The Tale of Melilaurë and Mélaurel by Iavalir

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Part Four

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The following day Maglor stood upon the steps of the stronghold, far sooner than he would have thought. He embraced Finrod and wished him well, and looking over his shoulder he said his farewell to Gildor in his mind. Gildor, who stood right behind Finrod, smiled back in comfort and brought his hand over Maglor’s own. But he retracted his hand quickly before Fëanor turned to them.

“May the Two Trees light your path,” Maglor said, bowing to them and then to his father and grandfather the King of the Noldor. They took their leave. He watched them, his eyes focused on Gildor, until they disappeared beyond the horizon.

“You act as if they never will return,” Nerdanel said, one hand on his shoulder. “The time will pass fast, and your cousin will be with you again.”

“Thank you,” Maglor said, fighting back the guilt for missing another more than his cousin. As they went inside and parted ways, Maglor caught sight of Amrod, and he went to him. But Amrod’s eyes suddenly flashed dangerously and he rushed off.

“I may never understand that child,” Maglor though to himself and frowned. He passed the day busying himself with meeting with his brothers and engaging in activities to take his mind off the emptiness of the stronghold. But in time the socializing and the amount of reading eventually tired him once more. He spent time in the music room composing a song, but all that came out was a tale of how his heart wept for his love which served only to depress him further.

At last he retired to his bed, the need to rest his mind and body great. As he slipped under the covers, he heard Gildor’s voice suddenly in his mind.

“You grow weary, Melilaurë.”

“Only because you grow weary from your travels, Mélaurel. I can feel it. How are you, beloved?”

Maglor smiled, feeling rather than hearing Gildor explain his emotions throughout their trip. The sound of his voice, so soothing and lush, lulled Maglor to sleep, but he fought to stay awake. Just for this, to hear his love again.

“I miss you being near me,” Maglor said when Gildor was done.

“Ai, your body still hungers?” Maglor smiled as though it was Gildor smiling through him.

“Not hunger in that sense, Elenaurel my love. Just to be near you.”

“Then perhaps a story would entertain you?”

Maglor smiled. “I would enjoy that very much.”

* * *

The weeks which followed was less lonesome than the day Finwë and Fëanor left with their party to Tírion. Maglor lived for the moments when he could settle on his bed and listen to Gildor’s stories. He recounted tales of his childhood, or of his life at Alqualondë, his melodic voice often lulling Maglor into reverie, and Maglor swore the images he envisioned had to have in some way been created by Gildor. At times the tales would turn to them, and Maglor could almost feel Gildor’s hands on his body, massaging him and slowly bringing him to climax.

The songs Maglor wrote afterwards became greater in their strength and lyrical beauty, inspired by Gildor’s stories and the exchange of emotions between the elves. Unbeknownst to himself, Maglor became happier and less lonely during his waking hours. Life at Formenos at first appeared it would become as joyous as his life in Tírion, but there was always something in the back of his mind troubling him.

Amrod’s behavior was becoming more and more destructive, while Amras only grew more quiet and resolved. It pained him to watch his youngest brothers behave so oddly. At times it maddened his mother, who had to lock her workshop to keep Amrod away from breaking every one of her creations, as he had once done not too long after the party’s departure. Of her family, Nerdanel was still loved by the inhabitants of Valinor and commissioned for her work, but with Amrod’s recent behavior she found her work coming along at a sluggish pace. No amount of scolding, or lecturing, or even holding him seemed to take effect on the elfling.

A few times Maglor sought to speak to Amrod, often with help with his mother or one of his brothers, only to be met with a cold, hard stare. He would next turn to Amras, gently trying to pry answers from the quiet child, but all efforts were fruitless. He suspected Amras may have been kicked out of the rooms, and with Celegorm gone on a hunting trip with Oromë Maglor sought to it that Amras slept in his own rooms instead. And on those occasions he often woke to the smell of urine, a pool around the elfling who had not, to his knowledge, ever been known to wet the bed before.

And still Amras refused to speak.

* * *

It was on a particularly bright day, when the light of the Two Trees mingled, that Maglor received word to meet a messenger at the door. On he way he passed the children playing, his brothers, nephew, and elflings of some of the servants; and he smiled faintly for the three elflings seemed as they were before, happy and content. Little Celebrimbor was giggling and staggering around, getting used to the miracle of walking on his feet so fluidly. A tiny slip and he collided with Amrod. Amrod sat transfixed for one stunned moment, then suddenly in a flash like lightening he lunged at Celebrimbor and knocked him to the ground.

As Maglor rushed in, he heard Curufin’s roar. “No, you despicable elfling!” He grabbed Amrod’s arm and yanked him off Celebrimbor, who lay there crying and thrashing; Amras sat frozen watching them, his face ashen and still. But Curufin’s attention was on Amrod and he raised his hand to strike.

“Curvo, no!” Maglor gripped hold of Curufin’s wrist tightly. “He is your brother!”

“He meant to harm my son!” Curufin shot back angrily. “I have been keeping an eye on him all these months. He has become violent and dangerous! Why he is still allowed to play with the others -”

“Curvo, please,” Maglor begged softly. “Your son needs you.”

Curufin’s eyes flickered from Amrod to Celebrimbor, then finally he let go of the elfling. He scoped up the crying Celebrimbor in his arms, holding him close and whispering soothing to him, and rushed off, leaving Maglor to Amrod.

“Why did you do this?” he asked gently. “You made your nephew cry, Pityo. I know you meant not to hurt him.”

But all Amrod responded was with a glare. He spat at Maglor’s shoes and ran off before Maglor could grab him.

“What has come of this child?” he wondered aloud. Turning he saw Amras, who was sat till frozen as a statue. Maglor went over to next ask him, but Amras scuttled off to a group of elflings and pretended Maglor wasn’t there. Sighing, Maglor continued on his way, his mind buzzing with the concern of his brothers’ strange behaviors. “Since coming to this house, nothing has been right,” Maglor thought.

His thoughts were temporarily halted when he reached the entrance to find a messenger dressed in the manner of the Teleri.

“I hope all is well,” he said.

The messenger bowed, keeping hold of a package in his hands. “Lord Arafinwë and Queen Eärwen present to you a gift from the seas of Alqualondë.”

Maglor smiled, remembering. This was their yearly present to him, knowing how very well he loved their food. “Ai, thank you!” And he relieved the messenger from the package, noting the ice that was wrapped around the fresh meat. He called for servants to take him to rest from his journey, and Maglor turned back to his quarters. He brought it to the chefs and asked, rather shyly, if it could be prepared for him right away. The thought of fresh fish from the seas of Alqualondë was too tempting, and he wished not to let the meat sit out longer. He also wished to take his mind off the matter of Amrod, whose behavior shook him too deeply.

But as he settled at his small dining table, his meal ready, he could not think of anything by Amrod. There has been too much misfortune since their coming, as though the stronghold itself was a curse. His own feelings of sadness, his brothers changed in their behavior, Celegorm almost falling off the chair…so many little near accidents. Perhaps unnoticeable to the unobservant, but there was an obvious increase in the frequency of these strange occurrences.

Slowly and carefully he ate, taking care not to accidentally eat one of the bones. With all of the incidents at Formenos, he wished not to risk choking without anyone there to help him.

The door to his quarters sprung open and Curufin marched in. He suddenly halted upon seeing Maglor and his face screwed up in disgust.

Maglor laughed. “Care to join me, brother?”

“You know quite well how much I detest fish!” Curufin settled himself as far as he could from Maglor, eyeing the dish with disdain.

“So why do you come here?” Maglor said though he knew the answer to that already.

“I have been thinking a lot about our brother’s behavior,” he said.

“As have I. Have you noticed anything else that has been happening?”

“Such as the fact that Moryo and his wife have yet to conceive?” Curufin said.

“Pardon?”

“Three months, brother. And they have been trying hard. Still no child.”

Maglor chewed slowly before swallowing. “Perhaps it will just take time for them?”

“Nay. I too have been trying for another with Lalinyë. No one has conceived since our coming to Formenos, despite many couples discussing having children. Save for the elflings who were conceived right before coming here, no elfling has been born in Formenos.” His hands balled into fists. “And one of my own servants almost lost hers during labor. This happened during your visit to our cousin.”

“Ai,” was all that could come out from Maglor at first. “Ai…I did not know that. This is grave!” And he told Curufin of all he has observed. Curufin studied him carefully with his sharp eyes.

“Do you believe Formenos is cursed?” he said when Maglor was done.

“What other explanation is there, brother?”

“I wish not to believe it,” he said. “I helped build this place. Only the Noldor touched the stone that made this! But it would be foolish to blind myself by pride. Something must have happened to this place, but what?”

Maglor went back to eating as Curufin’s words turned into murmurs and his fingers moving quickly over the table as though he were drawing or working on a puzzle. Maglor always admired his younger brother for his genius, though it often gave the elf strange habits that often intimated those who didn’t know him well.

“Accidents, near accidents, our brothers affected, no conception…but why?” he said aloud. “Do we truly live under a roof of misfortune or are we chasing superstition to blame for our own deeds? Perhaps it is our punishment to no longer bear any children, though it is cruel. Perhaps the near accidents are just a coincidence.” He glanced at Maglor. “But then Pityo and Telvo never harmed anyone, and neither have you. And yet one child has turned violent and the other lives as if walking on eggshells, while you have had to bond in secret.”

Maglor nearly swallowed a bone, though thankfully a small piece. He coughed and cleared his throat. “You know? Do the others?”

Curufin grinned, suddenly shaken out of his contemplation. “Of course I know. It is rather difficult to walk around with the aura of the bond so clear in your eyes. I suspect I know the identity of the elf in question. I have seen how you pined for that servant of Artafinde. You did not wish anyone to know, otherwise why even do this in secret? Not to mention your little ‘injury’ seemed suspicious from the beginning, but others are just ready to take your poorly-constructed lies for you are known as a polite and honest son.

“The others do know of your bond deep within their souls, although they are happy to deny it and fool themselves into thinking otherwise. But do not worry, brother, I will not divulge your secret.”

Maglor leaned back, uncertain if he should laugh. “Ai, well…thank you for understanding.”

Curufin just shook his head. “Despite our glaring similarities, I am unlike our father in many ways. I see no problem in one of high status marrying one of the servants. We were all created equal under the eyes of the Ilúvatar, and so I shall follow that. Even our father would have welcomed this union had we been in less stressful times.”

Maglor sighed. “Then we do live under a roof of misfortune, that I should bond with my love in secret and shame.”

Laughter erupted from his younger brother. “There is no shame! Though I must admit I admire you. Of us all I never expected you to be the one to rebel against the system. You surprise us all, Laurë.” He leapt to his feet and paced around Maglor, giving his shoulders a playful squeeze. Smiling, Maglor clasped Curufin’s hand, and they stayed like this for but a moment before a crash followed by an anguished cry sounded in the adjacent halls.

The two brothers scrambled out of Maglor’s quarters and made their way to the halls where Maglor’s servants lived.

“What has happened?” Maglor demanded, startling one of the servants, who then pointed to the kitchens where a small crowd had gathered. Curufin had to push his way through to get his brother to the source of the commotion. One of the elves lay sprawled, her leg covered in the dark red tone of blood, pooling around her in massive amounts. Shattered glass and a small wooden ladder, its legs in pieces, surrounded her.

“Pick her up!” Maglor commanded loudly, unable to tear his eyes from the blood. “Take her to a healer, now!”

“I will do it,” Curufin said. He swept down and lifted the shaken elf. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his chest, muffling her howls of pain. Curufin had to push his way again, taking care not to cause further injury to the wounded woman.

“What happened?” Maglor asked one of the chefs as he studied the scenery.

“She was climbing up a ladder to get some of the goblets for our meal, but the legs of the ladder broke, and she knocked over the glass bowls in the process.”

“Did the step ladder appear old?”

“No, my lord.”

Maglor nodded and crouched down, careful not to touch the blood. He studied the ladder, taking note of the brilliant color of the thread around the legs. “It is a new ladder.” Sighing, he straightened up. “Clean this mess.”

Maglor was back at his quarters when Curufin reentered. He took one shocked glance at the state Maglor was in before recovering quickly. “She will be well again,” he told Maglor. “Shaken by it, but otherwise unhurt. It is not every day that a dozen glass pieces fall on top of anyone. But with some rest her wounds will heal by the morrow.”

“It could not have been by some accident,” Maglor said. “The legs of the ladder were sturdy. There was nothing to suggest it would break under her weight.” Sighing, he covered his face with his hands. “Indeed we do live in a cursed house.”

“Indeed the events were unsettling, but think no further on it,” Curufin said.

“What of the elflings? Where are the little ones we call Ambarussa and your son?”

“I will look out for them,” Curufin said as he gently tugged on Maglor’s arm. “Here, get up and go to your bed. You are in a right state, and I will not have my brother succumb to illness.” Finding it useless to argue against him, Maglor allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. He chuckled as he was tucked in by his younger brother.

“Just like the days when you were small and I tucked you into bed,” Maglor said.

Curufin smiled. “Wish for me to sing you a tale? Though I cannot guarantee it will be any good. Let the thoughts of this past few hours leave your mind. Rest well brother.”

“Please look out for the elflings,” Maglor begged. “I worry for them.” He took Curufin’s hand in his, stopping him from leaving. “Do you remember when you were a small elfling? I was looking out for you one day. We were in the city, but Melkor was near and tried to lure you away from the crowd. It was by chance that I caught you just in time. I never did trust him, and that day gave me all the reason to warn our father of him.”

The words affected Curufin, who thought for a moment how things would have been different had he been abducted.

“May our family not be cursed.”

Curufin nodded and patted Maglor’s hand. “Rest well, brother.”

* * *

But Maglor could find no rest. “Not whatever is cursing our house has turned to violent attack,” he thought, and again he thought of his younger brothers and nephew, and of the elflings of the servants. He had half a mind to get out of bed and seek his brothers, tucking them in bed alongside him and protect them from this invisible fiend.

But he kept himself stationed in his bed, waiting for Gildor’s voice to come in his mind. He was late this time around, and just as Maglor was giving up, he finally heard his voice.

“Melilaurë.”

“Mélaurel.”

“I apologize for my lateness - I was in no position to be alone until now. There is much distress I sense inside you. Beloved, what has happened?”

And Maglor recounted everything to Gildor, of the strange happenings in Formenos and of his discussion with Curufin. Gildor listened patiently as he spoke, and Maglor could sense his husband’s own thoughts mingled with his own, just there at the surface before being brought out.

“When will you return?” Maglor asked. “This is a matter I believe my grandfather and father must attend to. They need to give the stronghold their blessing lest this continues. Someone may be slain soon.”

“I know not what to say,” Gildor said. “Is it not the custom to bless the stronghold before living in it? No one has ever blessed their home twice.”

“But I feel it is important!”

“Have you not seen anyone who should not be there?”

Maglor shuddered, though he could not put an answer to why. Suddenly a memory flashed in his mind and he gave out a horrified gasp: his first night in Formenos, waking up to a tall dark figure hovering over him. “I thought he was my father or possibly my mother,” Maglor said, telling Gildor of the event. “There may be more I have yet to realize. Ai, I cannot sleep here alone!”

“Beloved, your words are concerning me. Would you like to speak with your cousin? Though I cannot tell him that we are communicating.”

“Yes, if this will help convince my grandfather and father to return soon. Is he available?”

“Let me check.” Minutes ticked by. “Yes. I hear him playing his lyre in his room.”

“Thank you.” Maglor sat up, mustering all his strength. Communication with one his fëa had bond to was easy, but communication with any other - no mater how close of kin they were - was always weaker. He needed to take deep breaths, gathering all of his strength before sending out the message.

Moments passed in silence. Then finally, “Linlaurë?”

Maglor recounted everything then to Finrod which he had just discussed with Gildor. His cousin seemed perplexed yet listened. “But how can your home be cursed? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Please, cousin, this is urgent! There have been too many incidents!”

“I will tell my father and we will talk with it to your father. I believe that will be best.”

By the time Maglor was done communicating with Finrod, he flopped back done on his bed, drained. Using the last of his strength he channeled his thoughts to Gildor.

“Have you discussed with Lord Artafinde everything then?”

“Aye. He will speak to my father about it. May they return swiftly. I am ready to leave this place. I wish to sleep, but I am afraid.”

“Close your eyes, beloved. I may be far in body but I am right beside you.” Maglor felt his lips tingle as though they had just been kissed. He smiled, letting Gildor’s thoughts spread through his body, massaging him. Phantom lips touched his again, as the hands caressed his belly and downwards, drawing out a soft moan and a smile from Maglor. As his orgasm dwindled, he closed his eyes and sleep came fast upon him.

He dreamt of Formenos, of his family laughing as they spent time outside where the wedding had taken place. Maglor reentered, making his way to his quarters, though it seemed he moved slower. He noticed with curiosity how the place looked as it had done on their first day, with some parts of the castle still unfurnished. As he passed by the dark corridor that had never been furnished he glanced towards it and froze.

An mask-like face, pale white and slim, its eyes blazing bright, a grin which stretched from ear to ear, the darkness veiling the rest of its form. Maglor released a cry that his family never heard. Someone had grabbed him and was shaking him, and he kept screaming.

Someone called his name and he opened his eyes and found himself not in the hall but back in his bed, looking up at the face of a kindly servant from his own house.

“My lord?” he said. “You were screaming in your sleep. Are you well?”

Maglor, his breathing heavy, became aware than he was drenched in cold sweat. Gingerly he sat up, looking about him apolitically at the other servants who had come to help him.

Suddenly there were screams far off, but the words which did reach them turned the contents inside Maglor’s stomach: Nerdanel! Fire!

* * *

Maglor held Nerdanel, wounded yet doing well, as he fought back his tears. He had almost lost his mother. It was by most strange chance, she had said, that the candle which was always located far from her drawings had fell exactly on her sketchbook, bursting into flame and nearly trapping her inside her drawing room. She did not recalling being dragged out of the room, and it was with difficulty that they were able to get her to breath.

Maglor had to keep telling himself that she was fine, but he could not stop embracing her, his heart aching at the terrible thought of losing his mother. He opened his eyes to look about himself and at the ashen faces of his brothers and his sisters-in-law and the servants who were tending to her.

His eyes met Curufin’s, and his message was clear in their minds: Get Father.

“He will be here in two days time,” Curufin said in his mind.

“But…this is so soon!”

“They are receiving aid to quicken their travel. They are not stopping until they reach us.”

* * *

No fire was lit and everyone moved in caution as they waited for King Finwë and Lord Fëanor’s return. Maglor kept himself busy outside, where a few nervous servants also sat. Some wished to leave, but as Curufin pointed out, it would take them all a very long time to relocate everyone. The matter would, hopefully, be settled within the next day or two.

Maglor was just glad to have the elflings within their sight, though Amrod was being kept away from them out of fear of hurting another. His behavior continued to be strange, and Amras as well, almost deathly quiet and reserved.

At last Maglor saw the host of the riders nearing them, and he rushed out to meet them half way. His grandfather and father continued to the house to meet Nerdanel, giving Maglor a chance to embrace Gildor (and he could not resist, being this close, to kiss his neck.) If Finrod thought it odd to see his cousin with his servant in this manner, he made no comment on it.

“Goodness, you are shaken!” Finrod said instead. “Has anything happened since our last communication?”

They spoke as they made their way towards the grounds of the stronghold, the rest of the party already far ahead. Maglor had to fight to remain calm, hoping nothing happened to his family once they were indoors, or even outdoors, should a piece of the building suddenly collapse on them.

He shook his head to get his mind off the terrible thoughts. Gildor gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. King Finwë and Lord Fëanor had entered the stronghold, followed by a great number of their house. As they neared the entrance, their attention was stolen by little Amras, who was watching them before running up to them. They halted in their steps, and Maglor crouched down, studying his youngest brother’s face. Upon seeing Finrod and Gildor Amras took a step back, glancing at his feet and swaying slightly.

“Is there something you wish to tell us, Telvo love?” Maglor said gently. Amras looked up, his eyes teeming with the words he could not speak. He was still too young to master communication of the minds, but it was obvious what he was trying to do. Realizing his failure at communicating his fears, the child burst into tears and made to rush off, but Maglor grabbed his arm in time.

“Brother, please! My heart is breaking seeing you suffer so! What is the matter, my child?” He turned to the others. “He knows something! All this time - but what is it? Has the fear cost his ability to speak? Telvo? Please answer me!”

Finrod and Gildor also crouched down to his level.

“Please, cousin, you can trust us,” Finrod said.

“No one can hurt you with a big rock like me around,” Gildor added, smiling at the small child. Amras studied their faces, inching closer as if to show his trust of them. But suddenly he wiggled out of Maglor’s hold and made for the field around the corner where the wedding had taken place.

The three elves followed, each wondering if there was a significance to the location, and each felt they were correct when Amras paused and turned towards them. His tiny body shook as, struggling, he lifted one arm to point in a direction at his far right. Maglor had a sudden flashback of the time shortly after his first rest, speaking with his father in front of his smithy as he watched his brothers run off in the direction where he now pointed.

“There is something there which changed you and Pityo,” Maglor said. “It happened on that day then.” Amras gave the smallest of nods and cried harder. He made to run away but Gildor swooped him up in his arms, holding him close. He hummed gently in the elfling’s ear.

“Show us where, young Prince,” he said. “Whatever has scared you will harm you no longer. We will see to that.”

There was a call behind them and Curufin and Fingon appeared.

“They are wondering where you’ve been,” Curufin told them.

“Telvo is trying to tell us something,” Maglor said. “Take us there, Elenaurel.”

Gildor nodded and the others followed.

“But there is nothing there!” Curufin said. “There is nothing but barren land in the back, so we never had plans to put anything there.”

“All the more for something to hide,” Finrod said.

“But there is no place to hide!”

“Then what about this?” Gildor said, indicating with a nod at the ground. There was what seemed to be an entrance to a cellar, the tall grass hiding its location from view until one was right beside it. Amras glanced over his shoulder at the doors, then wailed and wept against Gildor’s chest.

Curufin approached the doors, and his face was pale as he tapped the door with the tip of his boot. He glanced up at Fingon, who also studied the door with a slightly open mouth.

“This was barricaded when we were done building the stronghold,” Curufin said. “Done with the infrastructure, at least. We used this as a shed to store our supplies. When we no longer needed it, we just locked it, expecting nature to take its course and cover it with grass.”

“Yes, and I can attest to that,” Fingon said. “I helped to build Formenos - sent by my father of course. He thought it was best to have me as a volunteer.”

Curufin’s lips thinned at the memory. “Yes, I remember that. Point is, there should be no reason for the doors to be revealed like this!”

“A child could not have done it,” Maglor said. “They would not be strong enough to take apart the wood. But I have reason to believe they went inside, for I saw them playing in this direction a year ago.”

“So if it was removed by a child, then who?” Curufin said. “And what had happened to the wood?”

“One who wished us all ill,” Maglor said. “Remember what I told you earlier, brother?” He gave the door a look of unease. “Where does this lead to?”

“I…am not certain, actually,” Curufin said. “We never meant for it to be connected to the stronghold, but…” and suddenly he too seemed nervous. “It would lead to a hallway we never had a chance to finish. There is no light in there.”

Maglor sought to hide the shudder that racked his body, remembering his dream, but it was noticed by all around him. “Ai…that was where I saw it…in my nightmare.”

“The only way we can figure anything out is by going in there,” Fingon said. He bent down and with ease unlatched the door and swung it open. The crying from Amras intensified, but Gildor hushed him softly, rubbing circles on his back.

“Did you enter here to play?” Maglor heard Gildor ask his brother, who did not respond.

The others also heard him and they gave one another a slight pained look.

“Let us go in,” Fingon said. “Walk carefully on the steps. They are steep, but it should not be a long way to the bottom.”

“Is there any light in there?” Maglor asked.

Grinning, Curufin whipped out a small black stick where a Fëanorian blue light shone from the tip. “You need these at all times when working on the forge,” he said before following his cousin. Finrod went in next, with Maglor and Gildor, still holding Amras close to him.

Perhaps it was just the doing of Maglor’s own troubled mind, but he felt himself growing colder as they reached the bottom. He looked about to watch the others. Finrod also appeared nervous, and Curufin was looking about him as though confused about something. Gildor stayed quiet, but Amras gave tiny wails and gripped hold of Gildor. Only Fingon kept going.

“Someone was here,” he said. “The shovels have been pushed around.”

“It could have been the elflings,” Maglor said.

“No, this is far too recent,” Curufin said as he crouched down and wiped one finger over the edge of one shovel. He showed Maglor his finger, nearly clean of dust.

“How big is this place?” Finrod asked, looking around.

“Just big enough for our supplies,” Curufin said. “The end of the hall is what touches the side of that unfinished hall in the stronghold.”

Finrod gave Curufin an incredulously look. “I think there is another hall here.”

An involuntary shiver spread over Maglor as he glanced at Gildor nervously. Amras continued to cry, his sobs growing louder and frantic.

“It will be fine,” Gildor said soothingly to him. “The monster will disappear soon.”

Amras raised his head, though his eyes were squeezed shut, and whispered something to Gildor. The tall elf looked up.

“It was in the other hall when he was here,” he said. “He said…they can slip through the walls…because this cellar wasn’t blessed.”

Curufin’s face paled as he studied his youngest brother. “Once I find the fiend I will pulverize it!”

“I am getting terrified,” Maglor admitted. “Curufinwë, it is approaching us. I feel it.” His body gave it away. He shuddered violently with dread, his heart about to rupture with how fast it beat. Amras began to thrash, and no amount of Gildor’s words could subdue him.

“I feel it too,” Finrod spoke up. Though he stood straight the fear was clear in his eyes. He covered his mouth, his eyes widening as though he could see the terror materialize before them.

Fingon took the Fëanorian light from Curufin and said, “Bring your father - now!”

Not even flinching at being given an order, Curufin rushed back up the steps. Maglor gripped Gildor’s arm, the scream in his throat.

* * *

They never saw the fiend, though it was felt by all as though one was standing right beside them; but to Maglor he thought he saw the demon in his mind, taking many forms, including that which he saw in his dream. It was no wonder why his brothers had been acting so strange. Young and innocent of the world, their minds were full of frightful images and the feeling about them drove them into madness. Amrod turned to anger and Amras turned to tears to endure their trauma.

It took great effort from King Finwë and Lord Fëanor to vanish the spirit from the storage room, and each of the others participated in the cleansing and blessing of the room in the manner of the Noldor (which Finrod struggled with, being more familiar with the Telerin blessing). All except Gildor did this, for he still held Amras, who struggled against him as if in the middle of a nightmare.

“This is the very last time Melkor will touch our family,” Fëanor said. “Think I do not recognize the stench of him in here?” He paced around, paused, then turned to Gildor. His eyes narrowed.

“Put him down, slave! For what reason do you hold him and bring him here where he had suffered!”

“I apologize, my lord,” Gildor said, bowing his head. “He was frightened, and I comforted him.”

“And who gave you the permission to watch over an elfling? That is not your duty, is it? You have no business touching my son! Release him at once!”

Finrod looked from his uncle to his servant and friend in silent shock, while Fingon frowned and studied Gildor as though there was some dark secret to him. Maglor felt his own heart clench at the words; he felt Curufin’s hand on his shoulder. The events had driven from their minds the status of each and together they worked as a team, but now all was becoming aware of the servant who held a young prince in his arms.

Gildor said nothing but bowed once more before setting Amras down, who clung on to his robes until he saw the look in his father’s eyes. He let go and ran into his father’s arms instead.

* * *

Gildor was not bodily punished, but he was ordered to never return to Formenos even during Finrod’s visits. Maglor sought to speak with his father in defense of Gildor, which only earned him a ban to never communicate with him even should he visit Alqualondë (“And I will be sure of it,” he said.) All too soon, the party for Alqualondë prepared for its departure. Maglor stood in the front as he had during their arrival. It agonized him to be unable to speak to his husband, not since that day in the storage cellar. Gildor’s arm was the last thing he had touched, Maglor kept thinking, and his heart ached to touch him, just to embrace him, again.

All he could do was stare into his silvery eyes as he helped his masters pack and prepare for their journey. When all was done, he glanced up, his eyes meeting Maglor. No words were exchanged between them, for their eyes was all they needed to convey everything to one another.

At last as they left, Maglor turned to his father. “Elenaurel is a friend to me, and now I cannot speak with him.”

Sighing, Fëanor said, “That I understand, Kano. How deep that bond between you goes I do not know, but it is apparent and that makes everything worse. The law is the law. I cannot bend it for anyone. He held a child when he was under no one’s order. To forgive him would only hurt our image further. Did you not see how Findekáno regarded him?”

“He was acting on compassion.”

“I am no fool, dear Kano. I did not say I agree with the law, but it is our customs and to it I must stand true to it.”

“It’s a cold thing, following our customs. Do you not care for anything else, Father?”

At this Fëanor’s eyes flashed. “I am doing the best for my family, Makalaurë! You recall who was in the cellar with us? There was Findekáno who would have blabbered the entire story to his father, who is held in such high regard in Valinor. You wish for our name to be muddled further by the compassion of one servant? They are not seeking compassion but normalcy and abidance from us! They banished us to live in the barren of lands as mockery!”

“Father, I am sorry, I -”

“Do you think your father wicked? Would that I have first gotten to know this elf myself to feel secure with his intensions. And indeed had I know the friendship between you I would have bought him from your cousin! Otherwise, I can risk nothing! After nearly losing Curvo to Melkor when he was but an elfling, I keep a watchful eye on all my children! Whenever I can.” His voice faded as he looked about himself at the stronghold, clearly disturbed. “Everything about our family is a curse,” he said to himself before marching back inside and leaving a tearful Maglor behind.

* * *

1495 in the Year of the Trees

My most beloved Mélaurel,

I take a great risk in writing you. My father has been summoned to Taniquetil where he is to reconcile with his half-brother. I am taking this chance to send you a letter, for I fear I may not have another chance. Please understand it was not my father’s wish to banish you out of malice. The pressure on his shoulders to redeem himself in the others’ eyes are far too great. But five Valian Years* have passed since your departure from Formenos, and I ache to speak to my beloved husband.

You may have heard snippets of the ongoings in Formenos from my cousin. My two youngest brothers have fully recovered from the ordeal. Pityafinwë is as loving as I remember him before moving to Formenos, and Telufinwë is talking again. They have grown to become such lovely adult elves and as vibrant in their own individuality. We celebrated their coming to majority not to long ago.

After the spirit was driven out I no longer feel the emptiness and sadness of before. A weight was lifted from Formenos. Telpenië my brother Morifinwë’s wife conceived three times, and now I am an uncle to three very lovely and intelligent nieces. Curufinwë’s wife have yet to conceive, but I am certain they will succeed soon.

I feel my creativity has returned after a period of sadness after your leaving. I have written dozens of pieces, most of which are inspired by you. It seems life has mostly returned to its beauty. Although it is nothing like my old home of Tírion - and there are elves named Elenaurel, Artafinde, and Elemmírë missing in my life - I am fond of Formenos in all its rustic beauty.

You may be wondering what became of my grandfather’s circlet, if you have not already heard. It was decreed that Findis is the rightful owner, being older than my uncle Ñolofinwë and considering that she too is a ruler of her own peoples. Last I heard she passed it on to her son Laurefindil in honor of his accomplishments. You can imagine my father’s outrage, but there is nothing he could do save for prohibiting Laurefindil from ever visiting us (though my cousin never showed interest in doing so.)

I almost forgot to mention, though perhaps you have already heard this. Three years ago Melkor sought my father in our house, but my father slammed the door in the fiend’s face. It was a bold move, but King Finwë believes the Vala must be hunt down for his mistreatment of my family. I am certain that will work out well.

This brings me now to you. I know not how long my father will be in Taniquetil, but I hope it will give me enough time to have this delivered to you and to see you. Let us meet at the midpoint between Formenos and Alqualondë. I miss you terribly so, my love. Your words, stories, and songs; and the way you touch me and move inside me - the memories are still clear in my mind. You were correct that the libido does eventually fade, but the flame left behind the eternal light of my love for you. Perhaps my body’s yearning will rekindle once we meet again, but I do not mind either way. I desire most to simply see you and hold you again.

May we find each other in good health. I have faith in my heart that soon we could speak again more frequently, that I may see you, my cousins, and Elemmírë. The curse of the House of Fëanor will at last come to an end.

Your very loving husband, Melilaurë