Swan Song by Ithilwen

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Epicycles

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Chapter 9 – Epicycles

"Dear Mother and Father,

"I can't believe my first year at the music conservatory here in Alqualondë is nearly over! I am sorry I've been too busy to write to you much; sometimes it seems as though there are simply not enough hours in the day to practice, complete all my assignments, and still fit in a life away from school. That has been my only disappointment this year, for I've come to love both the beauty of this city and the beauty of the ocean, and I wish I had more time to enjoy them both. Despite your worries, I've had few problems with the people here. I don't make a point of mentioning my family connections, but I don't deny them when they are brought up, either, and if someone tries to disparage me on account of them I either ignore them or ask them they'd appreciate being held responsible for something they had nothing to do with, which generally shuts them right up. I'm not ashamed of being a granddaughter of Fëanor, and I'm not ashamed of my father (because I know you are sorry for what you did then, Father, and have paid for it ever since), and I'm not going to pretend that I am. Why didn't you tell me, Father, that you once went to school here? I suppose you were afraid that knowing that would make me even more eager to come – and you were probably right!

"Since you studied here once, Father, I'm sure you already know about the traditional end-of-year student recital. I would really, really, really appreciate it if you both would come! I promise you that you wouldn't feel too out of place; I'm only a first year student, and I'm told not many people other than the students' parents bother to come to the underclassmen's' recital. You could come to the school in the afternoon right before the recital begins, and we'd leave Alqualondë as soon as it is over. Even though it's a small audience, it will still be my first real public performance, and I'm so nervous I don't know how I'm going to manage to get through it if you're not there to give me confidence. Besides, there's a boy here in Alqualondë you really do need to meet.

"Your loving daughter,
"Tuilir (who is hoping very badly that you will say yes!)"

Aurel looked up from the letter. "What shall we say to her?"

"No, of course," Maglor answered. "It's completely out of the question."

Curufin, who along with the rest of the family had been sitting in the garden listening while Aurel read the letter aloud, gave a short, bitter laugh. "So, the doting father's finally developed the spine to say no to his spoiled darling, even if it hurts her precious little feelings? It's rather over-late for that, I'd say."

Maglor glared at his younger brother, but before he could reply Nerdanel spoke up. "Son, your brother does have a point, even if he didn't express it diplomatically. Tuilir will probably take your refusal to mean that you are still angry with her for disobeying you and going off to Alqualondë in the first place, even though the rest of us know that's not why you do not wish to go."

"Well, she would be partly right," Maglor said in a rather peevish voice. "I am still angry with her. She's created a rather awkward situation as a result of her little act of rebellion. Say no, and she'll probably be the only student there whose family is not attending. Say yes, and I'll be forcing the Teleri to play host to one of the chief Kinslayers for several hours; I'm sure they'll just love that. No would seem to be the lesser of the two evils – but none of this would be necessary had she remained in Tirion as I'd told her to do! Damn Finarfin and his meddling! I should have forced her to go back."

"But she didn't, and you didn't, so it's too late to wish otherwise," Maedhros replied. He leaned forward in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Filit, how would you have felt if Father and Mother and I hadn't come to your first end-of-year recital?"

"How should I know? I can't even remember my first end-of-year recital right now, Russandol. All I can recall of Alqualondë is the one thing we all wish we could forget about the place. Somehow that memory never goes away."

"I remember it, though," Nerdanel said, smiling. "You were a nervous wreck. If you hadn't been so afraid of disappointing your father, I'm not sure you would have been able to make yourself walk out onto the stage."

Maglor signed heavily. "Point taken. She needs to have some of her family there. You and Aurel can go. Neither of you would be as offensive to the Teleri as I would be."

Nerdanel shook her head. "She didn't ask for her grandmother to go. She asked for her mother – and her father."

"Filit, when the three of us traveled to meet you in Lórien, we were occasionally forced to stay in places where our family is not generally welcome," Maedhros said. He raised his right forearm. "And unlike you, I stand out in a crowd; even people who had never seen me in person could see this stump and my hair and know exactly who I was. And yet nothing terrible happened. I certainly would not choose to remain in any of those towns for long, but we were polite and made it clear we did not intend to linger but only wished lodging for the night, and so a one-day visit posed no problem. Neither the Valar nor Finarfin would tolerate any real trouble, and the people know it. Insults and a cold welcome were all we endured, and they were bearable."

"Those places were not Alqualondë," Maglor snapped.

"No, they were not. Survivors of Doriath and the Havens lived in those villages; we all know they are much more forgiving sorts," Maedhros snapped back.

Maglor closed his eyes and slumped over slightly, propping his head up with his right hand braced on the chair arm, as though he'd suddenly grown too weary to hold it up without assistance. "Why am I getting the impression my opinion in this case doesn't matter?"

Aurel reached over and took his left hand into her own. "No one has said that, Káno. It's just –"

"Filit, we'd all have to be blind not to see how you dote on Tuilir," Maedhros said, prompting a snort of derision from Curufin. After glaring fiercely at his younger brother, the eldest son of Fëanor continued softly, "I for one am just worried that disappointing her will in the end hurt you far more than enduring a few ugly insults from the Teleri will. Their opinion of you, you already know, and it matters less to you than your daughter's."

"Perhaps you have a point, brother," Maglor slowly admitted. "I'll think it over tonight, and send an answer to Tuilir in the morning. The recital's still a month away."

*******

Dear Daughter,

Of course your father and I will be coming to your recital! Just tell us the time and place where we should meet you, and we'll be there. We, too, have some news to share with you.

Your loving mother,
Aurel

*******

In the soft glow of dusk, the lights of the nearby city flickered like fireflies. Maglor, who had tied their horses to a nearby tree and was now busy currying them, could not avoid a feeling of dread as he looked east toward their next day's destination. "I am glad you were willing to camp out here, rather than take a room at one of the inns in the city. I do not think I will ever wish to walk the streets of Alqualondë by starlight again," he said to his wife, who was in the midst of pitching a small tent.

"I would never ask that of you, Káno," she replied, looking over at him briefly. "I know that it is going to be hard enough for you to walk them tomorrow under the sunlight. You are brave beyond reason, husband, when it comes to the wellbeing of your children. Besides, this is more private."

"That it is," Maglor said. He finished his work with their horses, then joined his wife by the tent, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "I still can't get used to hearing that particular plural," he murmured in her ear as he let one hand slip down to caress her belly. "After all you went through in bringing our daughter into the world, I could scarcely believe you wanted to try for another child. You, Aurel, are the one who is brave beyond reason, not I. I wonder how Tuilir is going to take the news that she will have a sibling in nine months' time?"

"How many days of joy has our daughter brought into our lives? Weighing that against the day of pain it cost me to bring her out into the world makes the latter seem a small price indeed. I've no doubt the same equation will prove true for this new little one," Aurel said, smiling, as she laid her head against her husband's cheek. "As for Tuilir – unless I miss my mark, I think she'll have little time for her new sibling, for in a few years' time she might soon be setting up a household of her own. That boy she mentioned in her letter…"

"Surely not! Why, she's only –"

"Forty-six. Just a mere ten years younger than we were when we first met, love. Your little girl's almost all grown up, hard though it may be to believe."

"Impossible to believe. I know my memory is unreliable, but I distinctly recall changing her diapers just the day before last."

"And now she stands on the threshold of adulthood, and tomorrow she'll make us grandparents," Aurel said with a sigh. "Such is the nature of time, love."

"No, tomorrow she'll make me face my cowardice," Maglor said, unwrapping his arms from his wife as his attention abruptly turned back to the nearby city. He moved away from Aurel and sat down on the patch of bare ground where they'd planned to light their evening fire, and began to desultorily stack tinder and kindling into a small pyramid.

Aurel knelt down beside him. Placing a hand on Maglor's shoulder, she said to him, "If you were a coward, Káno, you would not be here."

"And if I were not a coward, I would simply walk into that city tomorrow openly and let the Teleri do with me what they will. But I won't. I'll creep into Alqualondë with my cloak hood up to hide my face, sit in the farthest, darkest corner of the auditorium while our daughter performs, and then dash out through the city gates as quickly as possible once her performance is over. Oh, I've faced the memory of that place more times than I can count – even when I was roaming the mortal shorelines and my mind was at its most confused, I never forgot what I did there – and I wrote music lamenting what happened that night, when we all – the Noldor, my brothers, myself – lost our innocence, and started our long, long fall into Orcdom. But I'm too afraid to face directly those I've harmed," Maglor said bitterly, looking at the ground rather than his wife. He picked up a stick from the pile of kindling and poked the ground with it savagely several times before tossing it aside.

"But not too much of a coward to refuse to face the Valar's judgment in the end," Aurel replied quietly. "And not too much of a coward not to go at all, whether hooded or no. That has to count for something."

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Chapter End Notes

Russandol ("Copper-Top") is a nickname Maedhros was given by his family, on account of his copper hair.

Filit – "Small bird." A childhood nickname my Maedhros gave to his brother Maglor.

Káno – A shortened form of Maglor's Quenya father-name Kanafinwë.

The idea that Alqualondë boasts a fine music school (at which Maglor studied during his youth) is cheerfully stolen from Dawn Felegund's novel "Another Man's Cage."