Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

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Part Two- Made Whole

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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.