For the First Time in Forever by quillingmesoftly

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Partings

Exactly what it says on the tin.

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The course was set for west-northwest, and the map was very helpful delineating where the Great Wood ended and the light woodlands and moors over the downs began. Celebrían adored her maps, and the workmanship of them shone through in every pen-stroke.

Neniel set the maps down, and glanced up through the roof of the kitchen. The energy of spring was still singing through her veins, and she would not need to sleep tonight. Tauren was curled up with Helado, but she was awake as well, her mind running restlessly over new possibilities for making tomorrow, and sadness for the parting. Regen had fallen asleep on Neniel’s shoulder not long before. Dawn would break, soon.

Neniel scooped Regen up into her arms, and Regen burrowed in closer, instinctively reacting to the presence of another body, the primordial sense of safety, trained into her from earliest childhood. Neniel ducked around the screen and carefully stepped over Celenem, curled over Maglor’s feet. Then reached out with thought to her parents.

Unlike her daughters, who simply had varying degrees of difficulty sleeping in the spring, Dînen did not sleep during the spring for more than an hour at night at most. She was lying beside Nurwë, her head on his chest, her eyes closed in pleasure as she listened to the steady ba-bum of his heartbeat, as filled with wonder as she had been when she first met and spoke with the Elves under the starlight.

Emmá? 

Her eyes opened, and met Neniel’s, and Dînen smiled, slowly sitting up, and Neniel deposited Regen onto the mat, in the spot that their mother had just left. Ataro’s eyes blinked away muzzy sleep, and his arm stretched out to gather Regen close. Regen’s breathing deepened, and Neniel felt her father reach out to Regen and Tauren both, brushing at their minds with soothing, sleepy affection, coaxing them to Lórien. Dînen took Neniel’s hand and they got to their feet, walking out of the door of the longhouse, and around the side of it down to the banks of the river, where they stripped off their clothes, and dived into the river.

Water swirled around her ears, her hair, her fingers, her feet, and Neniel smiled, slow contentment curling through her as she opened her eyes, and they swam north, until they went past the first bend of the river north of the village.  She blinked silt from her eyes as she dived to touch the river bed, singing out a single note that sent the particles skittering away on a fresh current rippling through the water.

Dînen laughed amid the silt, and Neniel laughed with her. The life of the river pulsed around them both. Schools of trout and romps of otters; grayling and perch, down towards the south, and eels and salmon, already steadily swimming north.

She reached out in thought to her mother, sharing the joy, and felt it reflected back at her, bright and shimmering and teeming with life.

I love you.

Impossible to tell who had spoken first; the only thing that mattered was that it hung in the water between them, and they felt it swirl around them, truth mixed freely with the sand, the water, the fish scales.

As always, Neniel’s mind was quicker to move to a new thought, the moment breaking faster for her than it did for Dînen. She glanced at her mother.

You’re not angry, Neniel ventured.

A pale blond eyebrow rose. Should I be? 

Neniel shrugged helplessly. It was the kind of question that had no answer. Should you? Some of the parents were, when their children decided to leave.

That seems like a great waste of energy. Dînen’s eyes were twinkling. They should have learned from watching you.

Neniel raised an eyebrow. Oh?

You’re like salmon. You always come back to the river eventually. 

Neniel laughed again, and swum to the surface, until she broke through it and stood on it, singing under her breath – softly, it wouldn’t do to wake anyone else –  the notes that had ice forming underneath her feet. Her Emmá laughed, too, and sang out a note that had the ice melting. Neniel sang again, and leapt onto the next chunk of newly formed ice. She could have simply stayed on the surface of the water, but that would have been against the rules of the game. There was no score kept, and no points, simply the feeling of ice underfoot, solid and then melting, and leaping to the next chunk, and singing out counterpoints to re-freeze the water, as they wrestled for control of the water.

They played there under the moonlight, until the sky began to lighten towards grey.

I will miss you, Neniel said, as they begun to return. There were quicker ways to get there, of course, but there was something pleasant about the stretching and moving of muscles.

I’ll miss you too. Dînen sighed. But your uncle will keep an eye on you. 

Neniel smiled. Tell me, Emmá, is there any way I’ll ever be able to escape you having an eye on me?

Dînen smiled back. Not if I can help it.

They laughed again, as they swum back past the river-bend into the village waters. 

---

“You’ll keep in touch through the water mirrors,” Nurwë reminded Regen sternly.

“Yes, Ataro,” Regen said, bouncing on her toes a little. At Nurwë’s right, Dînen was shooting amused glances at her mate, and fond smiles at her daughters. The river-family was standing in a knot at the edge of the clearing. Around them, more knots were forming, as families made their farewells. Maglor had faded back into the treeline and was watching the scene, leaning back against an alder that seemed a bit more friendly than its fellows.

“Did you pack birch sticks?” Nurwë asked his youngest.

“Yes, Ataro,” Maglor mouthed along with Regen’s rote response.

“Be good for your sister.”

“Yes, Ataro.”

Beside Regen, Neniel smiled, and Nurwë turned to his eldest daughter, shaking his finger at her. “That goes for you too, Neniellë! All of it!”

“Yes, Ataro,” she said, tone demure, in stark contrast to her smile.

Nurwë shook his head ruefully, bent to kiss Regen’s cheek, and then straightened to kiss Neniel. “I’ll be lucky if you listen to half of it. Will I see you in the Fading?”

“Yes, I think so,” Neniel said, deviating from the formula and pulling her father into a tight hug. Dînen wrapped her arms around her daughter and her mate, and Nurwë’s other daughters and Helado all wriggled in to join the embrace. Maglor felt a wistful pang at the sight, and reminded himself that he needed to give Elrond a hug when he saw him. That was something to look forward to, even after the pain of saying good-bye to the Kindi, and to Neniel.

The family hug was breaking apart, as Tauren and Helado went to say goodbye to his cousins who would be going to Mithlond. Nurwë held his eldest and youngest daughters for a moment longer, before kissing them both on the forehead, and gently nudging them towards Salyë, Ráca and Tuilo. Then he touched Dînen’s shoulder briefly, and walked towards Maglor. Maglor straightened up, curious.

Nurwë reached Maglor’s side, and pulled him into a hug, moving slowly enough that Maglor could not possibly be startled. The older Elf had to lean up slightly to do it, for Nurwë was about the same height as Neniel, and Neniel came to Maglor’s chin.

“Have you got everything?” he asked.

Maglor couldn’t quite hold back a startled laugh. Nurwë and he got along quite well, but he had not realized Neniel's father was actually a little fond of him. “I’m beginning to think that asking that is a reflex of yours when people go off on journeys.” 

“It is,” Nurwë admitted, releasing him from the hug. “Possibly that’s why Neniellë didn’t warn me she was going somewhere last time. Do you have everything?”

“Yes. I have been looking after myself for a while now, you know.”

“True. You know, you could stay here if you liked.”

Maglor shook his head. “You’re not the only one with children who need looking after.” Even if he couldn't be in Mithlond on a permanent basis. That was leaving aside the fact that harbouring a Kinslayer would probably make any potential relationships with Gil-galad tricky, and that Tauren still did not like Maglor very much, although she would grudgingly concede that he was not responsible for her sisters’ thirst for new adventures.

“I understand. Still, the invitation stands, should you ever require it.” Nurwë smiled. “If for no other reason than you are dear to my daughter.”

That statement sent a warm glow through his fëa, and Maglor tried to think of an appropriate response. Nurwë’s smile widened, the same wide smile that Neniel had when she knew something and was waiting for someone to catch up.

It was like when a mistake in an equation became apparent, the wrong step finally isolated, and Maglor stared.

Nurwë knew. He’d known. Possibly since the day Neniel had brought Maglor to the longhouse, Nurwë had known, and had been nothing but kind, generous and hospitable.

Why aren’t you angry? Maglor demanded silently. If you know how I feel about her?  

Nurwë’s dark eyebrows, shot through with silver like an ageing Man, rose slowly.

“Angry at you? For what? Finding my daughter loveable?” Nurwë shook his head. “Besides, you have several points in your favour. You are not frightened of her strengths or her weaknesses, you do not think first of your own comfort, and – with no offence to your son’s line – you are not mortal, so I do not need to worry about Neniellë ever trying to repeat Lúthien’s extraordinary exploit for your sake.” Nurwë shrugged, smiling wryly. “No doubt she’ll find other reasons for me to worry, but at least they will be different reasons.”

Maglor frowned. “Beren was a much better person than I could ever hope to be.”

“I’m sure that you’re correct,” Nurwë said, with the same airy tone that Neniel used when she was being glib. “But if I had to stop letting people sleep under my roof on the grounds of killing people, then I would have never built a roof in the first place.” Nurwë shrugged. “At some point, Nerdanelion, Fëanorion, you need to stop judging and weighting yourself and your deeds up and live.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Did I say it was simple?” Nurwë’s eyes were smiling. “Keep an eye on them for me, alright?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Maglor said, which was true, strictly speaking, but Nurwë had to know how little that was worth.

Nurwë clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Oh, hello, it looks like Neniellë’s about to start rounding everyone up.” He glanced overhead at the sun. “You might even be gone before noon, at this rate.”

“For a lord of the Unbegotten, you’re awfully optimistic, Nurwë.”

“Keep your voice down,” Nurwë said, mock-scolding. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

---

By the third day of walking, as they walked north-west, they had walked out of thinning forest and into the downs. The hills were rolling and grassy, and there were patches of wildflowers blooming, blue cornflowers and pink and red pansies and regal, elegant lupin flowers in pale mauves. There were some groves of trees, elders and friendly alders and stately great beeches, scattered here and there, but they were nothing like dense woods that formed the hinterland of the Kindi village. The tôthu trotted among the company, hauling the frame-devices the Kindi used to help pack down their encampments up the hills with a steady, determined pace that ate up the ground while preserving their energy, as the hounds trotted faithfully by their masters’ sides.

Neniel and Ráca walked at the front of the company in the morning, with the younger Elves who raced ahead eagerly, dropped back to chat with the people at the back when they stopped for the noon rest, and usually finished the day in the middle, where the Elflings walked and played, safe in the centre of the group. Maglor thought he could guess at the reason for their rotating pace, too; it meant that they could hear about any minor problems before they grew into large problems. Clever Goldberry.

The pace of the Elflings was slow, and so the pace of the company was slow. But this day, Neniel was pushing them faster. She had halved the amount of time they spent resting at noon, and walked at the back to chivvy any stragglers along, while Ráca walked at the front. About half of the Elflings were in their twenties, early adolescents; however, the other half were all under the age of fifteen, and had no chance of keeping pace with the adults at all. By the afternoon, the Elflings had become so tired that many of the adults had picked them up and swung them onto their shoulders. Even Regen had decided to climb onto Maglor’s back, her arms wrapped around his neck, resting just below the legs of the toddler he was carrying as well. Eirien and Saelo had amused the Elflings by quizzing them on different plants as they walked, tested their knowledge of whether the plant was harmful or helpful, and taught and quizzed them on rhymes that gave the answers. Maglor thought that Eirien was cheating a little, when she changed the standards of the quiz to include whether the plant was harmful to any animals, as well as to Elves, but perhaps Kindi games differed from Noldor games like that. Maglor found himself learning far more herb-lore than teaching it, to the amusement of the Elflings.

At sunset, they reached the crest of a hill, and Neniel called out instructions to make camp. The hill sloped steeply away to the west, and the setting sun painted slopes in gold and orange light, turning the yellow scrambling flowers that nearly covered the slopes a deep, burnished gold. It was a clear night, with no threat of rain, so they would not need to put up any tarpaulins for shelter. Maglor set down the little boy he had been carrying down, and received a quick hug around the knees, before he scampered over to join his friends. Maglor smiled, and then looked to Neniel. She was looking a little stressed, but otherwise coping well, as she spun around to do a quick head-count.

She must have noticed his glance, because her voice lapped at the edge of his mind’s defences a few minutes later, when some of the tension leaked out of her shoulders.

I don’t know how you did it. 

Envy, stress and not inconsiderable exasperation with herself, all curling around the thought, along with – strangely enough – admiration, running beneath it. Admiration directed at him.

Maglor blinked, and then, a moment later, when he had shoved the warm glow that thought sent through him behind a door and set bars over the door, reached back in thought.

You’re doing fine, he reassured her. Really, Neniel. 

It shouldn’t be this difficult!

Shouldn’t it? he returned, coming to stand beside her. You’re used to travelling yourself, or with less than ten people. You now have seventy, a dozen of them Elflings. It’s an adjustment. He took another breath, and glanced westward again, towards the sunset, and felt his lips quirk into a smile at the sight. Neniel’s head turned as well, and she studied the sunset for a moment, smiling as well.

“You’ll grow into it,” he said, finishing his thought aloud.

She snorted. “You make it sound like a new set of clothes.” She thought about it for a moment, chewing on her lip. “But then, I suppose it is, in a way. Although clothes, you can take off.”

“No such luck,” Maglor agreed lightly, so that he wouldn’t think too hard about the comparison. “Ráca would be very cross with you, if you changed your mind before you got to Mithlond.”

Neniel snorted again. “And I’d never hear the end of it from Tuilo, or Tauren.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Thank you.”

He took her hand in his, and squeezed it gently. It was a strong hand. Graceful, long-fingered like his own, toughened and callused from years of bow-strings, cool to the touch. Not cold, just a degree or two cooler than his own skin. It must be a river-daughter quirk, like the ability to breathe underwater without coming up for air, or walking on the surface of the water. He let himself hold it for a bit longer than normal, memorising the feel of her skin against his. Neniel squeezed back; probably sensing the wistfulness he couldn’t fully suppress. Maglor forced a smile, and withdrew his hand.

“Do we need to refill the water skins?” he asked, as Neniel took a breath and opened her mouth.

Neniel frowned, as her train of thought was interrupted. “Maybe? There’s a stream half a league to the north in the woods, but we refilled when we crossed that brook this morning…”

“I’ll go check, shall I?” Maglor said brightly, before walking over to Saelo and Eirien.

If they noticed the sudden tension in his shoulders, they didn’t say anything. It turned out that the Elflings’ water skins were mostly empty, and they did indeed need re-filling, so Saelo and Eirien walked with him northwards towards the forest.

Neniel’s voice rang out faintly in his mind. Be careful. There is a herd to the north. Mothers with calves.

Maglor halted instantly, holding his hand up. “Hold.”

Say what you would about the Avari, but they were not fools, and they taught their children caution from earliest childhood. Both Saelo and Eirien instantly halted, their eyes scanning the surroundings, hands shifting towards the daggers they wore in their belts.  

Herds? What sort of animals? Not boar? he asked Neniel.

A hesitation, and then a memory floating across her mind. Beside a stream, a creature that looked like a massive bull drank, with long, curling horns that were sharp at the ends, long slender legs, and an immense bulk to it. It glanced up, dark eyes shining with a fierce intelligence, and its head came up, pawing the ground. Neniel watched it from across the stream, and very slowly, dipped her head and spoken out in Valarin in greeting. It was nearly as tall as I am.

That meant it came nearly up to seven feet at its shoulder. And it had looked almost as long as it was tall.

…how much do those things weigh? Maglor asked warily.

I don’t know. I’ve never gotten into a collision with one, Neniel replied, a grim humour to her voice, and I’d like to keep it that way.

That was something, coming from Neniel. She’d hunted boar as a young woman without a qualm; had treated slaying the brown bear at the encampment, a thing that must have weighed at least five hundred pounds, so casually that Maglor had stared at her in disbelief. The salted meat from it had fed them both all the way to the fenlands and back to the river that she called the Greylady. If she was frightened of tangling with these things…

Alright, Maglor said, his mind whirring. How far north? 

The closest I can feel them is a league away, she said, and Maglor felt a surge of relief. But they’re grazing animals. They’ll probably come south towards the grasslands. It’s why I wanted us to reach the top of this hill by tonight. They’ll cut across the more shallow slopes. They won’t want to push their calves too far, too fast. 

Wise, Maglor agreed. Alright. We should be able to make it back in time without incident. I take it they’re not aggressive if their herd is not threatened?

She huffed. They leave Elves alone, if we leave them alone. So you should be alright, she agreed. But I’d feel better if I was there with you.

Live with it.

She huffed again. If you die, I don’t think your son will ever forgive me.

Going by my past record, I seem difficult to kill, Maglor replied, gentling his voice again at the worry he could hear in her voice, and threading it with humour. Much like a roach, I suppose.

…a what? Never mind, tell me later. Just get the water and get back here alive! 

---

“Well,” Maglor said, rolling onto his front to watch the herds passing south through the slopes to the east of them. The sunset had faded to twilight, the Downs illuminated by the waning sliver of the moon. Most of the Kindi were sitting along the crest of the hill, watching the herds pass through. A fire burning brightly in the centre of the hill meant that the darmún would not approach them. The bedrolls were already set out, and the Elflings were chattering to their parents about everything they had learned that day; some were already asleep in their parents’ laps.  “We definitely didn’t have those in Aman.”

“Aman lacked something?” Ráca asked. She sat in between Maglor and Neniel. She had made as though to move, when Maglor sat down on her left, and he had declined the offer with a protest that he had re-filled the water-skins, and he refused to get up again until the dawn for anything other than a marauding party of goblins.

“Well, danger, for one,” Maglor replied to her question. There had been cattle like the breeds below in Lothlann and Hithlum, herded by the Edain, but they had been smaller. Presumably, their larger cousins were not nimble enough to cross the mountains? Or perhaps more resistant to being domesticated? “That was why Grandfather Finwë left Middle-Earth in the first place, for the promise of a land free from fear. Most of the animals in Aman were friendly, and for the ones that weren’t, the Maiar usually helped smooth the way.” He shook his head. “The cattle of the Vanyar were much, much smaller, though.”

“What about those roaches you mentioned?”

“The darmún are much more magnificent than cockroaches.” He let old memories drift across the surface of his mind, of brown carapaces and wings in Telperion’s silvery light, as the roaches sought the shelter and trapped heat of the house after Laurelin's light had waned. Neniel’s nose wrinkled up, and Maglor laughed. "Like I said. Not exactly impressive." 

“They’re hard to kill?” she asked, and then, frowning: “Oh. Is it the flea problem? Because they’re so small?”

“And fast. But more than that–” Maglor shrugged. “They’re remarkably resistant. To the point where it was almost proverbial among the Vanyar and the Noldor. ‘Rumours are as roaches: once they live, how shall you kill them?’ The Teleri had fewer problems with them, but they lived farther away from Laurelin, and I think roaches like heat. That’s probably why you’ve never encountered them here. It’s too cold by the Baranduin.”

“Do they taste any good?” Ráca wondered.

Maglor shook his head. “Celegorm tried. So did Ambarussa. Apparently, they tasted horrible.”

Neniel’s glance was amused as she looked over at him past her cousin. “Oh, and you would never try doing such a thing?”

“Nelyo once tricked me into eating snails! Raw snails! I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.”

“He and Neniel would have gotten along,” Ráca said, with feeling. Maglor’s eyebrows rose.

“I thought you liked snails?”

“I do,” Ráca said, “provided that they’re dead first.”

Maglor laughed again, and Neniel shrugged at her cousin, smiling. “You got your revenge soon enough,” she said.  

Ráca grinned, sharp and bright, and Maglor eyed her.

“What did you do?”

“I smeared fish glue all over her bowstring, right before she went out for a hunt,” Ráca said cheerfully. “She was furious.”

Maglor thought of the meticulous care that Neniel took with her bow and knife, and winced. “I can imagine.”

Neniel cast him a considering look. “Speaking of bows. Have you been practising with your present?”

Maglor grimaced. “Some. I still have a way to go, I think.”

“We’ll have to fix that,” Neniel said. “We could–”

“No.” Ráca’s voice was firm. “Tomorrow.”

“But we could–”

Ráca interrupted again. “Tomorrow night, we fix Iarwain’s archery. For now, we rest. It’s been a long day.”

Neniel sighed, but did not protest any further. Thank Eru. At least there was one person with her that she’d listen to, when she was told to slow down. Although it would only ever be temporary. Neniel had as much energy as Fëanor ever had, and even less of a need for sleep, aside from the winters. Not for the first time, Maglor wondered how Gil-galad would deal with her.

Probably quite creditably. Ereinion Gil-galad had, after all, had to deal with Ëonwë, Herald of Manwë, and all of the Maiar serving under his command. He could handle two river-daughters and a small group of Avari coming into Mithlond. And Gil-galad, unlike Maglor, had the advantage of a warning.

If he’d had any idea of how this year would turn out, would he have stayed by the beach?

Probably not. He would likely have packed up and retreated back into the woods, as quickly as he could. He had not been well; he had wanted to be alone with his grief. It had become almost like a crutch, like the thing that still gave him breath, like a twisted version of Rúmil’s theorem: I grieve, therefore, I am.

Perhaps it was just as well. Perhaps, even though the parting would be painful, it was for the best this way. If nothing else, it meant that Elrond would be able to visit.

“What are you thinking about?” Neniel’s voice, breaking the silence, soft and wondering.

“I’m feeling sorry for Gil-galad again.” Maglor grinned at her, deliberately teasing, and seconds later, he felt a nail flick along the back of his neck, just under his ear, and he gave a mock-yelp. “Ai! That was a compliment!”

“Liar,” Neniel said, voice filled with lazy affection. The downs were quiet, save for the hooves of the darmún moving like thunder across the hills, and the Elves singing lullabies to their children.

Stars, I’ll miss this. 

Well, sunsets were fleeting, too. That didn’t make them any less beautiful.   

---

The spring days ran on, full of singing lore rhymes with the Elflings, laughing with Eirien and Saelo, teasing Regen, and practising archery in the evenings with Neniel and Ráca. They were merciless taskmistresses, Maglor found, and by the end of practise each evening, long-unused muscles in his back, shoulders and arms were screaming with protest. It was a very good thing that Neniel was so gifted with songs to ease pain, because Maglor was quite sure that otherwise he would have had very limited movement in his arms after that first night of practise. But by the time the down hills had turned from green to white, old childhood skill had returned, and he was able to bring down game once more.

“You’ll be in Mithlond soon,” Maglor said, as he scrubbed his hands clean in a bowl of water. Neniel was already reaching for the map and unfurling it, blond brows already knitting closer together in concentration. “If you keep going on this course–” Maglor leaned in over her shoulder to look at the map as well. “No more than three days, if you go quickly. Five, if you take it slow…” his voice trailed off, as Neniel’s head twisted to look at him, and her cheek bumped his nose.

Oh. Mûk. 

Their faces were perhaps an inch apart, and Maglor swallowed. Her eyes were dark in the moonlight, and she wasn’t moving backwards. She was very still, as she stared back at him, until her tongue darted over her lower lip, and Maglor hastily shifted backwards, out of her personal space. The air was tense. He looked up at Tilion, instead of looking back at her. It seemed safer.

At last, her voice broke the silence that had fallen between them. “Where did you say you were going to meet Elrond, again?”

Her voice was lower than normal, almost husky. Maglor tried very hard to rein in his imagination, which was speculating wildly about other contexts in which her voice might reach that same depth.

“I’m sorry, I missed that,” he said. His voice was very nearly even.

“Where did you say you were going to meet Elrond?”

With a supreme effort, Maglor yanked his mind back to the map, squinting to see it, now that leaning in over Neniel’s shoulder was assuredly a terrible idea.

“The Ered Luin south of Mithlond,” Maglor said, tapping at the caves south of the last outcropping of hills before Mithlond. “That’s close enough that Elrond can go there without arousing suspicion. Good for an initial meeting point. I’ll probably go further south into the mountains for the winter, though, and get myself clear of Mithlond’s hinterland.”

“That could be wise,” Neniel said, frowning. “Then…” she stared down at the map. “We’re here,” she said, pointing down to the last cluster of hills. “It’d be about two days walk, to the caves.”

“If you took everyone, that would lengthen it out to another week. And you’re running low on vegetables and fruits.” Maglor shook his head. “It’s not practical for you to make that kind of detour. And the idea is to keep Iarwain ben-Adar’s location uncertain.”

“I wish…”

“I know,” Maglor said. “I know.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“No sense in wasting time. Tonight.” Before my foolishness lands me in any greater trouble. Maglor stood, deliberately not looking in Neniel’s direction, and walked to where the Elflings and Regen were sitting around the fire, swapping tall tales of Mithlond, the scarier, the better.  He cleared his throat as he intruded on the game, and watched Regen’s face fall. She got to her feet, walked around the campfire, and pulled him into a hug that was nearly bruising.

“Ribs, Regen!”

The hug loosened a little, and she sighed against his chest. “You have to go, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Regen.”

She looked up at him, brown eyes swimming with confusion, with childish pain. “Can’t you just come with us and make things right?”

Maglor smiled at her, and set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “If I figure out a way to make things right, I will,” he said. “That’s an ‘if’, Regen. A big ‘if.’”

“But you’ll try.”

“If I see a way,” Maglor told her. “Look after your sister for me?”

Regen nodded, squaring her shoulders and stepping back out of the hug. Maglor broke the news to the children, and found himself trying to console two of the children he had played with and sung to and carried, little Merellin and her brother Celepilin. Well, Celepilin required consoling. Merellin’s response was to stamp hard on Maglor’s toes, cross her arms and declare emphatically that Iarwain was not leaving. Another ten minutes passed, in which Iarwain ben-Adar explained that he was most certainly leaving, and the subsequent temper tantrums was eventually soothed, when the children were rocked to sleep. By that point, Ráca, Saelo and Eirien had wandered over as well, and Maglor was pulled into more hugs, thankfully less fierce than Regen’s had been. When the last farewell was said, he picked his pack up, and slung it onto his back, whistling for Celenem. The hound rose, and trotted to Maglor’s side, and Maglor knelt, rubbing the fur along his neck.

“It’s going to be just you and me for a while, I’m afraid,” he told the dog. “Do you still want to come?”

Celenem shot him a very offended look, and sat down on Maglor’s left foot. Maglor chuckled, and rubbed behind his ears. “Alright, then. Foolish hound.”

The moon shone down as he walked south-west, and he was stopped a few times by a few other Elves who said farewell to him. They asked him where he was going, and Maglor drew on old skills and said something cheerful about new lands to the south and east to see, and wishing them good fortune in Mithlond. That had satisfied most of them.  

There was soft movement to his right, as he began climbing the next hill. Maglor glanced over and shook his head.

“I should have known better.”

He’d never successfully predicted her actions before, after all.

Neniel smiled and took his hand, and they walked southwest up the hill together, the soft grass bending beneath his boots, and the breeze rustling through their hair. As they walked, Maglor tentatively reached out with his mind, and tapped. For the first time that he’d known her, he was met with the sound of rushing waters, so loud it was nearly a roar, and Maglor winced. She squeezed his fingers, but the sound remained just as loud; she was hiding her thoughts. She was silent, which meant that she had something on her mind. She was holding his hand, which meant that she was not angry with him, since her typical reaction when she was angry was either to withdraw, or argue it out.

But she wasn’t happy, either, and Maglor was quite sure that that was his fault. Not that he could do much about it, though, since he couldn’t turn back time to the happiness of the afternoon, before she’d read his feelings all over his face.

“I’m so nervous.”

He shook his head, drawn from his thoughts. “You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” he said. He squeezed her hand. “Yes, I do.”

As they came to the bottom of the hill, Neniel stopped, and Maglor stopped with her, spinning to face her.

She was smiling. Softly, a little sadly, but it was a smile hovering around her lips, nonetheless, as she trapped his right hand between hers.

“Did I ever say ‘thank you’?”

Maglor tilted his head back. “For what?”

“You taught me Sindarin.” Maglor snorted, shaking his head dismissively, but Neniel kept talking. “Really. I’ve been dreaming of doing this for a long while now, and…Galadriel doesn’t like to talk about the war. I’m not sure I would have been able to do this, if you hadn’t taught me what I needed to know. So I’m saying thank you.”

Maglor swallowed around the lump in his throat, around the relief that she was looking at him with that fond smile, instead of anger or disgust. “You’re very welcome, Neniel.”  

She looked at him for a long moment, and then stepped closer, her hands releasing his and  her arms winding around him. Her face pressed into his shoulder, and he dropped his chin to rest on top of her head, his arms encircling her back.

“I’m going to miss you.” It was whispered against his shoulder like a confidence.

“I’m going to miss you too.” Do you know how much, Nenya?

She was silent for a long while, as she leaned into him. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit.”

The sheer amount of hope that shot through his veins was embarrassing. Maglor tried and failed to keep his voice neutral.

“You were planning on visiting?”

Neniel’s eyes were surprised as she glanced up at him. “Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you?”

Maglor shook his head.

“Ah. I am going to visit.” She grinned. “I have to complain to somebody. And if I don't visit, you might undo all my hard work.”

“Your hard work?”

“Hunting enough beasts to feed you up.” Her fingers flashed over his chest, and slapped teasingly at the flesh there, flesh and muscle where there had been bone and skin and not much else before. “See? So much hard work! I can’t just let you undo it.”

He caught her hands, and couldn’t quite stifle a laugh. “I think I’m capable of feeding myself. I did survive before you showed up.”

“Yes, you did,” she agreed. “Now you have to live.”

“I know.” A year ago, he would have argued it was the same thing. But he was not the shadow he had been at the beginning of last year. Somewhere along the line, he had chosen to live again.

Maglor realized that he was still holding her hands, and he dropped them. There was silence between them again, until Neniel leaned up, took his face in her hands, and tilted it down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Maglor.”

“Keep an eye on Elrond for me,” he told her.

Neniel gave a short laugh, nodded, and waved her fingers in farewell, before she turned around and started back down the hill. Maglor whistled to Celenem, and kept walking southwest.

When he had walked down the slope to the bottom of the next hill, Maglor sat down and buried his head in his hands for a long minute.

Varda, it hurts. 

Not even a minute after saying goodbye, and he already missed her, already wanted to turn back and walk, run back up the hill after her, even though there were a dozen reasons why that was an idea so bad as to border on idiotic. Then again, he probably qualified for that distinction by now.

Maglor let the tears fall for a few minutes, his hands still firmly pressed to his face, until he felt the rough rasp of Celenem’s tongue against his fingers.

Maglor lowered his hands and Celenem whined, licking at the fingers again and wagging his tail madly as he sat beside Maglor. Maglor managed a shaky laugh.

“I’m supposed to cheer up, am I?”

The tail thumped against the grass in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll do my best, Celenem,” he said. “But you’ll have to forgive me the occasional lapse. I’m a bard. We don’t do ‘cheerful’ very well.”

Celenem’s expression could only be described as unimpressed.  

“I suppose I can try,” Maglor said, getting to his feet again, and walking southwest. “We can always try.”

A happy bark of agreement from Celenem, and Maglor laughed again, less shaky this time. “Come on. Let’s go find a stream. You’ve gotten my fingers all sticky.” 

---

Regen was quiet as they bedded down together that night, her sleeping mat sandwiched between Ráca’s and Neniel’s. But then, she had liked Maglor too, so that was not surprising. Even Tauren had come around to Maglor, after he made her that new tool to sand her creations smooth.

“Neniellë?”

She sounded much younger than thirty-five. Neniel snuggled closer, responding reflexively to the tremble in her voice.

“Mm?”

“I’m sorry it didn’t – he couldn't – I liked Iarwain.” 

The tone was almost plaintive as the awkward words came out, and Neniel's eyes burned. She kissed Regen on the forehead, and whispered, “So did I.” Still did, if it came to that. Otherwise, her eyes wouldn't be burning so fiercely. 

Ráca snuggled in closer to Regen, and sighed. “Maybe you can go see him in the winter,” Ráca suggested. “When everyone is settled in Mithlond…we’ll need to go somewhere new, when we go running.”

“Maybe,” Neniel said, combing Regen’s hair back from her face, and taking some comfort in the motion. “Maybe.”

“Can I come with you both? When it comes time to start running?” Regen asked.

“Maybe,” Neniel repeated. She mustered a smile for her sister. “You’ll have to work on your stamina, if you want to do that. But we can do that. In the morning.”

“In the morning,” Ráca agreed, before she began humming the opening bars of a lullaby, one that Neniel remembered from her earliest moments. Ataro had sung this to her, as she opened her eyes and blinked up at the starlit trees on the river-bank. It was the song that Neniel would sing to her own children, when the time came. If the time ever came.

Neniel pushed that thought away, in favour of the sight of starlight reflected in her cousin’s song, in the patter of rain echoing through the cadence, and closed her eyes.

Maybe she would feel better in the morning.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

1. Will Dînen ever stop being fascinated by heartbeats? Doubtful. Very doubtful. 

2. Dînen is neglecting to mention that lots of species of salmon die after they return to their spawning grounds, but then, I think she still has some difficulty with exact scale in her metaphors. 

3. Teeth-cleaning twigs are a thing. Birch is one of the species wiki notes as being used for it. 

4. I felt we were due for another round of dangerous wildlife. So, I went hunting through the Internet and found this delightful thing. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurochs#Habitat_and_distribution
Downlands is grazing country, and grazing country should mean grazing animals. I figure that there were lots of species still around in the Second Age, especially in the early days prior to Númenorean deforestation. 

5. Does the Blessed Realm contain cockroaches? Well, speaking as an Australian, if your light source is more intense than the sun, then that's going to have some effect on your wildlife. Of course, this tempts me to write a cracky one-shot where Aman, instead of being the Blessed Realm, was, from a flora and fauna perspective, a Death World. But alas. The spirit of canon implies that there had to be some kind of safety there, for the Darkening to affect them so.

6. Darmún, Kindi, my invention again. Adapted from Sindarin 'daer', big, and 'mund', bull. 

7. Rúmil as Descartes? Well, possibly not the mathematical side of his work. But "I think, therefore I am" sounds like a very Noldor way of approaching existential questions!

8. I will admit, I feel slightly guilty about doing this to Maglor and Neniel. 

...Not much, though. 

9. Merellin: adapted from Sindarin 'merilin', nightingale. Celepilin: swift-arrow. Yes, their mother is a hunter.