said indeed. You see, my kin is not omniscient. The Valar too need to learn from experience, and they are very keen to avoid any more disasters like the situation that ultimately arose around Finwë. You see, there are very little exceptions in the mind of the Ainur. It is the way we are made.”

“Says the one exception to everything.” Elmo interrupted with a wry smile, and everyone laughed.

A reddish tinge crept into Melian’s cheeks, but she grinned all the same.

“Well, yes, true, but that is not the point here. The Ainur have an idea of how the Children are supposed to work and are then flabbergasted whenever there are… special cases. Elves grow no beards. Well, tell that to Círdan and Mahtan. They are both prouder of their beards than many a Dwarf. Elves are not supposed to die at birth, ever. Míriel still did. Elves only form one bond in life- yes, mostly. Not always. Sometimes… unexpected things happen.” she paused to look between her husband and Mablung “Sometimes Maiar happen. I do not regret it, nor will I ever do so, and would do it all over again without blinking an eye, but I cannot deny that I stole Elu from you, Mablung.”

Mablung gasped. Had Melian just said what he had heard her say?

“What?”

Galadhon’s shocked exclamation provided an unlooked for comfort to Mablung, as well as a much needed relief from the tension- so at least not everyone had known. All the others, though -and that included Olwë and Círdan, which made Mablung blush violently- were not in the least surprised. In fact, they seemed highly amused by Galadhon’s ignorance.

“How come you all know that and I do not?”

“Because your uncle’s pre-marriage love-life is none of your business.” Thônwen remarked dryly, rolling her eyes at her son.

“Aye, but neither is it yours, Nana.”

“Which is not the point right now. We can all make fun of Elu and Mablung later.” said Melian, bringing the conversation back to the point she was apparently eager to stress. Mablung scowled. Trust Melian to get everyone’s attention back in such a way. 
“Because I am finally going to tell them about a thing I have been mulling over for a very very very long time- you see, if Fingon’s wife can put up with Maedhros and be fine with it, then I most certainly can live with one of my dearest friends in my relationship. I know I tore you both apart and I am so sorry for that. I always was. But now at last I can put this right without forsaking my own marriage-bond. So if both Elu and you want it, I am more than happy to have you with us, Mablung.”

Mablung’s mind was utterly blank. He knew that some part of him wanted to say something, anything really, but he could not. Elu stood in equal silence, his expression unreadable even for Mablung. But then a shudder went through him, and he let go of Mablung’s arms to cup Melian’s face with trembling fingers.

“Do you mean that? Do you really, really mean that?” he asked, his voice all bur breaking with emotion.

And when she nodded, he pulled her into his arms in an embrace that spoke of his gratitude just as much as his unwavering love for his wife.

Beleg was actually the one to rush forward first once Melian had gently disentangled herself from her husband, and hug her tightly as well, and his best friend's gratefulness on his behalf finally made it clear to Mablung that he was not dreaming, or else had imagined Melian’s words. Slowly but steadily, the realisation of all that had happened since Elmo had sought him out on the beach started to sink in, and with it exhilarating, all-consuming happiness. He beamed at Elu, who smiled back, and Círdan said, laughing:
“Am I supposed to say you may seal that bond now?”

The others cheered and giggled, and Mablung, feeling that he could not get any more embarrassed than he already was, reached up to lay his hands on either side of Elu’s face, and pull him down into a kiss.

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Even in his wildest dreams, Mablung would not have dared to hope for the chance to share one more kiss with Elu, a kiss without hiding and most of all, a kiss to which they could both consent, that was not a desperate, heart-wrenching farewell. The only trouble was that he had not counted upon their the memory of their last kiss to come crushing over him the moment their lips touched, either. The hot blood that had wetted his clothes as he knelt upon the floor, that left a metallic taste on his tongue and the horrible, horrible feeling of moving a dead body. Ah, his memory was cruel indeed to present him with these scenes now, and then in such a keen and clear way, and he was helpless in the face of it, unable to chase it away, to block it out.

He could not bear it.

So much as he had longed for this kiss to happen, Mablung still drew back, frantic sobs shaking him, and turned his face away in despair.

“Oh Mablung…”

Elu merely breathed those words, his concern very apparent, with his hand still resting on Mablung’s cheek.

“I…” Mablung began, but words failed him.

And after all, how could he ever explain to Elu that it was the memory of their last kiss that so upset him now? How could he ever explain to him what he had done? The very thought of that made shame mingle with his despair, making the whole situation even more unbearable.

“I cannot bear to say.” he managed at last, tears now cascading down his face.

There was a curious look on Elu’s face as he gently made Mablung look up, an expression even Mablung could not really interpret.

“I think you do not need to say it. I think I know.”

“How?”

Mablung felt deeply shaken. He had chosen to bury this accursed memory, and Lord Námo himself had given him leave to do so, to never think about it again, to stick with the version he had told everyone else- that he had found Elu lying dead, cried for help once his voice obeyed him again, covered the body and waited for Melian. And unsettling though it was for it to creep back out of the abyss to mar his reunion with Elu, the fact still remained that there was no-one in this world who knew of that kiss, not even Melian, nobody but him. Then how…

“I know that it was you who found me.” Elu went on “And by your reaction, I think I can guess what you did there, in the smithy, when you were alone with my body and had nothing to lose, but a farewell to gain.”

Mablung could not look away from Elu’s light-grey eyes, and he thought he would drown in his gaze, and be quite content to do so. That at least would spare him the embarrassment of the moment.

“This time, though…”

Elu paused to tenderly graze Mablung’s lips with his, waiting for Mablung to react, to tell him without words whether or not he was comfortable. Mablung did not know what he wanted, nor what he would be able to bear, but he could not draw back, either. He was a complete prisoner to his raging emotions.

After a moment, Elu again drew back a little and continued:
“This time, I am kissing you, and I’m alive, and breathing, and my heart beats.”

Mablung sobbed helplessly as Elu took his hand and pressed his palm tightly to his chest, so that Mablung could feel his heartbeat beneath his fingers. He had never been so deeply moved in his life.

“And it is because of you that it does so.”

Mablung blinked, bewildered. What?

As Elu went on, there was a quaver in his voice and tears shimmering in his eyes, betraying his feelings for the first time. It was not very kind, perhaps, to be as relieved as Mablung felt at the sight, but he still was. It was good to see that Elu was not entirely, unmoved by the situation, either. Not that this did anything to ease his utter confusion, of course.

“You see, there would have been a way for Melian to be with me, even had I refused Lord Námo’s offer for good. Maiar, after all, need no bodies. And Maiar who choose over and over again to bind themselves in elvish bodies... well. In any case, Lord Námo assured me that we would find a solution everyone might be content with. But you… I knew that all was taken care of, that Dior reigned over the Iathrim and called to Olwë as High-King. I knew that my people were looked after by them both, and by who better? Beleg left the Halls healed, saddened and grieving, but hale. Even Elmo went from Mandos free of the shadow of our bond, finally able to truly be himself. He does not need me anymore. This hurt to admit, even if I was tremendously relieved.”

Elmo made a noise as if to protest, but Elu paid him no heed, continuing instead:
“So really, there was no point for me to leave Mandos. I cannot overcome my grief, I am never going to be truly healed. So really, it makes no difference for me where I mourn my children, and curse my own stupidity. 
But you, Mablung, you left the Halls on my bidding only. Even after all I made you go through, even after death, you left me in Mandos because I asked you to, because I did not want you to refuse life on my account. You were so loyal, so true that you once again put my will above your wellbeing. And I would not have been able to bear to be myself had I abandoned you after that. I knew nothing of the statute, I knew not that we would be allowed to be together, that there would not have to be any more hiding and pining. Even less did I know that my… my wonderful wife would be prepared to agree to it. I should have known of course, but it truly never crossed my mind. But I did know that you had always wanted to be by my side regardless.
That was the reason for my return in the end. I love you, Mablung. I have always loved you and dearly missed you, and I will be eternally grateful to the Valar and all the elves -and  people pretending to be elves- who made it possible for us to now explore this love fully. Come here. It’s alright. I’m never going to leave you again.”

With those last words, Elu wrapped his arms around Mablung once more, and Mablung leaned his head against Elu’s shoulder, both crying openly now. Mablung held onto Elu so tightly he knew he must hurt him but he could not help it- he needed to feel him. And Elu returned the embrace, cradling Mablung, his lips pressed firmly to the top of his head.

“I think it is time for us to leave you two.” Melian said after what felt like ten thousand years and only a heartbeat at the same time. “Enjoy your time tonight, Mablung, as I do not plan on giving up on Elu all too often. But tonight he is yours, and then we shall work this out together. I mean, I'd say I’ll join you, but that would feel remarkably like fucking my little brother, with is… weird.”

Elu laughed and pulled Melian into their embrace as well. Mablung grinned, too, and wondered if he would actually like that or not. He had never in his life even thought of being intimate with a woman, but if there ever could be an exception to that, that exception surly must be Melian.

The feeling in Mablung’s stomach remarkably resembled nervousness as he and Elu were finally alone. So much was yet unsaid between them, and for so much Mablung had no words, so he instead busied himself with unrolling his cloak and unpacking his things.

“Are you hungry?” he asked over his shoulder, even though he himself had no mind whatsoever for food.

It was no surprise therefore that Elu declined the offer, too.

“Right. I let you off tonight, but you will eat breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Elu sighed exasperatedly but chuckled all the same, which made Mablung turn at last. He was still almost astounded to see him truly standing there, after he had so long ago ceased to hope. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, then Elu said tentatively:
“I do not know how you feel, but my head is swimming with everything that happened today. What if we just lie down and watch the stars together, like we used to on the Journey? Or we just keep staring awkwardly at each other. How is it that nobody explains how odd this is when one is still in Mandos? And…” he added as an afterthought “… the others’ expectations do not help, either. Not at all. I am truly sorry, Mablung, for making this so incredibly awkward.”

Now it was Mablung’s turn to laugh as he sat down on his unfolded cloak, relieved when Elu joined him after a moment. Mablung could hear him curse under his breath.

“Do you have a comb? Melian and I shared hers ever since I was released from the Halls, but obviously she has it with her now and…”

Mablung remembered that only too well, that awkward time after his reembodiment when he had lacked everything he had taken for granted in his first life- spare clothes, knife, comb, cup and bowl… it helped not, either, that the customs of Alqualondë were so very different from those of Menegroth, and that time itself had worn on and brought with it its own share of change. Coming to think of it, he had no idea where Elu planned to live from now on, or whether he had given any thought to it at all yet. All that could wait, though, and he contented himself for the moment with handing Elu his comb, and watch as he undid the two thin braids that had kept his hair out of his eyes and started to comb through his silver tresses.

Mablung could not restrain himself and reached out, running his fingers through Elu’s hair as well.

“I have always admired your hair, do you know that?”

Elu only smiled, then handed the comb back and started to re-braid his hair, this time weaving it into only one large plait. Mablung could not take his eyes off him, that sight being so painfully familiar and dear to him that it moved him almost to tears.

“I still need to braid it for the night. I… oh, it’s embarrassing, but I seem to have forgotten how to sleep with it open without lying on it. I never thought one could forget. It is only now that I have one again that I realise what a nuisance a body is.”

Oh yes, Mablung remembered that feeling very well. He had felt so very clumsy during that first time, too.

“It is not embarrassing. Every single reembodied elf had to deal with that, or at least every one who rebuild their body with their hair as long as yours. I never got how you ever could sleep with it open, anyway. That you could made you all the more marvellous to me, though.”

Whatever was the matter with him, Mablung wondered as he felt his cheeks burn. Talking like that had always been Beleg’s domain, not his, and most certainly not Elu’s, who looked just as embarrassed as Mablung felt. A strange recklessness had come over him, however. Tonight, he would leave nothing unsaid. Tonight, he would talk about everything that came into his mind. If he were to truly bond after four Ages of this world as a bachelor, then he could not leave anything in the dark.

He therefore reached out again, and tucked a strand of hair loose from Elu’s braid and twirled it around his finger.

“You will re-learn, beloved.” he said hoarsely “If you wish to.”

There was the smallest involuntary intake of breath at being addressed thus, Mablung noted, but still Elu did not challenge the term. Instead, he wordlessly reached for the comb again, and started to unbraid and comb Mablung’s hair. Mablung would never ever have thought the act of combing to be so intimate. He had been a warden, and keeping his hair neat and orderly a necessity, not a pleasure. And never could he have thought that getting his hair braided could actually make his groin stir. He did not react to the sensation, however. Whatever Melian’s words before, they were not there yet.

At last Elu laid down the comb and  leaned back against a mossy boulder, spreading his arms slightly as he did so. Mablung followed the invitation, shifting closer to Elu and laying his head upon his shoulder. 
“I do not even have a name to call you by.” he whispered, tracing the fine features of Elu’s face with the tips of his fingers, still somewhat in disbelief that he truly could do that again.

Elu smiled wryly.

“Call me however you want. I do not know myself. It will be Elwë in the end, I think. Elmo mostly goes with it, and Lord Námo called me that, and Olwë obviously does… Melian keeps with Elu. I promise I will answer to both.”

Mablung could not help but notice how resigned Elu sounded. Was it that he was just weary of the endless discussions about his person in general, or because he did not even have a say in his own name?

“It bothers you.” he therefore stated calmly.

“No. I just… I do not know who I am anymore. Truth be told, I do not know if I ever knew.”

“I can imagine. And maybe you truly need to discover that anew. But Elwë you are still, my -our- star, named for the beauty of your eyes, or so Círdan claims, and your aunt. Do you know that your descendants still carry your star in their name to this day, in love and remembrance of the Elvenking that marked the beginning of it all?”

Elu nodded, too moved to talk properly.

“No crown this time, though.” he managed to rasp.

“No crown.”

Mablung suddenly laughed.

“Why is it that I seem to mourn that fact more than you?”

“Because I do not mourn it at all. I am quite relieved, to be completely honest with you. I think I feel free for the first time in my entire life. I was always a little bitter about it. Born a prince, born to one day rule. I wonder if that was all everyone saw, what Lord Enel and Lady Enelyë saw when my parents presented them with me. Did they bless me, or the person I was supposed to become? A boy, right? An heir to the ancient line, a reason to rejoice before he had even seen me. I never strived to be loved by everyone, but… but if loved, I wanted to be loved for who I am, not for what I was born to be.”

Elu had talked himself into angry tears, leaving Mablung to wonder how long he had locked those feelings in his heart.

"Olwë should have been the firstborn, he is -and always was- so much better at all that.”

Mablung grazed Elu’s brow slightly.

“Hush. It is alright. Your family loves you for who you are and Melian and I love you for who you are- even if it always moved something in me to call you my king. But you be you now, you earned that. Only... one thing: a circlet you will still wear- I will make you wear one, and if it is one of flowers.”

“I am king no more, Mablung.”

“But you were. You said you needed to know who you are. Then you cannot deny who you were.”

Again Mablung caressed Elu’s face, tracing his jawline and the tips of his ears.

“Let us get ready for the night. I am exhausted, and you must be, too. I remember those first days and weeks after returning from Mandos to be tiring to say the least. Uh, the not remembering. I found that the worst.”

“What do you mean?”

Mablung frowned slightly.

“When I was released from the Halls, all was… strange. I could remember my past life, but it seemed then to be so far away, like a dream I once had. Obviously I could not recall my time in Mandos, though that was not blank either. But surely you must feel the same? Everyone I know who’s been re-embodied does.”

“I do remember Mandos. Quite clearly.”

For a moment, Mablung just felt utterly stunned. Then he chuckled.

“Honestly, you cannot do anything like a normal elf, can you?”

Elu grinned wryly and shrugged, but he still remained sitting with his arms around his knees. Mablung let him be, and rid himself instead of his clothes before lying down on the soft moss. It was a marvellous thing, really, how here in Lórien there would be no moisture creeping up from the earth, not like it had been in Ennor. Instead, the undergrowth seemed to be welcoming a weary traveller, eager to make a bed for them, for a while. Mablung tried very hard not to think 'their wedding bed'. They were not there just yet, he had to remind himself sternly. 

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“Oh come on, love. You are tired, and the only thing to do about that is sleep.”

Mablung savoured each word, unable to keep himself from grinning broadly. He had been forced to watch Elu’s quirks quietly for thousands of years and thus hugely enjoyed being able to openly tease him about them now. And -more importantly- look after him properly.

Elu didn’t react at once but after a while said quietly:
“I miss my cloak.”

“I know. Let us share mine for now. The night is balmy, we shall not be cold, and then tomorrow we will see what we can do to give the Greycloak back his mantle.”

Elu smiled a little, and then pulled his tunic over his head at last. As he bared his torso Mablung’s breath caught in his chest, and not solely from seeing his beloved strip.

“You bear your scars still.” he whispered.

He had not heard of that before, safe in Maedhros, whose right wrist was still encircled with a fine scar, reminiscent of a silver-white bracelet. That scar, he claimed, meant something to him, for it had been Fingon who had cut off his hand out of love, so he bore it even in his new body. Mablung had until now put that off as something weird the Fëanorians would do, who could after all not deny to be Finwë’s descendants. Apparently, he had been mistaken about that, though. Apparently, bearing one’s scars was not only some Finwëan antic.

He caught himself quickly, holding his arm out in invitation, and Elu complied by crawling over to him and lying down in the soft grass as well, arms crossed behind his head. Mablung could not keep his eyes from hungrily roaming his body, inwardly longing to just bend over him and cover every inch of his skin with kisses. He was so lost in thought that he almost started when Elu spoke once more, having apparently just come out of his own line of thoughts.

“Yes, I carry the marks of my death. I am not whole, not how I should be. That is, I think, also why I remember the time in the Halls when everyone else does not.”

“That does make sense, yes. But I shall love you regardless. You can be the oddest elf there is, and the most marked, it does not matter to me. I shall love you on the good days and the bad ones. You know that.”

“I do.” Elu said simply.

For a while, they just lay side by side quietly while night properly fell around them, then Mablung suddenly sighed.

“I could never forgive the Dwarves of Nogrod that. My own death, yes, but never what they did to you.” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Elu’s upper arm.

“I insulted them, Mablung.” Elu stated quietly. “I behaved like the very worst possible version of myself…“

“No insult rectifies murder. You were alone and unarmed among them. Whatever it was you said, killing you there and then was never just, under no law within Arda safe perhaps that of the Orcs.”

Mablung could not keep the heat out of his tone, as much as he tried to.

“They might have declared war on Doriath, I will admit to that, might have asked for an apology or even compensation, but not murder our king.”

“I never said that they were in the right. But I had my hand in my own murder, there is no denying that.”

Mablung knew that Elu was right, had in his mind scolded him many times for his folly and recklessness, yet still he could not bring himself to agree now. Not now that Elu was so openly admitting to his own faults.

“You were ill then, Elu. Quite ill. You were not yourself.”

That, too, was no lie, and Elu sighed, nodding slightly.

“True. But put your anger to rest now, Mablung, at least that part of your anger that you feel on my behalf. They killed me swiftly, it was all over in a matter of moments, and at least the stroke that ended it was almost painless. And they… I cannot be sure of this, but… I think they actually let me look into the Silmaril’s light. Which is strange, for they could in truth not have known what unspeakable comfort that meant to me, but they did not take it away, nor cover it before I was dead. So even in their wrath they showed me that act of mercy. 
So really, I bear no grudge against them and I never did. Well, no, that is not true, I was -and am- quite angry about being robbed, about what they did to my people and my city afterwards, and most importantly about what they did to you and Elmo. But they paid heavily for that, and if their belief is true and they reside in Aulë’s keeping after their deaths, I am sure that Aulë will have dealt with those specific crimes. Or is still dealing with them, for I cannot imagine Dwarves being any less headstrong in death than they are in life.”

He laughed a little and Mablung grudgingly smiled, too.

“But after all, it was the Dwarves who built me Menegroth, and wrought me my sword and shield and armour that saved my life and realm in battle. I am loathe to being the one who sparked so much hatred between our kindreds. Melian says that this was ever designed so by Ilúvatar, but I hate to be an instrument of his will in just such a way. That is almost worse than all that strife being caused by my own temper after all. Or rather my failure to keep it.”

“That strife is settled now, though, at least in parts. Galadriel played a huge role in that, but most of all the grandson of Oropher. He is called Legolas and did great deeds during the defeat of Sauron. He even smuggled his dwarven best friend to the undying lands, believe it or not. Gimli son of Gloin was well beloved in Tol Eressëa until his passing, and is mourned there still.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave Elu’s body at those words, and he shifted his position a little to smile gladly at Mablung.

“That is beautiful to hear.” he said quietly. “I should have liked to make Master Gimli’s acquaintance.”

Mablung chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t know. Legolas is bold for sure, but I think having to introduce his smuggled best friend to the legendary elf his father ever idolised… I think that might have been too much for the poor lad.”

Both again laughed, and the laughter drove out the last bit of shock at seeing Elu so scarred. Now Mablung dared, and carefully traced the scar that ran from Elu’s sternum down beyond his navel, feeling him shiver at the touch. Instantly Mablung made to redraw his hand, humming apologetically, but Elu quickly seized his hand, holding it steady on his skin.

“Don’t stop. Never not touch me, Mablung.”

Mablung stopped trying to pull away and allowed his fingers to relax, and after a moment started to caress Elu again, who closed his eyes for a moment in relish.

“Alright.” Mablung whispered. “If you promise me to never not kiss me when my memories overwhelm me.”

“Promised.” Elu breathed.

They could no longer deny their longing for each other now, and Mablung spread his cloak over both of them, drawing even closer to his companion as he did so, and felt his arousal against his thigh.

“Do you remember our first kiss?” he asked hoarsely.

“Of course I do. You took my virginity that day in more than one way, so how could I not remember? I cherished that memory throughout the Ages, both in Beleriand and Mandos.“

Mablung smiled.

“A part of me rued the fact, then, that it was not the first time for me as well. But then, had it been, I could not have pretended not to bond.”

“Aye, and it was clumsy enough with me having no clue. Imagine us both… nay, I would rather not. I was so overwhelmed. Nobody had ever touched me, never before had I been at someone’s mercy. I felt so vulnerable then, but you… you were so gentle.”

“I wonder if it will feel like that again. Like the first time. After all, our bodies are not the same bodies that… well.“

Elu took a moment to answer, but then said:
“It is different, and yet the first time again. I… Melian and I could not keep off each other after I was re-embodied. It surprised even us, the longing we felt when we held each other again, as that was never the most important part of our relationship.”

“No…” Mablung smirked “… you cuddled. All the time. I guessed after a while that not every touch could lead to more, not given the amount of time you spent in court.”

Elu snorted, pushing himself away from Mablung a little so that he could look him in the face.

“Mablung, what exactly… have you been pondering my love life the whole time?”

He sounded both amused and indignant, which again made Mablung laugh.

“What else should I have done when standing guard behind you? Why do you think I was so keen to take on the post as the King’s guard whenever I was off my hunter’s duty? Because then it was actually my job to watch you, and I could do so without it seeming odd.”

“And being horny that entire time?“

“Mh, maybe not the entire time, but often enough. But then, tonight, the tables shall truly be turned. I have not been intimate with anyone since Mandos, not even Beleg. This time, in this body, my first time shall be with you.“

“I am honoured” Elu said softly, and then he pulled Mablung into a real kiss at last.

For all Mablung knew as they lay beneath the stars, loving each other, they might have been the only beings in the fathomless Void, for it would surly not have felt any different.

Nothing was real anymore for Mablung safe Elu alone, their kisses and entwined bodies, and touching him and being touched. He knew Elu thanked him for his love and patience with every tender caress, every kiss, every careful movement within him, and Mablung gave himself to his companion wholly, having never before known his pleasure to reach such heights.

Only when he thought he would not be able to hold back another moment did he open his eyes again, cupping Elu’s face with a trembling hand. Elu, too, was shaking with his arousal, and by his ragged breathing Mablung knew that he could not be in any other state than he himself.

“I am close now.” Mablung breathed huskily “And I want us to come together. I need us to come together.”

“Oh Mablung…” Elu panted, hiding his face for a moment in the crook of Mablung’s neck, until he had somewhat steadied his breathing.

Then he looked up again, reached very deliberately for Mablung’s hand and interlocked their fingers.

“Eru be our witness, then.” he said hoarsely.

“Eru be our witness.” Mablung repeated, before he again lost himself in Elu’s embrace.

He  knew that this was a life-changing moment, but just then he could not have cared less. He only cared about Elu moving within him, and his hands between Mablung's legs, and the words he whispered into his ear:
“You’re mine.”

Only once they had come down from their climax and somewhat steadied their breathing did Elu add:
“That is, if you want to be mine.”

Mablung laughed and kissed Elu passionately. This small double-take was so endearingly familiar to him that he could not help it.

“That is so you. Everyone else would have just left it there. I have always been yours, Elu. Since I could walk and talk, I have been yours. I admired you, I trusted you, I wanted to be close to you. Only my childish self did not recognise that feeling as love then. And I will remain yours forevermore. I love you.”

Elu smiled, but sniffed a little all the same.

“I love you, too. But now I am going to cry you know? As you said, the tables are turned. You cried our first first time, I cry this second first time.”

“You noticed? Then?”

Mablung was both touched and embarrassed. He had thought that Elu had remained oblivious to his tears back then, but apparently he had been mistaken.

“Have I noticed… of course I noticed. Honestly, Mablung, how could I not notice? Do you think I have not watched you just as closely as you watched me? It touched me so deeply to know what this first time meant to you, and I cannot say how much I admired your strength, because I knew what you put yourself into. I am so sorry that I could not give you what you needed.”

“No. No, love, you gave me what I needed. And we have each other now. Thanks to Melian, and I will never stop thanking her for that.”

A loving smile swept over Elu’s face as he nodded.

“I still cannot believe that I will truly have you both with me. And oh, I look forward to see you and Melian just… be together. She always put all her trust in you, and I love that I will see that friendship grow now that she is no longer your queen.”

For a moment Mablung just looked at Elu, then he laughed. Of course, he could know nothing of the relationship that had developed between him and Melian over the past millennia. Mablung chose not to mention that now, though. Elu would soon find out himself.

A content sleepiness came over them both now, and Elu had already turned back onto his back, lying with his eyes closed, strands of hair having come loose from his braid after their love-making. Mablung gazed at him raptly, marvelling at his beauty, yet also reminded painfully of Elu lying dead, and as much as he tried to calm himself, he could not keep a small noise of dismay escaping his throat before long. Elu opened his eyes again in concern, and Mablung hastened to reassure him.

“Sleep. I am sorry. It is just that seeing you like this… it brings back memories.”

Elu, to Mablung’s great surprise, smiled wryly and sighed.

“You are like Elmo when he was a child. He could never bear to see me sleep, unless he lay with his ear over my heart. Come here then.”
Mablung wanted to protest, to tell Elu that he was not to be compared to the frightened little elfling Elmo had been at Cuiviénen, but snuggled into Elu’s arms nonetheless.

“I am not your brother.” he grumbled, and felt Elu chuckle.

“Of course not, my love. Otherwise I would hardly have bedded you.”

Mablung really wanted to argue some more, to tell Elu that unlike little Elmo, whose fear for Elu had been borne of the assault on their parents he had witnessed as an infant, his pain came from an entirely different experience. He had been the one to slide Elu’s eyes shut so that neither Melian nor Elmo had to go through that experience, had seen Elu lie in state, had stood hours and hours by his body in grief so profound that it was true physical pain.

He wanted to tell Elu that it was for these memories that watching him sleep was painful, but Mablung found he was really too tired to talk anymore. So he finally did as bidden and laid his head onto Elu's chest, and listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat that was no altogether steady. Mablung wondered briefly if this was still his coming down from his climax, or else if that was what Lord Námo had meant when he had said that there was no healing Elu's broken heart. Or did Elu indeed wear his internal scars like he did those on his skin?

He found, though, that he was truly too tired to worry about that now, so he allowed his mind so relax and his eyelids to slide shut. The very last thing he felt was for Elu to lay his hand on his head and stroke his hair tenderly and within moments he was fast asleep. 

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The gardens of Lórien were always beautiful, no matter the weather, but this day they seemed to Mablung like the most beautiful place in all of Arda that ever was or ever would be. The leaves of the trees were rustling in a slight breeze, Melian’s birds were chirping and insects were humming, the little brook that ran close by murmured like Esgalduin had done in ancient times and the sweet smell of warm grass filled their secluded clearing. 

Nothing of this could compete with the happiness within Mablung, however, for not even the most glorious day in the world’s fairest place could even come close to his own elation. It still felt like a scene from someone else’s life, or else a fair dream he might once have dreamt. As it was, Mablung had pinched himself not only once, so as to ensure that he was indeed awake, and judging by the pain on his thighs, he was. It was time, therefore, to tentatively start to believe it.

It had been a little over two years since his life had changed forever, two years since he had left the shores of the sea, two years since he had last talked to his kin. He missed them, yes, and looked forward to seeing them again when the time was ripe, but there was no rush. They had time, after all, all the time in the world- and that in itself seemed the most wonderful thing.

Almost as wonderful as the new era of his life that had just begun- an era he had never -ever- anticipated.

He smiled as the little bundle in his arms stirred, one minuscule quavering foot extending from its soft blanket as the tiny baby within stretched. Mablung quickly adjusted the blanket so that their newborn was again well covered, then looked over to his husband, who lay with his body draped protectively around Melian’s still form. His husband… the term still sounded sweet in his ears, and probably would ever do so. As it was, they smiled tenderly at each other before Elwë nodded in his daughter’s direction and mouthed:
“Is she waking up?”

Mablung moved his head from side to side in a way that meant to say: “Not sure. Maybe.”

Thônwen, who sat close by and cradled the other twin, lifted his blanket a little, too, but quickly shook her head.

“Still sleeping, and still blue.” she stated in a low voice.

Mablung and Elwë exchanged a quick look and turned away again to prevent themselves from bursting out laughing. Maybe that whole affair was in truth not as funny as it seemed to them now, but filled to the brim with the joy of welcoming brand-new babies into their family, they both found Lord Irmo’s little jest hilarious.

Of all the adventures that Mablung had undertaken in his life, that of bringing those two children into the world had by far been the most nerve-wracking and marvellous, even if his part in it had been to mostly watch, and be a shoulder to lean on whenever Elwë or Melian had needed it. And they had needed it, desperately needed it, and oh, was Mablung glad that he had been able to be there for them, whenever their doubts and fears had overwhelmed them.

That they both wanted to be parents again so desperately, which of course was no surprise for Mablung, in fact, he had suspected the subject might come up before long even before they had first raised it. He had spent enough time with Melian since the changing of the world to know how deeply her heart ached whenever she happened to see a mother with her young, regardless of species; and that Elwë wanted nothing more than to be a father was no news, either.

No, the only problem had indeed been the question of whether or not they dared. After all, the begetting of Lúthien had already been a breach of each and every rule, and trying the seemingly impossible again here in Aman after Elwë’s re-embodiment was bold indeed. In the end, they had taken the matter to the Máhanaxar -with Melian continuously grumbling about how it was none of her kin’s business what she did or did not do with her husband- and been granted leave right away.

Mablung strongly suspected that the Valar had been so very obliging in that matter because they knew all too well what unbearable pain they had caused by changing the rules for Lúthien, and letting her take the Gift of Men. That pain they could not assuage, but they could at least grant Melian and Elwë the chance to give new meaning to parenthood, to fill that role with something other than their ever-present grief.

But while it had not been the greatest surprise to Mablung that Elwë and Melian wanted to try for another child, it had come as a huge surprise that they had both been adamant that Mablung was to be a part of it if he wanted. A year had passed since that evening and he still felt just as deeply honoured and humbled and grateful as he had done then. True, be part of this most sacred act did not make the twins his own- despite somehow, it did. Elwë had probably best put it when he had told Mablung that this was a simple matter of co-parenting- these were his children, Mablung was his husband, Melian was fine with it, no more discussion needed.

Mablung smiled to himself. He had always loved this special kind of pragmatism in Elwë.

And so he had watched Melian’s belly grow, watched Elwë stroke his babes through her skin and muscle, listened to him sing softly to them, which Mablung had found to be adorable. Being a father had probably always been the most natural thing for Elwë and ever since he was allowed to be that again, a huge change had come over him, something Mablung was incredibly grateful for. But apart from the effect it had on Elwë, Melian’s pregnancy had also sealed the bond between her and Mablung once and for all. It was easy, really. Ridiculously easy, given that a relationship such as theirs was virtually unheard of. But then, that was an occupational hazard of being around Melian- she had always done things her way, not caring at all about customs or other people’s opinions. But she did the things her way so gently and with such kindness that it was neigh on impossible to not love her. So it had been when she had been Doriath’s fabled Queen, so it was now.

A tender warmth grew in Mablung’s chest as he now surveyed Melian, who slept soundly in Elwë’s arms. He loved her deeply in so many ways- with none of them being even remotely romantic, which was precisely the way they both wanted it. She regarded him as something close to a sibling, Mablung knew, and he was very much fine with that, so there really was nothing complicated to living this life. Not now, anyway, and whatever came in the future they would figure out then.

He felt the presence of Elmo and Beleg before they made themselves known, and he turned to greet the newcomers, with Elwë and Thônwen doing the same. 
Unlike with her pregnancy with Lúthien when she had insisted on being alone with her husband, Melian had wanted her sister-in-law with her this time around, and so Elmo and Thônwen had spent the past months with them in Lórien. Only when both Melian and Thônwen had been sure that the birth of the twins was imminent had Elmo left them again, to bring tidings to that inner circle of people who knew of Elwë’s return. Elmo had taken on that task gladly, and Mablung was sure that it really filled him with glee to make already spectacular news even more dramatic, just for the joy leaving his ‘victims’ utterly flummoxed.

Thônwen, Elwë and Mablung meanwhile had stayed with Melian to help her in any way they could, but that had proven quite unnecessary. Whether it had been coincidence that her first labour had been so difficult for her, or the fact that Melian had had even less of an idea of what to expect from birth than any other new mother had the first time around, her second delivery was nothing like it. She mastered everything beautifully, and though there was no such thing as the famous blossoming of Niphredil at Lúthien’s birth, the moment still had a magic that Mablung would never forget.

Only when their son had almost been born had Mablung realised that they were not alone in their secluded clearing, but that Lord Irmo and Lady Estë stood silently by the edge of the trees, watching.
If one was being nice, one could say that they had just wanted to be there for Melian’s sake, who was so very beloved by both of them. Indeed, that was certainly true for Estë, and while Irmo, too, might have been there to support Melian and watch this particular miracle unfold within his realm, Mablung felt sure that he had also come to savour the prank he had decided to play on them.

Which, finally, brought Mablung’s meandering thoughts back full circle, to the peculiar appearance of their new babes.

As it had been night when the twins had been born, they had not at once realised that something was off with their son, the firstborn twin, but even the darkness could not hide the fact that their second twin had antlers. Melian had taken one look at her newborn babes and rounded on Irmo with a sound that would have done every angry cat proud, long before it had even dawned on Mablung that the Lord of Lórien had indeed tempered with the children.

He had never worked out whether Irmo had a certain amount of control over reproduction within Lórien in general or over Melian in particular, only that somehow, he had made sure that those children would never pass as normal elves. Irmo had not even tried to deny that he had had his hand in the twins unusual appearances but had laughed instead and claimed that those two would have been indistinguishable from their parents otherwise.

And while Irmo was not strictly speaking wrong with that claim, it had still not gone down well with Melian. Not even a little bit.

Dishevelled and bleeding from just having given birth she had raged at Irmo, who after a while had had the grace to appear somewhat abashed, especially as both Thônwen and Estë herself had been with Melian on the matter. Both had scolded Irmo as well, though they had had to work hard to hide their grins all the same, just as Elwë and Mablung had. Blue and antlered or not, the babies were adorable, and Melian’s rage quite clearly not about their appearance at all. Mablung had thought at first that this was about Irmo undermining her decision to live as an elf while Arda lasted, but soon it had dawned on him that there had to be more behind it, for not even at the downing of Númenor had he seen her so beside beside herself with rage.

Only when Melian had finally stumbled with exhaustion had Elwë handed their little daughter to Mablung and walked over to his wife to wrap his arms tightly around her, and not a moment too soon. As soon as she was securely held, Melian’s knees gave way, and all their amusement turned to pity. Estë herself took it upon herself to gently wash her Maia, while Irmo had eased her to sleep with apologies and words of love, and then Elwë had hoisted her up once more and carried her to their camp. He had not let go of her for a moment ever since.

Oh, it was strange to see Melian so weak, to see the one who had held Sauron and Ungoliant at bay single-handedly, who had always known what to do, lie shivering in her husband’s arms like a frightened girl. But she slept now, at least, and surely when she woke, the world would look friendlier to her.

Eager to protect her sleep therefore, Mablung now watched Elmo and Beleg apprehensively, who walked over to them and put the large package they had been carrying between themselves down on the grass. While Elmo greeted all of them by walking silently around them, kissing his wife and brother on the head before kneeling down next to Mablung to hug him, Beleg just let himself collapse on Mablung’s other side, staring in disbelief at Elwë.

“I did not believe Elmo, I really didn’t. I thought he was playing some trick on me. Honestly, will you never stop leaving us all baffled? Ever? Two years we hear nothing of you, or Melian, or Mablung, and then you send Elmo to find me with such news?”

Elwë grinned rather guiltily, and Mablung chuckled quietly, too. He knew Beleg well enough to see how moved he truly was, both by the news of the babies’ existence and the fact that he, though not strictly speaking a member of the family, was granted to be here now anyway. Mablung reached out and softly patted Beleg’s back- he had dearly missed his best friend as well.

“Olwë and Círdan are beside themselves and really wished they could have come here with us, but they cannot get away from the festival without telling everybody why.” Elmo told his brother quietly.

Of course, Mablung thought. It was the time of the great annual feast of Alqualondë, celebrating Ossë and Unien first teaching the Falmari the art of shipbuilding, and naturally neither Olwë nor Círdan could excuse themselves from that easily. He smiled as he thought about how the ships must look now, adorned with multi-coloured ribbons and little flags, sailing out of the harbour at nightfall, with many torches glowing in the gathering darkness. It was always a sight to behold.

“Olwë sends you this in the meantime though,” Elmo went on, still addressing Elwë “… and bade me tell you that each and every child of the royal house of Alqualondë has slept in there, so you might find it fitting for yours.”

With that, Elmo pulled the fabric that had covered the parcel off and revealed what appeared to be a miniature swan-ship, though Mablung instantly recognised it to be a cradle, meant to be hung from the ceiling or a tree.

“This is… I do not know what to say. It is beautiful…” Elwë managed to mutter, blinking the tears away that threatened to spill from his eyes.

Elmo just laughed and ruffled through his brother’s unusually untidy hair.

“Now that we settled that, will you get up and introduce us properly to your new babies?”

“Aye, I will introduce you, if you will content yourself to let me do that while lying down, or else you will have to wait until Melian is awake. I do not want to wake her, which I would certainly do were I to move now.”

Elmo frowned, apparently only now taking a proper look at his sister-in-law.

“Is Melian alright? She looks…”

“…terrible.” Thônwen finished Elmo’s sentence for him. “Quite. Don’t you lot dare to wake her for anything other than a hungry baby, she needs rest. That stupid joke of Irmo’s really upset her.”

“What joke?” Beleg and Elmo asked in unison, and so they explained about the Vala’s tempering with the twins appearance.

“It is not truly Irmo who so upset her.” Elwë said at last, his arms still firmly around his wife “I mean, it’s not like… Lúthien looked like a normal elf. Elves do not usually glitter like the wings of butterflies, nor can they use their hair as a cloak of invisibility, so I am not even sure Irmo did all that much aside from maybe enhancing a strangeness that would have been there anyway. No, Lord Irmo’s jest was really only an outlet for all the grief and pain she has carried with her all those long years. She is terrified to love a mother’s love again, to… to be again so vulnerable. She is scared that something might happen to the twins as well, and… probably this also feels like a betrayal to Lúthien’s memory to her, like we were replacing her somehow. Melian coped so well for so long, while I went to pieces and robbed her of the only possible source of comfort. But I will not let her down like that ever again.”

A sorrowful silence followed his words, until Thônwen finally broke it, saying:
“And none of us would have expected anything less of you, brother. But now stop keeping Beleg and my poor husband on tenterhooks and let us show them the twins.”

Elwë smiled gratefully, then looked over to Mablung and caught his eye in an unspoken agreement, and so Mablung carefully placed their daughter into Beleg’s arms. Beleg looked very surprised to be actually handed the tiny baby, and even more so when he realised that she was looking back at him with bright grey eyes, and be it a little puzzled.

“Uh, it has been a while since I held an elfling so young. But oh, look at you.” he cooed “So many people here to meet you on the very day of your birth, huh? Oh, but aren’t you just as stunningly beautiful as your sister?” Beleg looked up at Elwë for a moment, adding: “You do know how to make them, don’t you?”
Everyone chuckled at that remark, and Elmo reached out to tenderly stroke his little niece’s black hair, careful not to touch the two horns that grew from her scalp above her still folded ears.

“Did those antlers not hurt Melian?” he asked, but Elwë shook his head.

“No. She was the second-born, and also came out bottom first and still in caul. But I doubt she would have done anything to Melian even had she been head down. The horns are quite soft, and bending them does not seem to bother her at all.”

“So, that was ladies first.” remarked Thônwen, who carefully rose and placed the second baby in Elmo’s arms “Now meet her brother, too.”

“Well met, little one.” Elmo said huskily, gently kissing the baby’s silvery head. “You look just like your Ada. Just as much as your little sister looks like your Nana. I must say, I cannot argue with Irmo’s reasoning.”

“He looks like you did under the starlight of Cuiviénen, when we had no true colours.” Beleg told Elwë “And I tell you, you do just as well with the boys as with the girls. They are both gorgeous.”

“Are you just now paying me a compliment, Beleg, or making fun of me? Because while I would be glad to claim responsibility for how our children turned out all for myself, Melian did play a rather large part in it, you know.”

“I was paying your children a compliment, Elwë. And teasing you at the same time. Just a little bit.”

Everyone chuckled, which finally seemed to rouse Melian, who stirred feebly for the first time since Irmo had eased her to sleep.

“Elu?”

Mablung smiled. She was the only one who had kept with the Sindarin form of Elwë’s name, which Mablung found well-fitting. The use of this name belonged to her, and her alone.

“I am here, beloved. ’tis alright. I have got you. You have been so brave, and so strong and I am so immeasurably proud of you.”

“The babies?”

“They are alright, don’t you worry. Elmo and Beleg are holding them right now and they are smitten. As they should be. And before their arrival the little ones were cuddled by Mablung and Thônwen.”

“Why not by you?”

Elwë chuckled at the incredulity in Melian’s voice.

“Because I was busy holding you, my love. But would you like to try and feed them now you are awake? Our girl is awake as well and getting hungry, and doo not think that it will not be long before she will start complaining.”

Melian nodded, so Elwë supported her into a more upright position and took his daughter from Beleg to hand her on to his wife. The moment she was in her mother’s arms, the little girl started nuzzling her breast. Thônwen sighed.

“Galadhon was just like that. He gave me sores all over because he was so eager to get his milk that he would suckle on my skin rather than my nipple. Watch that one, she will be just the same, I tell you.”

“Lúthien was very good in that respect.” Melian muttered wearily and wincing slightly as the little girl at last started drinking. “But she was just as… ouch! enthusiastic. Oh darn, I forgot how much that hurts. I thought it would get easier with every child?”

“New body, I’m afraid.” said Thônwen and Elwë in unison, and this time even Melian smiled a little.

“So how do I feed both of them, seeing that Irmo chose to change colours, or turn them into half-deers rather than giving me an extra set of arms, which would have actually been useful? You know, before I took true body again, I might have changed my appearance myself”

Once again, the clearing rang with their laughter, not least when Elwë reminded her wryly that had she remained unbound to her body, she would most certainly not have been able to bear child again, and thus would not have needed additional limbs.

Mablung meanwhile shifted closer to Melian and took their boy from Elmo as well. He had watched his mother feed two babies for two years straight, so this was at least a little bit of valuable advice he could give.

“You need not necessarily feed them both at once, though it does save time, of course. But given that we have enough hands here, I think it really is worth a try. Is she securely latched? If so, I will hand him to you now, feet back. My mother was always quite comfortable feeding my sisters that way, you only have to watch out so she does not kick her brother in the face. The only thing to mind -at least that is what Naneth always said- was to not swap breasts. She tried once, apparently, and deeply regretted it. I do not know what truly is to that rule, though.”

Thônwen nodded her agreement.

“That is solid advice, at least for a little later. It will not make much difference now. Just do what feels best for you just now.”

Melian still looked somewhat sceptical as she watched Elwë help her put their still sleeping son to her breast as well, and was proven right straight away. Their boy clearly needed far more guidance than his little sister.

“Come on, little one. You must be hungry as well.” Elwë tried to encourage him.

It took them quite a while to get him to wake up properly, and even more time to get him to latch in a way that was comfortable for everyone.

“Great. So we have the next fussy eater. Did you have to present us with just such a perfect copy of yourself, Elwë?”

Elwë huffed as everyone grinned, sticking his tongue out to Thônwen, before changing the subject in a non-too-subtle attempt to retaliate.

“As we talked of Galadhon earlier, how long do you plan to keep him in the dark? He will be mad at us, you know that?”

“Then he should have learned how to keep secrets.” Elmo chuckled. “But I promise I will go get him as soon as everyone is settled into their new roles. Have you names yet, by the way?”

“No. And we are in no hurry, either. I thought, maybe… to honour the Mortals in our family and give them names in the fashion of the Edain, something that honours both Beren and Túrin”

Melian looked up at her husband in surprise, before a smile spread over her face, lifting some of the exhaustion off her features for the first time.

“Oh Elu… I would love that. And Lúthien would have loved it, too, and I am sure Dior will also really appreciate it.”

Beleg turned to Mablung with a look that mirrored his emotions quite clearly, as Mablung had suspected it would. Well though Beleg had settled into life in Valinor, there was no denying the ever-aching wound that was the loss of Túrin within his heart, and Mablung knew very well how much this naming would mean to him therefore. He hugged Beleg tightly, and nodded at Elwë over Beleg’s shoulder.

“Best idea you have had today, my love.”

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The eyes of the little swan-boat gleamed every time it gently swayed between shadow and sunbeam, rocking the twins to sleep. Mablung smiled dreamily to himself as he gave the cradle a little nudge from time to time- it was very nice indeed of the two to sleep soundly while it was his turn to watch them, though it was also a joy to have them both be awake, of course. Both twins already returned their smiles, and Bregor, their boy, had started to make noises that were not crying, but not yet babbling, either. Probably he was just delighted with the sounds he was able to produce and tried to replicate them, which did not always work, and the results sounded very funny. Mablung could just sit and listen to him all day, sometimes silently, sometimes talking back to Bregor. Mablung chuckled as he thought back to the first time he had done that, and to the baby’s utterly perplexed look at being answered.

Other than that, Bregor’s only occupation was sleeping. They had been a little worried at first, for he would not even wake to nurse and would surely have starved had Melian not fed him in his sleep every time little Hareth was hungry. Soon they had noticed that Bregor was not just sleeping, however, but that strange things seemed to happen around him when he was slumbering. First there were the branches. It was so subtle that it was hardly noticeable, but whenever Bregor was in so deep a slumber that he would not be woken by anything or anyone, the branches of trees and bushes would lean towards him as though they were listening to him telling them stories. And then there were the spiders. Tiny little greyish-brown spiders, the kind that could jump, would visit Bregor as he slept, and they would build nets in the branches overhead; and strange nets they were indeed, wonky shapes of ships and trees.

Intrigued, Melian had sought Irmo’s advice, who had been so very interested in the little boy from the start, and whose was after all the domain of sleep and dreams.

“He is powerful.” Irmo had said “And should he one day choose to follow the paths of the Maiar rather than that of the Children, he may find his powers best suited for my domain. Should that come to pass, then I would be happy to harbour him as long as he wishes to stay.”

Mablung propped himself up onto his hands to peek into the cradle. There Bregor lay curled onto his side, suckling his sister’s fist that she had stuck inadvertently in his face. He turned ever paler now, the purplish-blue colour slowly fading so that only his palms and the soles of his tiny feet were still as deeply blue as they had been. The tips of his ears had as yet also remained dark blue, which together with his bright silver hair gave him a rather peculiar look. Mablung refrained himself from reaching into the cot with difficulty. Powerful… how could Irmo refer to something so tiny and so innocent and helpless as powerful?

Hareth stretched and shifted a little, thus depriving Bregor of her hand, but for the moment, both babes slept on peacefully. How she could be comfortable with her little limbs so knotted Mablung did not know, but then she was her father’s daughter without any doubt, and Mablung had spent half his life wondering how Elwë could comfortably curl up the way he did. 
He nudged the cradle once more so as to ensure that Hareth would sleep on for a little while. She was so much livelier than her brother and had by now started to roll, and seemed to positively drink in all the colours and sounds and smells. She loved grabbing things in her little fists, and more often than not these were the coats of the animals that surrounded her like the nightingales surrounded Melian. It was the sweetest thing to see Hareth lie on her stomach in the moss with a young hare or a hedgehog sniffing her face, or a fox curled up next to her. And those animals seemed to talk to her in their own wordless way, perhaps showing her through their minds’ connection where they had been that day, how the sun had warmed their coat or how they had found a particularly juicy worm under a bolder, or had at last reached the branch with those sweet fruits. Mablung could not wait to know whether their theory was correct, whether Hareth would confirm their suspicions once she mastered speech.

He also wondered whether the twins would continue to become more and more elvish as they grew older, for as with her brother’s fading colour, Hareth’s antlers became ever less noticeable as the days went by. They had now started to curve downwards and if they continued to grow that way, Hareth would probably look as though she were wearing some woodlandish circlet when she reached adulthood. However that may be though, Hareth would certainly be known for her beauty rather than her antlers, for even at so young an age, she was the image of her mother. Elwë in particular was delighted about this, and had spent a whole evening just looking transfixed between his daughter and wife, and when asked by Melian what on earth he was doing, he had given her a dazzling smile and told her that now at last, he knew how she would have looked like had she ever been a baby- to which she had just rolled her eyes and pretended to sulk, though she had been quite unable to hide her grin.

As though summoned by Mablung’s very thoughts, Melian’s return to their clearing was announced by her singing, and by that of here birds. It was wonderful to hear her sing again as she had done in Doriath before all the evil had happened, to see how much healing the children brought to her. Mablung had not been so sure about it in the beginning, when Melian had been so weak in the first days after giving birth, but he had soon understood that this was more due to her breakdown than birth itself. Ever since she had recovered from it, she was wholly back to being Melian as they knew and loved her.

Spotting him now, she swooped to ruffle Mablung’s hair as always, which she really did just to annoy him, before she bent over the cradle to smile lovingly at her children.

“I still cannot believe they are real sometimes, and not just a wistful dream.” she said, before she looked back at Mablung disentangling his hair with a grin. “Why don’t you just leave it open? That would save you the hassle. By the way, Thônwen and Beleg send their love, and will probably be back with us in a few days. Beleg might have stayed with Estë much longer but Thônwen says she wants to watch the little ones grow…”

“… and naturally, Beleg is too cowed by Lady Estë’s healing skills to stay in her tutoring without Thônwen. He is a coward deep down, you know? Just as you are a menace sometimes. Safe me the hassle indeed.”

Melian giggled, sitting down behind Mablung to re-braid his hair. Mablung huffed inwardly. One could not even be annoyed with her, not if she so readily repaired the damage she had done.

“True. But I think he really also wants to be back with us. And after all, it will not be long before Olwë and Círdan and Elmo and Galadhon and Dior… ah, let us make it short, before all the family arrive.”

Mablung looked shrewdly over his shoulder at Melian.

“Are you nervous?”

Melian laughed.

“Oh no. I long to see them all again, it is just that I also really loved our secluded little clearing here. But I guess it is finally time to move on, don’t you think?”

Mablung nodded. He could not deny the truth behind Melian’s words and like her he longed to see friends and family again, though just like Melian he would forever cherish the memory of the time they had spent here. He let his gaze wander from the brook to the trees and the mossy boulders and then on to Elwë, who lay fast asleep a few feet away, recovering from what had been his first episode since Melian’s pregnancy had become truly noticeable. He had moreover come out of it fairly quickly, which gave both Mablung and Melian hope that he might someday overcome them for good, now that he was allowed to be a father again.

Mablung hated to think of those episodes -they had no other word for them- when Elwë would lie as in a feverish delirium, haunted by hallucinations or evil dreams, unreachable for either of them. During those times the cruel truth about why Elves usually left Mandos only when completely healed reared its ugly head, and the worst of it was that there was nothing they could do to help Elwë. They could but lie by his side to let him know he was not alone, or else hold his hand or stroke his hair and try, whenever he was calm enough, to get him to take a sip of water. Sometimes such an episode would last a few days, sometimes much longer. Once, not long before they had travelled to the Ring of Doom to hear the Valar’s verdict, Elwë had been trapped in that state for weeks, by the end of which he had been so desperately weak that Mablung had truly feared they would lose him to the Halls once more. But he had pulled through, and though it had taken him a while to recover, he had been back on his feet before too long

“It is good to see him just sleeping peacefully like that, is it not?”

Melian seemed to have followed both his gaze and his trail of thoughts, and Mablung nodded his agreement eagerly.

“I am so glad it was over so soon.” he added.

“I am, too. He has been through enough.”

“Will you two stop talking about me when I am awake?”

Elwë propped himself up on his elbows, stifling a yawn but grinning sleepily all the same.

“Honestly, can an elf not sleep around here without you two whispering about me like I am on my deathbed?”

Mablung shook his head, smiling to himself, choosing to ignore what Elwë truly had said. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to wander some more, to Elwë and their relationship. It would have been so easy, when seeing Elwë sprawled under a tree like this, to pretend that none of the trials of Middle-Earth had ever come upon them, that they had only just come here to the light of Aman from Cuiviénen. He would of course never mention that to either of his companions, knowing that while with some mental gymnastics they could get Melian into this narrative, Lúthien would never have been in that case, and that idea alone would pain them both far too much to be borne. But sometimes, in his very heart of hearts, it was still Mablung’s guilty pleasure to pretend.

“Fool, you!” Melian replied fondly, tucking Mablung back out of his thoughts.

He smiled, watching her cover the distance between them and Elwë dancing and pull her husband up to join her. Mablung did not begrudge them the passionate kiss they shared afterwards in the slightest, for seeing them so in love was still one of the most beautiful things to Mablung, now that he got to be with Elwë perhaps more than ever. Still he rose, tutting about how he was forgotten, which made the other two break apart laughing and pull him into the embrace as well. Mablung laid his head against Elwë’s shoulder, savouring his warmth and returned strength, and closed his eyes in bliss as he felt his husband press a tender kiss to his hairline.

“Do you two know how much I love you both?” Elwë whispered.

“Yes.” answered Mablung, and meant it.

It was Melian who first noticed the Vala approaching and as Mablung was still standing so close to her, he could feel her tense. He and Elwë both turned too, and Mablung felt his blood run cold. Lord Námo very seldom left his halls, so for him to seek them out… Mablung’s body had already decided to act on the impulse and get as close to Elwë as possible before his mind caught up and scolded him for the pointless act- there was no defying the Vala, anyway.

Elwë himself only bowed before the Lord of Mandos, and to Mablung’s great relief Námo inclined his head as well. All could not be so bad then.

“Elwë. Allow me to tell you that I am pleased to see that you are coping well. I admit I doubted it at first.”

“My wife and I were shown great mercy, my lord.”

A smile graced Námo’s grave face as his eyes travelled to the cradle.

“So I have been told by my brother, yes. I am glad for you. But it is for another reason than to inquire about your wellbeing that I came hither, Elwë. As you are aware, I seek to offer a way out of the Halls for all who are able to leave them. The Eldar are not meant to spend their life parted from their bodies after all.”

Elwë nodded but said nothing. Mablung did not like the topic of this conversation at all.

“Your father, Elwë, refused to leave Mandos even when most of those who died at Cuiviénen were long prepared to leave, for he waited ever for your mother. I know that you have guessed, rightly, her fate. There is no healing a soul so maimed, so tortured, there is no undoing Melkor's terrible crime, not even by me. But your mother -quite like you, in fact- is prepared to brave re-embodiment even without having found healing. She has long toiled to get to a position that makes her return possible, and now she was finally ready. Whither your parents’ way shall lead them after, whether they will abide among your brother’s people or with those who died first at the shores of Cuiviénen and now live sundered and secluded from the rest of their kin, I cannot tell you. But for now they are here, and desperate to see you and your brothers. 
Now, I hear that Olwë and Elmo are already on their way here, but until they arrive I think your parents will be very eager to be with their firstborn.”

Elwë swayed where he stood, his face white as death, prompting both Melian and Mablung to support him instantly, and not a moment too soon. They both stroked Elwë’s back consolingly as Námo stepped aside to reveal the two cloaked figures that had been standing behind him, one tightly grasping the arm of the other. Mablung tried to remember Elwë’s parents, but found that he could not, he had simply been too young when they had found their end. But he did remember the waves of grief and shock that had rippled through their camp at their loss.

“I shall leave you now.” Námo said simply, and was gone as silently as he had come.

Elwë’s father Mablung would have recognised by his features that he passed onto all three of his sons, but only as he looked him in the face. He had completely forgotten -or never truly known- that his hair had been a light brown, so very unlike that of his sons. But of course, it had been through their mother’s side that Elwë, Olwë and Elmo had inherited their silver-white hair-colour. Her brother had passed that same colour to Círdan after all.

Elwë’s father had eyes only for his son, and he reached out for him like a dreamer, clasping his hands tightly once he got hold of them. Elwë let himself sink onto one knee, laying his forehead against their still clasped hands.

“Atar.” he mumbled.

The sight gripped Mablung’s heart in an iron fist. He had seen that a couple of times, had seen Maedhros abasing himself before Nerdanel, Fingolfin before Indis and Fingon before Anairë, and he thanked his doom for not having been born into any sort of royalty. This begging for pardon by the eldest son was heart-wrenching to watch.

Elwë’s father did not speak either, but caressed his son’s head lovingly, tears dripping from his face.

“Where are your brothers?” he managed to utter at last.

“They are coming."

“Good. I long to see them. But the time until their arrival belongs to my eldest. You have done me proud, Elwë. In more ways than I can say.”

He pulled Elwë up on their still clenched hands, then laid his arm tenderly around the shoulders of his still hooded wife, carefully pulling back the hood. Mablung managed not to recoil, but just. Her skin was covered in scars, and on the left side of her head she had neither hair nor ear, as if she had forgotten how it felt like to have them when she had rebuild her body. She was still recognisable as an elf and as the beauty she must once have been, but it also took far too little imagination to see her as the creature she had been tortured into.

Mablung felt terribly sick. Had he met her in the Nirnaeth or on the outskirts of Doriath, he would have killed her without a second thought, and believed himself in the right. The thought quite unhinged him for a moment. How many of the orcs he had fought had been like her, with a history and loved ones still around, and who really, really had been put through enough? And worse, for whom there was no true healing even in Mandos, neither for their spirit nor for their body. As it was, Mablung could tell from the way Elwë's mother moved her hands that she was blind, even if her eyes bore no visible marks. Elwë, apparently realising the same, took her hands in his, saying softly:

“I am here.”

“It was granted to your mother to remake her eyes” his father explained quietly “but never again see with them.”

Mablung felt his stomach churn some more at the implication of these words. What terrible torture and mutilations had this girl had to endure? For she was just that, he realised it now as he was finally able to look past her scars. The Quendi had married young by the shores of their awakening, at an age that would in later times be considered the very threshold between childhood and adulthood, and even if there had been a long time between the brith of Olwë and that of Elmo, she had still been so young when she had been snatched from elvish life for good and mutilated into an orc.

And what had this mutilation made her do? Mablung knew that Círdan’s father had been taken as well. Had they kept together in a last, desperate attempt to keep sane, looking out for each other? Or had the wellbeing of the brother only been a way to force her into committing atrocities she would never have thought of otherwise? A terrible, terrible thought came to his mind- had she been among those whom they had fought in the First Battle? Would she have recognised her son? Would she have slain her grandson without the possibility of knowing him, because she had never even truly known his father, her baby boy whom she had had to leave screaming in the woods? Was that why they had blinded her, so she could not? Or had she been put to other, even more dreadful uses?

Mablung would not dwell on such thoughts now, though, for the scene before him was far too beautiful and sad to be distracted by anything while watching. Elwë's mother stood before her son, her fingers feeling here way up his arms and shoulders, with an expression that spoke so clearly of just how much she longed to see him. How much harder would that be when she finally was to meet Elmo? Elwë and Olwë had at least been so close to adulthood that there was little difference between how they had looked then to how they looked now, but Elmo had been only a year old. It broke Mablung's heart to think that she would never have an image in her head of her youngest.

“Come down here, you!” she said with a laugh that sounded so sincere that it humbled Mablung greatly “Honestly, have you never stopped growing?”

Even Elwë laughed at this as he bowed his head obediently to let her fingers roam over his face as well.

“You are scarred too, my child.” she added softly.

She had not touched his chest and even had she done so, she could not have felt the marks through his tunic. She was not, therefore, talking about physical scars.

“I am.” Elwë replied in a voice that was choked with emotion. “I… we lost our children to the fate of Men, true death, that is. My firstborn chose mortality so she could be with her husband, and it was I who drove her into this decision with my pride and ignorance and selfish fear. And my foster-son… well, he was a Man, so I really always knew- only that he parted ways with us in scorn long before his death, and lived through horror after horror before it. I never overcame that, not even in Mandos.”

Elwë’s voice faltered and his mother caressed his hair consolingly, pity and wonder etched onto her scarred face. His father looked no less shaken as he asked, grappling for words:

“So… that girl that plead with Lord Námo to let her have a proper farewell with her husband… she was… our granddaughter?”

Elwë nodded, clearly unable to speak. His father pressed his wife’s shoulder briefly, probably telling her without words what their son had answered in equal silence. A curious look flashed over her face.

“I do not know if that is any comfort to you Elwë, but her song, that is ever sung within the Halls until this day, was what gave me the strength to return. I came to Mandos as a mere shadow, unable and unwilling to harken to anyone, not even your father. But that song stirred something in me, and when at last I was able to grasp the meaning of the words, I thought… I thought that if she loved so deeply that her love gives her such strength, then I would have to find my courage, too. I felt connected to her without having ever known her, without knowing that she was your… oh my poor boy.”

She enclosed him in her arms, and stroked his back like she might have done with a small child.

“I have yet to learn…” she whispered “…about all that has happened, but Lord Námo assured me that I would do so more easily outside of Mandos than within. One thing I have now learned already, and I do not know if that knowledge causes me more joy or grief. But will you not tell me who else is here with us?”

Mablung gulped. Only now that his wife mentioned it did Elwë’s father look around as well. Elwë glanced nervously at Mablung for a moment, then nodded.

“You remember Mablung?” he asked, stretching out his hand to him, and Mablung took it and pressed it.

“He has never left my side if he could help it. And saved me on multiple occasions, and in more ways than I care to explain to you right now. I, ah, think we will leave the explanation of exactly how our relationship works for later, though.” Elwë added as both his parents greeted Mablung.

His father chuckled.

“You would of course not think that we would oppose your bond with another man, would you now? No, even if we left you far too early, you would know us better than that. So I assume there is more to it? As you mentioned you had a daughter?”

Elwë, Melian and Mablung exchanged an uncertain look, and Mablung suddenly felt the most unbefitting urge to burst out laughing. This whole situation was utterly bizarre.

“Quite. This was something permitted by the Valar very recently- that under certain circumstances, we might live with more than one spouse. So I think it is time for you to meet my wonderful wife, Melian.”

Elwë’s father just stared at Melian, his mother, however, frowned.

“You are not an elf. I can… see you. I can see you like... like I used too see before...”

Melian smiled.

“Indeed I am not.”

“How…” Elwë’s father turned to his son in disbelief “… how did you… you married a Maia? How is that even possible?”

Mablung was forcibly reminded of Olwë speaking about Melian in that same way- not really unkindly, but as if she were not there to hear his words. Glancing at Melian, Mablung was relieved to see her roll her eyes a little, but keep smiling nonetheless.

Interesting, thought Mablung. So even Melian is not altogether comfortable with meeting her parents-in-law for the first time. That rather amused him.

Elwë’s mother, clearly far from sharing her husband's disbelief, laughed.

“Ai Elwë, and there I was always thinking you would rather keep a low profile and live a quiet life. Do everything to not stand out. Something like that. Instead you married one of the divine, became a king renowned and now live together with both husband and wife. Interesting. I must say, had I had to guess which of my sons would go on to live such a life, my guess would have been Olwë.”

“I would have lead a very quiet life with Melian, had not my duty called me back to my people.” Elwë answered rather stiffly. “And Olwë did a lot better as king than I, so you would not have guessed so wrong.”

They tried to recount in all brevity the events of their lives together, and Mablung noted how especially Elwë’s mother seemed to take a great liking to her daughter-in-law. And Melian, with the hands of the healer she was, touched her scarred skin and sightless eyes.

“My Lady Estë will surely know how to ease any discomfort you might face. The pain, it... it comes and goes in waves for Elwë, and though I do not know whether it works the same way for all those who are rehoused unhealed, it seems… likely. So if you would want to remain here in Lórien, where you are close to the Lady of Healing, you would surely find relief. And then, you might also get to know your grandchildren. Those we have not yet told you about, those we did not dare to hope we would ever welcome.”

“Before you say it, yes, it is very uncommon for us to beget children again after Mandos, and also yes, Melian is the only of her kind to have borne child. And don't tell me you would never have believed such things of me of all people again, I implore you.” Elwë forestalled, ere either of his parents could speak.

“How, though?” asked his mother, looking riddled.

“I bound myself in an elvish body when I fell in love with Elwë. And I remade that choice forever here in Aman. For all intents and purposes I am an elf, and glad that it is so.”

Melian smiled tentatively at her parents-in-law, and they smiled back. Mablung and Elwë meanwhile went to lift the babies out of their cod.

“These” said Melian, and Mablung felt warm at the pride in her voice “are Hareth and Bregor. We named them after the kin of our son-in-law and foster-son. It is their custom to honour their ancestors by naming their children after them. I know it must sound strange to Elves, but I think our children will already be considered as strange as they can be so the names cannot hurt their reputation further.”

Mablung grinned. Picking the names had required a day of re-drawing family-trees together with Beleg and a lot of do-we-really-do-this’ and would-they-love-us-for-it-or-hate-us’. They had settled on the names of Beren’s grandfather and Túrin’s grandmother in the end.

They settled by the banks of their little brook, and talked and talked while a bright day slowly faded into a velvety evening around them, without them taking much notice of it. Melian held Hareth in her lap, while Mablung cradled a sleeping Bregor, while Elwë lay curled on the ground with his head in his mother's lap. She stroked his hair ceaselessly with the selfsame tenderness that Melian caressed Hareth's with, and Mablung rocked Bregor. It was the same tenderness that Elwë himself displayed night after night when he sang his children to sleep, the same tenderness that had him carry Lúthien to sleep in Ages past, and sit by Túrin's bed when nightmares tormented the boy. Tonight, though, he himself was the child that was being held, while he told his parents of Elmo and Olwë, of his own journey to Valinor with Finwë and Ingwë, of the Great March, of meeting Melian, of their kingdom, of Lúthien. But he wept as he spoke, crying all those tears that he had not allowed himself to spend before.

“I am so sorry you could not see all that for yourself.” he sobbed.

“Oh Elwë... we are sorry we left you. So sorry that we left you to shoulder such responsibility, even if it does make me a little proud of all my boys. You drew together, just like we would have wanted you to.”

“Oh no. I… caring for Elmo was what saved me after you were gone. He is… I love him more than I can say, ever have, ever will. But I failed you. I failed to keep him safe in the end.”

For a moment, Elwë’s parents shared an embrace, silently comforting each other, then his mother again spoke:

“I was always worried about you, do you know that? Every mother is worried the first time around, they say, and perhaps it is true, but I am not so sure. You were always so fragile, from the very start. I only realised after we had Olwë how much a baby usually moves within the womb, or how adventurous they can be, or that they actually eat. I always disliked the idea of having to raise you as the future lord, when you so clearly needed peace and quiet to thrive. But we thought we had time, we thought we had centuries before it was even your father’s turn to take the high seat. We thought you would be allowed to properly grow up, and raise your children before it was your time… and instead we left you to be all at once- a parent to your brothers, a lord to your people. And I am so proud of you. Whatever mistakes you have made, whenever you have acted differently from how I would have wanted you to act, I am still proud of you.”

She raised her head to look also in Mablung and Melian’s direction.

“And I thank you both for looking after my boy, and clearly making him so happy.”

Mablung’s heart wanted to burst inside his chest with the love and happiness he felt as the conversation again turned to Olwë and Elmo and their families. He only half listened, his mind starting to wander to his own family. He wondered how that reunion would go, if they would take the news in their strides or rather just stare at him. Very probably the latter, he thought, for upon consideration the news were just too spectacular. Though his feelings for Elwë had apparently been something of an open secret among Elwë’s closest kin, his own parents and sisters were oblivious- or he thought they were. But anyway, telling them that he not only lived in a bond with his still-very-much-happily-married-to-his-Maia former king but also co-parented his part-maia twins was going to be… interesting. Ha, and then, Elwë would live to get to know his in-laws, too, and see how he liked it. Mablung had to fight back the laugh that wanted to escape him at the thought. None of them would ever let him live that down.

But it seemed that the next year would be one of many reunions and getting-to-knows, and of many many explanations, anyway. They would leave Lórien together with Olwë, would probably endure all the incredulity and whisperings, would perhaps watch the twins take their first steps on the sandy beach of Alqualondë. And then? Mablung knew not where their path would lead them then, but whatever came next, he and Elwë had each other, and Melian, and the children, and their families and friends who would always love and support them.

And for this, Mablung felt that all the hardships of his life had been worthwhile. 

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