For the First Time in Forever by quillingmesoftly

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Mithlond

In which Neniel meets Ereinion Gil-galad and goes into culture shock. Meanwhile, Maglor is definitely not moping.

 

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Mithlond lived up to its name, Neniel thought. A fog was rolling onto the Lhûn, turning the air grey and misty, so different to the mouth of the Brown River, where the air was clear and the water shone green and blue. Through the fog, she could see the city, all made of white stone. The city perched across the narrowest part of the Gulf, with a great bridge that arched across the narrow Gulf, and on each side, it was shaped like semi-circle, like a halved apple, with walled perimeters on the northern and southern edges.

No point in lingering half an hour away from the gates, though. They’d need to eat soon, and it would be best if they had the rest of the day to get settled into the city.  

Beside her, Ráca squeezed her hand. “I think it’s time.”

Neniel nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

She cast an eye back over her people. The parents were busy trying to manage the Elflings, who were running everywhere; the eldest Elves, about six of them, who had been born by Cuiviénen, were looking back at her, their expressions calm and their eyes alight with anticipation. No need to worry there. It was the remaining forty that might be a problem, as they looked to her, practically vibrating with eagerness and nervousness.

None of you are helping, she thought wryly, before taking a deep breath and listening to the deep rumble of the Lhûn. Her hand twitched, as though reflexively searching for warm, strong fingers, and she turned it into a motion to adjust the choker at her throat. Helado would probably murder her, if he found out that she’d met Gil-galad without wearing the outfit he had crafted for the occasion, but it would have been nice to have Maglor’s charm at her throat at that moment.

Maglor himself by her side would have been good, too. 

I wish you were here. 

He had been her sole companion for half of the past year, and a constant shadow at her side the other half, there nearly every time she turned around, with warm hands squeezing hers, reassuring words, and helpful advice. And then, after a moment where her blood had sung in her veins, and he had been so terribly, wonderfully close, he had left.

She didn’t blame him. But she was still a little surprised at how much she missed him.

Enough, Ráca said, sensing the turn of her thought. There’s no point dwelling on it. 

Neniel sighed, nodding in agreement. She didn’t want to see her cousin’s expression – it would either be exasperated, or worse, it would be sympathetic, and she would want to cry – so she did not open her eyes.

Mithlond is right there. Something you have wanted to see, for years, she reminded herself.

And she still did. She did. She just had to concentrate.

When she opened her eyes, she started singing an old Kindi ditty, a lover’s quarrel between the moss and the stone, and she felt the voices of her band pick up the harmonies, the sound of their feet on the grass forming the percussive line, as they walked up to the hill to the gates, which were open, not closed. The fog was dissipating, at such a speed that Neniel suspected one of the Noldor was speaking to it.

They want to see us coming. 

She let the last notes of the song fade away, and looked to the gates. There was Elrond, out the front, black hair braided back from his face in tiny, intricate rows, and his smile was friendly as he nodded at her. The Elf to his left was a few inches taller, with equally dark hair, and the same nose and cheekbones as Maglor. He wore a silver crown, set with shining blue stones, a sparkling blue earring in his right ear, and a deep-blue linen shirt, with silver stars and curling waves embroidered on it.

Ereinion Gil-galad.

There were several other Elves, to Gil-galad’s left, who were all dressed in fine fabrics that were paler shades of blue and grey. Family on Gil-galad’s mother’s side, perhaps?

Elrond and Gil-galad were both stepping forward, and Neniel smiled back, as she came to a stop. A distance of about ten feet meant there was enough space for all of her people to see that she’d stopped, and follow suit. Behind her, she heard the sounds of excited Elflings’ chatter, and their parents’ frantically trying to hush them. Gil-galad’s smile widened as he looked behind Neniel, and saw the Elflings, before his gaze slid back to hers.

Steady and smiling, grey as the clouds, but not filled with either the radiance she had seen in Galadriel’s gaze, or the mingled brilliance and shadow that she had seen in Maglor’s eyes. They were like the eyes of anyone born among the Kindi, even if they were grey instead of brown, hazel or black. Assessing, also, but she could hardly judge him for that, considering that she was doing exactly the same thing. She tipped her head to the side in silent inquiry. What comes now?  

Greetings, usually. Elrond’s dry, sardonic interjection reminded her so much of Maglor she almost flinched, as she glanced at him. She was supposed to go first? Alright, she’d do her best.

“Mae l’ovannen, Ereinion Gil-galad,” she said. “High King of the Noldor.”

“Mae l’ovannen,” Gil-galad said, his smile widening. “It is a pleasure to meet you and your people, Neniel Dîneniel.” He lifted an arm in a sweeping gesture, indicating the city behind him. “Be welcome to Mithlond!”

---

She was pleased that the Elflings listened when she firmly told them to hold hands, and that nobody was to wander off until permission was granted. After that, everything else was easy: the hounds were called to heel, the tôthu remained in their harnesses, and the Kindi came into the city. Gil-galad, for his part, gave orders in a quick, lilting dialect that she couldn’t understand, and sent the lieutenants scattering, before he and Elrond fell into step alongside Neniel’s left. As he did, he began peppering Neniel with questions. Their woods were by the Baranduin? Where along the course? How long had they lived there? How long had they travelled to get here? What had made them come to Mithlond now?

That last question made Elrond’s eyes narrow fractionally above his friendly smile, but Neniel smiled at both High King and Herald, as the ellyn led them around a left turn, into a new road. It spilled down towards the west, with an enormous building up ahead on their left, easily the size of six longhouses put together. Stars and spiders, how long had that taken them to build? It wasn’t wood that could be put up and packed down in a day. That was stone.

 “Well, I was planning on doing this a few decades ago,” Neniel admitted honestly, not bothering to hide her wonder. Let it show. Mithlond was strange and stony and so entirely different to what she had imagined. “Then my parents announced I should expect another sister.” Her smile widened, as she jerked her thumb to Regen behind her, looking about in astonishment, with her hounds trotting at her heels. The hounds appeared to be the least disconcerted by their new surroundings, although they were shooting Regen pleading looks and whining for permission to go and explore all the new smells. So far, Regen was holding them in check. “That’s her, there, Regen, my youngest sister. I wanted to wait and see her grow up a bit first. But when she did, then nothing at all would do except that she come along too!”

“It’s your own fault, Neniel,” Ráca said brightly, sensing her deliberate shift towards a more casual tone and following suit. “You kept feeding her stories of the journeys you’d made through the Great Wood.”

“Why did I let you be my second?” Neniel asked, as they walked down the road. The breeze rolled in off the Lhûn, over the wall that divided the walkway from the sandy river-bank, and tugged at the braided crown of her hair. Elrond gestured to a stair on their right, which led down onto the bank of the Lhûn. His smile had widened at her mock-exasperated question, and that made her feel a flash of relief. She wanted to get along with Gil-galad’s herald, almost as much as she wanted to get along with Maglor’s foster son.

“Let me be your second?” Ráca grinned, as she slid her shoes off and started down the stone steps. “I’m self-appointed, cousin. Did you forget?”

“So I did.” Neniel turned and smiled back at the High King. “You’ll have to excuse us, your Majesty. I’d say we’re not normally like this, but that would be lying.”

Gil-galad laughed, a warm sound that was horribly like his cousin's. He was not sliding his shoes off. He wore some kind of shoe that covered the soles of his feet, but left the tops exposed, save for a band that circled around his toes. Interesting design. “There is no need for excuses! I have cousins too. And you can call me Gil-galad.” He glanced back at her people. “Some of them are currently organising some refreshments for your people, and Elrond has arranged quarters for all of you as well. I hope you haven’t just eaten.”

“Not since sunrise. Thank you very much, your – Gil-galad," she amended, at his raised eyebrows. She gestured to her people, beckoning them down onto the river bank, and called out for them to loose the dogs, and start relaxing. She spoke in Sindarin, for now. They were all fluent enough that it should not pose a problem, and it would not be polite to speak in Kindi in front of Gil-galad. At least, she didn’t think it would be polite to speak in Kindi in front of him.

I didn’t ask Maglor nearly enough questions.

Gil-galad waved her thanks away with a graceful, dismissive flick of his hand. “Would you indulge my curiosity on something?”

“I can hardly do otherwise, since you are indulging mine so graciously!” she replied, gesturing to the city that he had just granted her entry to. Gil-galad’s smile widened. 

“Your Sindarin doesn’t have an accent I’d expect to hear from the iathrim at all. It’s almost Exilic. Yet Elrond said that you had dealings with the iathrim around Lake Nenuial.”

It could be an innocuous question, she thought, Maglor’s wry words about execution suddenly echoing in the back of her mind. Elrond was there. Elrond had arranged to meet Maglor, so, presumably, he wanted him to stay alive. That meant it probably was an innocuous question.

And if she kept her composure, there was no reason that she knew of that it should not stay innocuous.

Never swim against the current. Better to swim with it, or across it.

 “More than some dealings,” Neniel said, her tone pleasant and her smile in place. “The map that we used to navigate here was made by the Lady Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel. I believe she’s your cousin, is she not?”

“She is. So is Elrond.” Gil-galad’s eyes had narrowed, ever so slightly, but whether that was because it had not been an innocuous question, or because of something else entirely, she couldn’t begin to assess.

“Through Finwë, yes?” The exact degree of knowledge she held about Finwë’s descendants didn’t have to be told all at once.

“Yes, indeed.” Gil-galad’s smile turned wryer at the mention of his great-grandfather.

“I’ll have to introduce you to Mistinda. She was of the same generation as Finwë, I think, at Cuiviénen.” So was Orobenë. A few others, too. And that reminded her… “If I may, Gil-galad, I have something of a favour to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Gil-galad’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Is the Lord Círdan in Lindon at the moment?”

“In Forlond. Do you need to speak with him?”

She nodded. “Not urgently. But I thought I’d ask. My father has a message for him that he asked me to bring it.”

Gil-galad’s eyes sharpened even further, but he did not press her. “It can certainly be arranged. For now, though, would you like to sit?”

“Please give me a moment, Gil-galad.” The Elflings were looking around their surroundings, still clinging to their parents’ hands, and the parents were looking adrift. That won’t do. She stepped a few paces away from the knot, and let out a nightingale’s call. The Elflings approached, the older ones looking relieved. Ah. The older ones wanted to know what their new boundaries were. Clever pups.

She crouched to speak to the younger Elflings better, carefully keeping her skirt free of the sand. Spider silk was so lovely to wear, so soft and fine against her skin, but such a wretch to clean.

“Children, we’re going to stay on the river bank for a little while. If you want to play on the sand, that’s alright, but no going in the water until I’ve spoken to it, and your parents agree to go in with you.” There were solemn nods of understanding from the Elflings, and she smiled at them. “Alright. Stay in ear-shot; there’ll be food soon. For now, you’re free to play.” She reached out and poked Merellin in the forehead. “You’re the otter. Go!”

Merellin grinned, and turned, but the other children were already scattering. Merellin gave brave pursuit as she set off after them.  

“Otters?” Gil-galad asked curiously, and Neniel smiled back at him.

“A game we play. The otters have to chase the fish, and when they catch them – usually by tapping them somewhere on their body – the fish are out of the game. The last fish to remain uncaught wins.”

Gil-galad laughed. “I played a similar thing in Hithlum as a child. We called it a different name, but the principle was the same.”

“What did you call it?” Neniel asked. Gil-galad’s lieutenants were walking down the street, and behind them, were about twelve more men and women, dressed in fine clothes dyed bright colours, reds and blues and pale greens. They were carrying baskets on their hips.

“We called it Elves and Orcs,” Gil-galad said, with a wry smile.

“Ah, I see.” And that was a horribly uncomfortable thought, as she remembered goblins scurrying east across her forest under starlight. She and the other hunters had shot and killed as she would shoot a wild boar, any predator that was aggressive to the point of it becoming kill or be killed. But if the Orcs were like Uncle Ossë, twisted out of key once…was it so inevitable, so irreversible as the otter consuming the fish? Was it so set in stone, that there could be hope for a Maia, or for a Kinslayer, but not an Elf who had been taken by the Rider?

Is there no choice left for them?

Gil-galad had noticed her reaction, but he did not speak of it. “Your Elflings look quite contented,” he said, gesturing to where the children were running east up the river bank. The sounds of squealing and laughter were already rising from their group. “Did you want to speak to the Lhûn while they were already occupied?”

And that would also be a good idea. She nodded, shooting him a grateful smile, and let Ráca start asking him questions about how Mithlond had been built, while she walked down the river bank.  The sour look Helado would give her for ruining his beautiful present didn’t bear thinking about, Neniel thought, glancing down at her skirt again. So instead of wading in, she stepped onto the surface of the water, and closed her eyes, as she searched the water for the Lhûn’s Maia.

 She felt movement and sound, a thrum against her soul, and a voice calling out, a presence brushing against her mind and heart-

child?

Unlike Ossë or Uinen, the Maia of the Lhûn did not take the form of an Elf. Her body was water, shining transparent blue in the sunlight, as she took the shape of an otter. She moved towards Neniel in a ripple, before she rose on her hind legs and pressed one liquid paw against Neniel’s hand in greeting, her strength brushing against the edges of Neniel’s mind, lapping and probing. And then, she smiled, not with fangs, but with a ripple of water, and roared a greeting, from elder spirit to younger spirit, greater water to lesser water. Neniel felt the river’s spirit wrap around hers, as a great river cradled a lesser tributary, and swallowed down the lump that surfaced in her throat, squashed down the sudden longing for her mother that threatened to wrench through her.

Honoured Aunt, Neniel said. The Lhûn rippled in amusement and surprised, startled joy. May I introduce you to my people’s children?

Lhûn assented, and so Neniel turned, threaded her voice with power to carry over the distance, and called for the children to come down to her in the shallows. It took them a few minutes to all run back down to where she stood, but they splashed into the shallows, the water lapping around their ankles, as Neniel introduced each of them to the river by name. Lhûn was very friendly, and splashed each child with a ripple of water, drawing shrieks from the children. Neniel had to hum to keep the water from landing on her skirts, drawing the water into the air. Eirien was running down the bank again towards the children, and Neniel decided that they were probably safe enough that she could walk back to Gil-galad. She left Lhûn to where she was playing with the Elflings, and skirted them, far away that she no longer had to turn the stray droplets into moisture in the air, and walked back up the shoreline. Before she reached the knot of Elves, she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, then opened them again.

“I take it that all is settled?” Elrond asked, as she sat down on Ráca’s left. Gil-galad’s lieutenants – who shared some of his features, now that she looked closer – and the Elves who had brought the food were sitting down, now. Many of them wore fine rings around their arms, or jewellery at their throat and ears, and her hand went up to adjust her choker again.

“Yes, all is settled with the River,” she said. “Lhûn recognises me as kin, so that helps, some.” Elrond’s face twitched at that, and she wasn’t at all sure how to read that. She fell back on changing the subject. “But either I have a terrible memory for faces, or I didn’t meet most of you earlier…”

“The latter, I’m afraid,” Elrond said, face smoothed again into friendliness. He gestured to one of the Elves on the far side. He had grey eyes, dark hair, and looked very familiar. “Allow me to remedy that.” Elrond’s eyes sparkled with sudden mischief as he gestured at one of the Elves on the far side, who wore a silver tunic, and an eight-pointed star blazoned on it, an emblem she had last seen burned into Maglor’s right hand. “This is Celebrimbor Curufinwion, leader of the House of Fëanor in Mithlond.”

Neniel didn’t let her smile waver for a second, as she nodded at Maglor’s nephew who had the same bright, bright grey eyes as his uncle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Commenting on the resemblance she could see between him and his uncle, or expressing how glad she was to meet him and to see him well, would be very impolitic. So Neniel swallowed back the yearning, and let her attention drift to the woman beside Celebrimbor.

She had grey eyes, too.

Oh, stars and spiders!

---

 “Do you think this will do?”

Celenem trotted around the cave, his tail up, as he snuffled along the edges of it. Maglor set his hand to the stone, calling on old lessons as he felt the rock, the strength of the crystals above him, the layers of the stone expanding with Vása’s warmth above them. Celenem’s curling tail was wagging softly, and his ears were up, so he did not smell any dangerous in there.

So that was shelter. That would be enough for the pair of them, although it would be cramped if more than one person decided to visit at once. But that did not seem at all likely. Besides, if Neniel wanted to visit, she would probably take to sleeping in the trees again.  

Firewood, next, and a water source.

He set his pack down in the cave, and withdrew the water-skins, before ducking to leave the cave. Celenem’s claws clicked against the rock, as he followed after Maglor. There were thrushes singing in the groves of the forest, and Maglor sang back to them as he walked south, drumming a rhythm on the water-skins.

Perhaps an hour passed before Maglor heard the chuckling of a stream running over stone, and the rushing sound of a water-fall. Not a large fall, it was not loud enough for that, but a fall, nonetheless. He turned towards the sound, and walked towards it. The trees did not thin out as he walked, and the woods continued to rustle, with the small sound of game going about its business. Celenem’s tail was wagging gently, and his ears were pricked forward in alert interest, but Maglor whistled a command for him to stay at his side, and the hound obeyed, even while giving Maglor a disappointed look. Maglor shrugged at him. They could see to catching dinner after they’d found a reasonable water source.

Maglor stepped out beyond the last tree, a great willow, whose leaves dangled in the fast-flowing water of the stream. It began from a spring high up on the slopes, and ran down the surface, until it fell over a lip of rock, and created a small, quickly-flowing brook there. Less than six feet wide, and not more than three feet deep. Neniel would have called it a rivulet, and sat down to dangle her feet in the water, even if it was freezing cold.

He uncapped the water-skins and knelt upstream of Celenem to fill them. The dog was already happily lapping at the cool, clear water, and splashing in it. If he missed his litter-mates or was regretting his decision, it was certainly not apparent.

It had been the correct decision. He’d known it, and she had known it too. He’d had to leave, before they did anything foolish. But it felt strange, walking through the woods without her voice humming harmonies around his, or translating the words of the trees for him.

I wonder how she’s finding Mithlond?

The pain of the parting had dulled a bit, over the past few days, like a bruise with the swelling slowly receding. But it still ached and gnawed at him, when he forgot to avoid thinking of her, and he had a horrible suspicion that time would only help so much.

But he had resolved to not do that, he thought, frowning. At the downs. The year might have been as fleeting as a sunset, as temporary as the Long Peace. But it was still a good year, and worth remembering.

He pulled the water-skins out, set them down beside him, and let the song of the stream wash over him. It was not as good as listening to Neniel’s presence in osanwë, but it would have to do, until the hazy someday of her promise to visit came along.  

---

The quarters that Elrond had arranged were not longhouses. She’d known that they would be different, but it still felt startling to step inside and feel stone under her feet instead of dirt, and to see stone above her head instead of hardened slats and poles of birch and ash. They were not concentrated together, but so far, no family was without at least one other family in the same building as them. She had to carefully mark out landmarks to remember where the buildings housing her people were. It was harder, without trees and birdsong and root systems there; she had to use little detailing in the stone, the fine carvings on the eaves, to differentiate the buildings. Elrond didn’t seem to have any difficulty, as he led her and Ráca and Regen up a flight of steps, into a corridor. He stopped at the second door on the left, and opened the door. Regen’s hounds surged in, with a round of barking, and Regen hurriedly hushed them; the barks echoed off the stone unpleasantly.

The room was about as big as the kitchen back home, Neniel noted. Furniture like in the houses of the iathrim, with an elegant, low table – not low enough to kneel at, like the tables of the fen Men, but still low – and a sofa and an arm-chair in around the table. A fire-place, as in Galadriel’s house. And on the left side of the room, another door that must lead into the bedroom. Apparently, the concept of a sitting room and a sleeping room was a point of confluence for Noldorin and iathrim culture. Had that always been the case, or had it been something that happened while both cultures were living side-by-side, at the Havens and on Balar?

“Neniel?”

She snapped back. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

“I said that I hoped you found this suitable.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, smiling at him. He really had been a wonderful host for most of the day, but it felt a little odd, talking to him sometimes. As though he felt awkward around her, uncertain in a way that she normally associated with adolescents, even though he covered it well. And yet, he did not seem the kind of Elf to be given to uncertainty, or a habit of second-guessing himself. So it had to be related to her somehow. “The rooms are lovely.” And strange and confusing, but that feeling of shock would fade. She was nearly certain of it.

Finrod and I agreed on a term for it, at Mereth Aderthad. We called it ‘culture shock.’ 

“It was the least I could do.” He hesitated, mouth opening as though he were about to speak, and then it closed again. Regen had already toed off her shoes, and was walking into the bedroom, and Ráca was holding her hand out for Neniel’s pack. “Can we speak privately, for a moment?”

…Why? What did he have to say that could not be said in front of Ráca and Regen?

She nodded and handed Ráca her pack, giving her cousin her best ‘listen to me’ look when she looked dubious. Ráca rolled her eyes, but walked into the bedroom. Elrond walked to the door after Ráca pulled it closed behind her, and set a word for silence on it. Neniel raised both eyebrows at him, as he opened his mouth and closed it again.

“It seems a bit odd to set a word for silence, and then not speak candidly.”

Elrond smiled at that, wry and amused. “You have a point. Alright. How long was Maglor with your people?”

“Six months,” she said. “But most of them know him by another name. I only introduced him by his first name once, and he didn’t talk to many people. They were a bit intimidated by his accent.”

Judging by the way Elrond’s eyebrows were rising, he did not follow.

“His…accent.”

“Yes. Maglor has a very pronounced accent, when he speaks in Kindi. His words are very clipped. It can make him sound brusque. So he didn’t talk to many people, until I smoothed the way.”

“Ah,” Elrond said, nodding. “And are your people likely to mention him?”

“Possibly,” Neniel said, slowly. “He got along very well with the children, so most of their parents know him. If you hear someone referring to Eldest and Fatherless, then they are referring to him.”

“Eldest and fatherless?” Elrond repeated, incredulous. “Maglor re-named himself eldest and fatherless?” 

Neniel smiled. “No, he protested. Quite fiercely.” She shrugged, letting her memory drift back to that conversation. “He implied that it would be unwise for us to discuss him in Mithlond. That Gil-galad would…react negatively.”

Elrond did not wince as he saw the memory, but he did sigh. “Gil-galad would prefer to let him fade from the history of the Noldor, I think,” he said. “It’s easier, that way. When he and I look far ahead, we see a shadow rising in the East. He does not wish to alienate any allies, and relations between the Noldor and the Sindar can be…difficult.” Sindar, she noticed. He uses the Quenya term.“And nobody has forgotten the wounds of the First Age. But Gil-galad does not wish for any more death, either.”

Fair reasoning. Hard on Maglor, to be exiled from this city that he would love so much, and his son. But fair. She could understand it. And besides…

“I sense it too,” she said. “Sometimes. In the water, that strain of the Music…it’s not done, yet. Diminished, but not done. ”

There it was again, that twitch in Elrond’s face, before it smoothed out into a solemn expression. Solemnity came to him as easily as smiling.

“Indeed. So, Gil-galad wishes good will between the Noldor and the Sindar and the Ava– the Kindi.”

Neniel nodded, politely ignoring the slip. “I understand. It makes sense. If what I’m hearing is correct, then…there’s a group of the Men to the East. They talk about cutting the wood while it’s still daylight. Making things better, while we still can. Stopping division before it starts.”

 Elrond smiled. “Iarwain ben-Adar. Very useful. I can see no harm in the Kindi being on friendly terms with Iarwain ben-Adar. Whose idea was it?”

“Mine.” That made Elrond look startled, before he smiled slowly.

“I think that you and I are going to get along well,” he said. “One last thing. Gil-galad was wondering if you would like to sail with him up to Forlond next week, when he goes to visit Círdan?”

“That sounds lovely,” Neniel said brightly. “What’s a week?”

Elrond’s mouth opened, closed again, before his eyes narrowed, and again, a slow smile spread across his face. “Nice try.”

She laughed. “It took your father much longer to catch on!” Elrond’s smile turned fixed, and Neniel froze. Oh… “I’m sorry, did I mis-step?”

Elrond shrugged. “You’re the first person to say it out loud.”

She blinked. “But surely he–” Son whom I never sired, had been his first thought, when he thought about Elrond.

“Never called himself our foster father, no.” Elrond sighed. “Although I told him he had been as a second father to us. Don’t apologise. It is complicated, but…you’re the first person who has not assumed or wondered that being raised by Fëanorions was a tragic experience, marked by every kind of deprivation and ill treatment.”

Neniel blinked again. “Maglor is many things. He is tired, worn by darkness, shadowed. And he is not harmless. But…” The pride and love in his thought about Elrond and Elros, the joyful memory of teaching them to bake, the way he was so good with her sisters, especially Regen… “I can sooner imagine a star falling from the sky than I can imagine him abusing a child who has come into his care.”

Elrond’s smile at that was wry, but all he said was: “It’s odd, isn’t it?”

This could be treading on painful ground, but Elrond deserved to have it said, and there was no kinsman left to help Maglor with the mess he'd made of things. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Elrond’s smile turned polite, and she was not surprised when he wished her a pleasant night, and told her that he had to go and attend to Gil-galad. But she did sigh, after the door closed after him.

I’ll try, Maglor. I’ll try.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

1. Mae l'ovannen: Well-met, formal, Sindarin. 

2. The 'slip' that Neniel refers to when talking to Elrond is the fact that the 'Avari' means the 'refusers', and most of the Kindi think it's a touch impolite for people to use that term, instead of Kindi. But then, they really can't talk, since they're prone to using the term 'deserters' if not being strictly reminded that that's impolite as well. xD 

3. On Gil-galad having cousins: hey, he had to have a mother. My head canon is that Gil-galad's mother was one of the Falathrim, and I go with Fingon as his father, which is why his shirt has silver stars and blue waves on it, and also why he has a blue earring. Because the Falathrim wear earrings, and nobody can convince me otherwise. Yes, Círdan has a beard and an earring. Studs, usually; one stud is for an unmarried Elf, and two studs for a married Elf. I blame this on bunn.