Left Behind by Himring

Chapter 6

Ulrica's foster-daughter marries--and Maglor is there.

When eventually Lorren married her young man from Ladros, Caranthir donated a small cask of dwarven ale for the wedding celebrations and stayed long enough to see it broached, although soon the party, such as it was, seemed to become too noisy for him and he withdrew.

Maglor came to the wedding to play, as he did on all such occasions when he happened to be in Amon Ereb, and also to honour Lorren's young man, who had fought under him. Ulrica, who had avoided him all these years--not that it had taken much effort on her part--made sure to keep her distance, at the beginning of the evening. She was also very careful with the dwarven ale--or so she thought--but she had no experience of the stuff, which, like wine, was in very short supply and the name of "ale" and even more its smoothness on the tongue misled her.

The evening grew late. The dances grew livelier within their crowded space. Ulrica was one of the few who did not dance. She edged out of the way, and before she knew it, dodging quick steps and flying skirts, she was standing right next to the musicians. She resisted the temptation to back away again hurriedly and stood quietly, watching Lorren being whirled around by the bridegroom in the centre of the room--so happy today, whatever the future might bring.

That dance ended and there was a short break, as some of the musicians needed to switch instruments and others needed to re-tune their strings. As the music fell silent and the hubbub of voices rose in the room, against all her intentions, Ulrica glanced aside and straight into Maglor's eyes.

They stared at each other. She had not thought she could be so bold; she had not imagined Maglor looking disconcerted by her gaze. Maedhros, she thought, must have said something to him--but even so, he could hardly regret killing a traitor...

'Perhaps,' said Maglor, 'I owe you a song...'

'One of your elvish laments?' asked Ulrica. This dwarvish ale was wicked stuff. She could not believe how it was loosening her tongue!

She turned to confront Maglor fully.

'If you make a song for Ulrica, son of Feanor--no laments for me! If you make a song, let it say that Ulrica lived! Lived, although she was given up and left for dead! No matter that the marks of the blow still show after all this time and my broken bones ache in bad weather, I live, and those who would have killed me are dead! I lost my family, my home, my name--I lost the love of my life and I can no longer bear a child--and yet here there are those who call me mother and, if this day keeps its promises, I may be called grandmother, too, one day. Put that in your song, son of Feanor!'

Of course, she never imagined he would actually make that song, but he did. Astonishingly, it was not even as embarrassing as it ought to have been. That was what they meant, she thought, when they said of him that he was a true artist.