Rise Again From Ashes by Independence1776

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Chapter 16

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The mild winter passed, with only a couple days where snow stuck to the ground. Tirn, at first, was uncertain, but soon came to enjoy playing in it. I stayed away from the main house on those days, as I had no wish to become involved in a snowball fight. They reminded me too much of happier days in my youth. But coirë came soon enough, with greenery sprouting and leaves forming on the trees. Birds that had migrated further south had reappeared, building nests and raising chicks. Flowers bloomed, spreading their fragrance.

The warming weather allowed me to open the windows and door to my balcony, as the gentle breezes brought fresh air into my house. So I played my violin in the afternoons to capture the best natural light, because the class about mortal customs had ended. I had informed Elrond that I had no desire to teach them. He accepted it, and reminded me that he had suggested my teaching so I could have something to do. Now, though, I had finally started feeling like I belonged and I concentrated on my music.

I still played Mannish music, and occasionally performed it. Given that the new year was fast approaching, I practised Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I picked up my violin and began to play, though I kept stopping and restarting in order to perfect it. I took several short breaks before playing an ancient Telerin jig to break the monotony. To my surprise, though I did not stop playing, the light notes of a Telerin flute joined in midway. I adjusted my pace slightly, not recognizing the player, but then, I hadn't heard many such flutes being played here in what seemed to be a mostly Noldorin settlement. After the song was over, just as I removed my bow from the strings, a light trill came up from the flutist and I froze.

No one here knew the musical code my friends and I had worked out. It hadn't seemed important to teach anyone in Beleriand, and most of those who had known it had been slain. The trill came again, louder. I slowly put my violin in its case, automatically loosening the horsehair in the bow, and made it to the open balcony door before I heard the flutist say, “Answer the damn door, Makalaurë, or I'm climbing up!”

Telepevola. I leaned against the doorway, feeling the blood drain from my face, memory of the last time I had seen him flashing through my mind. The time I stabbed my sword through his heart, not recognizing him in the heat of battle until I removed the blade from his chest. If Maedhros hadn't been nearby, I would have died as well.

“Makalaurë, I know you are up there.”

I took the final steps to the railing and looked down at my former friend. He grinned up at me, holding a silver flute in his left hand.

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Only if you promise you won't hurt me,” I said softly in ancient Telerin.

Vola blinked and lost the smile on his face. “Ah, Káno, you should know me better than that.”

Switching to modern Sindarin, I said, “I prefer Maglor. I'll come down and let you in-- no need to ruin your flute if you do decide to make the climb.”

I stopped in shock when he said lightly, “Not worried about my head?”

I turned to stare at him, shaking. “You should know better than to joke about something like that.”

I headed downstairs, trying to calm my racing heart. Why had I let Tathar's daughter borrow Tirn for the afternoon? Yes, she missed him, but now was when I needed him the most. No one would hear me if Vola attacked me. No one would be able to defend me. I had thought I was safe; now I was sure I wasn't. I unlocked the door and looked at the pale-faced Vola.

After he stepped inside and I had closed the door, he met my eyes. “I am sorry. I had not thought how that would sound, especially to you. I remembered the way we used to fool around and… and--”

Suddenly having no energy, I sat down on the couch. “And you thought I would find it amusing. Ah, Vola, how can I apologize?”

He sat on a nearby chair, putting the flute-- now back in its case-- on the end table next to him. “You cannot. What was done was done. I have been rehoused. What is there to be said?”

“You shouldn't have had to be so in the first place!” I stood up and stormed over to the east-facing window, as far from the Teler as possible. “It is my fault. I am a Kinslayer, and to make it worse, I killed my best friend.”

I heard him stand up and move into the kitchen, still out of arm's reach. “And that best friend has chosen to forgive you.”

I turned and stared at his feet, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “Why? I killed your kin. I killed you. I stole your ships and burned them. All for the sake of a blasted Oath and three jewels. I don't deserve your forgiveness.”

“I do not forgive the Oath-- that is not in my purview. But I choose to forgive the rest, Maglor. It is my right. Others have not, as is their right. But the Slain as a whole do not wish you harm.”

“Why? I deserve it.”

“You deserve forgiveness. You repented of your deeds long before your brothers did, and wished to give up the Oath. Who else wished to do that? As for the why…” He waited until I looked up. “We would not have been released from Mandos if we would have wished you harm. Malice-- hatred-- is not tolerated. The Elder King made that clear. This is Valinor.”

I snorted. “So we're all supposed to get along now?”

“In peace, yes. Peace meaning a lack of violence. It does not mean a lack of conflict. Maglor, there are many among the Eldar who wish you had never returned. Many of those live in Alqualondë. But they will tolerate your presence if you chose to travel there. They will not harm you.”

“And if they do? Let me guess-- they'll go before the Valar, get exiled for twelve years, and come back with hatred and humiliation grown in their hearts. Yes, that worked so well in the past.”

“King Olwë would handle the trial, and the Valar may or may not be in attendance.” My mouth dropped open and Vola smiled. “The Valar have learned that they need to let us solve our own problems. Not all agree, but enough that they will only step in at greatest need.”

“They learned, then.” Vola nodded and I laughed bitterly. “They told me that; Elrond told me that, as did Glorfindel. Why could they not have learned that before humiliating Father? Why could they not have seen their actions sent him stubbornly in the one direction they wished he would not travel? But they know now. They know now.”

I leaned against the windowsill, watching Vola. He stepped back. “Look, Maglor, this is not the conversation I expected to have.”

“You should have, for it is the one we needed to have.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “I'm not fit for company at this moment, Vola. Where are you staying?”

“In the main house. No worries, Maglor. When would you like me to return?”

In fifty years, I thought, but said, “Tomorrow morning, at nine.”

He bowed slightly, grabbed his flute, and left the house, only pausing at the edge of the courtyard to wave farewell. I lifted a hand in return, closed and locked the door, and then slid to the ground, turning to lean against the door.

I did not want to see him. I did not want to talk to him. I could not handle the memories he brought. I could not handle seeing one of my victims. I was simply not ready. But neither could I refuse to see Vola. He would understand, I knew that much, but he had deliberately traveled here to see me. I at least would give him the courtesy of talking to him.

* * * * *

I spent the rest of that afternoon pacing around my house, gratefully answering the door when Tathar brought back an exhausted but happy Tirn. He spent the rest of the evening snoring on the rug next to my desk. After a sleepless night, morning came. After a breakfast I had to force myself to eat, I went outside to the courtyard and sat on a bench. I couldn't stay inside.

Vola appeared, carrying his flute case, in my courtyard promptly at nine. Tirn went from relaxing at my feet to alert only a few seconds before he entered the area. It gave me just enough time to take a deep breath and rise to my feet. Vola spotted Tirn, who was not on a leash, and stopped moving.

“Maglor…”

“He won't bite unless I tell him to. Tirn, sit.” Vola still looked askance at the dog but moved slowly forward. “He likes his chin scratched.”

Vola knelt down, still wary, but relaxed when the large dog made no move to hurt him. “He was not here yesterday.”

“He was playing with my neighbor's child. I've had him since the week after my trial. Given I'm not allowed weapons, well, he's the best any of us could think of.”

Vola snorted. “A guard dog is a weapon. But he is more than that, is he not?” He stood up and looked out over the water. “My sister has a cat who was originally supposed to be a mouser on her ship, but he ended up becoming a pet. Me, my grandchildren are trouble enough.”

I blinked in shock. He hadn't even been interested in anyone! “How long have you been married?”

“Two yéni. We met shortly after my release from Mandos. Calca is wonderful-- you'll have to meet her.”

I rolled my eyes and sat down. “And how long have you been released?”

“Three centuries.”

I bowed my head. If what he had said yesterday was true, then it had taken him a long while to forgive me, to not hate me. Choosing the less dangerous topic, I asked, “And you already have grandchildren?”

“Three of them, all girls. My daughter had triplets.”

“Triplets?”

He grinned. “They're a handful, but they're only three. Now, as you said yesterday, we need to talk. May as well have the hard conversation first.”

I nodded, glancing at the scar on my right hand. “Why did it take so long for you to leave Mandos?”

Vola sighed and settled himself on the ground. Tirn took the opportunity to lie down, putting his head on my feet. “I was not ready. I had forgiven you early on, Maglor, though I don't know how long it was in time. You were as much a victim as I was. A victim of Morgoth and of your father.” He raised a hand to forestall me speaking. “I know you loved him-- and still do-- and that he was a good father. You are a victim of his pride and his stubbornness. If he would have listened to King Olwë, the tragedy would have been prevented. But he was so consumed with grief--”

“Father was insane. We all were. And we didn't want to listen. I don't think Father could have, so consumed was he with hatred and revenge. And do not think that I do not hold blame. I do-- that foul Oath, my choice to follow Father, my choice to draw my sword: I hold as much blame as Father does.”

Vola studied me. “I think you hold less. But we each have our opinion, and I do not think we will change each other's minds.”

“I spent thousands of years on Middle-earth thinking things through, studying human nature and different Secondborn philosophies. I hold the blame, and I regret what happened.”

“But you are at peace with it, aren't you? You dislike it, but you know you cannot change the past.”

I nodded, surprised he understood. “The Valar would not have let me return if I had not made peace with the past. That is what Father's exile from Tirion was supposed to do, but he saw it as humiliation. Me… I've always been introspective. My exile was one of the best things that happened to me, though I will always regret the events that led to it.”

“But you are still scared,” he said, looking at Tirn.

“You tell me-- is it justified?”

Vola met my eyes and quietly said, “Yes.” I let out a shaky breath. Vola continued, “Not here at Elrond's House. Tirion is more accepting, though there are elements who feel differently. The rest of Valinor… Alqualondë would be dangerous for you to visit alone. No one would kill you-- we do not want another Kinslaying-- but at the least you would be shunned. Other places, I am not sure of.”

“How many of the Slain are still in Mandos?”

“Less than three hundred. Back to your question about my time in Mandos: I chose to wait, for not all were as accepting, or even understanding, why I chose to forgive you. I don't know if I helped anyone, but I felt it was necessary. But Lord Manwë finally informed me that my time had come to be rehoused, and so I was.”

I nodded, slightly confused. I wasn’t aware that communication among the people there was even possible. “You talked to others in the Halls?”

“Yes. It is a place of introspection, Maglor, but conversation is welcome at times. Your family I did not speak to, nor did I ever see them, though that means little when I did not see most of the inhabitants.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, a tear falling from my right eye.

“I am sorry I don't have more information, Maglor.”

“No, it's better this way. I know they won't be rehoused until the end, and any news will make the long wait harder. They are in no danger there.”

We sat in silence for a little while before Vola took out his flute and started playing, matching the varying intensity of the breeze. I closed my eyes and just listened. It had been far too long since I had last heard him just play, and I had missed it. More importantly, I had missed our friendship. I had expected to hear nothing from him. So to have him this willing to renew it, I didn’t know what to think. I would accept his overture, but I had to be cautious. Knowing something intellectually was different than experiencing it, and decisions could be changed. I wouldn’t act as anything other than I was, and I hoped that Vola would accept it. Both of us were far different people than we had been back before the Darkening.