What Your Life Is by StarSpray

What Your Life Is

Read What Your Life Is

What I want to say is
that the past is the past,
and the present is what your life is,
and you are capable
of choosing what that will be

- "Mornings at Blackwater" by Mary Oliver

.

The sunrise was a gentle thing with no fanfare. The sky was clear and cloudless, and though night's chill lingered in the air, and mist clung to the riverbanks and drifted through the olive groves, the day promised to be warm. Maglor, sitting on the highest point of the roof of his rambling, patchwork home, took up his harp and played a song of greeting to Arien as she began her day's journey over the world. Beneath him the smell of incense mingled with baking bread as the rest of the household began to stir. Down the hill, the sea washed gently up and over a stretch of secluded, sandy beach. Taller hills hid the house from the river and olive groves further inland; to most travelers passing by, or most sailors out on the water, the cluster of hills seemed impenetrable—and hardly worth looking at even if they were. Never mind the children that often went down to the beach to splash in the shallows, or the small fishing boat that came and went from one of many small, quiet coves nestled in the hills where they sloped all the way down to the water.

As Maglor let the last notes of his morning song fade away, he turned his gaze east and south, toward the river and the road that followed it for a short time. He could not see it from the rooftop, but from the hills and the beach the city of Hadast was just visible to elven sight, with its crowded markets and great harbors, filled to bursting with traders and travelers from all parts of Harad and beyond—even ships come down from Belfalas or Lebennin, carrying not only goods from Gondor but sometimes things that had traveled all the way down Anduin from Wilderland far to the north—from Dorwinion, or the Anduin Vale, or even Dale and Erebor. Maglor had once been lucky enough to be in Hadast when a ship from Dol Amroth came in, and had come away with a bottle of Dorwinion and a dwarf-made cloak pin. He still had the pin; the wine remained a pleasant if somewhat hazy memory.

He then looked westward toward the sea, picking out a few notes at random on his harp. The tide was going out; soon Silwë would be making his way down to the beach, perhaps with some of the children, to see if anything interesting had been left behind. From his perch Maglor could see some large pieces of driftwood, and clumps of seaweed, and other smaller things scattered in between. The breeze kicked up, blowing in off of the water and carrying with it a briny, fishy smell. Farther off shore the small shapes of ships and boats drifted across the waves. He played a few more notes, and a few chords, feeling the stirrings of a new song somewhere in the back of his mind—no words, only the melody.

"Good morning, Maglor!" chorused a pair of voices from below, breaking into his thoughts and sending any ideas scattering like a startled flock of birds. Ah well. It would return to him.

"Good morning," he called down, leaning over to see the twins Hanno and Hadad in the courtyard, buckets in hand, waving up at him. "Are you taking Ishta with you?"

"Yes," the twins chorused. Hanno added, "We're waiting for her and Silwë."

"We are coming," said Silwë, emerging from a doorway across the yard, Ishta at his heels. "Good morning!" he called up to Maglor; Ishta waved.

Maglor watched them go, passing out of the courtyard and down the rough hewn steps to the path that wound through the hills to the beach. Then he jumped down from the roof and went in search of breakfast. He found Elissa and Vanna in the kitchens; Elissa was up to her elbows in flour, kneading dough, as Vanna fried flat bread in between taking risen loves in and out of the oven outside. As Maglor picked up a few pieces of bread to smother with honey and fruit, they were joined by Asar, still yawning, and Tanith, who shooed Vanna away to the ovens and took over cooking the flat bread.

"Maglor, do you still plan to go to the city next week?" Tanith asked.

"I do," he said. "Heru is going with me."

"Oh, good."

There was, of course, an ever-growing list of things that he needed to look for in the markets. At the top were the foodstuffs and supplies they could not grow or make for themselves, and would need for the coming months when near constant rain would make travel difficult or impossible; farther down the list were other things to purchase if he could find them—little luxuries that would make the storm season pass more pleasantly. And there was the list of things Maglor was taking to the city to sell; he would depart with a laden cart, and hopefully return with an even more laden cart.

Silwë and the children returned with seashells and seaweed and a few pieces of driftwood large enough to perhaps be of use. By that time the whole household was awake and going about its business. Maglor had no more time that morning or that afternoon to think much of music. Heru and Asar were fighting again, trying everyone's patience with their bickering. That was half the reason Maglor was taking Heru with him to Hadast. He could not take Asar, it was too dangerous for him, but he could get Heru away from the house for a time, at least.

At last evening came, and after supper Maglor slipped away from the house. Everyone else was gathering in the large hall to tell stories or play games with the children until it was time to sleep—except for Iset and Nanaia, who Maglor saw slipping away hand-in-hand for an evening of more intimate company. As the stars appeared overhead, Maglor made his way down the path through the hills to the beach. It was a narrow path, with high natural walls rising on either side. He had hewn the shallow stairs himself, long ago; they were beginning to wear down now by the passage of many feet, and from the water that washed partway up every year with the storm surges. It had never yet reached the top of the path or the house, and Maglor intended to keep it that way. There were runes carved deep into the rocks, and as he passed them he ran his fingers over the grooves, singing softly. The song was an old one, of warding and of staying, of safety and hiding. The warding and staying would keep the water from going higher than it should. Other parts of the song he had modeled on the remnants of Melian's Girdle long ago, and sung throughout the hills surrounding the house. Her teachings had been unintentional, but they'd saved his life more than once in the long years since.

Finally he came to the beach, and the sea opened up before him. The sun had vanished beneath the horizon, but its light still lingered, pale in the west. The moon had not yet risen, but the stars were bright, and sparkled on the waves and the foam. Maglor breathed a sigh; the tide was in now, and the air smelled clean and fresh, briny but not unpleasantly so. The seas that washed the shores of Harad were very different from the seas in the north. The water was warmer, and more likely to be blue than grey.

Footsteps on stone made him turn; it was Asar, shoulders slightly hunched. "Did you have another fight with Heru?" Maglor asked.

Asar grimaced, and ducked his head. Beads clicked at the ends of his braids. "I don't know why," he muttered. "She's just—" He shrugged. "Also I wanted to know what you do down here at night."

Maglor could guess why Asar and Heru butted heads so often—it was a combination of their similar ages and similar stubborn temperaments. But it wouldn't do any good to say it aloud, since Asar would only take it as a lecture. So he grinned and allowed the change in subject. "Nothing terribly interesting," he said. "I usually just sit on the sand and watch the stars and the waves. Sometimes I walk down the beach—as I thought I would tonight. Come join me."

Asar fell into step beside him. At sixteen he was still a little gangly. He had come to them only a few months previous, half-starved and exhausted after his flight from a plantation somewhere to the south and east. He was not the first escaped slave to find his way to the hills, and he wouldn't be the last. He had come alone, and did not talk about any family that he might have left behind; Maglor thought he had none.

They made their way down the shore; Asar stayed on the dry sand, but Maglor wandered into the waves, letting the water wash up over his ankles before falling back, whispering over the sand, and erasing each footprint almost as soon as it was made. Finally, Asar said, "How did you come here?"

"Hm?"

"Vanna told me you came from the north." Asar waved a hand in the general direction, back up the coast. "Up beyond, where the stars are strange and spirits walk the earth."

Maglor laughed. "You don't have to go north to find spirits," he said. "But Vanna is right."

"How did you come here, then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was a wanderer for a very long time. When I first came here I didn't intend to stay."

Asar tilted his head, beads clicking again. "Why did you?"

Asar, Maglor thought, definitely did not intend to stay; the safest and most obvious direction for him to go when he left was north, to Gondor or beyond, and of course he might think it strange that someone would come from there to settle in Harad. Maglor shrugged. "It was long ago," he said. "The power of Mordor was growing, though the Enemy had not declared himself openly. He would have liked very much to get his hands on me, and he nearly did, once. It was safer to stay hidden."

"I've heard stories about that time," Asar said. "A terrible elf king from the north smote the Dark Lord with a great sword of fire, and destroyed his realm. But you could've left here afterward."

"But I didn't want to," Maglor said. He stooped to pick up a seashell. It shimmered wet and pale in his palm. "And I strongly suspect those tales you have heard are exaggerated. Elessar could claim descent from several elf kings, but he was as mortal as you are."

"What about the sword of fire?"

"I'm sure the sword was remarkable," Maglor said, "but I doubt it was made of actual flame. But as I was not there, I cannot say what really happened: I only know that I felt Sauron's final defeat. It was like the very earth breathed a sigh of relief. And after that it wasn't so dangerous to reside here." He grinned at Asar. "And even if they tried, no one with ill intent can find our house. I have made sure of that."

"If you weren't there," Asar said after a few moments, "how do you know it wasn't real fire?"

"Because I have seen my fair share of great swords, and all of them were made of steel. Enchanted steel, of course, imbued with the great powers and gifts of their makers, but still only metal." Maglor looked ahead and frowned. A large shape was drifting in on the waves—no, not merely drifting. He watched as it hit the sand and staggered up a few paces, on four legs, before collapsing. Maglor halted, and reached out to catch Asar's arm.

Asar had seen it too. "What…?"

"Stay here," Maglor said. He glanced out to sea, and almost fancied he heard laughter in the waves. That gave him pause, but better to see what Ossë had brought him sooner rather than later. Though he was rarely deliberately cruel, Ossë could be capricious. Who knew what kind of strange creature from the deeps he had decided to cast up on Maglor's little stretch of shore?

But as he got closer Maglor found that the creature was not something out of the sea after all. It had thick, shaggy fur, and smelled of wet dog—and it was enormous, far bigger than any of the hounds or dogs that Maglor had seen in Harad, which were sleek and slender and short-haired, bred for hotter climes. In fact, the only dog of this size Maglor had ever seen had been…

"Surely not," he said, stopping a few feet away. Even the mere thought seemed like it should never have entered his mind. He said it again, voice shaking, slipping into Quenya the way Ishta slipped beneath her softest blanket when in need of comfort: "Surely not." At the sound of his voice the great shaggy shape stirred, and turned its head. Behind him Asar called out, asking a question, but Maglor barely heard him. He fell to his knees in the wet sand, staring into eyes that gleamed with ancient Treelight and even older starlight. Then his face was being licked clean of tears by a giant tongue, and he was both laughing and crying as he flung his arms around the dog's shoulders, burying his face in wet fur, hardly caring that it was still crusted with sand that scraped against his cheeks. "Huan, what are you doing here?"

He couldn't remember when he had last seen Huan. Before the Bragollach, certainly, perhaps in Himlad—he hadn't seen Celegorm or Curufin after that until they'd come riding into Himring alone on one extremely tired horse, neither of them willing to admit to the mess they had made of things in Nargothrond. Huan, of course, had not been with them then. Word had come only much later of his fate in Doriath. Yet now here he was, solid and whole and very much alive, more than two Ages of the Sun later, washed up on the shores of Harad, of all places. And of course no matter how many times Maglor asked, Huan did not give any answer as to how or why.

Asar was, understandably, unnerved by the whole thing, and ran ahead back towards the house once Huan got to his feet. Maglor followed more slowly, keeping pace with Huan, who seemed weary, and moved slowly. Maglor put a hand on his back. "Why are you here?" he asked again. "Why come to me?" He had never been particularly close to Huan—no one had been, of course, not like Celegorm—and it seemed very strange that Huan should come to Middle-earth now. Had he been sent, or had he chosen to come? Why had the Valar allowed it? The questions went around in circles. No one came back from Valinor without a purpose, yet Maglor could not imagine what Huan's purpose could be. It was many years now since Sauron had been defeated, and there was no new rising threat. Not one that Maglor had heard of, at least, and he listened hard for such rumors. He scratched Huan behind the ears. As they came to the stairs leading back up to the house, Maglor paused and looked back out at the sea. The waters were calm and dark, and overhead the stars were very bright. Over the horizon Gil-Estel hung like a beacon.

Back at the house, everyone but the younger children had gathered in the courtyard. Huan paused before leaving the path and shook himself, sending sand and water flying everywhere again, and when he trotted forward he was entirely dry and sand-free. Maglor did not have such talents, and went to the small fountain in the corner to rinse himself off.

"Maglor, what is this?" Elissa asked, eying Huan warily. She was a tiny woman, and Huan towered over her. "Where did it come from?"

"From the West," Maglor said, "and his name is Huan. He is—he is a friend, from long ago."

"How long ago?" Silwë asked.

"Ere I ever left Valinor," said Maglor. "He is one of the Hounds of Oromë the Great Hunter, and was a companion to my brother in his youth. You have nothing to fear from him." Huan chose this moment to yawn, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth and a red lolling tongue. Everyone but Elissa took a step back. Huan bent his head down and sniffed at her, and then dragged his tongue up her face, making her shriek in disapproval. That broke the tension as everyone laughed.

Elissa smacked Huan's shoulder. "Off with you! You disrespectful, mangy—"

"Surely none of the Hunter's hounds are mangy," laughed Elil.

"—flea-bitten, sand-covered menace! Maglor! This creature is not allowed in my kitchen!"

"As you say, Elissa," Maglor said. "Huan, you had better listen, or Elissa will drive you back into the sea." Huan woofed, tail wagging.

Still muttering, Elissa stalked off to her bed. Most of the others paused to pat or pet Huan briefly before leaving, until only Silwë remained in the courtyard with them. He looked at Huan with even more wariness than Elissa had. He had come from an Avari clan who held little trust for the Powers, or those they sent back into the eastern lands. "I hope," he said finally, "that this hound's coming is not a portent of evil to come."

"Huan is not a thing of evil," Maglor said.

"No," Silwë agreed, "but I have heard the tales of the Hound of Valinor. Where he goes, he goes to fight the servants of the Enemy."

But if that was Huan's purpose, he gave no sign of it over the next week at least, in which he settled down quite comfortably as the beloved, spoiled pet of the house. At night he slept in Maglor's room, too big for the bed but stretched out just beside it; by day he roamed the hills or the beach, and made fast friends with the children, when he wasn't lazing in the sun in the courtyard or the garden. The only room into which Huan did not venture was the kitchen, as Elissa had decreed, and though she still grumbled, by the end of the week Maglor had caught her twice setting out a bowl of scraps, and giving Huan a quick pat on the snout before bustling away.

Finally, the day for Maglor's trip to Hadast came. He still intended to take Heru with him, but on the morning of their departure he stepped outside to find Huan waiting patiently by the cart. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do in the city?" Maglor demanded. "You'll attract far too much attention."

"Can't you do some elvish magic or something?" Heru asked as she skipped out of the door to give Huan a thorough scratching behind the ears.

"To do what?"

"I don't know. Make him smaller?"

"I could not change Huan's form even if I wanted to," Maglor said, and Huan shook his head, ears flapping, in agreement.

"Could not Huan make himself less noticeable?" Silwë asked from somewhere behind and above Maglor. Maglor turned to find Silwë on the rooftop, a set of pipes in his hands. He blew a few notes, and added, "That's what you do, isn't it? Hide that fire in your eyes."

"I don't know," Maglor said. "Probably." He turned back to Huan. "You'll have to, if you want to come," he said. Huan woofed, and Maglor had to take that as agreement. He couldn't really keep Huan from following, anyway.

The way out of the hills was winding and wreathed in enchantments, some marked by runes Maglor had carved deep into stones beside the path. Huan stopped at these briefly to sniff at them, before trotting back up beside the cart. "What do all of those markings say?" Heru asked as they passed one stone where the markings were more exposed, and had worn down more than the others. Maglor would have to come back to re-carve them.

"They are to protect the house from anyone who might come with ill intent," said Maglor.

"But how do you know whether someone has ill intent?" Heru asked.

"It's usually rather obvious," Maglor said.

They left the hills and the land opened up before them, olive groves on the far side of the river, and grassland fading into pastures and cultivated fields on the closer side. As they trundled along they passed workers in the fields, and occasionally a boat drifting down the river. The sky was clear, but to the south dark clouds hovered over the horizon. As they drew closer to the city as the afternoon drew on, Heru tugged at her headscarf, and adjusted the veil that covered the bottom half of her face. "Where would you start looking, if you wanted to find survivors of a shipwreck in Hadast?" she asked as the city walls loomed up before them, and the road became more crowded with other carts and wagons and various riders and people on foot.

Maglor had been eying an elephant ahead of them. Now he looked at Heru. "I would begin at the docks," he said. "There is a temple there. It is not far from where I first wish to go—but I do not think you should wander the streets by yourself."

Huan trailed behind them, and only occasionally did anyone pause to give him a second glance. Maglor glanced over his shoulder; Huan winked. At the gates they trundled through, passing more armed guards than Maglor remembered seeing in some time. Something made the hair on his arms stand on end, but he couldn't see any obvious source for unease. The city was as it always was: crowded, loud, smelling of bodies and animals and dung and food and garbage.

Over the years Maglor had befriended half a dozen merchants who would reliably buy whatever trinkets he brought to the city and sell him their own wares at fair prices; one, whose mother had grown up in Maglor's house before falling in love with a silk merchant, did his business near the harbor. "Good afternoon, Barca," Maglor said as he stepped into the small, cramped office attached to the larger warehouse. Through the thin walls he could hear some workers singing a bawdy song as they shifted boxes and barrels and sacks around.

"Maglor." Barca seemed surprised to see him. He adjusted his headscarf and rose to exchange proper greetings. "I did not expect to see you this year."

"Why not?" Maglor asked, startled.

"Do you not know? Even the Elves that come down out of the east know that it is growing dangerous. Your people are dwindling, and the less you come among us the more fearful some are becoming."

"So it has been for years beyond your counting," Maglor said.

"The fearful are the ones with the loudest voice, these days," Barca said grimly. "For my part, I would happily do business with whatever elves venture to Hadast—your crafts are always good—but the priests do not agree."

The hair on the back of Maglor's neck stood on end. "What priests?"

"The ones that still worship the old Dark Lord," Barca said. "They have been growing in number, lately, and speak often of his return."

"He was destroyed," Maglor said. "He cannot return."

"They do not think so. And they tell terrible tales of Elves and the Northmen that came from over the Sea. There are even tales that speak your name, Maglor."

"Oh?"

Barca scoffed, waving a hand. "They say you are some monster with blood dripping from your fingers, and that you draw in innocent folk by playing music upon a harp made of the bones and sinew of the innocents that you slew."

"That's ridiculous," Maglor said, keeping his voice light. "Bones make for terrible harps, and I could hardly play if I was dripping with blood all the time."

"Of course, but there are many who don't know enough of your people to be able to tell," Barca said, "and you should know what they are saying." And with that they turned the conversation to business. Half an hour later, when the cart had been unloaded and loaded again with grains and sacks of root vegetables, Barca bid Maglor farewell. "Be careful," he added, as Maglor climbed up into the cart. "All else aside, it is dangerous to stand out in Hadast these days."

"Thank you," Maglor said. He reached down to clasp Barca's hand. "I will remember."

Heru and Huan rejoined him not long afterward; Heru had her head bowed, and she was silent as she climbed into the cart. Maglor did not ask how her errand at the docks went. "Keep your head down, Huan," he said, and took them on to the marketplace.

The markets of Hadast were always bustling, and with storm season fast approaching they were even more crowded than usual as people like Maglor and Heru came from the lands surrounding to trade and stock up. Stalls and shop fronts crowded together, and the streets were filled with people of all kinds, dressed in colorful robes and veils and head scarves, with jewelry winking in the sunlight as hands were waved and loud words exchanged as buyers bartered and argued with sellers. Anything could be found in the market, from fresh-cooked foods to bolts of silk to finely spun glass ornaments, and even precious gemstones. The air smelled of cooked meat and fresh-baked bread, and honey, and flowers, and incense, all mingled together with dirt and sweat. Huan weaved easily through the crowds, only garnering the occasional second glance; one might have thought great hounds were as normal a sight in Hadast as horses and donkeys.

Perhaps it was only because of his conversation with Barca, but Maglor felt the whole day as though eyes were constantly on him as he bartered and bantered with the sellers in the stalls and in the other various warehouses that surrounded the market. He avoided traders that were obviously from the north—though they seemed fewer than in past years, too—and once he had to grab Heru by the arm and haul her in the opposite direction before they ran into a group of dark-robed priests whose amulets bore the unmistakable sign of the Eye. As they turned down another street one looked back and for a moment his gaze met Maglor's. His eyebrows drew together in a frown, but Maglor turned away quickly and did not stay to see what, if anything, he said or did.

"What's the matter?" Heru asked, craning her neck to see over Maglor's arm as he shepherded her back to the cart.

"Servants of the Shadow," Maglor said, keeping his voice low. "Always avoid them, or anyone wearing that sign."

"But what does it mean?"

"Not here, Heru. I'll explain once we're out of the city." He felt, suddenly, as though everything was too crowded and too close, and he needed to get out of the city walls into the open spaces where he could breathe.

"I thought we were staying overnight," she said, surprised. "Did you get everything that we need?"

"Yes, I did." There were some things he had not gotten, or even looked for—but all of the necessities were tucked into the cart. Anything else, they could survive without.

They passed by the temple from which the priests had come. It had stood as a temple to Melkor long ago, when Sauron had held sway over that part of Harad, but since the War of the Ring it had been converted into an extension of the marketplace. That it had reverted to its original purpose spoke to Maglor of troubling influence reaching to the Prince of the City, or at least to his council. But at least the shrines to Ossë and Uinen remained near the harbor, and the temples to the aspects of Vána and Yavanna that were honored in Harad still saw many come and go every day, the smell of incense and flowers hovering about their doorways.

Huan sat beside their cart. He rose and shoved his snout into Maglor's hair to give it a good sniff, after which he growled, a low rumbling noise that Maglor felt rather than heard, and which caused several passers-by gave tot hem a very wide berth, and a few sidelong looks. "Yes, I know," Maglor said. "We're leaving now."

He climbed up onto the cart, Heru scrambling after him, and with a flick of the reins urged the ponies forward. It was slow going, and the feeling of being watched grew and grew until at last they left the market and made their way to the gates. Only once they were outside the city walls did Maglor feel he could breathe easily again.

"Maglor," Heru began.

"Not yet," he said, more sharply than he'd intended. The road was still crowded with other travelers and traders, most hurrying towards the walls to get through the gates before night fell.

"But—" She looked at him, and then away, falling silent.

After a moment he reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Will you tell me what you learned at the docks?"

"The man I spoke to knew about the wreck," Heru said finally, slumping in her seat. "And how many bodies were washed up on the beach and the harbor. No one else survived."

"I am sorry," Maglor said.

"I don't know what to do, now," Heru said. Her eyes were dry, but the look on her face was bleak as she stared at the road ahead of them without really seeing it.

"You don't have to decide today," said Maglor.

"But I can't stay with you forever," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, "that isn't—that—"

"Heru," Maglor said, "you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish—yes, I mean forever, if that is what you want. All I would ask of you in return is that you try to get along with Asar. I don't know what—" He broke off, frowning.

"What is it?" Heru asked.

Maglor peered into the cart just behind their seat. It was filled with goods—mostly in large sacks and barrels—and it all seemed to be where he had put it. But he could have sworn that he heard something move. He looked at Huan, trotting alongside the cart, who looked back at him innocently.

"Maglor?" said Heru.

"Nothing," Maglor said. "I thought…never mind."

"Are you going to tell me what happened in the city, now?" Heru asked.

"Not yet," said Maglor, glancing around. They rode in companionable silence for a time, until the other travelers on the road thinned out, and there was no chance of the wrong person overhearing them. Only then did Maglor explain to Heru who the dark-robed priests were, and who they worshiped, and why it was a particularly bad idea for someone like him to attract their attention.

"Oh," was all Heru said when he was done, but her eyes were wide beneath her headscarf and veil. "It was too dangerous even to stay one night?"

"I don't know," said Maglor. "Perhaps not. But I will not regret being over-cautious as I would being careless. And between us, Huan and I can guard our camp well enough that only a dragon would be cause for real worry."

They continued on. After a time Heru said, "And how likely is it that?"

"What, a dragon? Not terribly."

"I am not sure that's as reassuring as you mean it to be."

"I would say that it's nigh impossible," said Maglor, "and that what few dragons might remain in the world dwell in the far north. But a few weeks ago I would have also said it was impossible that I should ever see Huan again—and yet here he is, having washed up like so much flotsam with the tide." Huan woofed cheerfully, and then bounded off into a field without warning. A flock of birds burst out of the tall grass, fluttering sky wards with a great noise of calls and flapping wings.

"You said that he was your brother's companion," Heru said, watching Huan as he leaped about in the grass, chasing whatever it was that had caught his attention.

"Yes. They were inseparable." Until they weren't.

"What happened to your brother?" Heru asked.

"He died."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a very long time ago," said Maglor. The wagon trundled on, and Huan caught up after a little while. Then evening drew on, and Huan found a good spot to set up camp. It was a small hollow a little ways off the road, though not difficult to reach with the wagon. The night promised to be cool, but not so cold that there was need for a fire.

As Maglor dug some of Elissa's rations out of his pack, Heru went to search for something in the cart, only to fall out of it with a yelp. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"There's something in there!" Heru pointed accusingly at the cart. "Up by the bench, under some sacks, something moved!"

Maglor was on his feet immediately, and went to put himself between Heru and whatever—or whoever—it was that had stowed away in the cart. He glanced at Huan, who had sprawled out on the grass and was watching them with no sign of concern. "You," he said, "were supposed to be keeping guard!" Huan only yawned.

When Maglor peered into the cart, nothing moved. He hauled one of the sacks of grain out of the way, though, and found a gaunt figure in a ragged shift huddled just behind it. He allowed himself a moment of relief, and then said, as gently as he could, "It's all right. You can come out." The figure blinked at him. He tried another dialect, and then another, but could not make himself understood. Finally he sighed and said in the Common Tongue of the north, "All right then, suit yourself!"

This did get a response, to his surprise. "You are a westerner?" The voice was hoarse and heavily accented—an accent that Maglor recognized, but had not heard in some time.

"Once upon a time," he replied, and slipped into the correct language at last. "You are from Rhûn."

"Yes!" The figure sat up fully, and out of the shadows of the cart Maglor saw that she was quite young—maybe a few years older than Heru—with the olive skin of the Easterlings of Rhûn, and dark hair cut cropped rough and short. She had an iron collar around her neck, from which dangled a few links of a chain. That, he thought, was what he had heard earlier—the clack of metal against the wood of the cart. "Can you help me?" she asked.

"I will try," said Maglor.

"Maglor, who is that?" Heru asked from behind him.

"What is your name?" Maglor asked the girl in the cart. When he hesitated he said, "I am Maglor. This is Heru, and the laziest guard dog you will ever meet is Huan." Huan woofed and whined indignantly, and the girl in the cart smiled—and then looked startled at herself for it.

"I am Zaya," she said.

Maglor helped her out of the cart, frowning as he felt hard bone beneath thin skin on her arms. There would be time for questions later, though—after they were safe at home. "I'm afraid we cannot take this off you yet," he said, touching the iron collar with his fingertips. "Where were you trying to go?"

Zaya shrugged as Heru handed her a piece of flat bread smeared with honey. "Away from there," she said. "It is an evil place." She paused before eating. "Will they come looking for me?"

"Who are you running from?" Maglor asked. Heru watched the two of them, expression both wary and curious.

"The black priests," said Zaya. "The ones that worship the Eye."

A shudder ran through Maglor, and nearby Huan growled, low and deep. Both Zaya and Heru looked at Huan in alarm. "I don't know," Maglor said finally, to Zaya. To Heru he said, "It's all right."

"What is going on?" Heru asked him.

"Zaya escaped from the priests in Hadast—from the Cult of Melkor." Or of Sauron, perhaps—or perhaps the two had been conflated over the years. It didn't really matter. To Zaya he said, "Since you have nowhere to run to, we will take you home with us. It is a safe place—I promise you, no servants of the Enemy will find you there."

As night fell, Maglor gave Zaya his cloak, and she and Heru curled up together—friendly already in spite of not sharing a language—near Huan, who lay on the grass with his head in his paws, but his eyes open, gleaming in the growing darkness. Neither he nor Maglor slept that night.

Nothing happened, and they met few on the road the next day—and none coming from Hadast. Zaya sat openly in the cart but with Maglor's cloak swathed around her, hiding particularly the collar around her neck. She spoke little, but Heru peppered Maglor with questions about his travels and about the lands of Rhûn far to the north. He answered the questions he could, and some he put to Zaya, but hers was a very small clan that roamed the steppes far from the Sea of Rhûn, and had little to do with the larger societies there.

Maglor glanced back at her. "How did you end up here, then?" he asked.

"There was a big trade meeting," she said, "and people came from all over. They took me when I was tending our ponies one night."

"Had you set no guards?"

Her mouth twisted bitterly. "I was the guard. We feared someone would steal our animals, not us."

"Were there others taken, too?"

"Yes. But none of them made it here. They were sold off in other places." She gestured in a vaguely easterly direction.

"Then the priests did not kidnap you," Maglor said, feeling a sliver of relief that the cult had not spread so far north. He would have been very surprised to see it take root in Rhûn—the people there had fought for Sauron, but only after being harshly subjugated, and even then he knew there had been resistance. "They only bought you here?" Zaya nodded.

They entered the hills not long after setting out from their camp. Vanna and Ishta were out in the main courtyard, sweeping and preparing to hang out laundry, and both looked up in surprise. "You're early!" Vanna exclaimed.

"Very early," said Silwë, appearing from somewhere mysterious. To most his expression might appear serene beneath the cloth band looped lopsided over his face to cover his missing eye. In his remaining eye, though, Maglor could see the shadows of worry. "Did something happen?" he asked.

"No," Maglor said, "not exactly. We're all fine," he added quickly, seeing Vanna frown. "And we have a new guest. This is Zaya; she is from the lands north of Rhûn."

"Has she not eaten since she left them?" Vanna said. She held out her hands to help Zaya down. "Ishta, go tell everyone that Maglor and Heru have returned."

"And Huan!" Ishta said. Huan leaned down to lick her face, making her giggle as she darted away into the house.

"Zaya," Maglor said, "come with me."

"Where are you going?" Vanna demanded as Maglor put a hand on Zaya's shoulder to guide her away.

"I won't keep her from the table long, Vanna, I promise," Maglor said.

The workshop was a large, long room. The windows were all open to let in the sunshine and the breeze, though when the storms hit they would be shuttered tightly. One end of the workshop opened onto a forge; there was another part dedicated to pottery, and the largest space to woodworking. It was the work of a few minutes to get the iron collar off of Zaya's neck. She rubbed at the reddened and raw skin underneath, wincing. "Don't touch it," said Maglor, catching her hands. "You'll only get it dirtier. Iset will have something for it."

Zaya looked up at him. "How many people live here?" she asked.

"Fifteen, now," he said, "counting you. There are others who come and go, like Silwë's folk." Though now that he thought of it, they had not seen or heard from Silwë's people for some time. He tossed the now broken collar to the side; it was quality iron, at least, and they could melt it down and make something useful later.

"Elves, you mean?" Zaya said. "Silwë looks like the Elf folk my clan trades with. I didn't know there were Elves so far south."

"Oh, we're scattered rather widely," said Maglor.

Zaya looked up at him in astonishment. "You don't look like an Elf!" she said. He laughed. "Where are you from, then? How are you here when you know my language, and the Westerners', and all?"

"I am very old, and I have traveled a great deal," Maglor said. "Now come on. Elissa and Vanna will have my head if you don't get a good meal."

All of the older women in the house made much of fussing over Zaya, whisking her away to clean up and put on new clothes the moment Maglor brought her out of the workshop, and then sitting her down at the breakfast table. Maglor joined them there, to act as interpreter (although the language of good food was universal). It was comforting to return to the bustle and activity; Hanno and Hadad ran in and out throughout the morning, while Asar helped Elil and Tanith and Nanaia put away the supplies from the cart. Others wandered in and out also; Ishta climbed up onto Maglor's lap. Huan lay in the sun in the courtyard, the very image of indolence.

Sometimes Maglor found himself surprised all over again to find himself here. He had never kept a permanent household before, not one of his own. There had been no permanent houses in the Gap—and even if there had been, they would have been fortifications manned by soldiers, not homes. As it was, Himring was close enough that Maglor had never felt the need to build anything of his own. And then later…well.

Of course, everyone wanted to know what had brought Maglor and Heru back from Hadast so early. Zaya's presence provided some explanation—she was not the first runaway that Maglor had smuggled out of the city—but not all of it.

"No, we did not get into trouble," Maglor said, after Elissa pressed him for the fifth time about his sudden departure from Hadast. "But there are changes happening in the city that make it dangerous for certain folk."

"Elves, you mean?" Elissa asked. She had her hands on her hips, leaving flowery marks on her apron and dress.

"Yes," said Maglor, "or anyone from the north, I think—and I think I would be taken first for someone from Gondor or beyond, rather than as an elf."

"That's ridiculous," said Nanaia. "Gondor has been one of our best trading allies for years."

"It isn't anything official," said Maglor. "And I don't think the feeling is widespread—but the Cult of Melkor is gaining in voice and power." Zaya, at the name Melkor, shuddered. "I dread to think what they are doing in that temple of theirs."

Of everyone in the household, only Silwë had been alive when Sauron had risen again and been defeated for ever. Elissa's grandparents had been young, then. But Elissa might remember the last days of Sauron's influence in that part of Harad, when Black Númenóreans out of Umbar had attempted to gain a foothold. They had been driven out quickly, and their cult had gone with them.

There was nothing to be done about it, at least for the moment. After breakfast Maglor left Zaya in the care of Nanaia, who knew the Common Tongue of the northwest and could have at least simple conversations with Zaya, and went outside into the sunshine. Clouds drifted over the sky, white puffy heralds of the darker clouds to come.

"What is it you have not told us yet?" Elissa's son Elil asked. He was seated by the fountain, whittling some small trinket, perhaps for the twins.

Maglor sat with him and trailed his fingers through the clear water. "There are tales being told of me in Hadast," he said. "I don't know where they came from, but I have made little secret of my name in recent years." A mistake, clearly—he had grown too comfortable, too complacent, had believed the tales of his past would remain in the north, or would fade out of the world entirely with the departure of the last of the Noldor. He should have known better. "It may be that this will all pass, and I shall just stay out of the city for a few years. You can go next year, or Hamilcar."

Elil looked at Huan, who lay with his head in his great paws, listening attentively. "Do you really think it will pass so quickly?"

Maglor also looked at Huan. "I hope it will," he said. It was not a satisfactory answer, but it was all he had. "I'm going to walk the hills today." He rose. "Come, Huan." Whatever Huan's reasons for reappearing, it was a comfort to have him there.

The children saw Maglor leaving and raced to catch up. Huan licked their faces and allowed the boys to climb up onto his back; Ishta was content with Maglor's shoulders. "Maglor, where did Zaya come from?" Hadad asked as they set off again.

"From Hadast," Maglor said.

"Like me?" said Ishta.

"A bit like you, my love," Maglor agreed, though Ishta had been more fortunate than Zaya—Ishta had been an orphan on the streets, but at least she had not been in the clutches of men who worshiped Morgoth.

"I mean before that," said Hadad. "She's not like Asar, is she?" Asar had come from farther south, where slaves worked vast fields.

"No, not like Asar," said Maglor. "She was born far north of here. I hope that we will be able to help her return home." It occurred to him that Asar might want to go with her. He had spoken before of wanting to leave Harad entirely.

They came to one of the rune stones, and Maglor stopped to place his hands on it and sing for a few minutes. When he finished Huan sniffed it thoroughly, and as he did so Maglor felt the shift of power in the air, like music thrumming through his veins, and knew that Huan was adding his own protections. They went on, through the meandering paths through the small cluster of hills that surrounded the house, where Maglor had many such rune stones. He could extend his own power to protect the hills when he was at home, but if for any reason he had to leave, the protections would remain until he returned. Hadad and Hanno had seen Maglor do this many times, but Ishta watched with rapt interest.

It was a beautiful day, and the hills were alive with birdsong and other wildlife rustling around in the brush. Eventually the boys grew bored riding Huan, and vanished off of the paths to explore and forage. They brought back a handful of late berries for Maglor and Ishta, and then Hanno cried out triumphantly that he had found mushrooms. Maglor went to look at them—there had been a very near miss several years before when Vanna had mistaken one kind of mushroom for another—but they were a kind quite safe to eat.

The boys rushed to the kitchen with their bounty as soon as Maglor returned them to the house, but Ishta stayed with Maglor as he, followed by Huan, made his way down to the beach. Huan immediately went to find a large piece of driftwood for Maglor to throw. He hurled it down the beach and Huan took off, barking gaily as he kicked up clumps of wet sand and splashed in the waves. Maglor sat down on the dry sand, and Ishta curled up at his side.

"What was your brother like?" she asked.

"Which one?"

"You had more than one?" She looked up at him in surprise. Someone had braided bright red beads into her hair, and they clicked with the movement.

"I had six," he said, and grinned as he watched her eyes go round. "But you probably meant Celegorm, who was friends with Huan."

"Yes, but now I want to know about all of them!"

Maglor waited for the sharp stab of grief as he cast his mind back. He had gotten into the habit of almost never thinking of his brothers—or any of his kin—because it was like scraping open an old wound and dunking it in seawater. But it didn't come; there was only the dull ache of old hurts, and a twinge in his palm. He rubbed absently at the old scars. "Celegorm was a hunter," he said finally. "He and Huan—I don't think there was any creature they could not catch. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he had silver hair, like our grandmother."

"Was he older than you?" Ishta asked.

"No. Only Maedhros was older—Celegorm came just after me. Then there was Caranthir, and Curufin, and last the twins, Amrod and Amras."

"What happened to them all?"

Maglor sighed. "They died."

"All of them?" Ishta said. When he nodded she climbed onto his lap. Maglor wrapped his arms around her and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "Did they get sick?" she asked. "That's what happened to my Mama and Papa and my brother."

"No. They were killed in battle. This was long ago, when the Elves fought in the far north against the Great Enemy—he that Sauron of Mordor once served."

"Oh. That sounds very brave."

Maglor smiled, and sighed. "I suppose," he said. "My brothers, certainly were all very brave." He had never felt particularly brave himself—that was the province of others. Maglor had never seen a fight he did not want to flee from. "Especially Maedhros."

Huan returned with the driftwood. Maglor sighed theatrically as he heaved himself to his feat, just to make Ishta giggle. He threw the wood as far as he could, and Huan tore after it. "Maglor?" Ishta said.

"Yes?"

"Where was Huan before he came here?"

"I don't really know." Where did the spirits of creatures such as Huan go when they did—or did they really die at all? That would have been a question for Finrod, who would have loved to puzzle out all of the possible answers. "He was killed, too, long ago. I don't know why he has been sent back."

"But people don't come back when they die," Ishta said. "Nor dogs."

"Not usually," Maglor agreed. "But Huan is no ordinary dog. And Elves come back—though not on these shores, and not for a very long time. It might be that my brothers walk in the world again, far away across the Sea." His gaze strayed to the horizon; the sea seemed to shimmer where it met the sky.

"Couldn't you sail away on one of the ships from Hadast, and find your brothers again?" Ishta said, a little hesitantly. "I would, if I knew my brother was alive."

"I don't know that they are," Maglor said. "And—it isn't so simple. No ship from Hadast would ever find the Straight Road." And, he thought, no ship that he made with his own hands. "Besides," he said, mustering a smile for her and tearing his gaze away from the waves, "I couldn't leave all of you."

"But what if it's too dangerous for you to stay?" Ishta asked.

Huan returned with the stick, and Maglor gladly accepted the delay in answering. After he threw the stick as far as he could, and watched Huan race away after it, he crouched down to look Ishta in the face. "There is always danger in the world, Ishta," he said, though he knew that she knew that all too well already. "But the dangers in Hadast are less than I have faced before. And here in these hills, I promise, we are all safe. I am not going anywhere any time soon."

"Good." She threw her arms around his neck. "I would miss you too much if you left!"

As the afternoon wore on towards evening, and dinnertime, Maglor sent Ishta back to the house. He remained on the beach, however, sitting on the sun-warmed sand and watching the waves wash in and out. Huan had eventually tired of chasing driftwood, and meandered up and down the beach, nose to the ground and the surf. After a time he came back to lie beside Maglor, pressed up against his side.

"I wish you would speak," Maglor said after a while, running his fingers through Huan's thick fur. "Or are you not permitted to do so?" Huan did not reply, of course—not in any way that Maglor could understand. Celegorm, who at a very young age had learned the languages of beasts and birds, had never needed Huan to speak with the tongue of Elves. Not until he had met Lúthien, and Beren.

In the distance a ship drifted across the water. It was not a ship out of Harad; it was of the style made in Gondor. The setting sun caught on its sails, making them glow with rosy light. Huan raised his head and also watched the ship come in. Maglor glanced at him. Many ships came and went out of Hadast—it was a hub of trade in this part of the world—and Huan had not paid any heed before.

As twilight fell over the world like a soft purple blanket, and the stars began to peer out of the darkened sky, Silwë came to join Maglor on the beach, carrying one of Maglor's smaller harps, and his own flute. "Elissa has set aside a meal for you," he said, "and a bowl of scraps for the hound." Maglor hummed as he accepted his harp and plucked a few strings.

They played together for the rest of the night, singing ancient songs from the West and from the East, of the Sea and of the Stars and all of the things in between. Towards dawn, as the tide began to draw in, Gil-Estel could be seen glimmering in the west over the horizon. Beneath its light clouds were gathering, and Maglor glimpsed a flicker of lightning far away. Almost of their own accord his fingers strummed the first few bars of Noldolantë. It had been many years since he had played that song, or even really thought of it.

"I do not know that song," said Silwë. "What is it?"

"I wrote it long ago," said Maglor, stilling the harp strings. "I don't know why it came to me now. It has no place here." He looked up again at Gil-Estel, and its steady light. The clouds were moving in swiftly, and soon the star vanished from sight. As the wind picked up, blowing stinging bits of sand into their faces, Maglor and Silwë got to their feet and hurried up the path. Huan loped ahead.

The rain started soon after breakfast, and continued over the next few days. They were quiet days, mostly spent in the great hall by the cheerfully crackling hearth. Huan sprawled out beside it and dozed, or else gently wrestled with the children when they got restless. At other times he acted as a cushion for them, as they demanded stories from anyone who would oblige. Most often this was Silwë, who was full of old Elven tales, of great heroes from the east who saved cities and slew dragons and did other brave and daring deeds.

Maglor retreated to the forge, where he gathered up the collar he'd removed from Zaya's neck alongside other bits and scraps of iron to melt down. Nails were always useful, and such forge work required just enough of Maglor's attention that his thoughts did not easily wander. It was comforting, too, to work with Elil doing his woodwork nearby. Sometimes his daughter Nanaia joined him, and they would speak quietly while they worked together.

Eventually the rain stopped, and the wind picked up. It was not a proper storm, but a herald of things to come. Maglor finished the nails and moved on to other small tasks that tended to pile up when he was not in a forging mood. And as he finished with those, Tanith and Iset brought him more things to repair or melt down into something else; and when those were finished, both Maglor and Elil were presented with various other indoor repair work that had languished over the fair months, but of which Elissa had kept careful track.

"I am confused," Zaya announced when she found Maglor straddling a beam so he could reach a part of the ceiling where a leak had sprung that morning. Asar was on the roof outside, cursing every time a gust of wind nearly knocked him off.

"About what?" Maglor asked without looking down.

"I thought you were the master of this house," she said. "The leader of this clan."

"I am. At least, it's my house that I built," said Maglor, "and mostly I have to be the one to resolve quarrels. Are you quarreling with someone?"

"If you are the master of the house why does the old woman Elissa order you about?" Zaya demanded.

Maglor glanced down at her and grinned. "You've met Elissa. She would boss the Prince of Hadast about, if she got the chance—and I suspect the city would be better for it. Anyway, it is my house, and I shall be living in it for longer than anyone else here. Therefore its upkeep is my responsibility. Asar! Are you done yet?" he called through the ceiling.

"Nearly," Asar replied, voice muffled. There was a slight pause, and then he said, "Someone is coming into the courtyard, Maglor."

A moment later, Nanaia came into the room. "Someone's here, Maglor. I think it is one of Tanit's grandsons."

That meant one of Barca's sons. It was not unusual for some or all of the family to come to stay a while, but not at this time of year—and none of the children had ever come alone. "I'll be down in a moment," said Maglor. He finished patching the leak and jumped lightly to the ground. Zaya ducked out of the way just in time. "Is all well with you?" he asked her. "I'm sorry I have been busy, but Nanaia seems to have taken you under her wing."

"I am well," Zaya said, and she did look much better. Her gaunt cheeks had begun to fill out, and her hair was no longer a matted tangle, but clean and glossy as a raven's wing, lying over her shoulders in neat braids. "The weather here is strange. Nanaia says the storms will get worse, and last for months."

"It is what passes for winter on this part of the coast," Maglor said. "We'll be snug enough here, now that I've fixed the leak—assuming there are no others that we haven't found yet." There were always a handful of leaks that sprung up just as the storm season got underway—and never before—in spite of all of the songs of strength and dry shelter and warmth that Maglor sang over the roof tiles.

Nanaia brought Mathos in; he was windswept and damp, with a pinched expression that spoke of great concern. Huan also appeared then, slipping in to sniff at Mathos and then to settle on the floor. Zaya crouched beside him to scratch his ears.

"Welcome, Mathos," said Maglor, stepping forward to clasp hands. "What brings you here?"

"Trouble in the city," Mathos replied. "And maybe trouble for you." Huan let out a low whine, and Mathos glanced at him.

"Don't mind Huan," said Maglor. "Come sit down. Are you hungry?" Nanaia had disappeared, and returned with Iset and a tray with bread and cheese and steaming mugs of tea. Mathos accepted a mug gratefully. "What is the news, then?" Maglor asked, as Iset and Nanaia settled in with them to listen.

"A ship came from the north a little while ago, before the rain," Mathos said.

"From Gondor? I think I saw it," Maglor said.

"Yes. It wasn't a merchant ship, though, it was a fast-moving courier sent by their king. I don't know what their business was. Anyway, it left this morning so it could beat the storms, but there were two that came on it that didn't leave, and no one has seen them in several days—Father said they were wandering all about the merchant quarter asking questions." Mathos paused to take a sip of his drink. Maglor said nothing. Mathos went on, "They were asking about you, Maglor. One of Father's friends told him. I saw them once on the street, but didn't speak to them, and they disappeared before they could meet with Father, like his friend told them they should."

"Do you know who they were?" Maglor asked. "What did they look like?" He could not think of anyone from Gondor or beyond who might be looking for him—especially after all this time. There was no one left who could remember him, or care enough to come looking all the way in Harad.

"Elladan and Elrohir were their names," Mathos said. "They were tall and dark haired and pale-skinned, with grey eyes a little like yours. They wore cloaks that seemed to shift color and shade as they moved, and those were pinned on their shoulders with silver star-shaped brooches."

Maglor had picked up a mug for himself; now he set it back down without drinking. He had never met any of Elrond's children, but he knew their names. "You are certain of this?" he asked Mathos.

"I saw them with my own eyes," Mathos said. "I didn't know then they were looking for you, or I would have tried to speak with them—but I heard them talking to one another in the same language you sing in sometimes. Something about a father, and I think something about a ship, or sailing."

"Who are they, Maglor?" Iset asked. "Do you know them?" Zaya looked between all of them, eyes watchful though she couldn't follow what they were saying.

"I knew their father, long ago," said Maglor. Elrond, though, was long gone from Middle-earth. As was Arwen, by now. Maglor would have expected Elladan and Elrohir to follow Elrond as soon as their sister died, if they had not chosen her same fate. Yet they were here, in Harad, looking for him. "But Mathos, you said they disappeared? What happened?"

"I don't know," Mathos said. "They did not leave with the other northerners this morning—I watched the ship go out—and then Father heard a rumor that said they had had a run in with soldiers from the temple, and had been arrested, or taken away, or something. That's why he sent me here, to warn you."

"What temple keeps soldiers?" Nanaia asked.

"The temple of Melkor," Mathos said, voice dropping as though he feared to say the name aloud, even here. Zaya flinched, and Huan set his head on her lap. Nanaia and Iset exchanged a look.

"They would have very little love for the sons of Elrond," said Maglor after a few moments of silence, "nor for Gondor."

"Nor for you," said Mathos. "And there are some Gondorians that come and go from the temple. I've seen them—tall and pale and dark-haired."

"More likely they come from Umbar—or their forebears did," said Maglor absently, as he tried to think. It was not certain that Elladan and Elrohir had been detained by the cult, but Barca would not have sent Mathos with mere empty rumors.

"Father also wanted to ask if he can bring the family here before the storm season begins in earnest," said Mathos. "He does not feel it is safe anymore for anyone known to do business with Elves. And he promises to bring extra supplies."

"Yes, of course," said Maglor. "You would all be welcome. I'll go tomorrow—"

"You can't go!" Nanaia protested.

"Haven't you been listening to what Mathos is saying?" Iset demanded at the same time.

"I don't plan to draw attention to myself," Maglor said. "Besides, if what Barca told me is true, they all think I walk around dripping blood everywhere."

"Huan will draw attention, and you know that he won't be left behind," said Iset.

"He drew very little attention when we were there just a few weeks ago," said Maglor, "and I can change both his and my appearance if I must."

"You said you couldn't, last time," said Iset.

"I cannot shrink him down to the size of a cat," said Maglor, "but I can give him the seeming of—oh, I don't know, a pony or something. If I must. Huan can take care of himself, and I can of course change my own appearance." When Iset still looked skeptical he added, "I have sung the Lay of Leithian for you before. Do you remember Felagund's arts? If he could make himself look like an orc, I can certainly change my hair color."

"You are not Felagund," Iset said, in the same tone that Vanna used to scold the twins when they tried to imitate the great heroes of their favorite tales.

"No, I am not," Maglor agreed, only barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I am the one who taught him. It just takes more time and effort than I care to expend on a routine shopping trip. This will be different."

"You aren't going to go to the temple, are you?" Mathos exclaimed. "Maglor, you can't!"

"Everyone around here seems very sure of what I can and cannot do," Maglor said. "I have walked this world for more than three Ages of the Sun, remember, and faced far more serious dangers than a few Men in dark robes who believe they can bring Morgoth back from the Void with a few chants."

"It isn't only the priests," Mathos said. "If people are riled up or made afraid enough they will riot. That's what Father fears, why he wants to leave the city."

"Then those who would spread that fear must be silenced," said Maglor.

"It might be too late," said Mathos. "I have heard that the high priest has the ear of the prince, and that there is talk of conquest, of bringing the other cities on the coast under Hadast's rule, and then moving inland—or maybe north to lands that were promised long ago by the Dark Lord of the Black Land. Father thinks they might use your friends to claim—I don't know, that Gondor is doing something bad, and then there will be more support for a war."

"All the more reason for someone to do something," said Maglor. "But I hope it won't be me. All I intend to do is to find Elladan and Elrohir, and bring them out of the city. If Hadast wants to go conquering it would be extremely foolish to begin with the north." And war would devastate not only Hadast but the surrounding lands—and he didn't think his enclave in the hills would withstand a siege if it were discovered by either side.

Several other people tried to talk Maglor out of returning to the city as he made preparations, but he dismissed them all. Hamilcar offered to go with him, as did Asar and even Silwë. Maglor refused them, and he also told Mathos to remain behind. "I'll go to your father first thing," he promised, "and I'll see them safely out of Hadast."

That night it drizzled, but the skies cleared before dawn. Maglor did not sleep. He sat in the hall by the embers of the hearth, mind continuously circling back to Elrond and Elros, picturing them instead of Elrond's sons wandering through the city. Trapped in the dark catacombs beneath the temple that Zaya had described.

Silwë appeared, silent as a shadow, as dawn neared and the clouds began to break up. "I am going with you," he said.

"Silwë—"

"You will need someone with you—someone who does not go on four feet," Silwë went on. "I know the city as well as you do. Maybe better." Silwë, of course, had seen it built.

"Elladan and Elrohir are not your responsibility," Maglor said.

"Nor are they yours," Silwë retorted. When Maglor hesitated, he asked, "Why do you think they are?"

"They are the sons of Elrond Halfelven," said Maglor.

There was a pause. Outside the wind whistled around the corner of the house. Then Silwë huffed a soft laugh and said, "I suppose he was someone important in the west and long ago. But his name never reached us."

Maglor looked out the window. "His father is Eärendil, that sails the skies with the Silmaril," he said, "and he was long ago the herald of Gil-galad. The king in Gondor is his descendant through his daughter Arwen, and also descended from his brother Elros, who was the first King of Númenor."

"Very impressive," said Silwë, "and I wonder that you have not spoken of him before. But that doesn't tell me why his sons are here to seek for you, or why you feel that they are your responsibility. They are not children like Ishta, or seeking refuge like Asar or Heru."

"I said before that I knew their father." Silwë hadn't been there, but there were very few secrets in this house: once said, a thing was known. "When he was very young."

"I see."

He didn't, Maglor thought, not really—the Avari of the east and south had heard the broad strokes of the tales of Beleriand, and perhaps a few of the more prominent stories, but Silwë did not know the details of the Kinslayings; Maglor wasn't sure that Silwë really understood what Maglor's role had been, or what the Oath had meant, let alone what the Silmarils themselves were; the others knew even less, and cared nothing beyond whether a tale was an enjoyable way to spend an evening. Maglor was content to keep it that way. He liked this life that he had built, and this strange motley family that he had found, or that had found him.

"Even so," Maglor said after a few moments, "they are my kin. Elrond is descended from one cousin, and his wife the daughter of another."

"How tangled are the branches of your family's tree," Silwë remarked. "Very well, then."

"You do not have to come, Silwë."

Silwë looked at him, eye glinting like a small star in the predawn gloom. His expression was for a moment unreadable, before his mouth quirked in a small, wry smile. "I know," he said. "But I will anyway."

In the end, Asar and Hamilcar also went with them, though Maglor managed to get them, at least, to promise they would remain outside of the city walls with the horses. Huan loped silently along with the horses, keeping up with ease as they cantered down the road. They made good time, and just out of sight of the city Silwë and Maglor left their mounts with Hamilcar and Asar. "Don't do anything foolish," said Hamilcar as he took Maglor's reins.

"Too late," Silwë muttered; Asar snorted. Huan huffed a dog-laugh, and ruined Maglor's glare by licking up the side of his face.

"This idea you all have that I am somehow helpless and unable to defend myself is somehow both endearing and a rather insulting," Maglor said, wiping his face on his cloak. "Again I remind you that I am older than every single one of you, and have faced far more dangerous things than a city with a few angry people in it. I will be fine."

"Aren't you going to change your appearance, like you insisted you could?" Silwë asked as they approached the gates. He and Huan walked on either side of Maglor, like bodyguards.

"Not before we see Barca," said Maglor.

They entered Hadast with no trouble, and made their way to Barca's home. He lived in a quiet neighborhood not far from the merchants' warehouses and the harbor. It was tall and relatively narrow, but stood behind its own wall and gate, which was manned by a young man who recognized Maglor immediately and let them in. Behind the walls was a neat garden, a mixture of vegetables and sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, and Tanit was outside on a bench tying herbs into bundles for drying. "Maglor!" she exclaimed. She smiled, face creasing into a mass of wrinkles, deepest around her eyes, but not for long. "And Silwë! Barca did send for you, did he? I thought Mathos was to tell you to keep away!"

"He did," said Silwë, "but Maglor would not listen." Both of them leaned down to kiss Tanit's cheeks. Maglor took her hand, and her skin felt very soft and fragile beneath his fingers, like worn paper.

"Is all well with you?" Maglor asked.

"Yes, yes, we're fine. Barca has been busy preparing to leave. You must know he wants us to leave the city. I think that is taking his worries a step too far."

"Even if it is, it won't hurt anyone," said Maglor. "Barca will have little enough business, with the storms, and it has been a long time since you came to stay with us, Tanit. Elissa is eager to see you again."

"And I am looking forward to seeing her! But you didn't just come to escort us back, did you? And where did that great big dog come from?"

"Huan came with us," said Maglor. "I need to speak with Barca, and we have another errand in the city—then we will rejoin you at home."

Tanit eyed Huan warily as she returned to bundling her herbs. "He cannot go inside the house," she said. "I shudder to think of what he might track in." Huan sat down on the garden path and whined.

"He's quite clean, really," said Silwë.

"I want him to remain outside, anyway," said Maglor. He went to Huan and scratched him behind the ears for a moment, murmuring quietly, "Keep watch, won't you?" Huan nudged him with his large nose, and then went to sit by the gate, out of sight of the street but not of the young gate guard, who eyed the hound even more warily than Tanit did.

Upon seeing Maglor, Barca sighed. "You do know this is the opposite of the reason I sent Mathos to you," he said.

"Yes," said Maglor, and then asked, "Have you heard anything more of Elladan and Elrohir?"

Barca's eyebrows rose. "You do know them, then?"

"We are distant kin," said Maglor. "Do you know where they are?"

"There is a rumor that they are guests of the Prince, and another rumor that says they are being held by the priests of the Dark Lord," said Barca. "I don't know which is more likely, though it is also said that they are kin of the Queen of Gondor, and even the maddest priest cannot be foolish enough to harm them. That would bring war."

"That is, perhaps, what the priests want," said Silwë. "They serve the memory of the Destroyer; I do not think they care for the interests of Hadast or the rest of Harad, let alone its people."

Maglor looked out of the window, frowning as he thought. It seemed unlikely that they were guests of the city's Prince—unless the word was a polite euphemism, which he also thought unlikely. The Prince was not a fool. Trade with Gondor and the lands of the north had brought much prosperity to Hadast and the surrounding countryside, and imprisoning visiting royals—even in gilded cages—would hurt that. But Silwë was right. The priests wouldn't care for any of that.

Even so, it would be best to check. Maglor knew one of the cooks in the palace kitchens—she would certainly know how many guests were there, and at least what they were eating. He got Silwë to agree to wander out into the markets to see if there was any fresh gossip as long as Maglor took the time, now, to disguise himself.

It was not a difficult thing, as he had told Iset. But it did take several minutes in a corner of the garden. Huan stood patiently as Maglor chanted softly, allowing himself the further protection of Maglor's power. When all was said and done Maglor appeared not as himself but as a lanky, unassuming sort of person, his hair tied back with a rag, and with a particularly shaggy grey pony at his side.

With a note written on paper borrowed from Barca, he set off, splitting with Silwë at the marketplace, and made his slow, meandering way towards the palace. No one followed him or even glanced his way twice, and Huan stuck very close to his side, at times so close that Maglor nearly tripped.

Outside of the palace he found a page boy to take the note to the kitchens, and then stepped out of the main road into a small alleyway to wait. Huan paced up and down the alley, pausing at times to sniff the air. It was some time before Dido emerged, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing around. When Maglor waved to her she hesitated, but eventually came to join him. "Is that really you, Maglor?" she asked, looking him up and down.

He smiled. "Yes, it's me." Some of the tension left her shoulders at the sound of his voice. Their conversation was short; Dido was a young woman with passion and ambition, and she was not given to gossip—but she did know that there were no northerners staying in the palace. Not as guests, at any rate. Even Dido would have heard about that. And she had neither seen nor heard anything of two brothers roaming the city searching for Maglor.

She did, of course, admonish Maglor afterward, telling him to get out of the city as soon as he could. "I saw a group of Elves—they looked like Silwë's folk—I saw them chased out of the marketplace only last month, called all sorts of names. Elvish magic is something people fear, these days."

"Are you afraid?" Maglor asked her.

Dido shook her head. "Not of you," she said. "Not of Silwë. I cannot imagine you ever harming an innocent person. But there is a tension in the city, like a storm is about to break. I hope it only blows over."

"As do I. Thank you, Dido."

"I hope you find whoever it is you're looking for," she said. "And that you will come back in the spring, if it's safe. I have missed you."

"I will." He kissed her forehead and watched her hurry back towards the palace kitchens. Through an archway in the walls he spotted the Prince of the city himself, in his fine purple robes trimmed with gold and embroidered with beads, striding with purpose as his attendants scurried to keep up with him. Maglor had the passing thought that the embroidery was a bit much, before remembering that he had worn even more ornate clothes once upon a time. The sudden stab of homesickness—for a place and a time that could never be found again—that came with the thought was as unexpected as it was unwelcome, sending him reeling for a moment. He stepped farther back into the alley and leaned against a wall. Huan nudged him and whined—an odd sound to come out of a pony.

"I'm all right, Huan," he said. "Let us go find Silwë."

It was evening before Maglor and Huan caught up with Silwë near to the temple of Melkor. The door stood ajar, and an eerie red light shone within; Maglor could hear faint voices chanting, though he could not make out the words. "Any luck?" Silwë asked. Maglor shook his head. Silwë tilted his toward the temple. "They are in there. I heard some acolytes speaking of them earlier. They seem to be under the impression that Elladan and Elrohir are of the line of Lúthien—of Elwë, not of Finwë."

"They are both," said Maglor, "and more. You will not call my family tree tangled when you see theirs. Do you know what the priests plan to do?"

"No. But there were soldiers from the palace here, earlier. The prince must have some idea of what is going on, but I'm not sure he knows enough to do anything about it."

Maglor regarded the building. It was a tall, imposing thing. It had no walls around it; the entrance was open to any who dared. On either side was empty space, large enough for other buildings, but none had ever been built. Other temples had houses and shops butted right up against them, but even in the crowded city of Hadast no one wanted to be so close to the temple of Melkor. The nearest buildings, as far as Maglor could tell, stood empty and unused. "They should have razed it to the ground after Sauron fell," Silwë muttered. "Even here I can hear the earth beneath it crying out. Terrible things have happened in that place." He looked at Maglor. "What are you hoping to do?"

"I would like to get in and get out again without causing too much commotion," said Maglor, "but I am not sure that will be possible."

"One of us could cause a distraction," said Silwë. "But how will we find them once we are inside?"

Maglor looked at Huan. "You can find them," he said, and Huan woofed softly in agreement.

"Ah, of course." Silwë's grin was a flash of white in the growing darkness. "Forgive me, I forgot—" He broke off when sounds of some kind of commotion reached them. Maglor reached for his knife, wishing for a sword for the first time in decades. The doors burst open and a body went tumbling down the few steps, followed by a group of raggedly-clad young people, stumbling and staggering as they emerged into the clear air. They all wore broken chains and manacles, as Zaya had. As far as Maglor could see, neither Elladan nor Elrohir were among them.

"It seems that your young cousins don't need rescuing, after all," said Silwë.

"Probably we should have expected that," Maglor agreed. He hurried out into the street, Silwë at his heels, to gather up the captives before they could be caught by more priests, or watchmen on patrol. He tried all the languages that he knew, but it was Zaya's name that made them follow him out of the street.

"Go into one of those buildings, and wait for me," Maglor said to Silwë, as he shed the glamor disguising himself and Huan.

"What are you going to do?" Silwë asked.

"Raze the temple to the ground," said Maglor. "Huan?" Huan leaped forward, and together they raced up the steps into the temple.

The main room of the temple was very large, with a wide expanse of empty floor and an alter at the far end, but where in another building it would have been airy and open it felt close and confining. Shadows seemed to be solid things themselves, pressing in from all sides, only barely kept at bay by flickering red torches. On the later rested a gigantic war hammer of black metal that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the torchlight. Above the alter hung a black banner with a great red eye emblazoned upon it. This did catch the light, and glinted in a way that made the eye seem almost as though it were truly staring out over the room.

Between Maglor and the alter he saw Elladan and Elrohir fending off the priests trying to either restrain or kill them—it was difficult to tell which. Huan did not hesitate, but leaped forward with a great bark that shook the whole temple, sending dust raining down the walls. The banner at the back shivered, and the hammer on the alter rocked. Many of the priests and acolytes abandoned the fight entirely and fled, some out of the front door but most toward the back, where presumably there were other passages and rooms.

Elladan and Elrohir were just as startled by Huan's arrival, but recovered swiftly when he attacked the priests and not them. As they fought their way towards the exit Maglor planted his feet and began to chant, reaching out to the stones that were more than eager to rid themselves of this terrible place, to be cleansed of the blood and malice and evil will that had permeated them for so long. He chanted a song of breaking, of unraveling, of opening and of starlight and sunlight on cleared ground. As he did so he felt all of the years of Sauron's own power that had hung over this place rise up against him—but it was only a tattered remnant and not nearly strong enough to withstand the force of Maglor's song. The ground shook beneath him; more dust and plaster rained down; the banner bearing the Eye ripped and fell to the ground in a tangle of thread; the alter cracked and tilted, and the hammer went tumbling off of it with a muffled, metallic clang.

The twins and Huan reached Maglor's side as he sang the last notes of the song. "Run!" he said, and grabbed their hands to drag them out of the teetering building. It began to collapse in earnest as they fled down the street, ducking into one of the empty buildings where Silwë waited with the others.

"So much for not causing a commotion," Silwë said.

"We need to find another place to wait out the night," said Maglor.

"Who are you?" one of the twins asked. In the darkness it was impossible to tell them apart—even in good light Maglor thought it would be nearly so. They were as alike to one another as Elrond and Elros had been.

"After that performance you must recognize Maglor," said Silwë. "I am Silwë. Come. I know a way to Barca's warehouses that won't be watched."

"Who…?" the twin began, but his brother put a hand on his arm and he fell silent.

"There will be time for questions when we are not in danger of arrest," said Maglor.

"One question while we go," said the second twin as Silwë gathered up the other captives, murmuring quiet and encouraging words as they clustered together. "What hound is this?"

"This is Huan," said Maglor. Huan liked the twins' faces until Silwë called for them to follow; then he fell behind, taking up the rear as their motley party darted from one shadowy alley to another. The destruction of the temple had woken that part of the city and the rest soon followed, and they had to stop more than once to wait for soldiers to race by, or for curious onlookers to wander past.

Barca's warehouse was locked when they reached it, but Silwë made simple work of it, and locked the door behind them once they all slipped inside. "Who is Barca?" either Elladan or Elrohir whispered to Maglor.

"A friend," said Maglor. "He left the city earlier today; he won't mind if we stay the night here."

"And what about tomorrow?" asked the other.

"Tomorrow we will leave the city," Maglor replied. "The trick will be leaving without attracting attention."

"We also don't have enough horses waiting for us," Silwë said.

"We'll borrow a cart and pony from Barca," said Maglor. He would let Huan slip out unnoticed on his own powers; he was too weary to disguise himself with more than the hood of a cloak, now. With a sigh he sank onto a box, and leaned back against another stacked behind it. Huan lay beside him, resting his head on Maglor's lap. Maglor idly scratched behind his ears. He felt Elladan and Elrohir eyes on him, but closed his own eyes.

When he opened them again it was to Silwë bending over him, and sunlight filtering through the cracked-open door. "I have sent Huan and your young cousins out of the city already," he said, "to meet with Hamilcar and Asar. I need your help to get the cart looking right."

"What is happening in the city?" Maglor asked as Silwë hauled him to his feet.

"An uproar," Silwë said, "but they don't seem to be watching the gates."

They were not watching the gates—not more than usual, and even the regular guards were distracted. Maglor glanced back toward the center of the city where the temple had stood; a haze of smoke hung over the city, and it was a relief to pass out of the gates and head toward open countryside. Overhead clouds were moving in, and the wind was picking up. They would be lucky to make it home before the storm broke—the first proper storm of the season.

Huan met them on the road, and Hamilcar and Asar emerged from their camp with exclamations of relief. "What happened?" Asar demanded. "Weren't you going to be careful?"

"We were careful," Maglor said. "Are Elladan and Elrohir here?"

"Here we are," said one of them, as they emerged with the horses. "Where are we going now?"

"Home," said Maglor.

It was an uneventful if hurried journey back to the house in the hills. Once they were far enough from the city the captives emerged from beneath the canvas in the cart. There were ten of them in total, and in the light of day it could be seen that most were from Khand to the far east; one was from Rhûn, and only two were from Harad itself—and from parts far to the south of Hadast. It made speaking to all of them difficult, especially since Maglor had never been to Khand and did not know any of the languages spoken there. Silwë did, a little.

"This season will be rather cozy, it seems," Hamilcar remarked, bringing his horse up beside Maglor on the cart as the hills came into view in the distance.

"We should have enough supplies to last us," said Maglor. He had long made it a habit to store more than strictly needed, in case of a bad year.

"I'm not worried about supplies," said Hamilcar. "Only that half of us will be strangers, and the house isn't that big."

"We'll manage," said Maglor. He raised his voice slightly and added, "So long as Asar stops trying to pick fights."

"I don't pick fights!" Asar protested, outraged. "It's Heru that—"

At last they turned off of the main road and entered the hills. Maglor breathed a sigh of relief, and allowed himself one more glance behind them, toward Hadast. The city itself was out of sight, now, and the dark and smoky smudge on the horizon was probably his imagination. And then the trees closed in around them and even the road passed out of sight. "Where are you taking us?" asked one of the captives from south Harad.

"To our home," Maglor replied. "It isn't far, now. Once we arrive I'll get all of that iron off of you."

"Will it hurt?"

"It shouldn't." Maglor glanced over his shoulder to see Elladan and Elrohir taking up the rear, looking around with interest while also speaking quietly to one another. Huan abruptly vanished into the underbrush, barking in delight as he chased whatever small creature had caught his attention. Overhead the clouds were growing heavier, and the wind was picking up, making the trees shiver around them and blowing Maglor's hair into his face. As he pushed it out of his eyes, they rolled into the courtyard. Elil and Nanaia were on the roof with hammers and nails; another leak had sprung, it seemed.

"You're back!" Nanaia called down. "And with company!"

"Is everything all right here?" Maglor called back.

"Oh, yes! We're just making one last check of the roof before the rains start. Mama insisted."

"Did you run into any trouble?" Elil wanted to know.

"Not much," Maglor said, and ignored Silwë's scoff beside him. As Maglor jumped down from the car the doors opened and the children raced out. Ishta reached him first, and he scooped her up, kissing her cheeks and laughing when Hanno and Hadad collided with his legs. "Hello, loves," he said.

"We were worried about you!" Ishta said. "Iset didn't think you would make it back before the storms."

"But you see that we did," said Maglor.

There was a flurry of activity as they put the pony and the cart away, and found space and beds for the newcomers and made them comfortable—and then, just before they were ready to sit down for supper, the wind picked up again, howling around the house, and the skies opened in a torrent of rain.

The meal was a lively affair, with all the new faces and everyone crowded together around the biggest table they had. Elil was told more than once that he needed to get to work on an even bigger one. Maglor was very aware of Elrond's sons watching him throughout the meal, and afterward when the rest left for the hall for songs and tales—even Ishta, at Maglor's insistence—he beckoned to them, and they went out onto a covered terrace. The rain continued to pour through the darkness, and Huan was there, soaked to the skin and quite happy about it.

"You had better not go inside like that," Maglor told him. "Elissa and Tanith will skin you." Huan just gave him a dog grin, tongue lolling, before sprawling out on the flagstones with a heavy sigh.

"Is that really the Huan?" asked one of the twins.

"Yes," said Maglor.

"But how…?"

"Only he knows, and he isn't telling." Maglor leaned on the railing, watching rain drip from the eaves, catching the light from inside. "Now which one of you is which, and what is the easiest way for me to tell?"

He got identical grins in response. "I am Elladan," said the one who had asked about Huan, "and I am the more handsome."

"I am Elrohir, and I am the better shot," said his brother.

Neither answer was, of course, at all helpful. Maglor waited, and Elrohir finally took pity. "Elladan has a scar on his left eyebrow. He fell out of a tree when we were small."

"Thank you," said Maglor. He knew there were also dozens of other little ways that the twins different, but he wasn't sure he would have the time to become as familiar with them as he had been with Ambarussa, or Elrond and Elros. "I have been told you came to Harad looking for me," he said.

"Yes," said Elrohir. "We heard rumors in Pelargir of an elf dwelling near the city of Hadast. Someone said you had given a performance for the Prince of the city that had left all who heard it in tears for many days."

Maglor raised his eyebrows. "A flattering rumor, but untrue. I performed once for the current prince's grandfather, but it was at a celebration and no one wept."

"Ah, well," said Elladan with a shrug, "it still led us here. Though I don't think we expected anything like this." He waved a hand at the house. "Is it always so filled with people?"

"Not lately," said Maglor. "This is the fullest the house has been since—well, I think since the War. But why did you come here? Why now? If you did not choose as your sister did I thought you would have followed your father long ago."

"Did you know that our father spent many years seeking for you?" Elladan asked. "In the north, before he took up Vilya and settled for good in Imladris."

Maglor knew—he had heard Elrond more than once, far way on the beaches north of Lindon, when they had been raw and jagged and rocky, not yet worn down by years of wind and rain and the steady wash of waves. "Did he ask you to take up the search?" he asked.

"No," said Elrohir.

"We had thought to ask you to come with us," said Elladan.

In spite of himself, Maglor found his gaze drawn westward, towards the sea. It was hidden by the night and the rain and the hillside, but he fancied that he could hear the crashing waves beneath the storm. "I am not sure there is a ship that would bear me back across the Sea," he said after a few moments.

"The Ban was lifted after the war ended," said Elrohir. "All of the Noldor who left Valinor are welcome to return."

"Surely the Valar would not have sent Huan to you if they had forever turned their faces away," said Elladan.

"Is he here for me, or for you?" asked Maglor. "I am not the one who ran afoul of the priests of Melkor in Hadast." They all looked at Huan, who did not even raise his head. To all appearances, he was asleep.

"He is here for you," said Elrohir after a moment, voice firm with certainty.

"We had thought to convince you to come West with us," said Elladan again, smiling,"but we also thought that we would find you alone on some desolate stretch of beach, as the songs all say."

"The songs were written a long time ago," said Maglor, smiling back. "It's much more comfortable to sing unending songs of lamentation in a house by a comfortable fire."

They went inside, even Huan—miraculously dry the moment he stepped over the threshold—and rejoined the others. Silwë was playing his flute, and Elissa and Tanit were singing an old song of lovers separated by old family feuds, and the trials they went through to be together. Ishta curled up at Maglor's side as soon as he sat down; she would have climbed onto his lap, except that Vanna had been waiting to give him his harp.

The next week or so was not busy, exactly, but it felt like it: there were so many strangers in the house now that misunderstandings and disagreements were as inevitable as the wind and rain, and Maglor and Silwë were the only two who knew enough of everyone's language to mediate. At least Asar and Heru had put aside whatever differences had been causing their arguments—small mercies—but the rest of it meant Maglor had little time for Elladan and Elrohir. They didn't need his help, though, to endear themselves to most of the others in the household. Elissa declared them both very good lads after their first full day in her company, and Hanno and Hadad decided they were proper Heroes after listening to one story about their exploits in the northern mountains, hunting orcs and monsters.

When it came time for someone to ask Elladan or Elrohir if they had songs or tales to tell around the fire one evening ("Something we have not heard before!" Iset said), they exchanged a glance, and Elladan smiled. "We know many songs," he said. "But tonight I think I shall sing of a tale in which we played a small part." Maglor handed Elrohir the harp, and he began to play, fingers picking out the notes with practiced ease. Maglor recognized Elrond's teaching in the playing. "I will sing for you," Elladan said, "of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom, as it was first sung on the Field of Cormallen by a minstrel of Gondor before the Ringbearer himself, and King Elessar, and a great company of the Free Peoples of the West."

It was a good song, and a far fuller tale of what truly won the War of the Ring than Maglor had yet heard. He lounged on the floor, head pillowed on Huan's side, as he listened. Images of Frodo and his companion Samwise, and of the wasteland of Mordor, passed through his mind as Elladan sang. He felt in the tale the Themes of the Great Music, and as Elladan sang of the destruction of the One Ring and subsequently of Mordor's great battlements and towers, he shivered. Such a quest had teetered on a knife's edge of chance, with all the world at stake.

Later, on an afternoon when they joined him in the workshop, Maglor asked what Elladan and Elrohir had done, since their part had not been in the song. "We came down with the Grey Company," said Elladan, "and followed Estel through the Paths of the Dead to the Stone of Erech, and then to Pelargir, and thence up the Anduin to the Pelennor."

"And then after, to the Black Gate," said Elrohir.

"I don't think any of us who went there expected to come back," said Elladan, "but it was the best chance that we could give Frodo."

"Estel, indeed," said Maglor.

Elladan laughed. "Yes! But I meant Aragorn—Elessar. Estel was the name he was given in Imladris when he was a child."

"And your father?" Maglor asked after a few moments. He did not look up again from the iron bits he was sorting through for melting down.

"His part in the tale was to give counsel, and if all failed to keep the road to the west open for those that could flee—though what would have happened to Vilya if Sauron had regained the One…"

"It was his plan to take the Ring to the Cracks of Doom," said Elladan, "and his counsel also to charge the Black Gate, and to take the Paths of the Dead—or at least to remind Estel of the words of Malbeth the Seer."

"But what about you?" Elrohir asked. "What were you doing during the War? Were you here?"

"Yes," said Maglor. "It was when Sauron began recruiting his armies in earnest that I built this place. It began as a refuge for any who deserted, or fled from conscription. Elves came here, too—Silwë, and his folk. It is still a sort of refuge. Asar and Hamilcar are only the latest of escaped slaves that have found their way here. And of course there is Zaya, and the others from the temple."

Elrohir smiled. "You have made your own Imladris," he said. "Father will like that."

When they left the workshop, Maglor said, "Is it still your intention to convince me to sail with you?"

Elladan opened his mouth to answer, but before he got the chance Ishta collided with Maglor's legs, wailing, "Maglor don't leave!"

Maglor scooped her up. "Who said I was leaving?" he said.

"You did! I heard you! But you told me you wouldn't—"

"Did you teach her Sindarin and then forget?" Elrohir asked, grinning as he slipped into the local dialect. Ishta glared at him.

"I did not teach her enough, it seems," Maglor said. "Ishta, my love, I'm not sailing away."

She looked dubious. "Promise?"

"I promise," he said, and glanced at the twins. "As you see, I couldn't go even if I wanted to."

"We weren't going to ask it of you," said Elrohir. To Ishta he said, "We promise."

This satisfied Ishta, but she stuck close to Maglor the rest of the day, and though it seemed that Elladan and Elrohir wanted to speak more of what they did plan to ask of Maglor, the subject was not brought up again.

At last one day the rains paused, and though the sun did not come out and the clouds remained heavy and dark, the house emptied as everyone took advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs. The children splashed in the puddles, and windows were flung open to let in the breeze and air out the house. Silwë climbed onto the roof to play his flute, and Maglor, with Huan at his heels, went to the top of the rocky hills overlooking the sea. To the south he saw the dark shape of Hadast in the distance; closer still the tide was in, covering the beach and surging up the stone steps. He sat with his feet dangling off the edge of the cliff, over the water. Huan sat beside him, head raised and nose busy smelling all there was to smell. Maglor could only smell seawater and the promise of more rain. Even his eyes could not tell where the grey sea ended and the grey skies began on the horizon. The light was curiously flat, so that what was near seemed far and what was far seemed near, as though Maglor could reach out and touch the clouds with his fingertips if he wished.

He looked up at Huan. "Did you come to try to bring me back?" he asked. Huan only looked at him with solemn dark eyes. "I'm not going, you know. If you want to go back, you should leave with Elrond's sons." Huan whined. "Even if the way is open now, I am not ready." The only response he got was a lick up his face, and then Huan wandered off to sniff in some nearby bushes. Maglor sighed, and looked back out over the water. He stayed until he felt the first raindrops, and only barely made it back to the house without getting drenched.

"Well done," said Tanit, from where she and Elissa sat swathed in shawls and blankets on the covered terrace, cups of steaming tea in their hands. Beside Elissa on a small table was a plate of bread and cheese and more cups, and a teapot was kept warm on a small brazier. Maglor went to sit on the flagstones between them. They were cousins, but looked like sisters, with the same steel-grey hair neatly tied back in braids and buns, held with combs, and the same dark eyes and warm brown skin. Huan lay at their feet, blocking some of the cold air that blew through the terrace, bringing a few drops of rain with it, landing on their faces like swift cold kisses. "Did you see anything interesting out there?" Tanit asked.

"No," said Maglor. "Only the tide coming in." He accepted a cup from Elissa and took a sip. The tea was sweet and fragrant. For a time they sat in silence, watching the rain. Somewhere in the house there was a crash, and the sound of small running feet and Iset shouting. Elissa and Tanit exchanged glances as the sounds died away, and chuckled.

It was comforting to sit between the two of them and sip tea, but in a strangely backwards way. Maglor had been present when both Tanit and Elissa had been born; he had held them as infants and steadied them as they learned to walk, and taught them to swim in the sea. Then somehow they had grown up and grown old, and looked at Maglor as though he were the young one in need of mothering.

Tanit looked down at him now with that sort of look, vaguely concerned but mostly indulgent. "Tell us, Maglor, where is it all the elves are going?" She waved a hand westward. "Across the Sea somewhere?"

"To Elvenhome," said Maglor. "But I think Silwë would be rather offended if he heard you say all the elves are leaving."

Elissa cuffed him upside the head. "You know what we mean," she said. "All your sort of elves, if that makes you and Silwë feel better about it. Where are they going? There's nothing but sea across the sea."

Maglor didn't know whether that was true now, or not. The world had changed with the drowning of Númenor, though he didn't know how. "There is a way that Elves can find," he said, "to Elvenhome in the Uttermost West. The Powers dwell there." He paused. "I was born there."

"How did you come to be here, then?" Elissa asked.

"You have heard the tales, Elissa," said Maglor. "The great Enemy slew our king and killed the Trees, and so we followed him to make war."

"Oh. But you make that seem like it was so very long ago."

Maglor grinned. "It was. You are a very venerable matron now indeed, Mistress, but your life has been but the blink of an eye in the span of years that I have walked the earth, and—"

"Oh, stop it," said Tanit, taking her turn at cuffing him, and nearly making him spill his tea. "You can't impress us, you know. We were there when you fell off the roof and broke both your ankles."

"And when you got caught in the rip current and nearly drowned," Elissa added.

"And that time you burned your hair almost entire—"

"Mercy!" Maglor cried, laughing, and nearly spilling his tea. "I will have you know that I was even more impressive than all the princes and lords of Harad put together, and more powerful besides!"

"Your age must be catching up with you, dear," said Elissa, this time patting his head more gently.

"But if all of your kin have returned to Elvenhome," Tanit said, "why do you still linger here? Surely your mother misses you—unless you Elves are not born as Men are, and spring out of the ground fully formed." Maglor snorted. "Well?"

He sighed, and bought time by finishing his tea. Elissa took the cup and refilled it. Huan shifted, and laid his head on Maglor's legs. "I have been in exile," Maglor said finally. "It seems that I could return now, if I wished, but until Elrohir told me I didn't know."

"Yet you are not going to leave with them come spring," said Tanit.

"No."

"Why?"

"I promised Ishta that I wouldn't," said Maglor. "But also—I feel I am not meant to. Not yet."

"What does that mean?" Elissa wanted to know, as Tanit handed over her cup to be refilled. Elissa busied herself with the brazier, pouring water and scooping more tea leaves to steep.

"My father once said that our deeds would be the matter of song until the last days of Arda," Maglor said slowly, feeling his way to the right words. It was not a thing he had thought about much—his reasons for staying, in spite of any Ban that may or may not still be laid upon him.

Tanit snorted. "Thought rather highly of himself, didn't he, your father?"

"Well, yes—but why shouldn't he? Who other than Varda Elentári can say that they have made a star that shines in the heavens?"

"Don't change the subject," said Elissa. "What does your father's pride and your deeds and songs have to do with why you feel you cannot go home to your mother?"

"I am a singer," said Maglor, "and a songwriter. I shall forever have new audiences here in Middle-earth. And in Valinor what use are my songs when the subjects of them are there to tell their own tales? The time of the Elves is ending. The Eldar have sailed away home, and the rest will fade into their hills and their forests, and someday the children of Men will forget that we once laughed and lived and fought together. But they will not forget our names, nor our deeds, so long as I remain to sing of them—nor the deeds of their own forefathers, who were no less valiant than the Elves in the great wars against the Shadow. I would see my father's words come true, though the remembrance be only in tales told to children around the fire."

Elissa took a sip of her tea, and watched the rain. The water gathered in the courtyard and ran in small rivers down the slight incline back towards the sea. It was Tanit who said, "And what happens when there are no other Elves left, Maglor? You cannot stay here forever."

He shrugged. "I suppose one day I will take a ship into the west. But it will not be soon."

The door banged open and Hanno came racing out, diving behind Maglor with a squeal that was equal parts mischievous and frightened. Heru was right behind him, something dark dripping from her hair and staining her tunic. "You little monster!" she was shrieking. "I am going to toss you into the sea!"

"I would rather you didn't," Maglor said mildly, "since I'm the one who would have to fetch him out."

"What in the world is all over you, child?" Elissa asked.

"I don't know!" Heru wailed. "But it smells!" Somewhere behind her someone laughed; Maglor suspected it was Asar, and hoped that he wasn't the one who had put Hanno up to whatever this was.

He sighed. "Hanno," he said, as Elladan appeared in the doorway with a rag to offer Heru.

"It was an accident!" Hanno said, without coming out from behind him. Maglor could feel Hanno's hands gripping his tunic and he very much hoped that they weren't also covered in ink.

"Where did you get the squid ink?"

"It was not an accident!" Heru snapped.

"It wasn't," Elladan confirmed. "I didn't know one could use a squid as a weapon that way."

Tanit threw her head back in laughter. Elissa set aside her tea and got to her feet. "Come along, dear, let's draw you a bath," she said, taking Heru's arm to lead her back inside.

Once Heru was gone, Maglor reached behind him and tugged Hanno out into the open. His hands were, in fact, stained with squid ink. Maglor sighed. "Hanno," he said, "where are your parents?"

"I don't know," he said immediately.

"I suppose we'll have to go find them, then." Maglor got to his feet. "Elladan, would you move the tea brazier closer to Tanit?"

"And come sit with me a while," Tanit added. "I want to hear more about where you come from."

Elladan smiled. "Certainly, Mistress."

In the end, Hanno and Hadad had to clean up the mess they had made with the squid, and then help with the laundry for the next week—including helping Vanna find a way to get all of the squid ink out of poor Heru's clothes.

Fortunately for them all, the rest of the storm season passed with no more squid incidents, no anything worse. When one morning they woke to find the sky a clear clean blue, without a cloud in sight, the whole household breathed a sigh of relief. The children ran out into the courtyard, still littered with puddles, and cheered as they splashed about. Huan joined them with an excited bark, leaping about and getting water and mud absolutely everywhere.

"Hopefully things in the city have calmed," Barca remarked as he joined Maglor on the terrace. Behind them in the kitchen one of the guests from Khand was singing as she kneaded dough for flat bread. There had been a great exchange of recipes and cooking methods over the last few months, to the delight of everyone involved.

"It's unlikely anyone will have realized what really made the temple fall," said Maglor. "The only people who saw me go inside are all here—or are dead."

"I shall send word when it seems safe for Elves to return to Hadast," said Barca.

"I think the time of Elves coming among Men openly is ending," said Maglor, "at least in this part of the world. Anyway, it will be some time before I come back to Hadast—"

"You aren't leaving?" Barca said, startled.

"I would like to see what is happening in Khand and in Rhûn—and someone must see that Zaya and her friends return home safely," said Maglor. "It might take a year, perhaps two, before I return." He smiled at Barca. "And I am going to return, don't worry."

As the land dried and the sea retreated down the steps to it usual levels, a flurry of activity overtook the house as Maglor and those who intended to leave with him prepared for a long journey. Elladan and Elrohir were also going, as well as Asar, who had always intended to escape Harad entirely. Silwë was also planning to leave for a time, but his route lay east and south, to the hilly forests where his people dwelt. "Or at least they used to," Maglor heard him saying to Elrohir. "I hope they are still there, or that I can find some sign of them."

The children all wanted to come, but Vanna refused to allow the twins to go, and even Hamilcar could not persuade her otherwise—not, Maglor noted, that he tried very hard. Maglor did, however, allow Ishta to come—mostly because she was so distressed at the thought of him going away for such a long time, but also because he thought she would enjoy the adventure, seeing new lands and meeting new people.

They set out on a bright clear morning. Huan bounded ahead, barking for the sheer joy of it. They had two carts filled with supplies and with people, and several horses for those who did not want to ride in the carts or who couldn't fit. Maglor took the lead, Ishta before him on the saddle. Huan barked again, a clear summons, and Maglor found himself laughing in reply as he urged his horse into a canter and then into a gallop. The wind streamed through his hair, and Ishta shrieked with delight.

In one of Maglor's saddle bags was a carefully wrapped bundle of letters—to Elrond, to Nerdanel, to his brothers—that he would give Elladan and Elrohir before they parted. As he had packed he had wondered, a little, if he would regret his decision not to go with them. But with the road stretched out before him and the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, and Huan racing at his side Maglor found himself entirely content—and even excited. The future lay before him like the road, and the whole wide world was at his feet. Who knew where the years would take him? He was eager to find out.