Reminders by Elleth

Chapter 1

"Lord Elrond would not have needed to send an escort," Maglor said, standing and brushing sand and snow from his knee. His first impulse, always, when he was approached by other Elves, was to kneel and hope that the hair falling over his face would obscure his features, or - if they recognized him, to judge him quickly and with mercy.

As it was, he merely felt sheepish. He should have taken one look at their livery and understood that - although armed - the company on horseback had been sent from Imladris and posed him no threat, but his mind was still reeling from an encounter a little more than a half-month ago that had left him cautious and subdued.

"Would you have taken Lord Elrond's invitation for the solstice festivities, otherwise?" asked their leader. "I seem to recall many times we spent the solstice in Imladris without you present, since the last time he had opportunity to invite you himself. Unfortunately he had matters to attend to so that he could not make the journey with us, but he would very much like to have you home again. He asks to tell you that it has been too long, and that you are not to consider refusing."

Something in the woman's stern manner cracked into a hint of good humor underneath. Maglor tried to recall her name - her face and station he remembered, often in Arwen's train as the chief of her handmaidens, and her language held a hint of the sharpness that even in Sindarin marked the speech of a follower of his father, but it had been close to two-hundred years since his last stay in Imladris, and he hoped she would forgive him for forgetting.

"Very well, lady -" he trailed off and looked to her for continuation.

"Iesglin," said the man next to her; his voice was rough and similarly sharp - her husband, Maglor thought the first moment, but a glance at their hands showed that neither wore a wedding band under their gloves, and there was nothing in their eyes that hinted at a union. Iesglin, who must have noticed Maglor studying her and her companion, grinned.

"We are not married, if that is what you are wondering - this is my twin brother, Gwinhil, whom I do not need to speak for me." She scoffed lightly and shoved at his shoulder.

"Twelve minutes her senior. I must take what chances I can get; they are not many." Even the man's forbidding face showed a little more good humor, even affection, when he looked at his sister. "Well, lord Maglor, will you ride with us?"

"If you stop calling me a lord, I shall heed my son's wish." The words did not come without difficulty, nor without regret - he knew he would have to face reproach for his neglect, if not from Elrond himself then from Celebrían or Arwen who had made a gentle game of prodding him for justification of his many absences the last time he had visited, and eagerly listened to the stories he had to tell, from the Avari he had lived among in the East, and the deserts he had crossed, to the palm-grown strands of Far Harad, and the many lives he had encountered along the way.

Seeing them again would make it worth it. He took the reins that were offered to him, bowed to the rest of the company, and mounted.

* * *

They struck inland along the moor-brown waters of the Baranduin, on a stretch of cleared land along the river's edge where in summer farmers had their fields, and then inland on the east road through Arnor, if it was still called that.

By then Maglor had begun to laugh with the group, and in particular with Iesglin and Gwinhil. They had begun to feel more and more familiar, and all three of them settled quickly into the Fëanorian dialect of Beleriand when they spoke together, to the bewildered looks of their companions. Both of them spoke with fondness of Amon Ereb, where they had been born and lived in their early years before their mother had taken them and settled in the court of Gil-galad on Balar. Maglor could not remember many children at that time, but it had been a haze of grief that he was unhappy to recall. He asked quietly which of his brothers they had been allied to, one evening when they were seated in the common room of a hillside inn under the sign of a fat white pony prancing on its hind legs, and the rest of the group, claiming weariness, had already retired.

"Caranthir's people," Iesglin explained. "My mother, before she sailed, used to say that Gwinhil was very much our father's image - we never knew him except from her stories. He did not return out of Doriath."

She said it with a lack of concern. It was a matter of fact to her, and, it seemed, to her brother, but the careless mention jerked Maglor out of the pleasant reverie that travelling in a group of friendly companions had settled him into, and the cup of mulled wine began to tremble in his hand.

Iesglin paled, and after a moment murmured an apology. "It was on my mind since meeting you, especially now in winter, and -" she trailed off and looked on helplessly when Maglor put down his cup and rose. "There is nothing to forgive," he said. "I had thought to walk from my past, and should have realized that it was bound to fail. You are merely the first to speak to it to my face, other than myself and the Noldolantë, for many years now."

Iesglin frowned, and with an insistent pull to his sleeve prompted Maglor to sit again. He shifted in his chair, knowing that if he departed now and resumed his journeys, whatever good graces he had with Elrond would diminish so much as that he would no longer be welcome in Imladris - even his kindness must have some limit, and not least for a errant family member. That was all that kept him in his seat.

Iesglin continued to frown at him, staring at the table and drawing her finger over the pattern in the wood. She had never resembled her brother so much, although Gwinhil was now only barely not scowling outright, and he soon drained his cup, walking over to the bar in what seemed an attempt to leave them to their own conversation.

Iesglin finally lifted her head to look Maglor in the eye. It was enough to tell him that she would not be daunted now that the matter had been approached.

"Why did you come with us, if you are so reluctant to face reminders of your past?" she asked. "Lord Elrond thought that some familiarity might do you good, and I do not think he was wrong in it. You much preferred our company to Ringwilith, Eryneth and Pethron. That does not excuse my lapse and I will make no excuses for it, but if that is enough to lapse you into suffering, then I wonder why you are here. Lord Elrond himself is a reminder, is he not? And all three of the realms of Arnor would not be if you had not saved Elros, for they are his descendants by blood, however thin and distant time has made it. You should not be able to go travelling through this land without thinking of your past and the people in it."

Astonishment rose in Maglor at her impassioned speech, and not a little indignation that she should presume to speak to him of his own history when she had lived so briefly among the House of Fëanor, nor seemed to care what destruction he had wrought. Whether his face had given away his anger, Iesglin gave him a sharp look and carried on.

"Living in Imladris it is hard to escape knowledge of history and if the entire land west of the Hithaeglir houses, more or less, your family, then especially so. At this moment, the wife of Amlaith of Arthedain is with child again; she and her daughter are sheltering at Imladris for the season. One would have to be willfullly blind or deaf to his own past to walk through the waking world and not see how legends have shaped it - you among them."

She took a breath, finally, and seemed to wait for Maglor to speak. When he failed to, and looked away out the widow into the snowed-over inn-yard past the icicles on the window, she huffed.

"In that way even we are family, in more than past loyalties that I had no voice in choosing - but the Lady Arwen counts me a sister and loves me as one, so she always says - so that - if you would, I would be your granddaughter also." Suddenly and at odds with her gruff voice, she smiled, briefly and shyly.

"I -" Maglor said, astonished, and not a little fearful for Iesglin. "- do not think claiming kinship with me is wise. You know well about history, and you also know what curse lies on my House. None of us was spared."

Iesglin shook her head, her dark hair flying. "You are doing an injustice to Lord Elrond himself now - he is your son in a way, is he not? And he has made his home in Imladris, he is kind as summer, he will forgive you your absences as he always does, and he will continue his life much as he always does, and weather what griefs befall as part of life, rather than both running from his past and dwelling on his misery if he is reminded. You are doing an injustice to me and my brother also. Fate is not inescapable unless you make it so - at least not - not with the choices you made. You cast it away."

It seemed there was no swaying her; she had already decided. "Then be welcome, granddaughter," Maglor said before his voice could fail him. "I had hoped to visit Imladris and my family, not to gain descendants I had not known existed."

Iesglin shook her head, a brief motion. "You will not be sorry for it - but think on it. We will be on the road a while longer yet, and then when we reach Imladris - if you still mean to go there - then perhaps Lord Elrond can set this down in his books of lore. I will leave you to consider it." Iesglin warmly clasped his shoulder and turned to go.

She left the room, passing briefly through the light cast by the open hearth. Maglor was certain that there was a spring in her steps, and shook his head fondly before settling more comfortably into his chair again.