The Tale of Melilaurë and Mélaurel by Iavalir

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Part Two

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Maglor remained in the house of Finarfin for three months, during which he grew very close to Gildor. Though such close friendships were often frowned on among the Noldor, Maglor being the son of elven lords and Gildor among the servants, it never bothered any in Alqualondë, for the Teleri were open to all.

Yet happy though Maglor was in Alqualondë, his heart ached for his family, and soon he was on his journey back to Formenos.

The stronghold of Fëanor stood alone atop the hill, appearing neglected and void of life compared to the livelihood of Alqualondë. There was none of his kin around that Maglor could see, none to welcome him back. Sighing, he dismounted his steed and unfastened his traveling bag. He did not expect to find Amrod running across the field. It was then that he could see more of his family and his father’s people far off, around the other side of the stronghold. He simply had missed them on his way to the entrance.

“Pityo!” he called out happily. “How I have missed you, little one!”

The elfling paused and stared at him with wide eyes haunted by a darkness that Maglor had never seen before.

“Pityo?”

Amrod continued staring at him in complete silence before rushing off without even a glance back, not even as Maglor called out to him. He ran after the child, and almost collided with other elves as Amrod slipped through the crowd and ran into his mother’s arms.

“Makalaurë!” Nerdanel cried out. Maglor was engulfed in hugs and asked many questions, that any inquires about Amrod’s behavior was driven out of the conversation. Finally, fatigue caught up with him, and he apologized to his father and mother (and ruffled the hair of Amrod, who was quiet the entire time and pressed against his mother’s chest) before heading back to his quarters. After greeting his servants he finally made his way to his rooms.

He was so fatigued by the time he slipped into his rooms that he did not bother to unpack any of his bags. He threw them on the table of the kitchens and threw himself on his bed, sleep already overtaking him. But he did not sleep for long. The light of the trees had not yet turned when he awoke again to the sound of some muffled screams outside.

He got up, sighing and shaking himself awake. He heard the elflings outside scream in their mirth as they chased one another. After washing Maglor returned to his kitchens. He put away the jars of Telerin goods Eärwen gifted him, and he was in the middle of laying out cookies onto a large plate when his doors banged open and Celegorm rushed in.

“You’re back!” Celegorm said, distracted, before rushing past Maglor. He place a chair under the slit of window high on the wall, and climbed up. Before Maglor could question him, laughter erupted. “Yes! Just in time!”

“Turco, what are you doing?” Maglor shot up from his chair. In that moment the doors slammed open again and Curufin rushed in.

“Is he doing it?” Curufin asked. “Oh, hello there Laurë. Thank Eärwen for these.” He picked a cookie from the plate then patted his stunned brother on the arm before pulling up another chair next to Celegorm. He took one peak out the window and roared with laughter.

“What is happening here?” Maglor yelled.

Celegorm spun back with a sinister smile, nearly falling off. “It’s Moryo.”

The door creaked open this time, and Maedhros stepped in. “I thought I heard several of my brothers here - welcome back, Kano.” He snatched a cookie from the plate. “Has he kissed her yet?”

“And I am seeing every moment of it,” Curufin said, chuckling. “Little does he suspect that he isn’t getting much privacy here.”

“And neither am I!” Maglor yelled, annoyed. “Nelyo - these are mine!”

Maedhros grabbed another cookie, ignoring him, and strolled up to his brothers. Unlike them, he needed only to raise himself on tiptoe to peek. He ate his cookie silently while Curufin and Celegorm whispered among one another.

“He is so foolish like this!” Curufin laughed.

“Can you hand over that plate, Kano? I want another cookie,” Celegorm called out.

“Can someone explain to me why I have come back to a completely different family?” Maglor called out.

“Apologies, Kano,” Celegorm said. “Some time after you left, Moryo had become infatuated with one of Curvo’s servants.”

“Not much of a servant,” Curufin said. “She is the daughter of one of the blacksmiths. She wanted to try her hand at cooking for my family for a short while. But I never saw much of her. Now I understand why.”

“Lucky she is not a true servant,” Maedhros mused, “lest our father would be most unpleased by this union.”

Maglor knocked over one of the jars and grabbed it just before it shattered on the floor. “Would he?” he asked as calmly as he could. “Even if such a union would be best for them both?”

“Of course,” Curufin said. “He wishes for the best for us all. He would not take to any of us settling for any partner less than our status.”

“Take it from an elf who married a blacksmith’s daughter, as our father had done!” Celegorm said, grinning. “We were just talking about this yesterday.”

“A marriage with a servant would only further hurt the image of our family,” Maedhros added. “This should be a favorable union for our father’s approval.”

“Well then, I hope for the best for Moryo and his love,” Maglor said, though he felt the words as though they were spoken far away. A terrible lump had settled in his throat, and suddenly he wished he were back in the bliss of Finrod’s house, speaking with Gildor and without a care or thought of the politics that hung over his shoulder. “Would he have approved of any union, had it been in a happier circumstance?”

“Why do you ask?” Celegorm asked, grinning. “Have you set your eyes on a lovely maiden servant from the House of Arafinwë?”

“I thought you fancied -”

“Enough, Curvo! You are stealing all of my food - all of you! Bring those back!”

“Cookie…”

“Telpe! Look at that appetite!”

“Your father will be proud, child!”

“Can I have a cookie too?” came a tiny voice as Amras suddenly appeared.

“By Eru has Telpe eaten everything! Look at that, Curvo!”

“No! That was an entire month’s ration!”

“Do not shout so much, Kano! Moryo will hear us!”

“Impossible! These walls are thick! No one single voice can penetrate the walls, not even Kano’s mighty voice!”

“That is not true! I was woken earlier by the sound of children outs-”

“But there weren’t any children outside!”

“What is all this shouting going on here?” yelled Fëanor as he suddenly appeared. “What are you eating there?”

“MORYO IS SMOOCHING A BLACKSMITH’S DAUGHTER!” Celegorm yelled in excitement without first thinking, and this time he did slip off the chair, though he landed gracefully.

“Pardon?”

Then tiny Celebrimbor clambered towards Fëanor in tears. “Tummy,” he squeaked before vomiting over his grandfather’s robes.

* * *

Later, after Fëanor was washed, Maglor’s floor wiped clean, and little Celebrimbor given mint to ease his nausea, the family dined together to celebrate Maglor’s return home and Caranthir’s betrothal to his soon-to-be bride. Telpenië was her name and she was fair to look upon. Her hair fell in cascades of long dark silvery waves; intelligence shone from her heavy-lidded eyes as she studied each of the attendants silently. Though glad he was for his brother’s happiness, Maglor could not shake the cold dead weight that had settled in his stomach. He could focus on only half of their conversation, and a few times Fëanor had to rouse him from his reverie. None questioned him of his behavior, brushing it off as fatigue from his trip (and the chaos which ensured in his kitchen earlier.)

The one thing that stuck out in his memory from that evening was looking up from his plate to see Amrod squirming and laughing in his seat as he chattered with his mother. Confused, Maglor then wondered if his own prejudices of this home had colored his views, or if the happy news of an addition to the family pleased the small elfling, ridding him of whatever sorrow he previously had.

The one bit of mercy in of all this was that Finrod would be invited to the wedding, and by extension Gildor would be there. He wasted no time in writing the letter to Finrod before the official invitation was released. There was no doubt in his mind that Finarfin would be invited to Formenos before the wedding for the matters which needed to be discussed between Fëanor and Finarfin. He hoped Finrod will be with them, as he was the eldest and thus held the responsibility to attend with his father.

When he was done writing and slipped back into his bed, the reality of his own situation hit home, and he found it difficult to rest his mind. In the months that followed he busied himself with the preparations for Caranthir’s wedding. Even the thought of Amrod’s strange attitude had left his mind, for the child exhibited none of the peculiarities of before. He was the chipper little elfling of before, though Amras Maglor noticed had suddenly seemed very quiet.

Many letters were exchanged between himself and Finrod. But he wished dearly to speak to Gildor, though he knew not how to deliver a letter to him through his cousin. Though Finrod would most likely not have minded, Maglor wished not to reveal his true heart in such manner. He kept to himself, scavenging Finrod’s letters for any mention of Gildor with the hope that Finrod’s words bore news of his servant and friend.

And it seemed Gildor’s thoughts were along his own. After the first three months of hearing no news of Gildor, Finrod’s letters began to be filled with tidings of his friend. First, it were mentions of Gildor wishing him well. Little by little the messages grew: of Gildor’s well being, of his deeds at the House of Finarfin, of any words meant to comfort or amuse Maglor. From between the lines Maglor caught a glimpse of the true meanings of Gildor’s words. How deeper the messages became with each letter! Fonder they grew of each other as the absence of seeing one another lengthened. Before his rests Maglor would reread each note, tracing with his fingers the letters that made up Gildor’s name.

The time seemed to pass fast and slow at once. Finarfin’s arrival to Formenos were delayed until one month before the wedding. When they arrived, Maglor had been sitting in his family room going over one of the songs he had composed for his brother. He overheard Maedhros and Amrod arguing.

“But I read that already!” Amrod was complaining loudly.

“You still need practice with your vowelization,” Maedhros said. “Read it again.”

Amrod sighed loudly and annoyingly as he flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book. “Imin and Iminyë awoke on the shores of Cuiviénen…”

Maglor chuckled, watching his brothers, when he heard the ring of the bells to signify the arrival of a party. He jumped to his feet and dashed out before any of his brothers responded. Outside he saw Fëanor and Nerdanel standing by each other. Fëanor gave Maglor an amused look.

“No more stands in the way of your friend, dear Kano,” he said. “Join him, but do not tire him quickly! It has been a long journey for them all.”

“Of course I will not tire him!” Maglor said, laughing. He saw Finrod with his servants existing from one of the carriages, and his eyes immediately fell on Gildor.

“Finlaurë!” Maglor called out as he ran to his cousin. “Elenaurel!”

“Linlaurë!” Finrod called back as Gildor raised his hand in greeting.

The cousins embraced tightly, their exclamations mingled. When Finrod finally let go, Maglor turned to Gildor, breathless, about to embrace him. But suddenly he remember whose eyes were watching him, and he held back.

“Well met, Lord Makalaurë,” Gildor said, bowing politely.

“Well met, friend,” Maglor replied, silently cursing his fate. The absence has caused his heart to ache for any touch from Gildor. But he held back, allowing himself just moments to study Gildor’s handsome face.

Fëanor, followed by a few of his servants who already picked up their luggage, greeted them then. Fëanor’s servants escorted them into the stronghold and showed them to their rooms. Maglor followed them.

“Where are your rooms located?” Finrod asked.

“Ai, I’m afraid I am located far from your quarters,” Maglor said, his heart sinking as he realized where they were headed. Had Fëanor not wished to have him close to his friend? He thought they had made an agreement.

“Well, it is not as dreary as I had feared from your description,” Gildor said when they entered the guest rooms meant for Finrod.

“Ai, this…this is far less polished than my own quarters,” Maglor said, feeling suddenly embarrassed for them.

“But it is sufficient for our needs,” Gildor said as he offered Maglor a warm smile. Finrod shared in his enthusiasm.

“We will not be remaining in this part of Formenos for our entire stay,” Finrod said. “We will be next to you so often you will sicken of us!”

Gildor gave Finrod a glance, and his master nodded. He turned back to Maglor and said, “Lord Makalaurë, may I speak with you privately?”

Slightly confused, Maglor nodded. Gildor took him aside to the room that would become his bedroom during his stay. He pulled from his robes a small envelope with a golden wax seal. “This is for you, my lord.”

Maglor broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

My dearest Makalaurë,

Much do I apologize in advance for my absence to your brother’s wedding. I understand you will be performing for the attendants. With sincerity I know your music will be met with great applause. Would I to be there to hear them from your own gifted voice, to be among those invited. But perhaps another time, as this situation passes, you may play the songs for me.

I send my congratulations to your brother and his lucky bride. Take care my most beloved pupil.

Elemmírë

Maglor brought one hand over his heart. The letter should not have affected him this deeply. Since their parting Maglor never contacted Elemmírë and neither received any word from her.

“I…thank you, Elenaurel,” he said. “This letter will be treasured forever with me.”

“My cousin would not have me come to Formenos without her first sending this to you,” Gildor said.

“Elemmírë is your cousin?”

Gildor chuckled. “Yes. My mother is of the Vanyar, and her sister is the mother of dear Elemmírë.”

“But never did she mention you before!” Maglor threw his arms around Gildor, embracing him tightly. “Unless…you are that cousin who loved to make music but never took it far.”

“Aye, that would be me,” Gildor said. He returned Maglor’s embrace, kissing him lightly on the top of his head.

Sighing, Maglor took in Gildor’s scent, his big arms about him, and the soft long hair which his cheek was pressed against. So tall was Gildor that Maglor felt he could nearly disappear into his embrace. But they pulled apart too soon for either’s liking.

“It is best we don’t,” Maglor said nervously. “The situation here…”

“I understand,” was all Gildor said gently. And with a pat on Maglor’s shoulder he left the room.

As Maglor feared, his only chance to speak with Gildor was limited to his moments with Finrod, for anything beyond their one private meeting could raise suspicion. Finrod kept Gildor close due to their friendship, which Maglor’s family was quick to point out as strange.

In their stay Maglor adopted Gildor as one of his own servants in attempt to see more of him. Despite all this, Maglor could not get Gildor alone. In the following weeks the most they could exchange in communication was by means of glances and brief touches. When they gathered in the dining halls for the feasts, Gildor worked alongside Maglor’s servants to serve him and Finrod.

“Another drink, my lord?” Gildor asked Maglor, his voice soft and close to Maglor’s ear.

Maglor broke out of his discussion with Finrod and turned to Gildor. He smiled, nodding his head, and held his goblet out. Their eyes met as Gildor tipped the pitcher, the tip submerged into the goblet as the clear sweet-scented liquid poured. Gildor’s hand, so close to Maglor’s own, brushed against him. They shared a smile, and suddenly Maglor felt a faint line of the liquid trail down his fingers.

“Ai, my apologies, Prince.”

“It is no problem, Elenaurel.”

Gildor smiled. “Drink well.”

“So fond has Elenaurel become of you,” Finrod said when Gildor had moved out of ear shot. “Since your leave from Alqualondë he spoke of you frequently.”

“Has he?” Maglor said, as nonchalantly as he could though his heart leapt at the news. “We have a few interests in common. I believe my compliments on his musical talents may have left an imprint on him!”

He smiled faintly before taking a sip from his drink. Finrod was watching him intently, and for a moment Maglor feared his cousin had seen into his heart.

“And he is related to Elemmírë my beloved music mentor,” Maglor added.

“Well, may this be a bright and joyous friendship between you two,” he finally said.

* * *

The day of the wedding had come, and at the first hour of Laurelin’s bloom. Maglor spent the morning dashing between his rooms and Caranthir’s, chasing out the children from harassing his brother and helping him into his ceremonial robes, then back to his room, settling down one of the elflings who had crawled onto his writing desk to retrieve his music sheets.

“What is happening today?” Amrod kept shouting.

“Today is your brother’s wedding,” Maglor said as he studied at his music. “Haven’t you been paying attention all year, little one?”

“What’s a wedding?”

“Our brother Moryo will take Telpenië for a wife! She will become your sister, as Lalinyë is.”

“Who is she?”

Maglor sighed loudly. “Come now, child! We do not have much time!”

Outside of his quarters the entire castle was filled with the chaos from the preparations. Maglor had to be thankful that the guests invited had brought their own servants. He tugged on the black case for his instruments as he struggled his way outside, slowed by the crowds of elves rushing about and by Amrod following him closely, his arms wrapped about his legs. Nothing he said could take the child off him, and he squealed and screamed whenever Maglor requested a servant to take the child off him.

“Of all my brothers, you have been the worst in raising,” he thought to himself and immediately felt guilty thinking that.

Gildor was outside, setting the tables with the rest of Maglor’s servants. Maglor called out a greeting.

“Lord Makalaurë, good day!” Gildor said. “How has your day been thus far?”

“Everything is a mess!” Maglor said. He winced as Amrod squeezed his leg.

“What’s in there?” he asked, pointing to the black case which stored Maglor’s harp. “Whose servant is he? Why is he so big? Is he a Maia? Will I get a bride too?”

“Pityo, go! This is no place for you!” Maglor snapped in his exasperation. The elfling broke off from his leg and ran down the slope of the hill. Maglor turned back to Gildor. “Ai, he has been maddening me all day! But now I fear I’ve hurt him.”

“Worry not - he will sulk for a while but return to his normal self by the time of the ceremony,” Gildor said.

“I hope you are correct.” Maglor sighed heavily and heaved the black case up, grunting as his arms ached from the pressure. The activity from the day was already tiring him.

“Want me to help you move it?”

“What? No! No - I have this.”

“My lord, you do not look well,” Gildor said. “Here, sit.” He pulled Maglor to one of the nearby chairs, chastising him whenever he protested. He poured out a glass of water for him. “Sit. Stay. You need your energy to sing and harp for us later.”

“Thank you,” Maglor said. “This day will drive me mad if I am not careful.”

“As all weddings are,” Gildor said. With ease he delivered the case to the front and set them up immediately. Maglor watched him with a smile, grateful yet also embarrassed to be the only one sitting sipping from the cool drink.

“I have tuned the harp as my cousin always taught me,” Gildor said upon returning. “But if there is any particular string you wish me to tighten or loosen -”

“You’ve done enough!” Maglor laughed. “Sit down!”

“I am certain I must be standing, Makalaurë.”

“You are a guest here under Artafinde,” Maglor said. “Sit with me, Elenaurel.”

It was the manner in which Maglor said his name that finally convinced Gildor to settle beside him. He glanced around himself in a vague nervousness as if his actions were upsetting the other servants. Maglor smiled as he watched him, realizing that this was the first time he had ever seen Gildor appearing anything other than calm and content. Pulling the pitcher towards him, he poured a glass of the icy water as Gildor continued to study his surroundings.

“Refreshment, Elenaurel?”

Gildor settled his eyes back to Maglor. “Certainly. Thank you, Lord Kanafinwë.”

“Makalaurë is fine enough for me, my friend,” Maglor reminded him. “None of my family known by their father name - save for Curufinwë.” He pushed the glass towards him, and their hands touched for a moment. Maglor pulled back quickly, smiling shyly at Gildor.

“I noticed that you do not grow your fingernails,” Gildor said before taking a sip from his drink.

“Aye. And against Elemmírë’s advice,” Maglor said. “But I wear my nails down too quickly. It is the only thing we do not agree on, but for our own sanity we never bring it up.” Both chuckled, and Maglor took that moment to study Gildor’s own hand.

“Do you not worry about bleeding or blisters?” Gildor asked.

“Only if I play for too long,” Maglor said. “Lucky that I also have a lute which I can play with my pick.”

“A lute? I would much enjoy to listen to you play that!”

“I can play you a song after the celebration, if you wish.” Smiling, Maglor leaned forward. “I wish it could be like this, us both just sitting here and talking. It was near impossible to get you alone since you arrived.”

“But we cannot be seen like this often,” Gildor said softly. “It is not appropriate for a servant to be treated as an equal to a lord in our custom.”

“But I often dine with the servants of my house!” Maglor said. “Would that this barrier not have exist between us. If only you could leave your life as a servant and serve only yourself. It was by this little tear in our customs that made my brother’s love for one acceptable in my father’s eyes. Why have you remained a servant when you had a chance to leave and study under Elemmírë your cousin?”

“Life is not unpleasant as a servant,” Gildor said. “Your house has many serving one. Would you say they are miserable? Depending on whose servant you become, of course. For some they may be required to work at every moment, but to others we are given time to let our minds wander. We are free of the restraints that are upon your shoulders as prince. I feel that in this life I am given a chance to truly appreciate everything that others are too busy in their own lives to notice.”

“That does make sense,” Maglor said. He recalled his own servants, of their easy-going demeanor even when there was tension in among the descendants of Finwë. Perhaps he was one of the lesser demanding lords, for besides food and having his quarters cleaned he required little of them. As a child he even played with some of their children until his father forbade him. But they were so happy! They played on their musical instruments and filled his house with song. Though he never told this to any, he had bought for them instruments from the most skilled crafters in Tírion so his life would always be filled with the music filling the kitchens and his rooms.

“It would be nice to be a servant of my own house,” Maglor mused. “To be free beside the occasional chore. Indeed, when I think on it, it must be truly nice to not worry about keeping your status, unless of course you are seen frolicking with the higher ups.”

Maglor chuckled, but his words had an entirely different effect on Gildor. “Which reminds me, I must leave before we are seen.”

“No! Stay sitting!” Maglor grabbed his wrist, and realizing what he had done he bit his lower lip. “You are a guest, not a servant in this ceremony - remember that.”

“But I come as a servant of Artafinde. I am bound by the customs wherever I go. Even my robes for this occasion do not match the splendor of what was made for you and your family.”

There was nothing to argue in that. Though Gildor appeared handsome even in these robes, the material was far below that which were made for Maglor and his family. “I wish to ignore these customs.”

Gildor studied Maglor with a look of forlorn, and tentatively he brought a hand over Maglor’s. But their moment was suddenly gone at the sound of a few yells. Startled, Maglor straightened himself as Fingon plopped himself between Maglor and Gildor. Moments later Finrod settled himself on Gildor’s right, and on his right sat Maedhros looking rather disgruntled at something.

“You appear quite enthusiastic over something,” Maglor said to Fingon as more elves filled the vicinity. The fact that Fingon’s father did not join them had no effect on him.

Fingon studied about himself, looking like he was about to jump out of his seat at any moment. “How splendid are weddings! A bride for myself may be among this crowd. I tried to find someone for Maitimo, but he refuses.”

“That may be why you look upset,” Maglor said, chuckling as he glanced at his brother.

“I tell everyone repeatedly I wish not to marry!” Maedhros said.

“Easy, cousin,” Finrod laughed.

“Perhaps I must leave,” Gildor said after taking note of who he was sitting with, but as he made to stand Finrod grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“You are sitting with us!” he said, laughing. Maedhros and Fingon gave each other looks as if wondering at this strange seating arrangement, but they said nothing.

“Now where could my future love be?” Fingon said as he studied the crowd. “Ah - do you see the lovely one over yonder? Has a funny-looking nose, though.”

“That is Carnistir’s bride!” Maedhros yelled.

“Ai, I’m too late.”

Laughter rippled across the table. Maglor and Gildor shared amused looks. Around them the tables were all nearly filled. As the call of the ceremony’s start was announced, Galadriel and Aredhel slipped into the seats on Maglor’s left, joined by a couple of their servants. One was dressed elegantly for one of her status, and she gave Fingon a hopeful look. But he was glancing at others and ignored her, and this was not lost to Maglor, who gave Gildor a slightly disturbed look before turning his attention to the central stage.

Caranthir appeared then with Telpenië, both appearing stunning in their ceremonial robes. Caranthir’s bonding to Telpenië was reminiscent of Curufin’s own bonding with Lalinyë. The bride and groom stood atop a dais as to be seen by all who attended. They each spoke out their welcome and gratitude at those who came to see them wed.

“Welcome, welcome,” Caranthir called out in a loud and clear voice. “Ever glad is my heart to see you all here, to wish myself and Telpenië a joyous union.”

Several raised their glasses and cried out their blessing.

“Same announcement as always,” Fingon whispered just loud enough for everyone in his table to hear. “And as fake as ever.”

“Indeed, it does not suit someone like him,” Galadriel replied softly.

“With each word he struggles not to roll his eyes at his contrived lines,” Finrod said. “His bride is doing no better. The two are a good match.”

Maglor had to fight back a laugh. Curufin had looked foolish on this part of their announcement, and now so did Caranthir. He was not one to show such overt emotions, and his effort to bring enthusiasm into his words were not lost on them. And indeed Telpenië too seemed as unenthusiastic as him.

“This is not my brother,” Maglor said softly. “Poor thing to have to obey our customs.”

“If left to his own devise, his announcement would be no more than a single word and curt nod,” Maedhros said. “Which means our bellies will be filled sooner, and we will be gladder!”

“Ai, cousin, you constantly think of the food?” Aredhel said.

As the two argued, Maglor glanced around to find his other brothers and found them sitting together in a table larger than their own and closer to the dais. Celegorm and Curufin were finding it harder to keep their faces void of amusement, their shoulders shaking in their silent mirth. Sitting with them were Lalinyë and the three elflings, with little Celebrimbor leaning into his mother. The unoccupied seats near them were meant for Fëanor and Nerdanel, who at the moment were standing near the rectangular table reserved for King Finwë and Queen Indis, positioned right behind the dais.

When the scripted speech was at last over, they took their vows, which thankfully were more heartfelt than the precious speech. The parents of the bride and groom then stepped unto the dais to offer their blessing to the couple. The exchanging of silver rings to golden rings partook, and afterward Fëanor placed a beautiful silver necklace around Telpenië’s neck while her mother did the same for Caranthir. About the silver chain were rubies fashioned in the style that only one as gifted as Fëanor could have designed.

The audience applauded as the couple then exited the dais together, their arms linked. To the table with the king and queen they were settled in.

“This is the time for me to take my leave,” Maglor said as he stood up. He gave them a quick bow before heading to the front where the bride and groom sat. Caranthir gave Maglor a small smile, which Maglor returned.

“Greetings and welcome to all who have come on my brother’s joyous day,” Maglor announced. “May their life together be blessed with good fortune and children -”

“And soon!” someone yelled in the audience, with some embarrassed giggles following.

“Well - yes, that too,” Maglor said, fumbling. Not wishing to delay things, he bowed to the audience before seating himself by his harp. Though he had played before a crowd countless of times before, he was not immune to the effects of being on stage. His heart leapt to his throat, and his fingers trembled as they were positioned over the strings.

He glanced up and saw Gildor giving him his utmost attention, and even in this distance he could see the bottomless love in that elf. Rush of love overtook him, and before he knew it the song had begun. He played with abandon, letting his heart lead him through each note. The first tune was just with the harp, and the following song was joined by his words, his powerful and majestic voice carrying through the awed crowd.

As the song faded applause roared in Maglor’s ear. He opened his eyes to witness the standing ovation for him. He bowed, smiling as he noted the cheery and pleased looks in Caranthir and Telpenië’s faces, of his proud father and grandfather the king. He gave his blessings to Caranthir and Telpenië before heading back to his table.

“Beautiful song!” Finrod said as Maglor took his seat again and was patted on the back by Fingon.

“That is one of the greatest songs you have composed, cousin,” Galadriel said.

“Truly inspired,” Gildor said.

Maglor glanced at him and fought back a smile. “Yes, yes it was inspired.”

They ate and drank and shared stories and laughed as the light turned from gold to silver. Other minstrels had appeared to play their tunes - “They better not touch my harp!” Maglor said, making them roar with laughter - and elves got up to dance. The open plains surrounding the stronghold were teeming with dancers until servants and lords were mingled as one.

Maglor and Gildor remained sitting. Galadriel had asked Maedhros to dance with her, and Aredhel followed, taking the hand of her servant who had eyed Fingon. Fingon had disappeared as well, no doubt in search for his own bride, while Finrod located where the rest of his own family sat.

They laughed together as they witnessed little Celebrimbor pulling on Telpenië’s hand towards where the others danced.

“He is trying to steal my bride!” Caranthir roared, followed by much laughter and applause.

“It has been a beautiful wedding for your bother,” Gildor said. “Do you not wish to dance?”

“It does not interest me,” Maglor said. “I would be performing more songs for them, but my brother wished for me to play just this one song and then to rest on his day. But to be honest, I would be more interested in playing another song, perhaps for you, on my lute.”

“You wish for us to retire to your rooms?” Gildor said. “I will be willing to do so. But before we take our leave, I will go wish the newlyweds well and then meet you inside.”

Maglor rose up. “I hope there won’t be any inside to disturb us. Want me to wait for you?”

“I will find my way, I am certain,” Gildor assured. “Do not feel pressured to leave if you find anyone present. I will see you soon, dear Makalaurë.”