The Tale of Melilaurë and Mélaurel by Iavalir

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Part One

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The rays of Laurelin grew blurry in the vision of Maglor son of Fëanor as he held tight to his music mentor. When they parted the tears were wiped clean from his pink cheeks by the soft, gentle hand which taught him all he knew of harping.

“Weep not, my greatest pupil,” Elemmírë said. “We shall meet in happier times.”

“I see not how this will be possible,” Maglor said. “My father strictly forbade the relationship with any whom he deems will hinder our reputation further in the eyes of all in Valinor.”

“It is true the recent events are still fresh in their minds, but they will warm to your father again,” Elemmírë said. “In the meantime, go to your father and obey him. You must remain with your family, for you need each other’s support.”

Maglor sighed and glanced out to where his father stood waiting for him. It was not fair, he thought, to break his friendship with his former instructor simply due an element Elemmírë had no control over. He had half a mind to go and beg his father of this one mercy, unashamed how pitiful he may appear, but in that moment he saw Fëanor dismount his steed as though he could read Maglor’s thoughts. He approached them.

“I thank you again for all you have done in teaching Makalaurë,” Fëanor said to Elemmírë. “I know I have chosen a great mentor to instruct my gifted son. You have brought out his greatest strengths and I thank you for all you have done.” They bowed to each other before Fëanor turned to Maglor. “Makalaurë, come. Let us not tarry. There is much work to be done.”

But Maglor could not keep his eyes off Elemmírë, who had become closer to him than many of his kin. Sensing the agony inside him, Elemmírë took Maglor’s hand and said gently, “Go with your father Lord Fëanáro, my pupil. May the Two Trees light your future.” And finding no means to argue, Maglor nodded, embracing Elemmírë once more before leaving without looking back.

“Lord Elemmírë, he has really become close to you,” Fëanor said as they marched back to their party.

“Lady Elemmírë,” Maglor corrected. “And yes. She is like kin to me.” He sighed again. There was no word that could be used when referring to one like Elemmírë, an elf born with a body of both quendi and quendu. To most they referred to Elemmírë as a male and a Lord, though the minstrel and loremaster had requested a few times before to be considered as a woman. It was this very confusion, being perhaps the only one among the Eldar with this condition, that lead Fëanor to forbade Maglor to ever see her. Though her music was among the most beautiful to behold, for it filled the skies of the land with cheer and hope, a few regarded her with suspicion for her unique body.

“I will not forbid you completely from seeing him - her,” Fëanor said, breaking through Maglor’s thoughts. “You must understand where our reputation stands. Any connections with this sort will only inflame more the prejudice our family currently is faced against.”

“How vile it must be to judge one for their exterior,” Maglor said, “when inside Elemmírë is one of the most beautiful elves I have ever met.”

Smiling sadly, Fëanor patted his back and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I understand your pain, my son. I assure you, this period will not last. All is not lost with this new life. You are permitted to visit Artafinde if it will please you.”

* * *

The party traveled for many turnings of the Trees.

Formenos stood high upon the hill, its dark stone walls a black mountain among the greenery. Maglor stared in shock and revulsion. The very structure gave the sense of uninviteidness.

“And my home I left behind was all for this,” he said. “This is truly what my brothers and my father’s men built for us?”

Feanor pulled next to Maglor. “The sight of our new home does not please you, my son.”

“Aye, Father. I am sorry.”

Feanor smiled. “Judge not by the exterior. Is that not what you have told me before? This is now your home, and I am certain you will find a new joy within.”

Though hurt and upset that his father would use his own words against him, Maglor kept silent and chose not to pursue the matter further. Around him were similar looks for some, those who too shared his displease at their new home. But some showed interest and eagerness for the new life. Among this group were Amrod and Amras, the youngest brothers of Maglor. They regarded the stronghold with eyes large and teeming with excitement. They knew little of the reason which brought them here, and they along with their nephew Celebrimbor were the youngest to come to Formenos.

“To be cast away in this foreboding place,” Maglor thought to himself. “No child should be permitted in such a home.” Fëanor regarded him.

“There is no danger here, my son,” Fëanor said. “Never would I bring my beloved family into danger. This land was chosen for its distance from the other lands, yet there is nothing here which to bother us.” He sighed. “I have troubled everyone for long enough. I wish for nothing but peace for my family, and for you as well. Write to Artafinde, for I know you will miss your cousin greatly when you find yourself alone without chance to see him with your music mentor.”

Maglor nodded and thanked his father, but the words did little to ease the ill in his stomach.

* * *

Three tall stories was the stronghold built, and as wide as it was tall. Half was still bare and to be built, massive halls to be furnished, but there was enough completed to accommodate the family of Fëanor as well as a large portion of the Noldor who followed him. Maglor led his servants to the quarters that would be his new home. The living area for his servants comprised of two rooms for the men and women to sleep in, a washroom, a kitchen, and in the middle a medium-sized hall to be used by Maglor’s servants and himself. All this was barricaded from Maglor’s rooms by a double door; he only needed to walk three paces before entering another set of doors that led to his private rooms. The first in which he stepped in was a hall for guests and family. Maglor assumed it was also meant to be a dining room, for the cabinets about were appropriately sized for storing his food.

Around this hall branched out about three other rooms: one to be his bedroom, a washroom, and another that Maglor could only guess would serve as his music room.

“They built this well,” Maglor thought as he studied the music room. It was large enough to accommodate all of his instruments, and with a smile he noted the music stands already about as a little gift from Caranthir and Curufin. Lining the top of the walls, extending out throughout Maglor’s private rooms, were words of the song written in their tongue, artistically calligraphed with a steady hand in a tone of midnight blue. Vines of leaves spun about the letters, creating a beautiful effect that brought a smile to Maglor.

This room was meant for him, and Maglor was pleased with the work. But the only complaint he had was for the lack of windows. His own room and the music room and hall were thin strips to let in some of the light, but Maglor hardly considered that enough. He should not complain, he knew, for his brothers weren’t aware of what inspires him.

“But if I had some say, there would also be a balcony for which I can sit out all day and write my music,” Maglor thought. “But there is none in this place, much unlike our old home in Tírion. But I supposed this will do, and much consideration was already given to provide me with a place to comfortably call my home.”

He directed his servants where to place his belongings, and he took the time to fill his cabinets with his personal rations, and in his room his clothes. Each of his brothers visited him throughout the day to admire his new room, and he to their rooms when he had need for a break.

When the servants were finished, they left to prepare dinner for themselves. Maglor would not be dining with them on the special occasion of the first day. He made certain his servants were doing well before venturing into the heart of Formenos. There with his family he ate in the magnificent halls of his grandfather the exiled King Finwë. For what reason did he, a kindly king, choose to place himself in exile rather than continue to serve the Noldor of Tírion.

“Who would choose to come live here?” Maglor wondered as he dipped his spoon into the stew. He watched his grandfather speak with Fëanor in a loud jolly voice, as though this new home was just as cheerful as their former abode. Nerdanel too his mother seemed to have the tension lift that were pressing on her shoulders. For the first time that day she was smiling, even glancing at her husband with eyes full of their old passion.

Maglor smiled. “My father would have done this for us,” he thought, “as I would for him, for my King and grandfather, for my mother, and for my brothers. In the end, there is nothing more powerful than the bond of family.”

After the dinner Maglor stayed with his family for entertainment. The light of Telperion shone through the windows. Maglor played for his family until his hands grew tired; then settling back he watched his family.

“For this one night only, dear Pityo!” he heard Curufin begging the small child. “Surely your bed is big enough for your nephew Telpe?”

“No!” Amrod cried out. “He’ll wet the bed!”

“Really, Pityo?” Celegorm called out, laughing, before turning to Maglor. “Look at our little brother, preventing his elder brother from trying for another child.”

Maglor slapped his arm as his face turned a deep red. “Hush! It is improper to think why Curvo would want the room for himself and his wife!”

But this only made Celegorm laugh harder. “What other reason would there be? I suppose I will take Telpe into my rooms before the poor child has his own room set up. I will make arrangements to keep him with me until that quarter is fully furnished. I have had plenty of experience helping to raise Moryo and Curvo.” They shared a knowing smile. “Come to think of it, where is the babe?”

They soon got their answer, and both guffawed at the scene before them. Amras, singing loudly, was attempting to carry Celebrimbor across the room. Though older Amras was, he was still too small to properly lift his nephew, and the poor child’s feet barely touched the floor. But his cries were that of glee and his arms flailed, enjoying his uncle’s play. Right behind them was a nervous-looking Caranthir, ready to catch the infant in case Amras dropped him. When Curufin became aware of what was happening, he abandoned Amrod and rushed to the two children, screaming out.

“Rare it is to see that elf displaying so much affection openly,” Maedhros said as he approached Maglor and Celegorm. They watched as Curufin grabbed the infant from Amras, holding him close before his wife Lalinyë, a beautiful Noldor with large blazing eyes, slipped by his side, no doubt to question him why he left the infant unintended. None of her questions were laced with anger, but it left the others watching in amusement over Curufin’s seeking to explain himself.

By the time Maglor returned to his quarters, it was to find that his own servants had already retired to their rooms. He settled in his music room, taking the time to get used to being here. Though he was certain his family had taken the time to bless each room, as was the custom of the Eldar, he gave it his own blessing, walking about three times and blessing it with the name of the House of Finwë. Then studying the instruments around, he strummed a few notes, allowing the tune to infiltrate the music room.

“The acoustics here is pleasant for music-making,” Maglor thought. “They at least set this up well for a musician to create.” But there was still something missing, for the sense of being imprisoned was still deeply felt. He studied the slim windows on the top of the room. It was almost useless to have them there, for most of the light emitted from the blue light of his father’s invention.

“But what was done was done,” Maglor reminded himself. “I should learn to live with this atmosphere, no matter how deeply my heart yearns for my old halls in Tírion.” He turned to one of the instruments, a beautiful harp varnished in white gold. A sad smile spread over his face before he sprung into action. Out came a piece of parchment paper and writing quill and ink; and finally settling at his writing desk he composed a letter.

1490 in the Year of the Trees

Dear Finlaurë,

How do you fare my dear cousin? My final farewell to Elemmírë was many days past. We have settled into our new home, and I write to you on the first turn of Telperion here. Formenos is far from what I may call home, but in time I am certain it too will hold a place in my heart. Though I may not see Elemmírë for fear of my father’s reputation, I am permitted to see you. I would much like to do so soon, for I feel I will need some change of scenery as I adjust to my new home.

My servants have left your harp in my music room, where I am currently writing this letter. In my next visit I will bring your harp with me. It has been long, dear friend. I await your response. May the stars and the Two Trees light your path where you walk.

With love, your Linlaurë

Maglor read over his letter a few times over before folding the paper neatly; a few drops of candle wax fell onto the flap of the envelope, and over it came the seal with the symbol of the House of Fëanor. The letter came with Maglor to his room, where it was set beside the bed on the bedside cabinet.

Yawning, Maglor stretched. The work and meal had tired him. Though a dark night had yet to come across Valinor, elves slept as their bodies tired. Each Tree blossomed for seven hours, with the first and the final hour of their light mingled with the blossoming or withering of the other Tree’s light. Elves slept only as their bodies and minds tired.

Maglor drew the curtain over the window and set the Fëanorian light down. The room was not shrouded in pitch darkness but rather dimmed to be as dark as a room could be in Valinor. Maglor could still make out the contours of his room, but it was enough for him to enter sleep. He slipped into his bed, taking in the scent of his pillow that will forever remind him of Tírion, and after a few moments he fell into reverie.

Sometime during his sleep, he was woken by the sensation of a body close to his. He opened his eyes to find a towering figure near him.

“Father, what is the matter?” Maglor asked sleepily, but no reply came from the tall figure. Maglor asked again, but the figure turned and slipped away; but before the figure disappeared beyond the doorway Maglor had already slipped back into sleep.

The following morning Maglor checked his rooms, but there was nothing that Fëanor had left for him. He had a small breakfast with his servants, then afterwards he tied the letter to a carrier dove and sent her off. He turned to his father’s smithy.

The smithy, Maglor thought grimly, was the only structure that perfectly resembled its counterpart in Tírion in its size and appearance. His father and three of his brothers did their work here as well as many of the Noldor who followed Fëanor to Formenos. Here they would continue their work forging the weapons that had them mesmerized since the conception.

Maglor made to enter but then he noticed his father behind him.

“Makalaurë! What a surprise to see you here!” Fëanor said, grinning. Maglor seldom came to the smithy, and it was an ongoing joke that Fëanor wished to claim Maglor as another smith each time he saw him.

“Father, I simply came to ask you what you came to tell me while I slept.”

Fëanor studied Maglor for a moment. “Pardon? I was not in your room, my son.”

Confused, Maglor apologized. “Then I wonder if it was one of my servants,” he said as he watched Amrod and Amras, playing outside, rounding into a corner of the stronghold. “I will have to ask them before I leave for Alqualondë.”

“So soon? You have just unpacked!”

Maglor smiled. “There is something of Finrod’s which I still have,” he said. “I sent him a letter by dove this morning, and I think I would like another trip. I will be leaving by the following day.”

“Then you must get your rest for the journey,” Fëanor said. “You have traveled long, and the road to Alqualondë is very far.”

He embraced Maglor in support and said, “I will miss you, but I understand your desire to see your cousin. May your journey be without pain.”

Returning to his quarters, Maglor’s confusion only grew at the revelation that not one of his servants had come to his bedroom. Forgetting his preparations for the journey, Maglor asked each of his brothers, then his mother if she knew of any who sought to speak with him, but the search was in vain.

“Perhaps your vision was in your dream, as vivid as it was,” Nerdanel said.

Later, as Maglor settled back in bed to rest once more, he kept his mind open to the ongoing inside his room as he slept. The slightest sound drew him awake, though most were noise from the adjacent halls where he servants lived, or of elves walking about outside the stronghold.

His eyes flashed open when he felt tiny hands on him. He jolted up in bed and spun around to see Amras staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Telvo? What is the matter?”

“Can I sleep in your bed?” he asked timidly. “We think there may be a monster in our room. I promise I won’t wet the bed.”

Maglor sighed. “Was Turco telling you two stories? Where is Pityo?”

“He ran to Moryo’s room and shut me out,” Amras said.

“Well, that wasn’t considerate of him,” Maglor said, laughing gently. “Come, little brother.” Amras eagerly slipped under the covers beside Maglor, burying his face in the pillow after mumbling a goodnight. Maglor draped over arm over his brother, smiling to himself, so thankful was he for the presence of Amras with him. “We both need the comfort of another,” he thought, “for this home is haunting us both.”

The search had delayed his journey for a few days. During that time Finrod had sent a reply by dove. Feeling guilty, Maglor set out for his travel.

“So soon?” Maedhros asked him. “It’s been but one week since we settled here!”

“I miss speaking with him,” Maglor said as he secured his bags to his horse.

“Do you tire of the company of your family?”

“You know that is not true!” Maglor said. “I just…need a change, some more loved ones to speak with.”

“I understand,” Maedhros said. “Come soon, for our envy of Artafinde will only grow every day.”

“Indeed, brother,” Curufin said. “Do not give us reason to go there to pry you off his house.”

“You will have your brother back soon!” Maglor said, laughing. “I need time to be away from this place, but I assure you I will return. I feel a need to be there.” He embraced each of them and bade them all a good day before mounting his horse.

* * *

The travel to Alqualondë took a fortnight. To Maglor’s dismay, his father’s words were correct. The journey took longer, and the distance only intensified the feeling of isolation Maglor felt in his heart from this exile. He grew more gloomy throughout the journey, and only at the first signs of the Telerin city did his heart finally lighten.

Finrod waited for him at the gates of his father’s palace. The house of Finarfin was Maglor’s favorite among all the palaces of Valinor. Pearly white were the walls, with large windows and spacious patios that elves could walk freely and hold meetings. Upon seeing his cousin, Maglor could not resist jumping off his horse and rushing into Finrod’s arms, enveloping himself in the arms of a loved one after the long journey.

“Linlaurë!” Finrod cried out, embracing Maglor close to him. “An eternity must have passed since our last visit, by the look on your face! How are you, dear friend?”

“I am exhausted, Finlaurë,” Maglor said. “The journey has been most tiring for myself, but I could not bear remaining in Formenos for long, not after severing ties with Elemmírë.”

“Ah, yes, about that,” Finrod nodded his head sympathetically. “I did have a chance to speak with her once. She gives you her blessings as always.”

Maglor could not suppress a grin. “I am glad to hear that.”

“Well, do you appear tired, cousin! Come inside and rest!” Finrod took his arm and led him up the steps, and as he did so Maglor looked about himself, breathing in the smell of the salty sea and the fresh palm trees that lined the golden beaches of the eastern shore. Though indeed fatigued he was, Maglor was ever glad to be back at Alqualondë.

* * *

Maglor’s body was far too fatigued from his journey to spend time with his cousin right away, so he was led to the room the family of Finarfin had set aside for him. No other guest ever slept here save for Maglor, who was considered part of the family here. Smiling to himself at finding his old rooms tended to for his visit, he unclothed himself and rested for a few hours, and later bathed to revive himself. An array of beautiful robes awaited him on the bed, none of which were robes he had brought with him.

“Had my cousin’s family went through the trouble of buying me more robes?” Maglor thought, touched and a little embarrassed. They always did this for him ever since his first visit when he was but an elfling. Though he was the son of Fëanor and had enough money to afford his own clothes, he still valued the gesture from his relatives, reminding him he was much loved despite his father’s attitude towards the House of Finarfin.

After getting dressed in the lovely robes of sky blue and turquoise, Maglor searched for his cousin, but it did not take long. His arm was yanked by Galadriel, laughing lightly and chattering about everything and nothing at once.

To a large hall she led him where Finrod sat with his family. Finrod ushered for him to sit beside him, which Maglor took after thanking Galadriel for escorting him. He thank Finrod right away for the new robes, which Finrod expectedly waved off as nothing at all.

Finarfin and Eärwen his wife each warmly welcomed Maglor to their home before calling for the servants to bring out their meals.

“It feels as though I have been gone for many years,” Maglor said as he studied the hall. High-roofed it was, with windows that reached to the roof. As everything else of the palace, there were windows at every wall, letting in vivid light which brought the serenity of the land of Valinor. “Just one week in Formenos and I feel I have been imprisoned.”

“In time Formenos will become home to you,” Finrod said.

“And may that day come soon,” Maglor said, “for my heart aches for your city, and for Tírion. Not even the roads which led me here were filled with beauty.”

The servant who set the plate of food down in front of Maglor gave him the warmest smile Maglor had ever seen, and he returned it automatically. He had never seen this servant before; very tall he was, his long golden hair carefully tucked to the back. His smile held all the compassion and love for the world.

“Thank you,” Maglor said, smiling still though he could not understand why. Something about this servant lit a glow inside him, chasing the shadow which Formenos has cast inside him. The servant nodded at Maglor’s words before setting the next plate before Finrod; when he was out of earshot, Finrod leaned into Maglor with an excited glint in his eyes. “He’s a new one for me.”

“In what way do you mean, cousin?”

“My father’s servant he was for a long time, but he was given to me as a traveling companion and servant just a few months ago,” Finrod said. “Elenaurel is his name, son of Ingalaurë my father’s servant.”

“‘The star elf of Valinor’?” Maglor said, smiling, rather enjoying the sound of the servant’s name. He glanced back to get another look at the tall elf, who would come to be known as Gildor Inglorion in tales of Middle-earth. Gildor stood proud among the other servants, his smile long and unyielding to any dark thought, and upon noticing that Maglor was glancing his way he gave him another nod of his head, his golden hair falling graceful off his broad shoulders.

The meal at the House of Finarfin was as delicious as Maglor had always remembered them, spiced to bring out the unique flavor of each fish. Few of his family would enjoy the Telerin meals; Curufin would simply storm out by the smell of fish, which happened to be among Maglor’s favorite food. His love for Telerin cuisines were such that often Finrod teased him, declaring him a brother long lost and raised by the strange House of Fëanor. But the food was just one reason for his enjoyment in coming here. At times he wished he were part of Finrod’s family. Neither pain nor conflict was ever hidden behind their smiles. Their family were not under criticism nor conflict with other elves of Valinor, and neither were they constantly under scrutiny. Though he was too polite to speak the words, Maglor at times envied his cousin for the easy life he led.

When dinner had adjourned and the family had their fill of stories and laughter, Finrod retired to his rooms. Maglor retrieved the item he had brought before joining Finrod.

Gildor was already busy preparing the vicinity for their arrival when the two cousins arrived.

“Thank you, Elenaurel,” Finrod said before taking a seat. Maglor nodded his thanks to Gildor, his eyes lingering on him for a moment, before settling himself on the chair beside Finrod. Satisfied with the elves’ comfort, Gildor stood beside the tall windows that opened to the vast sea beyond.

“So what present do you have for me?” Finrod asked.

Grinning, Maglor pushed the package towards Finrod, who settled it on his lap as best as he could without it sliding off. He ripped the packaging and gave a soft gasp.

“Hello, I remember you,” he muttered as he revealed the harp. “The memories which I associate with this!”

Maglor smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. The days we spent with Elemmírë just harping and singing.”

Finrod turned the harp over in his hands, reacquainting himself with every edge. “And the vacations spent in your old home in Tírion, angering each of your brothers with our constant playing!” Laughing, he shook his head before a frown came on his face. “How I wished I could have remained with you as a student under Elemmírë’s guidance, but as the eldest son my destiny was already sealed to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

“And that is why I am thankful for Maitimo,” Maglor said. “I know not how I would have managed if my entire days were to spend working alongside the King of the Noldor as his squire, though I am certain it is not completely horrible. I would just miss my music.”

“It isn’t too bad,” Finrod said. “You know how fun our grandfather can be.” They shared a smile. “But paperwork and politics would have sent you mad early on.”

Laughing, he plucked a few strings from his harp. Maglor glanced around and noticed Gildor studying the harp with adoration.

“Do you play, Elenaurel?” Maglor asked.

Gildor glanced at him rather shyly before speaking. “At times, yes I do.”

“At times, he says,” Finrod laughed. “Why do you stand there? A friend you are to me and deserve a seat beside me as my equal! Come here and show my cousin the songs you entertain me with!”

Gildor bowed and made his way to one of the vacant chairs. “I must apologize, for I am not the most talented of singers.”

“Rubbish! Just play one of your favorite songs to us.”

Maglor watched them as Finrod handed over his harp. Gildor fiddled with the harp for a moment, allowing his large hands sliding across the golden surface, feeling each inch of the elegant instrument. He plucked a couple times, took a moment to readjust the tightness of a few strings, then rested back.

Gildor’s singing filled the room; his voice joyous and his fingers gliding over the harp elegantly. His song spoke of the coming to Valinor and of the stars. But what was most captivating was the manner in which Gildor sang, for his voice carried the cheer that was always shone with his smile; there was an upbeat aura of his playing that made Maglor and Finrod bob their heads to the song.

“It is beautiful,” Maglor said when Gildor was done.

“You flatter me, Lord Makalaurë Kanafinwë,” Gildor said.

“I mean every word of it,” Maglor said. “And please, just Makalaurë is fine. Seldom do any call me by my father name.”

Gildor nodded. “Thank you. I apologize if my playing is no where near your expertise, as I have heard your music before.”

“Ai, you need not be so humble!” Maglor said. “I would take any chance to make music with you, if you would have my company.”

“I would much like that,” Gildor said. He offered the harp to Maglor. “I would much like to hear you play, if that is all right with you.”

They took turns passing around the harp and playing a tune. Songs ranging from the lighthearted ballads to mournful tunes filled Finrod’s room. Gildor always picked the happiest songs to play for them, Maglor noticed, whereas he himself picked the saddest songs. He was uncertain if either noticed this behavior, for Finrod seemed oblivious each time he sang a ballad of the elves; Gildor seemed to simply regard him after each song, his eyes full of an emotion Maglor could not put a name to.

He was finding Gildor’s company rather pleasant as well, though there was the initial hesitation at bringing in a new member into his circle with Finrod. Their conversation ran smooth, falling in harmony with the three elves at talk and joking. Gildor played many songs which Maglor cherished, and he found himself singing with Gildor in harmony.

When they tired of playing, they settled out on the balcony which extended into Finrod’s bedroom. Maglor studied the waves as he felt the wind against his cheeks. The water was woven with the great silver light of Telperion. Finrod settled against one of the lunge seating on the patio, his attention drawn to the beauty around them. Sleep came over him after little time. Maglor was much used to this behavior of his. Normally he would take the time to enjoy the scenery, or compose a new song, before his friend woke up. However, today his attention was drawn to the new elf, who studied his master for a few moments before turning to Maglor.

“I will be on my way, if you wish me not to be a bother to you,” Gildor said, bowing slightly.

“And why would I wish that?” Maglor asked, smiling. “Do not run off on me after sharing with us so many of your beautiful songs! Tell me, friend: who taught you to play and sing?”

“It was by my own hand that I taught myself,” Gildor said. “Which I am certain it shows in its inadequacy compared to your and Lord Findaráto’s playing.”

“Inadequacy? No reason to be humble about it, Elenaurel! You would impress my mentor Elemmírë; she would much like to have you as part of her assemble, if she knew of this.”

Gildor chuckled. “Well, to play music as a minstrel never did occur to me.”

“And why not?”

“I simply never entertained the thought. Music is my hobby and not so much a career I wish to make my life of. Additionally, my interests always rested in serving the great House of Arafinwë. To be called away to play for festivals would take me too much away from the family I vowed to serve.”

“I understand what you mean, to be constantly called away. Though for me it would be a blessing to find reason to leave my new home. “ Maglor fell silent as he looked out again to the sea beyond.

How lucky Finrod was! Here the trees swayed in the wind and the caws of the gulls reached his ears. Inspiration came in full bloom here. He had spent many vacations here, wishing he could live with Finrod in this house for the rest of eternity, though his love of his own family often drove him back. But how alive Alqualondë appeared from anything that he ever lived. The thought of returning to Formemos brought within him a sickening sensation of dread and melancholy. There was no life in that region. It was a prison for an entire people, punishment for a pitiful spat between his father and uncle!

“Prince Makalaurë,” Gildor spoke gently, “let your agony roll off your shoulders. There is too much needless pain inside you.”

Maglor startled out of his reverie. Looking up, he realized that Gildor was right beside him, peering at him with silvery eyes that glimmered with concern and compassion.

“How do you know how I feel?” Maglor asked softly. He felt Gildor’s hand slide over his on the place where he rested his hand on the rail: large wide hands, as unlikely as one may imagine to come from one of such skill in harping.

“The politics which trouble your family is well known to all of the Eldar,” Gildor said. “A servant I may be, but I am not unintelligent, dear Prince. The environment you live in is not compatible for one of such free and creative spirit. To succumb to misery so soon would only further harm your wonderful fëa.”

Maglor smiled. “Thank you, Elenaurel.”

Maglor knew the rest of his stay would not be as joyous as his first day. The following morning Lord Finarfin brought up the subject of his father and the recent debate with Lord Fingolfin. Maglor inwardly groaned at the thought of having to face with this pitiful issue, but as Fëanor’s only son in Alqualondë he was expected to fill Finarfin in.

Though the spat had ended with the casting of Fëanor to Formenos, the two brothers still fought over the simple matter of who owned their father’s circlet. As an exiled king, Finwë no longer had right to it, for it was a symbol of his power. Fëanor insisted that as his first son the circlet now belonged to him; there was also a matter of sentimentality in his yearning for it, for it was his late mother Míriel who crafted the circlet for her husband’s coronation. Fingolfin, however, declared the delicate circlet his own as the new leader of the Noldor.

“This matter will never cease,” Maglor complained to his friends. “The law is unclear on who should inherit this circlet. Even with Lord Arafinwë as an unbiased third party, this fight will go on. And should the Valar ever find a resolution, the brothers will find a new thing to quarrel over!”

“Promise we will never get on one another’s nerves,” Finrod said, laughing though he patted Maglor’s back in sympathy. “Let me fetch my harp - looks like you need an outlet to let out all that frustration.”

He sprung to his feet and made for his rooms, though his servant Gildor sat not to far off. He regarded Maglor with much concern.

“I am sorry to hear you are hurting, Prince,” he said.

“My father is not a bad elf, but he is horribly stubborn,” Maglor said. “And his stubbornness has cost us greatly. It was from that which I have lost contact with Elemmírë, whose absence is already filling me with sorrow.”

“You speak of her with much fondness,” he said.

Maglor smiled, grateful someone was using Elemmírë’s preferred pronoun. “Aye, I do.” Gildor moved closer, his hand tentatively reaching out to cup Maglor’s cheek. Maglor leaned closer to allow him.

“Your smile lights the world,” he said quietly. “May you never have a reason to cry, Prince, for you are worthy only of the greatest joys of this world.”

Maglor chuckled and he rested against Gildor’s touch. “Thank you, Elenaurel.” They peered into each other’s eyes, smiling as one, before they heard Finrod and broke apart to their dismay.