God, I Pity the Violins by StarSpray

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Chapter 13

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Maglor did not get dropped on the way to the car the next morning, but it was a near thing and Maglor couldn't quite tell if Daeron had stumbled on purpose or not. There was much cursing on Maglor's part and much laughter on the part of everyone else. The winds had picked up the night before and the heavy humidity had been blown away, leaving the air almost crisp, and making the ride down the mountain with the windows open enjoyable. Everyone was in high spirits: they had done what they had come there to do, and come away with more than they had expected to find.

Even so, Maglor half-expected them to run into trouble at the airport, but he need not have worried. Radoriel imperiously bustled them all through the airport and they reached their plane without unnecessary delay. Maglor even managed to walk most of the way, leaning heavily on Daeron and earning only a few strange looks in the process. It was a relief to finally sit down in the plane, however. "How're you feeling?" Nile asked as Maglor reclined his seat as far back as it would go. He grunted. "Very eloquent. I thought you were the greatest elf singer or whatever. Can I get a limerick or something on where you're at on the pain scale?"

"I'm not the greatest," Maglor said. "He is." He did not open his eyes when he pointed to where he thought Daeron was sitting.

"That's Nicky," said Nile. "And he's not an elf or a great singer."

"Hey!"

"It's true," Andromache said from somewhere in the same direction. "Ow, you can't punch me, I bruise now!"

"I meant Daeron," Maglor said.

"Does that mean I don't get a limerick?" Nile asked.

"You absolutely do not get a limerick."

He was left alone after that. He felt when they took off, and fell asleep soon after. So went the rest of the journey: Maglor was roused when they had to leave the plane, and left to doze on the drive back to Thranduil's halls, where he was taken to the same bedroom as before and left again to sleep. He drifted in and out of deep sleep and was faintly aware of healers singing and of the sweet clear scent of athelas.

When he finally woke properly again it was sunny, and the windows were open to let in the song of a nightingale and the sweet scents of lilacs and roses. His entire body still ached, but it was duller now and not the sort of ache that prevented him from moving. What did prevent him from getting up in that moment was soft and warm and curled up against his arm. Maglor turned his head and smiled into Norindo's fur. At this Norindo stirred, lifting his head to lick Maglor's nose. "Hullo there," said Maglor. He scratched Norindo behind the ears and received a great deal more licking for his troubles. "Yes, yes, I missed you too."

"Oh, good, you're awake." Maglor looked up to see Daeron leaning on the doorway. He was dressed in fine robes embroidered in old patterns out of Doriath in delicate shades of green and gold. "When did you get a dog?"

"Either this week or last year," said Maglor. Daeron rolled his eyes. "How long have we been here?"

"We arrived the day before yesterday," said Daeron. "You haven't missed much, except for the limerick competition that seemingly sprung out of nowhere last evening."

"Who won?" Maglor asked, curious in spite of himself.

"I did, of course."

"Of course."

"I did," Daeron added, with mock humility, "have a bit of a head start on the flight here. Speaking of which, did you know Thranduil had a private jet? I've been flying business class for decades when I could have been borrowing it."

"Oh, please, as though you don't have more than enough squirreled away for a jet of your own."

"I don't, actually," Daeron said.

Maglor sat up, dislodging Norindo as he carefully stretched sore muscles. "What do you spend it all on, then?" Daeron was still a very active performer (probably how Turralba had found him in the first place), and Maglor did not believe for a second that he did it for free.

"Scholarship funds, mostly," said Daeron. "You should see the spreadsheet. What do you spend your money on? Or rather—what will you do with it all, since you're leaving?"

"I hadn't thought about it much," said Maglor. "It's been rather a busy week." He heaved himself out of bed and reached for the dressing gown someone had left draped over a chair. It was silk, which felt remarkably luxurious at the same time it highlighted how desperately he needed a bath.

Daeron snorted. "Are you saying that you decided to sail to Valinor this week?"

"Well, I didn't know I could until this week," Maglor said.

"I think you are going to have to tell me this tale in full from the beginning," said Daeron. "But that can wait. There is to be feasting tonight, to celebrate our return and your recovery; there will be fires in the wood and dancing and singing. Calwë's folk will join us. I have heard that even Tata and Tatië will attend."

"It was Tatië that told us that Calwë had also been taken," said Maglor, as Norindo began jumping up to paw at Daeron's knees. "Norindo, down."

"It's all right." Daeron scooped Norindo up into his arms. "I'll take him outside while you bathe."

Maglor spent more time soaking and drowsing in the hot water than he did scrubbing himself, and emerged feeling clean and refreshed and less sore. While he had been in the bathroom someone had come and laid out clothes for him, and also Norindo had returned to curl up on his pillows. Maglor dressed and then lay back down to scratch Norindo's belly for a while, enjoying the doggy kisses he received in return, until his thoughts turned back to Daeron, and to his vague plans for the future.

"I have a great deal to set in order before I leave," he sighed as Norindo rolled around on the quilt. He'd never been particularly interested in acquiring wealth beyond what it took to live comfortably and relatively obscurely, but the numbers had still added up. And his lack of interest in finances meant he did not have any neat spreadsheets to refer to as Daeron apparently did. Then there were his actual possessions, his instruments and the pieces of sculpture he had tucked away in his cottage. He could finish them, Maglor supposed, but then do what with them? Sell them? Just leave them somewhere for someone to find? That had its appeal, he supposed. "I also have to decide what to do with you," he said to Norindo, who licked his face in response. "Can I trust you not to just leap into the water if I put you on a sailboat?" Norindo, of course, did not answer.

Downstairs Maglor found the chateau bustling with activity as preparations were made for the feasting that night. Outside he heard the clatter of wooden weapons as the immortal mortals both learned from and taught the elves on the sparring grounds. He also heard Daeron somewhere in the gardens singing some sweet French folk song.

After greeting Thranduil more properly than he had been able to before, Maglor wandered with Norindo out of the chateau and out of the gardens into the woods. There was a great clearing not too far from the chateau, edged with ferns and with several large spaces cleared out for bonfires. He skirted around it and went deeper into the trees. Norindo trotted along at his heels, pausing now and then to sniff at roots or piles of old leaves and pine needles. The wood was fragrant with pine and fern and the sweet flowers that peeped out from among the tree-shadows. Birds sang in the boughs overhead, and squirrels scurried out of Norindo's way. Once Maglor glimpsed a hart, just briefly, before it too bounded away into the wood.

Eventually he came to a stream that flowed cheerfully along its rocky bed, clear and cold. Norindo jumped in immediately to splash around; Maglor found a few large flat stones in a patch of sunshine to stretch out on. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, until Norindo's splashing suddenly ceased. When Maglor looked up he found Norindo on the other side of the stream sniffing at Tatië's fingers. She was not clad in her ceremonial hunter's garb, but in jeans with tattered hems and ripped knees, and a flannel shirt hanging open over a simple white tank top. She had wooden beads woven into her braids, and they clicked softly together as she raised her head to fix her eyes on Maglor. He rose to his feet to bow, but she waved a hand. "There is no need for that," she said. "May I join you?"

"Of course, Lady."

She smiled as she jumped lightly across the water to sit on the sun warmed stone beside him, silver hair gleaming in the light. "Thank you," she said, "for bringing Calwë home to us. And for destroying Turralba."

"You must thank Daeron more than me for that," Maglor said.

"But it was you who went after them," Tatië said. She fell silent then, and gazed for so long at Maglor, as though studying each and every one of his features, that he felt the urge to fidget like a child. Whatever Tatië found, she seemed satisfied. "You have her eyes," she said finally.

Maglor blinked. "Whose?"

"Rilya. She was my daughter," Tatië said, "lost to us between Finwë's first leaving and when he returned to convince the Tatyar to journey west. Her daughter was Silindë, who did not wish to go but left for the sake of her own daughter Míriel." Maglor gaped at her. "You did not know?"

"No, I—I never knew my grandmother."

Tatië's lips pursed. "I would have thought Finwë would speak of her now and then," she said. "But never mind," she went on, saving Maglor from having to defend the choices his grandfather had made long before his own birth. "Now you do know."

He wished he had known before. The knowledge that he had kin—that he was kin to Tata and Tatië themselves—would have made some of the long years he had spent in Middle-earth less lonely. Or maybe not. Most of his solitary exile had been self-imposed. But it still seemed unfair to learn all of this just as he was ready to leave.

Tatië rose from the stone and extended her hand. "Come," she said. "We are camped not far from here."

The camp of the Avari was large and sprawling, with little in the way of order. Children ran between the tents and swung up and down the trees were quick-built talans had been erected. There was much singing to be heard, and laughter, and the smell of food roasting over open flames. Maglor was introduced to more people than he could remember, in a whirl of faces and names, and was drawn into the children's games and into the storytelling circles. It seemed as though he merely blinked, and evening was falling. Away in the feasting glade, as purple twilight settled over the wood, the voices of Thranduil's folk lifted in merry song.

"There you are," said Aeramath when Maglor joined her and Thranduil by one of the fires, which was leaping high already into the evening air. "You look better," she said. "Do you feel better?"

"Much, thank you," said Maglor.

"Good!" Aeramath handed him a goblet of jewel-red wine. "We've brought out your harp, though I doubt anyone will want harp music until very late."

Wine in hand, Maglor went in search of Quynh and the others, finding them seated on cushions near one of the smaller fires. Nile was looking doubtfully into her own wine goblet, while Andromache was already refilling hers. "It isn't poison," Maglor said, seating himself between Nile and Quynh, who snorted into her cup. "But Thranduil does favor strong drink," he added, snatching the bottle from Andromache's fingers. "Pace yourself."

"Where were you all day?" Quynh asked. Food was brought about—meats to roast on great spits over the coals, and cheeses and cloud-soft breads and fruits that burst with flavor upon the tongue.

"In bed," Maglor said, "and then in the wood. Lady Tatië wished to speak with me."

"About what?" asked Joe from Andromache's other side.

"Elvish things," said Maglor, earning eye rolls from all sides. "I heard you lot in the practice courts."

"It was fun," said Quynh. "Yusuf only broke his arm once."

"And both his legs," Nicky added. He and Joe lay somehow both in each other's lap at once, already drowsing by the fire. "But no one died, so it was a very tame afternoon."

"Those are my favorite kind," said Maglor.

It did not take long for the merriment to commence in earnest. Maglor was hauled away from the food and wine to join the other musicians, tossed an instrument more or less at random. He found himself at various times playing a guitar, a violin, a flute, and even a ukulele, much to Daeron's delight. Elsewhere there was dancing and singing, and as the moon rose round and white the forest echoed with music. It was the most fun Maglor had had in years—certainly the most enjoyable performance, singing many songs of ancient days with Daeron as the moon sank and the wild air of the party wound down into something quieter. Daeron sang the Lay of Leithian to Maglor's accompaniment on his driftwood harp, and once Tatië rose to sing even older songs that the Quendi had made beside the starry waters of Cuiviénen.

By the time dawn blushed rosy across the eastern sky the woods were quiet again. The birds struck up their morning chorus to fill the silence left by the elves. Some were asleep, others content now to sit quietly and speak to one another, or to simply enjoy the cool morning. The mortals were sprawled out in a pile on the grass; someone had thoughtfully draped blankets over them.

There was more merriment to be had that day and the following night. The morning after that, Maglor took Norindo outside to do his business and found Andromache, Nile, Joe, and Nicky huddled around an iPad on the patio. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"We've got another job," said Andromache. "There's a hostage situation in Colombia. Copley's got a flight booked for us in Paris." She raised an eyebrow. "Want to tag along?"

Maglor blinked, startled. "To Colombia?"

She snorted. "Nah. To Paris. You and Quynh wanted to go track down Booker anyway, didn't you?"

"Yes. If Quynh wants to go now, then of course I'll go with her. Norindo, leave the cat alone." Norindo had been making a friendly advance to a cat that Maglor could tell was just waiting for him to get within striking range. Norindo did not listen to him and received a swat on the nose for his troubles. The cat trotted off into the foliage as Norindo ran back to Maglor. "I told you," Maglor said.

"Can you be ready in an hour?" Nile asked as the others gathered up the tablet and vanished inside.

"Certainly."

"Great." She smiled at him and hurried off to gather her own things.

Maglor went to find one of their hosts. He found Thranduil and Aeramath in the garden with Daeron. The cat that Norindo had tried to befriend had also found them, and was curled up on Thranduil's lap, purring as he stroked it's pale fur. "Good morning," said Daeron.

"Good morning," Maglor said. "I come to take my leave of you. I promised Quynh I would go with her to Paris."

"So soon?" Aeramath rose to take Maglor's hands. "Please come back before you depart for the West, Maglor."

"If only so that we know for sure when you are gone at last," said Thranduil, before moving his legs quickly out of the way of his wife's kick.

"Yes, of course I will come," said Maglor to Aeramath. "It will take me some time to put things in order before I leave."

An hour later Maglor was in the back of the van, Norindo on his lap peering curiously out of the window, as Andromache drove them out of the wood and into the bright and sunny French countryside. It was nearly three hours to Paris; he passed it mostly in silence, listening to his companions exchange stories and reminisces of the many adventures they had had over the centuries.

At last they arrived at the sprawling airport, north of Paris proper. Andromache, Joe, Nicky, and Nile piled out of the van as Andromache tossed Maglor the keys. They embraced Quynh and promised to keep in touch, and with one last cheerful wave from Nile they disappeared into the sprawling building. The air was loud with the sounds of planes landing and taking off, and smelled of hot tarmac and jet fuel. Quynh watched a plane pass over their heads, low and large, and shook her head.

"How do they do it?" she asked as she and Maglor climbed back into the van.

"You'll have to find someone else to explain aerodynamics and the physics of flight to you, I'm afraid," said Maglor, as he maneuvered his way out of the labyrinthine parking lots and onto the equally labyrinthine streets. "Or find an explanation on the Internet, perhaps. Do you know where we are going to find this Booker?"

"No," said Quynh. "Or—I would recognize the street when I saw it. Nico gave me a few addresses to try." She held up a scrap of paper with several neat lines of handwriting.

"Oh, good."

"Where are we going now, though?" Quynh asked.

"I have a flat in the city," said Maglor. "There is a cafe next door and there is a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower."

"Of the what?"

Maglor laughed. "You'll see it." He remembered its unveiling at the Exposition Universelle in the spring of 1889, and being among the first to climb to the top. It had been the first time he'd ventured back to France in quite some time, and the first pleasant trip in even longer. The eighteenth century had been…chaotic.

His flat was tidy and clean, though devoid of groceries. "There is the Eiffel Tower," Maglor said, taking Quynh to the window after they dropped their bags by the door. Norindo trotted off to investigate this new place. Quynh regarded the tower with her head tilted and her lips pursed, before she asked what the point of it was. "To have something impressive at the Exposition Universelle, I think," said Maglor, who had never bothered to think about it too much. "And now of course it is the most iconic symbol of Paris there is, and a lively tourist attraction. There are stairs and lifts to take people to the top."

"Perhaps after we find Booker," said Quynh.

"Certainly after lunch," Maglor said. He went to his bag and pulled out a collar and a leash. "Norindo," he called. The dog appeared at the bedroom door, took one look at the leash, and fled. Quynh laughed as Maglor sighed. "If you don't submit to this small indignity," he called, "we shall leave you here in the flat!" But of course there was no reasoning with a small mongrel dog, and it took an hour for the two of them to wrestle him out from beneath the bed and into the collar. Once he was attached to the leash he calmed, but gazed up at Maglor with a sulky expression.

"I don't think I have ever seen such a clever dog," Quynh remarked as they made their way downstairs and out to the cafe, where tables were set up outside in the bright sunshine.

"So long as he's clever enough not to run into traffic," Maglor muttered. He ordered for both of them when Quynh looked in helpless bemusement at the menu, and the waitress brought Norindo a special snack of his own, greatly improving his mood. Once their food came, Quynh handed him the paper with the addresses of Booker's safe houses. There were four, scattered throughout the city. One was within easy walking distance of Maglor's own flat. One of the others he recognized as in a neighborhood that had, when he last heard of it, been rather seedy. The others were on streets he did not recognize.

The first address that they visited after lunch was empty. Maglor peered through a dirty window to see a heavy layer of dust over everything. "No one has been here in some time," he said.

By that time the afternoon was beginning to wane, so they walked over to see the Eiffel Tower up close so Quynh could gape at it, and on a whim Maglor took Norindo home and then took Quynh up to one of the restaurants inside it for an early dinner and then up to the top to see the view of Paris as the sinking sun shone golden over it. "It is very strange," Quynh said after a long while of gazing out over the sprawling urban landscape in silence. "So different."

"The whole world is a very different place from the one you knew," said Maglor.

"Yes. I knew that from the start, but it is different somehow to see it like this." She grinned at him. "I think I like it."