The Lands of Weeping and of War by bunn  

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West and East

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They moved north through the misty green hills to the lake, at daybreak, and found a place where grey crags ran down almost to the water. Beyond it a wide green meadow stretched, dappled with running shadows from the small clouds scudding overhead. A small group of startled deer leaped up and fled, startling a flock of ducks that took off in a great cloud of splashing and excited quacking. 

“This will do,” Maglor announced with some satisfaction, dismounting. The stone ran down steeply almost to the water’s edge, it should be possible to close the path behind to prevent pursuit here. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Elrond told him wryly. He was riding with one arm in a sling. “I was starting to think you were serious about three lines of stone walls.”

“One line will have to do,” Maglor said. He looked thoughtfully at Elros. “I’m not very good at this. Want to help?”

“They aren’t following us,” Elros said, with the resigned air of one who knew he had already lost the argument. 

“I’ll help,” Elrond volunteered. 

“You should sit still and not jolt your shoulder,” Maglor said.

“I don’t usually use my shoulder, but my voice,” Elrond said, amused. “But very well. I’ll sit quietly and watch. ” He slipped from the horse and sat down comfortably on the grass, and the hounds settled around his feet. 

Elros sighed extravagantly, in the manner of one much put upon. “What do you want me to do?” he said, sounding so exaggeratedly weary that Elrond began to laugh openly. 

Maglor gave him an amused look and laid a hand on the craggy granite. “Just help me raise the stone a little?” he said, feeling the rough crystalline structure under his hand. 

Elros shrugged, and put his own hand on the rock. Maglor began to hum quietly, feeling his way, reaching out to the connections between the grains in the rock. The stone woke reluctantly, suspiciously. Elros crouched down and spoke to it coaxingly, and Maglor poured golden persuasion into his voice, speaking it to the stone of the years when it had glowed red in Aulë’s hands, had run in great streams through the molten heart of the world. 

The stone stubbornly refused to move. He pressed a little harder, with Elros’s strength behind him, full of light and warm as a summer day. Then they heard on some level far below sound, an obstinate grumbling sound, and then a sort of shudder, as if the stone had pulled all its crystals together and turned its back. 

Elros laughed. “I think it doesn’t like us.”

Maglor smiled ruefully and shook his head. “It doesn’t know us. Ah well.”

Elros raised an eyebrow. “No,” Maglor said to the implicit question. “Neither of us is a stoneworker, and if we try to force the issue neither of us will be good for anything. This is granite, we have no tools and it has been very clear that it does not wish to move. Even my mother would struggle, probably.”

“You’ll have to endure riding on without walls behind you,” Elrond suggested, smiling. He seemed to have got over his unpleasant experience remarkably quickly, but then, Elrond was very young, and far too familiar with war and woe. 

Maglor shook his head. “I would prefer walls of stone, but I will settle for a wall of words, of light and air. Words, at least, I am reasonably confident I can master. ” He took up the harp. 

****

To the South, running from the lake up into the crags of the hills high above, stood a wall tall and terrible, lined with massive towers above which the stars of the House of Fëanor flew on a ground of gold and green. Elves in armour moved here and there upon the great battlements. 

“They don’t have faces,” Elrond pointed out, from the spot where he was still sitting, rubbing Húnlócon’s ears idly. 

Maglor stood below the wall, frowning up at it. “They’re a long way up. Even Elves would probably see the helms and not look more closely. As long as they last for a few days, I’d say that’s good enough.”

Elros pressed his lips together and shook his head reprovingly. “If you are going to do a task...” he began.

“... you might as well do it properly!” Elrond finished the sentence for him. He did not manage the stern expression as convincingly as Elros; you could see he was still laughing underneath. He chanted a few swift fluid words, half under his breath, and suddenly every one of the elves upon the battlements had Maglor’s face, and was frowning down at him. 

“I should have left both of you for the orcs!” Maglor said and laughed, and for a moment was not thinking at all about his brothers or his father or his Oath, or about all the reasons that his hand was scarred. 

“Too late for that,” Elros said, flinging a cheerful arm around his shoulder. “You realise that you’ve missed another chance to get rid of Elrond now?” 

“Alas! Do you think those Men would have given me a good price for him?”

“Probably not,” Elrond said, and gave him a smile that shone like the stars. “I’m somewhat damaged. You should have sold Elros instead. Speaking of which, didn’t someone say they were going to take another look at this shoulder of mine?”

“We were,” Elros said. “Let’s go a little way along the lake-shore and make our camp among those willows. If your shoulder proves more cooperative than the rock, we’ll have time for a hunt along the lakeshore later. I’ve taken a fancy to have duck for dinner.”

****

Fire flickering under the willow trees beside the lake, sending bright glints of reflection out across the water. They had more or less mended Elrond’s shoulder, and Elros had shot a fat duck that was now roasting over the fire. Maglor had collected blackberries from the brambles that straggled here and there over the rocks along the shore, and Elrond had mixed them with dried fruits and oats from their supplies to make small sweet oatcakes, which he was carefully frying on a small skillet pan over glowing embers.

Maglor put down a final bundle of firewood, and sat down next to him. The sword at his belt caught for a moment on a tree-root, and he glanced down at it and then across at Elrond, and began to unbuckle the belt. 

“Would you prefer to keep that until we get back to Lindon?” Elrond asked him. 

Maglor pulled the belt off, and frowned. “It’s yours.” 

“Well, yes. But... well, you look happier with it. You were the one who said we might meet enemies. I was overconfident, and insisted you come without weapons, then found myself in trouble and had to be pulled out of it like a hapless puppy.” Elros made a sound of amusement.

Maglor began to reply lightly, then thought better of it. He turned the sword in his hand to look at it on both sides: the fine leather sheath, the hilt that had been made to fit Elrond’s hand when he had first been old enough to face battle, finely worked with runes of strength and guard. “I hope I am not happier for the sword,” he said at last. “The hands that gave it to me, with no fear of treason, though, yes. That and a deed to do. It seems just possible for the first time in a long time that I am not entirely without any good purpose. Perhaps even that I may not be doomed to an evil end to everything I do. But you are not a puppy. You are as able with the sword as I am, and a good deal more likely to use it wisely. I’ll fight for you if you command it, Elrond, but unless you do, I will keep to Gil-galad’s law.” 

He held the sword out hilt-first to Elrond, who nodded seriously, and took it from him. 

Elros smiled in the firelight. He said nothing, but his mind reached out to both of them, lazily affectionate, and Elrond reached out too, no words between them needed or wanted. Maglor hesitated, then let his mind open enough to meet their touch, as he might have done with Caranthir, or to Ambarussa long ago. 

It was a wonder that either Elros or Elrond should wish to open their minds to him like that, but he was not going to question it. 

****

They camped among the willows by the wide shores of Lake Nenuial for seven days, hunted duck along the wind-swept shores, and began to teach the two younger horses how to leap and strike out with their hooves on command. 

“After all,” Elrond said, as the gentle morning wind stirred the silver lake-water and the long grass of the shore into ripples, “At the very least, it looks spectacular, a horse that leaps and dances on her hind legs. And you never know, it might come in handy.” 

Táli, standing next to Maglor, snorted emphatically at that and stamped, very pleased to be the centre of attention. 

“I hope not, in the Isle of Gift,” Elros said, one hand on the stiff crest of his own horse’s neck. “But for you, it might be useful.” He frowned. “I hadn’t thought we might be leaving you and Gil-galad in danger.”

“Hardly that. Morgoth is gone. Lindon is rising both fair and strong, and— well. Look at all this!” Elrond turned and waved grandly at the wide waters of the lake, the hills fading from golden green into distant purple in the north, and the slender willows of the lakeshore, their leaves changing from summer-green to autumn-yellow reflected shining in the rippled water. “All the wide lands of Middle-earth... To me, it’s worth a little risk. More than that: don’t you think the hills and meadows are a little brighter in the sun, knowing that somewhere in the north there might still be a dragon or two hidden in the mountains?”

“Not really,” Elros said, and laughed. “I shall generously leave any remaining dragons, orcs or giant spiders to you, and I wish you joy of them!”

“Thus shall beauty not conceived before be brought into Eä, and evil yet be good to have been,” Maglor quoted. “So the All-father said to the Ainur before the world was made — or so they say. I am not so sure about that myself, but no doubt it’s all a matter of perspective. ”

“Dragons and great deeds make for fine songs,” Elrond said, smiling and young with the light upon his hair. He did not in any way look like Fëanor, fierce and desperate in the starlight after Alqualondë, crying defiance and foretelling songs of great deeds in the face of the Doom of Mandos. 

“So too will the founding of a land of peace for Men, in the middle of the great Sea. I doubt either of you will escape your deeds being remembered in song.” Maglor pulled himself up onto Táli’s back, to distract both Elrond and himself. “These two horses are fine hunters, and they’ll fight for you if they know how, but at the moment, they only know how to quarrel with other horses. So, we need to show them how best to fight an opponent on the ground, and teach them to wait for the rider’s command to strike...” 

Táli soon tired of showing off her paces and retreated to the long grass of the lakeshore to graze, leaving the two younger horses to leap and cavort as the Elves coaxed them. 

The days ran past, and the warm autumn-golden land was turning day by day to mist and dew. The morning chill whispered of winter. 

It was time to return to Lindon. Elros had subjects to attend to and judgements to make, Elrond had his duties in Mithlond as Gil-galad’s herald and counsellor. 

Even Maglor should probably speak with the people who had chosen to give their allegiance to him, and also to Celebrimbor. Strange, Maglor thought as he rode west, following Elros, to have young Celebrimbor as head of the House of Fëanor, but he would probably get used to it eventually. Celebrimbor certainly looked the part at any rate, far more than Maglor had ever done. 

Return to Lindon

They came down at last from the foothills of the Ered Luin on an afternoon of wind and clouds that fled across the skies, singing as they rode, and came through the green turf-wall of Mithlond into the city, to be greeted at the stables with the news that Gil-galad was away in Forlond with Círdan, and that Celebrimbor, who was ostensibly in charge of the city in the absence of the King, had retreated to his workshop with Galadriel, who had come to visit him. They were working on some project together, and should not be interrupted unless in dire emergency.

“With Galadriel?” Maglor asked, surprised, as they walked back to Elrond’s quarters. 

“They have been working together now and again since the war ended,” Elrond said, “I thought Galadriel was also known for her craft in Aman. Didn’t she study with Aulë?”

“She did,” Maglor agreed, “And it’s true she is a smith and maker; she used to work with crystal and silver in Aman. But I’m a little surprised to find her visiting Tyelpë. Celebrimbor, I should say. Galadriel, of all our cousins, was most furious about the burning of the ships at Losgar. Curufin had a theory that was one reason she went to Doriath. If she’d stayed in Hithlum or gone to Dorthonion or Nargothrond with her brothers, she might have had to be civil to us. No risk of that in Doriath.”

“Well, she gets on well enough with Celebrimbor, whenever I’ve seen them together,” Elrond said. “Eönwë summoned them together to tell them they were under the Ban of the Valar still, leaders of the rebellion who would not be permitted to return. Not that either of them were keen to beg for pardon and go into the West. I understand they said so very firmly.”

Maglor raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Did you hear what they said?” 

“Sadly, no,” Elros told him laughing. “It was a private audience.But we did hear about it afterwards of course — from both sides. Galadriel’s account is by far the funniest.”

“I shall have to make do with Celebrimbor’s I suspect.”

Elrond glanced at him and then away west along a long avenue of newly-planted trees, to the Firth of Lune and the distant sea. “It must be a long time since you’ve talked to her,” he said. “People do change.”

Maglor thought about that. “It’s true, I haven’t seen her since the early days in Hithlum. I’m hardly the same person that I was then, and nor is Celebrimbor.”

“It’s a new Age of the world,” Elros said. “So the lord Ingwion declared, before he returned into the West.”

“Did he?” Maglor asked “It’s starting better than the last one, I’ll give it that.”

They made their way up into the hall, where they found several of Elrond’s people, men and Elves, who had been taking their ease and rolling dice. They called out greetings, and two Elves came forward with messages that had been sent to Mithlond for Elros. Elros looked at the letters and shrugged. “Five. It could be worse. And only two are marked ‘urgent’.” 

“We spoke with the messenger,” Neldorel, said in Doriath-accented Sindarin, without meeting his eyes. “He thought the urgency not as great as the senders made it.” 

Beside her, her friend, Tanien, nodded silently but emphatically. Tanien rarely spoke. She had been captured during the fall of Gondolin. The orcs had taken her tongue later, in Angband, when, counting on the value of her skill as a smith, she had spoken to demand better treatment for the newly-captured Doriathrim. She had been right that they would not kill her, but not that she had nothing left to lose.  Tanien could still sing wordlessly, but she could not form words.

Friendships among Morgoth’s slaves were often uneasy, troubled by fear of betrayal and the watching shadow of the Enemy’s mind, but Tanien and Neldorel had been in Angband for less time than many, and only at the end when the Enemy’s power was invested in his armies and his war. 

Neldorel had appointed herself to be her friend’s voice, and together they had survived. 

In the time that Maglor had been riding with Elros and Elrond, he had turned over the problem of a missing tongue in his mind, and spoken of it with Elrond. He was almost sure that he could make something that would allow all the usual sounds to be pronounced with an acceptable degree of fluency. Elrond was planning to make a discreet enquiry whether such a thing might be welcomed, but this was not the moment for that just yet.

Elros looked at the wax seals on the letters. “Hmm. One from Sapthêth and one from Gwerendir,” he said. “When did these arrive?”

“Six... no, seven days ago now, both of them.” 

“And nothing since. Well, urgent or not, they have waited seven days already, and if they were announcing Morgoth himself returned, there would be nothing I could do about it today. They can wait for tomorrow, and for me to have a bath and a night’s sleep in a real bed.” Elros said and handed them firmly to Tanien. She gave him one of her rare smiles, and put the letters carefully away in the wide pocket of her sleeve. 

 

“A bath sounds an excellent idea to me,” Elrond began, but he was interrupted by Hundor, his young armour-bearer. 

“My lord,” young Hundor said urgently. “May I speak with you?” 

“Of course,” Elrond said, looking a little surprised. “What do you need, Hundor?” 

Hundor took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and looked Elrond right in the eye. “I want to leave your service.”

Elrond blinked, surprised. 

“Hundor!” Halfdan exclaimed angrily. “Please don’t pay any attention to him, Elrond, he has got some absurd idea into his head. He’ll be over it in a few days and onto the next thing.” 

“I won’t,” Hundor said, giving his father a resentful look over his shoulder. “And nor will the rest of us. This isn’t going away.”

“The rest of us?” Elros enquired, eyebrows raised. 

“Some of the young folk, my lords,” Halfdan said. He gave his son an exasperated look. “They’ve come up with some foolish plan to move back east, back to where Men came from hundreds of years ago.”

Hundor frowned. “Not all the way back east - only across the Baranduin, into the wide lands beyond... I wasn’t... I mean, that wasn’t what I was going to say.” His round face was marked with a deep serious frown. “I planned to talk to you about leaving your service first, but I couldn’t catch you alone, and then you went away, and time is moving on, so...” 

“I’ve been a little busy lately, I know,” Elrond said apologetically. “Tell me about it now, Hundor. Halfdan, I can see you have a lot to say about this, but let me talk to Hundor about it first.”

“He’s my son! And he does not have my permission for this!”

“He is of age,” Elrond said sympathetically.

“He’s eighteen, and he’s an idiot!” 

“He’s eighteen, and your son, so he is surely not an idiot,” Elrond said. “Halfdan, please.”

Halfdan let out a great explosive breath, nodded curtly and stalked out, closing the door of the hall behind him just a little too emphatically. Several of the other men looked around, exchanged a look with Elrond and then left after him. 

“So you plan to go east.” Elrond sat down on one of the rough wooden stools that were going to be replaced with proper furniture as soon as there was time to make some, and gestured to Hundor and the others to do the same. “Not west with my brother to the Land of Gift?”

Hundor shook his head decisively. “The ships are not yet built, and the word is that they will not be ready to set off for another twenty years. And even then, there won’t be room for everyone. I want to start my life, not waste it waiting! And... Elrond, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be anyone’s servant. I want land of my own, to farm on my own terms.” 

“That seems fair enough,” Elrond said. “You can leave my service whenever you want, of course. But Hundor, I’ve known you all your life. Forgive me if I am a little concerned that you want to do this in such a hurry, without your father’s consent. What does your mother think?”

Hundor sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “She thinks I should stay safely in Lindon, of course, and serve you like my father does. She thinks I should be grateful to be your armour-bearer. I know it’s supposed to be an honour. But, Elrond, the war ended years ago! You don’t wear armour any more! Nobody does! It sits there in the armory with your shield, and it doesn’t even rust!” 

Elrond laughed. “I suppose it does.”

“Guarding him is the only duty I’ve had except for bringing drinks in months,” Hundor jerked his chin at Maglor, who had taken a seat by a window while Elrond dealt with this. “And he doesn’t seem to want to run away.”

Maglor raised his eyebrows and gave Elrond a deliberately amused look. 

“You were supposed to be acting as his bodyguard,” Elrond said, looking somewhat exasperated in his turn. “Not...that. I thought you’d enjoy the peace. I would have done, at your age.”

“You’ve got forever. We haven’t.”

“If what you want is land and more to do, there’s no need to leave Lindon for it,” Elrond suggested. 

“There is,” Hundor said adamantly. “We don’t want to live among the Elves. We want to live our own lives and make our own choices.” He shot another sideways look at Maglor. “And I know what you said about him, but my grandfather’s brothers died at the Havens of Sirion, and it’s not as if they were the only ones.”

“The High King of the Noldor judged our foster-father Maglor to be among those released from the Enemy’s hand,” Elros said from his place beside his brother, a faint warning note in his voice.

“Hm.” Hundor pursed his lips.

“You disagree?” Elrond asked seriously. “Speak freely.”

“Shall I leave?” Maglor offered. 

“No,” Elros said, and the warning note was sharper now. “Stay. Otherwise we’ll only have to tell you about it later.” 

“You’ve been a friend to my family, Elrond,” Hundor said, belatedly cautious. “I don’t want to cause trouble.” Elrond met his brother’s eyes for a moment, and Elros nodded abruptly and leaned back a little. 

Elrond gave Hundor a wry smile. “Your father and I have been friends for over thirty years. I am not going to hold anything you say against him, or you for that matter. I’d like to hear it. None of us will take offence.”

Hundor took a deep breath. “All right then. I don’t see why the High King of the Noldor should be making judgements about someone who attacked my people. We aren’t Noldor, or elves. Our lives are short enough!”

Elrond looked unhappily at his brother. 

“We aren’t Noldor, or elves,” Elros said seriously. “But Maglor is. It is for his own king to judge him, as it would be for me and my counsellors to judge, if it were you.”

Hundor said, speaking very fast.“But you aren’t a Man either. You’re nearly seventy, but you don’t have a white hair on your head!” He stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and bright as if he had surprised himself.

“Ah,” Elros said, and smiled. “I see your point. That is one of many reasons that I have counsellors and advisors of all three Houses of the Edain, Hundor. I shall die as you will, but it is true that it will not come so soon for me, for I am half-Elven and I am of the Children of Lúthien, and I shall have life beyond the measure of mortal Men. If that is something you cannot endure in your king, then I see why you wish to go east.” 

“Are you going to try to stop us? You can’t,” Hundor said, his voice sharp and cracking a little with defiance. 

Elros shook his head. “A king is he who can hold his own, or else his title is in vain,” he said. “I have no need to cling on to those who wish for other lords, or for no lords at all, Hundor. Even if I could.”

“Good.” Hundor said seriously. “We would leave anyway, whether you objected or not, but I’d rather not leave on bad terms.” 

“You do realise that your parents will expect me to try to talk you out of this?” Elrond asked, his face rueful. 

Hundor lifted his head proudly. “You can’t. I’m going. I’ve been thinking about this for three years.” 

Elrond frowned. “Since before you came to serve me?” 

“That was my father’s idea, not mine.” Hundor said, his round freckled face stern and serious under his yellow hair. “But that was when I really thought about it. I, mortal, come to serve an Elf. In six hundred years, you could have had twenty of our family serve you, father and son, and what would make any one of us different from the last? And you wouldn’t change at all.”

“Not to look at,no,” Elrond agreed. “That’s the path I chose: to stay, to watch, to remember.” He glanced over at Maglor. “Though I expect I shall change. Elves still do that.”

Hundor shrugged. “But we don’t get a choice. We can’t stay, and we don’t remember, not the way that you do. But I can do something. Something new, something different, something that isn’t what my father did! That’s the choice I want.”

“Yes,” Elros said, looking thoughtfully at Hundor now, with an expression that suggested that rather against his own wishes, he was impressed. “That’s the choice I wanted, too.” 

“It’s nothing personal,” Hundor told Elrond, rather hastily. “It’s not that... I mean. It’s not that I don’t like Elves. But you’re all older and know things we don’t, and see further, hear more and never get old. It feels so pointless living here with you! We can’t compete.”

“I hadn’t thought that competing was something any of us would need to do,” Elrond said sadly. 

“That’s because you’re automatically the best at everything!” 

Elrond sighed. “Not quite everything. But it must be infuriating, I can see that. Have you thought about supplies? There’s a reason that Elros is not hurrying to the Isle of Gift: apart from the ships, there’s need for provisions, supplies for building, weaving, fishing, breeding stock of cattle, sheep and horses.”

Hundor frowned. “I know,” he said. “And it’s true, we don’t have much put by. But our ancestors came across Eriador, and it’s good rich land. I thought we could probably hunt and forage to begin with.”

“How many of you?” Elrond asked seriously. “And who leads this expedition?”

“About two thousand at the moment,” Hundor said. “But I expect more will join once they see what we have done. We’re not going to have a leader. We’ll have a ... a thing where everyone can speak.”

“It sounds a nice idea,” Elros said a little wistfully. “I hope it works. But two thousand? That’s a lot of people to support by hunting, particularly once they start having children. But not very many to defend yourselves from attack.” 

“You think we’d be attacked?” Hundor looked honestly surprised. 

“The Men who served the Enemy did not all die or vanish,” Elrond said with a grimace. “Some of them fled East. You may well find some of them there ahead of you, I’m afraid.” 

“They took Elrond prisoner and tried to carry him off as a slave,” Maglor put in briefly. Hundor stared at him, and then at Elrond as if he could not believe his ears. Tanien and Neldorel gave up their rather weak pretence of not listening, and turned to look at Elrond in alarm. 

Elrond gave Maglor a look of amusement. “No need to spare my blushes, Maglor. I fell down a hole, hit my head and my shoulder, and Maglor had to rescue me. It wasn’t my finest hour. But yes. There are Men East of the Mountains who were allies of Morgoth.” 

“Are you trying to put me off the idea by saying it’s dangerous?” Hundor said warily. 

“No. I know you better than that. I’m just telling you something that you might need to know,” Elrond said diplomatically. “We saw no town or city: from what we saw of them, they were passing through. We did not see anywhere near two thousand of them. But still, they would not make the best neighbours, and it’s likely that they have friends and allies. Though, of course, you may find allies there too. You know that some of the people of Bór still live East of the mountains, near the ruins of Belegost.”

“I know about them,” Hundor said quickly. “I went there once with a message, and we have been in touch with them since. We are going further east and south, but we plan to trade with them, once we have something to trade.” 

Elrond nodded “There are a couple of fishing settlements further down the coast where the people are kin to the Haladin, or so we think from their speech. They know the eastern lands better than we do here in Lindon. Have any of your people spoken with them?”

“I don’t think so,” Hundor shook his head, and then paused and reluctantly admitted “It’s a good idea though.” 

Elros narrowed his grey eyes. “You say there is no leader of this expedition. But this is not the kind of thing that comes to two thousand people all at once. Who thought of it? Who makes the plans?” 

“There are several of us,” Hundor said with determination. “But the idea was mine, and I made the maps.”

“Yours? At eighteen?” Maglor smothered a laugh, remembering how Elros had set off to take command of the Edain; seventeen years old and quite undaunted. Elros looked across the room at him and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He turned back to Hundor. “I’m sorry Hundor, that was unfair of me. You are of age.” 

Elrond made a face. “Your mother is going to kill me. But if you are going to do this... I’ll see what I can find in terms of supplies. You can’t just walk out there with bows and expect to feed yourselves indefinitely. We are supported here in Lindon by Círdan’s fishing fleet and the new Sindarin orchards in the hills. Once the towns are fully established, they will produce smithwork, pottery and weaving, and so there will be a balance, so the King intends. But if you are taking any number of people with you, relying entirely on hunting will be painfully unreliable.”

Maglor said; “When your ancestors came across the mountains, they came driving their herds with them. Their wealth was in animals on the hoof.”

“That’s a thought,” Elrond said, looking speculatively at his brother. “There will be limited space on the ships for cattle, after all. Perhaps...” 

Elros sighed and shook his head. “And now he hurries me out of the door!” he said and laughed. “We are raising cattle to feed ourselves while we are still in Lindon, Elrond. You can’t have all of them! But... very well; I will see what can be spared. We aren’t likely to starve, with Círdan’s fishing fleet and the aid of Ulmo. Hundor, we should go through your plans in detail, you and your friends who have planned this great adventure. Perhaps with Gil-galad too... though I’d ask you to keep your opinions about his judgements tactfully to yourself.” 

Hundor nodded confidently, as if making plans with kings was something that he did every day. 

“Right. And now I suppose I had best talk to your father,” Elrond said and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “He’s not going to like this.”

“He thinks I’m still a child,” Hundor said, frowning. “But I’m not.”

“No.”

“He won’t discuss it reasonably! He just shouts. I don’t want to just leave and not say a proper farewell, but...” 

“He’s had a hard lifetime of war,” Elrond said. “And he loves you. It makes it hard to see that you are grown and ready to take your own path. I’ll speak with him. He’ll come around.”

“Will he? He’s very angry.”

“Well, I can’t guarantee it. But honestly, I think he will. He’s a reasonable man. Let me talk to him, and your mother, too.”

Hundor smiled, a shy, hopeful smile that made his face look quite different to the defiant look earlier. “Thanks, Elrond.” He hesitated. “Can I ask a personal favour?” he asked. 

Elrond laughed. “I think you were supposed to do that before you declared yourself proudly independent of lord and service! I’ve known you since you were a baby, Hundor. Of course you can. What is it?”

Hundor suddenly blushed very dark and looked down, shading blue eyes with long lashes. “Would you speak to Banwen’s father, too? Malach son of Mathol. He lives in the camp by Harlond.”

“Banwen? Ah. I take it that her father doesn’t approve of your plans, then?” 

“He thinks she should wait for the ships and go into the west,” Hundor said unhappily. “And... and he has another man in mind for her. He’s older than me and... He slapped her backside and said she had good hips for babies. She doesn’t like him. I don’t like him either. Malach said she’d grow out of it and see sense.”

Elrond looked at his brother meaningfully. “Elros?” 

Elros sighed. “Not again! I’ll have someone speak with the lady — in private — and find out what she wants. She shall have her own preference. I will not have any woman marry except by choice among my people, nor will I have anyone sail to the Land of Gift who does not want to go.” 

“I’ll talk to her and her father, if you’ll authorise it,” Elrond offered. “It’s your camp.”

“Better not. You chose the Elves and all Lindon knows it. It’s one thing for you to talk to Halfdan who is one of your own people, but I can’t have you walking into my camp and telling the Edain what to do about their daughters.”

Elrond nodded. “Fair enough. Hundor, I cannot help you with this, because this is a matter for Men. I assume you will agree with that. But Elros will.”

“I must take ship for Harlond tomorrow,” Elros said. “I’ve been away too long. And Gil-galad is not here at the moment anyway. But I assume, Hundor, that you did not intend to set out into the wilds with winter coming on.”

Hundor shook his head. “We plan to leave in spring. That will give us the summer to set up farms and houses before the winter. We’re planning to send out a small group of scouts first though. I’m going as one of them, that way we can have guides that know the country and a better idea of where we’re going. ” 

“Very well then. I will make arrangements with the High King, and we shall meet to speak of this at the next new moon.” Elros looked at Elrond and asked rather plaintively, “Are you really going to insist on talking to Halfdan before we even have a bath? I’ve been looking forward to a bath all day!” 

“And perhaps a cup of wine,” Maglor put in. 

Elrond scrubbed both hands down his face, and then laughed. “I’m sure Halfdan will forgive a short delay,” he said. “Hundor... No. Arachon!” He waved to Arachon, who had been sitting quietly in one of the window seats all this time, writing. “Would you find Halfdan, and invite him and Amdiriel to dinner? Perhaps you and your mother would like to join us.”

“I’m sure she’ll want to come,” Arachon said and grinned. “A chance to hear the gossip at the source. But I’ll find Halfdan first, while you’re at the bath-houses. Sounds like he could use a cup of wine with a friend, too.”