Down Through the Ages by StarSpray

By the Roadside

Prompt for this chapter: Silk Road

If Daeron had had any expectations of encountering a figure from his past at all, he would not have expected it to happen in a small but bustling town built around a series of freshwater springs in the low hills at the feet of much taller mountains at the very easternmost edge of the Persians' reach. It was a place for travelers and caravans to stop and replenish supplies, and rest after crossing the mountain passes, not for such chance meetings.

It was not the sort of place one expected to find long-lost Elven princes, although Daeron suspected there were Avari living in the mountains and trading in clever wooden carvings, if what he saw in the marketplace was any indication. But he forgot about the carvings when he heard the notes of a harp played by fingers more skilled than he had heard in a very long time. He followed the sound, as did most other people, to a spot near the town's main temple, and there he was: Maglor Fëanorion, in the flesh, his dark hair held out of his face by a plain bronze circlet, his lap-harp of the Greek style, his clothes of fine quality though lacking in any adornments. Daeron waited until the song was done and the crowd dispersed before approaching.

"You are rather far from the mournful sighing of the Sea," he said. It was like taking a drink of fresh clear water to speak in Sindarin again, after juggling so many other tongues over the years and the miles.

Maglor looked up sharply, and then he smiled. "And you are far from—what was it—the dark waters where you made laments for Lúthien for many ages of the world?"

"I made one lament for Lúthien, and it was before I left Doriath," said Daeron primly. "Pengolodh was too romantic for his own good." Maglor laughed. "But what are you doing here?"

"Following the traders, seeing where all the roads lead," Maglor said cheerfully. He rose, tucking his harp away, and wrapped his cloak around himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Trading," Daeron replied. There was a fortune to be made in the silk trade, and he was looking forward to retiring, for a time, to a comfortable house somewhere—near Athens, perhaps. "Come. Let me buy you a drink. You can tell me where else you have been wandering."