For the First Time in Forever by quillingmesoftly

---

Aftermath

Neniel's thoughts in the wake of Maglor's revelations.

---

Perhaps it would not have been so bad if Maglor was not so gifted with words, Neniel thought, as he walked away from the camp. Maglor had not sang any of the tale, but she had tasted the blood and ash on her tongue from the Havens as he spoke of his invasion, had seen the caves of Menegroth painted with red, the quays of Alqualondë drenched in blood. 

The moon was barely a sliver in the sky that summer night, and the crackling of the fire seemed less cheerful and more threatening than it did before Maglor spoke. Fëanáro: Spirit of Fire had been his name, had been nothing more than a description, Maglor had said when he spoke of Fëanor's death, his voice filled with pain and grief and rage and, buried far beneath that, old love. 

He burned down a city, Neniel thought, dizzy. The man who cooks the rabbits I catch burned down a city. 

The man who worried about her when she cried–

He chased a mother from her children!

Son whom I never sired, he had told her about Elrond, and the pride and love in his thought had been real, it had, but now the old guilt that had also lingered around the thought was explained. But the pride and the love had been real. Hadn’t they?

He killed for gems. For gems. Why? 

She couldn’t look at the firelight. It looked too like the lava flow which Maedhros had leapt into that she had seen flash across his mind.

She closed her eyes. I wish you were here, Mother.

Longing swept through her, fierce and overwhelming: her mother’s boundless strength, her father’s patient wisdom, her calm, soft-spoken Tauren. Her cousins: steady, warm Tuilo and vivacious, flirtatious Ráca. Her mischievous, merry brother Helado; her cheerful, hot-tempered Regen. 

What would Ataro say if he knew?

What would he say to Neniel now?

The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the sharp smell of sea-salt; the far-off echo of Ossë’s laughter and the whale songs. 

What would Ossë say?

Ossë knows, she realised, with a sudden start, the smell of salt somehow sharper in her nose, as her thoughts flashed back to the first day at the cove. Ossë knows, and Ossë does not hold it against him. Uncle can’t. He rebelled too. 

She gazed up at the stars, shining down fiercely. She didn’t think about that often these days. But it had puzzled her so, so much when she was a child, that the same Uncle Ossë who played with her under the starlight and gave her sea otters as a gift had nearly fallen to the Shadow, and had helped mar Arda itself. The same Maia that had torn at land with the waves and created storms had also dandled her on his knee, and who adored her mother Dînen, even as he bickered with her. 

“Uncle,” she said aloud. “No. Grandfather Ulmo.” 

She closed her eyes. She had never addressed the Lord of Waters thus, but it really was accurate, if you looked at it from a certain point of view. She calmed her breathing and deliberately slipped into reverie.

She walked in her memory by the sea-shore, and the waves took voice.

Why do you seek me, child?

“Why did you forgive Uncle Ossë?” 

A ripple of amusement from the water. 

Hello to you as well.

“I’m serious.” 

So am I. Listen to the Song, and you will know.

“I listen every day! And I don’t know, and I need to know!” 

Listen to the Song, the waves repeated, and you will know. 

---

She opened her eyes, and rose to her feet, clipping bow and quiver onto her back. She ran to the river. The wind tugged at her hair insistently; the owls hooted softly in the elms and the alders. It was amazing that the stars still shone, she thought, as she stopped on the river bank. The faint sense of dizziness rose, as she fell to her knees.

How could you?

The water rippled in silent confusion. 

How could he?

The river thrummed with her mother’s power, with the strength of water that could shape land and caves through sheer persistence, that could give life and wash away tree roots and stones in the same season, in sweeping, raging torrents. She had not been afraid of water, even in the slightest, not until she had seen the Brown River flood for the first time. Her mother had laughed, long and hard, her laughter filled with the ferocity of the water, and Neniel had cried because she wanted to laugh, too, because she felt like she could fly, but her cousins’ faces were pinched with worry, and they had to move the encampment to higher ground. The second that the move had been complete, she had ran down to the willow trees, sobbing and laughing, totally overwhelmed. 

It had been Uncle Ossë who had flowed up the river to find her in the willow groves. Ossë who had picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the encampment, who had rocked her gently and whispered words of comfort into her ear. 

“We are water, and we are dangerous, little one,” he whispered. “But we are made of great goodness and give life, too.” 

She leaned forward and splashed the starlit water onto her face. Uncle Ossë had not been there when she had almost killed Tuilo. But Tuilo had held her once he came to, and had whispered words of forgiveness into her ear, even as she shook with tears again. 

“Tuilo,” she said, into the waters. “Show me Tuilo.” 

Her cousin’s face swam into focus, peaceful in sleep. He was nestled against his wife, Sílena; his face was buried in her neck, his leg thrown over her hip. 

Neniel flicked her fingers through the water, breaking the image. At least one of them was having a good night. 

“He forgave me,” she said aloud. “And he didn’t have to. I certainly didn’t deserve it. I was careless, and my carelessness nearly killed him.” 

The water burbled; an owl hooted a cry of victory. His hunt had been successful. Tilion’s sliver of light shone down steadily. 

“I don’t think he deserves it.”

The water rippled, and a pair of beady dark eyes blinked up at her. Neniel scraped up a smile for the sea otter, and whistled to him. He scrambled into her lap, claws digging into her leg. “What do you think?” 

The otter gave a low, rumbling purr. 

“You otters ask for that story every time,” Neniel told it. “But fine. I was a child, and I loved to play in the sea, but my Ataro did not think that the eels made very good pets. He thought I needed something soft. So Ossë and Uinen sang your ancestors into being, and gave two of the mating pairs to me. They became your kin, the otters of the rivers.” 

The otter nudged at her hand. 

“Did I deserve you? Well, I’m not sure. I was a child. Very young. Barely came up to Ataro’s knee.” 

The otter nudged at her hand insistently. “Well, yes, if you want to put it that way, you were a gift that I didn’t deserve. I certainly hadn’t earned you.” 

The otter crawled off her lap, and padded a soft circle around her. “Yes, I know that gifts were made to be given, I’m not a complete idiot, whatever you might think of me.” 

The otter chirped. 

“Mercy is a gift, too?” Neniel studied the otter with narrowed eyes. “Ossë put you up to this, didn’t he.” 

The otter looked almost sheepish, and squealed. 

“Uinen. Of course. I should have known.” Neniel sighed. “Still, I wanted counsel from my kin, and evidently, I’ve gained it. Mercy is a gift, and it is important to the Song.” 

The otter chirped again, almost smugly. 

“Yes, I know, I am only a foolish half-Elf, with no wisdom to compare to the venerable otters’ memory,” Neniel said. “No need to remind me!”  

She got to her feet, and walked back to the camp. 

(When the bear came near the camp growling and snarling, it was something of a relief.)  

---

Chapter End Notes

The names are adapted from Sindarin, and mangled into something resembling at least superficially Primitive Quendian, that could be a reasonable candidate for Kindi. I'm not really happy with it, but it's about as good as I can make it, short of just making something up. They may be subject to change later. 

Tauren: Forest woman ('taur', forest, Sindarin, 'en' elided form of 'wen'.) 

Tuilo: Swallow, Kindi. Related to 'tuilinn', swallow, Sindarin. A few years younger than Neniel, and Ráca's twin. Neniel's cousin.

Helado: Kindi, kingfisher, adapted from Sindarin 'heledir.' Taurenë's husband.

Ráca: Kindi, wolf, adapted from Sindarin. Tuilo's female twin, and Neniel's closest friend. 

Regen: 'Prickly woman', adapted from Sindarin.

Sílena: 'Shining woman', adapted from Sindarin.