For the First Time in Forever by quillingmesoftly

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By the Baranduin

An unexpected meeting.

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The Baranduin was a peaceful river. Not that he was travelling along the Baranduin. He was simply lingering near the estuary, where the river poured into the ocean, where the forest thinned out. The smell was salty and sharp, and yet there was greenery on the bank, even though it was only the tough beach grasses that were able to tolerate the mixture of salty and clean water. He had decided to leave his little stretch of beach, just for a while, and had come across one of his snares in the near-by willow grove, broken. So for the past half an hour or so, he had sat against the willow, mending the torn leather, singing the lament for the Ambarussa as he worked.

“You have a good voice.”

The remark came with a wisp of warm breath on his cheek, and he yelped as he shot to his feet. Unfortunately, he didn’t put the needle down first; this resulted in another yip of pain as the needle pierced through the skin of his thumb, as he turned to face the (evidently very quiet) newcomer.

Her skin was dark, like bronze. Her nose was hooked, her large eyes were the hazel colour that some of the Haladin had had – but she couldn’t be a fíriel; her ears were pointed, and her blond hair tumbled all the way to her hips in loose waves. She wore green leggings, and a sleeveless brown jerkin, and pale blue paint adorned her arms in swirling designs. And she had not spoken in Sindarin, even though the meaning of the words imprinted itself in his mind as if she had. Still, his ears knew what he'd heard, and it was not Sindarin. Beneath an aura of summer warmth, she crackled with power, and the smell of a lightning strike hung in the air around her.

Finally, she wore a bow slung over her shoulder, as well as a quiver of arrows, and a bone dagger at her hip, with the easy confidence of someone who knew how to use it. The good news was that she hadn’t used it on him yet.

She frowned up at him, her gaze settling on him. Well, why wouldn’t she be frowning?

“You've stabbed yourself.” She pointed at his thumb.

…He’d forgotten about that, in his attempt to discern whether she was – well, almost certainly not a friend. Maglor was quite sure that, errant foster son aside, he didn’t have any friends left on these shores. So his options were reduced to either ‘other traveller’ or ‘foe.’

He felt a blush spread across his face, all the way to the tips of his ears, like he had not since he was a youth in Aman. A very small amount of blood welled up from his thumb. He ignored it, and removed the needle. 

The woman smiled, and the effect was dazzling. Maglor had a sudden impression of the trail of hearts which must have been left broken and shattered in her wake, much like the devastation that Maitimo had once wrought among the female population of Tirion. Her eyes took in the grove, and she frowned again. Puzzlement, almost, seemed to be the expression on his face. He scanned his resting spot. No, nothing he could see that was very out of the ordinary.

"What is this?" she asked, crouching to prod at the lap harp experimentally. Her eyes widened when the strings twanged in response to her touch.

"It's a harp," he said, frowning. Just where was she from? She seemed to contemplate that for a minute, before nodding and smiling at him again.

"Would you play?" 

He quirked an eyebrow. It had been a very long time since someone with no history with him had asked that question. A long time, indeed.

He flexed his hands. Well enough to play a song, at least. After that, would no doubt come some crippling agony, but he could conceal that long enough for the traveller to be on her way.

And – he could not have said what decided him. Whether it was her apparent ignorance of who he was, the fact that she looked him in the eye undaunted and unafraid, or the fact that her smile was warm enough to melt the Helcaraxë.

But he picked up the harp, settling it on his lap.

“Do you have a request, lady?”

She laughed, and launched into a melody, a fast, wordless song that had the water rippling in a counterpoint. He watched the Baranduin cautiously as he thrummed a harmony, but it did not seem to be rising to claim him. So she was not trying to drown him through a song of power.

…Centuries on, and he could almost hear Maedhros’ exasperated sigh. Not to mention exactly what he’d say if Maglor informed him of the situation.

Lauro. You accede to a request to play for her, and then to think to worry about whether she’d try and drown you?

Well, no-one had ever claimed that he was rational when it came to his music, had they?

She sang for – he didn’t know for how long. But while his ear had stayed entranced by her music, the playing had driven the pain of his hand from its normal fierce ache to outright agony. He clenched his jaw to try and hide the pain, but it did not seem to avail, as his partner stopped mid-note. As she did, the water stilled.

“You're in pain,” she said, frowning. Her eyes turned piercing, as her eyes found his hand. “Hmm.”

She began a low sound; not the light, laughing melody of before. It was still wordless, and pitched lower, sweet and soothing. It took him to a slow-moving stream, over a stony creek-bed, and Maglor breathed in the sweet smell of a forest in bloom for a moment, instead of the sharp smell of salt. The blinding pain in his hand – lessened. No longer fierce agony it had become. The woman pulsed with power, and still, she sang. It was an ache, now.

Her voice trailed off, and he waited for the pain to return. But all that remained was the gnawing ache.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes clouding. “I cannot – something is blocking me, resisting me– but that makes no sense! Do you not wish to heal?”

Ah. For all the power that the young woman had, she clearly still had a lot to learn, to be asking that question.

“That is a very complicated story,” he said. One which you should know, if your parents have even barely educated you.

The woman smiled a hopeful smile. Maglor’s breath caught in his throat. The last time he’d seen an expression on someone’s face like that directed at him–

“I have time,” she said, and she blinked. “That is – if you do not mind me sharing your camp.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to camp here at all. The choice loomed before him: go back to his beach, and let the lady to wander? Or stay the night and build a fire?

The habits of centuries told him to go, that she would be fine, clearly she was much more powerful than anything else she was likely to encounter, and that she’s much better off without him around, that he should go back to his exile. It was nothing less than he deserved, after all.

He looked at the pretty green-brown eyes again.

The little spark of him that remained Kanafinwë Makalaurë, rather than Maglor, blazed white-hot, and whispered something else.

“I do not mind at all,” he heard himself say.

The little voice that sounded like Maedhros spoke again. Lauro, you are incorrigible. 

“Just one question, though,” he said. “Just one. Who are you?”

She smiled. “I am Neniellë. And you are Kanafinwë Makalaurë. Commonly known as Maglor Fëanorion.”

…She had known this entire time?

He eyed her warily. “Most people at this point usually either scream and run, or scream and attempt to stab me. Whilst reciting my misdeeds.”

They certainly don’t attempt to heal me of a punishment inflicted by the Valar.

Neniellë's nose wrinkled. “I think I would rather listen to you sing again,” she said. “I shall go gather kindling for a fire. Try not to stab yourself,” she added, with yet another charming grin.

Maglor frowned at her, as she walked out of the clearing, and felt better than he had in centuries.

 

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Chapter End Notes

Goldberry smelling like lightning is inspired by thearrogantemu's wonderful, heart-wrenching stories, where all of the Ainur smell like ozone. I couldn't resist that detail. 

The first chapter takes place on the banks of the forest that will eventually be known as the Eryn Vorn. Sorry I couldn't make it clearer!

And yeah, I know in canon that Goldberry is described as having pale skin, but...I really don't care.