Chapter 1: Walking to Nowhere and Finding a Home

Chapter Text

He had come to Aman with the last ships of Thranduil - a king he hadn’t sworn to, yet honored all the same. Though Sindar himself, with so many Silvan elves and the others the king had offered passage to, it had been easy to lose himself amongst them. He’d decided to leave during this time when his longtime friend had died a few seasons back - from an unlucky accident of all things!

 

And when the king had decided not to go to the mainland he was secretly glad, for he didn’t wish to run into anyone who might have known him from the misty edges of the First Age. But then the time had come when he became restless and took one of the ferries to the Amani mainland and just started walking. 

 

He took no particular path and didn’t stick to one direction, but his steps eventually led him to the Gardens of Lórien and it was there that he stopped walking. He supposed he had reached his destination as his feet refused to carry him any further.

 

Finding himself under a tree, he sat down beneath the silvery willow, weariness catching up to him now that he’d stopped walking, and drifted off for a well earned nap. He walked the dream paths of Olórë Mallë, reliving those times in his life when he’d been a merrier soul and joy filled his life. 

 

~Look What I Found!~

 

Aegnor had gone out to collect his usual bundle of wood to feed the fire in their lounge, just as Arwen liked it. She insisted it gave a homey feel to the place and for some reason the hall did indeed need the fire as it was always cool, even in summertime. He was just about to bring in an armful when he saw the ellon sleeping under a tree quite near their boarding house. 

 

Depending on the direction he’d come from and when he’d arrived, it was quite possible he hadn’t noticed that he’d been surrounded by myriad buildings - most of which could have housed him for the night. Deciding to approach the ellon, he set down his bundle and made his way over to the sleeper and took in his appearance. 

 

His raven hair was long and well kept, as were his clothes, his features fine and his long pale fingers gripped a silver flute even in his sleep. Aegnor could feel the power of the instrument even several feet away - and then realized that the instrument had power because the one who played it had power. Interesting. Still, he couldn’t just leave him there. 

 

When he knelt and gently touched the ellon he got no response and his attempts became a little more persistent with each pass as his efforts weren’t producing the desired results at all. In fact, the ellon was so deeply ensconced within his reverie, that it was several minutes before he noticed he was being touched - shaken, in fact! 

 

Lines appeared between his brows as he frowned whilst still walking the dream-path and his subconscious gleaned that someone was trying to awaken him and he felt a moment of annoyance that he was being ripped from the comfort of his thoughts. But anger required too much effort these days and he let the emotion go as it was just too draining. So, he simply sighed and opened his eyes to see who was so rude as to disturb him. Then he frowned for the ellon before him looked familiar but he couldn’t place him.

 

“Hello there, friend. Can I tempt you to come inside? Or would you prefer more private accommodations?” Aegnor smiled. Unlike the sleepy ellon, he didn’t recall the stranger at all and simply offered him hospitality because that was what they were there for.

 

Still confused, the ellon stammered, “I...I’m fine?”

 

And laughing, Aegnor introduced himself, saying, “I’m Ambaráto Arafinwion and I run this establishment with Arwen Undómiel and we welcome all who are weary. Come, friend! You are welcome here.” and he held out his hand to the ellon who - after a brief hesitation - clasped the proffered hand and found himself hauled to his feet. And since his feet functioned once more, he followed the ellon into the Home of Melodic Musings.

 

Before entering, Aegnor turned to the ellon and asked, “What are you called, Friend? Not that it matters so much, except I’d like to call you something other than friend.”  

 

And the ellon decided to give the name he’d been going by for longer than the one he’d been given by his parents, “Glindil. I am called Glindil, my lord.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Glindil! And welcome to the Home of Melodic Musings.” Aegnor grinned and held the door open for their new guest. And Glindil smiled and said, “That is a fine name for an establishment.”

~The Home of Melodic Musings~

 

The Home of Melodic Musings had been established for many years now and Aegnor and Arwen found they’d not only landed on their feet, but had found their niche. Now settled in their home for forlorn elves, it hadn’t taken as long to build as they’d thought. For one thing, both of them had many connections that expedited things that would normally take decades - because why not? They had forever. And Arwen’s friendship with both Legolas and Gimli - along with several Hobbits - gained them those little touches that make a house a home. Even if it was more like a boarding house. 

 

Home of Melodic Musings

 

Built like a rather large and rambling garden cottage, the main building was set up more or less as Rivendell had been, with a communal dining area and a lounge that wasn’t quite the Hall of Fire, though treated as one. It was cozy, all the same, with a fire burning at all times. There were even guest rooms aplenty, if that was their desire. But they also had dozens of smaller cottages around the main building, along the lakeshore and even some a bit more remote for those who desired solitude.

 

They were technically within the borders of the Gardens of Lórien, a land of not only beautiful and soothing gardens, but also a land of silver willows. And they had attracted some of the very kinds of people they were seeking to cater to. Heartbroken people with sorrows upon their fëar. How could they not? Especially when the proprietors were two who were rather famous for loving mortals, which was just begging for a broken heart!

 

But for the most part, it was old friends and kin who stayed in their establishment, which had the warm charm of a beloved family home. Everyone was welcome and treated as cherished members of their family.

 

At the moment they had several visitors who could be classified as both injured in their Fëar and as visiting kin. Glindil had been made welcome by Arwen and he seemed struck by her beauty. Or rather struck down, for seeing her had been as a blow to the ellon and both Aegnor and Arwen wondered at this. 

 

But that mystery had to be put aside, as Arwen showed him to his rooms and after showing him the bathing area that had hot and cold running water as well as a flushing comfort area - a gift from the dwarves in all their rooms and cottages - she then left him with a promise that a hot meal would be waiting for him when he finished freshening up. And she dazzled him with her smile when he shyly thanked her for her hospitality.

 

And leaving the ellon to his own devices, she hurried downstairs for she needed to prepare for her family to arrive from Tol Kimbalaer. And when they arrived several weeks later, Elrond had, of course, escorted his wife, Celebrian and with them was Frodo Baggins. Arwen’s brothers had also insisted on coming so they could visit their sister, but the reason for the visit to Lórien wasn’t social. Rather, they were there for a healing session for both Celebrian and Frodo. 

 

For the wound that had forced Frodo to sail was the same Celebrian had suffered so long ago when she’d been ambushed by orcs on her way home from Lothlórien. It had been her bad luck that a Ring Wraith had been near and had gotten the cunning idea to try and change her into one of them - a wraith - in hopes her wounding would cause her husband to despair and falter.

 

Thankfully, that effort had failed due to her strong will, but she’d still been forced to sail for none knew how to cure a wound from a morgul-blade. And when, five-hundred years later, Frodo had been brought in with the same affliction, Elrond’s heart sank. For he knew how to ease it - but not how to cure it. So, after the Ring War, it wasn’t surprising to him at all when Gandalf-Olórin told him that Bilbo wouldn’t be the only Hobbit they would be sailing with.

 

And even after all this time, his Celebrian still required treatments and that also meant that Frodo did, too. Thankfully, it wasn’t needed all that often, but it was still disconcerting that it couldn't be cured, even in the Blessed Realm. 

 

It shouldn’t have been. The lesson of Míriel Serindë was proof of that. But at least now with the establishment of the Home of Melodic Musings, they now had a place of comfort and kin to settle them, for Frodo also considered these elves as part of his family and the feeling was mutual.

 

~Lounge of Fire~

 

The twins were in the Lounge of Fire, an inside joke known only to those who were from Rivendell, and were joined by Glorfindel, Erestor and their sister, Arwen. The topic at hand was their failed attempt at becoming proper Noldorin Smith’s under the expert tutelage of both House Fingolfin and House Fëanor.

 

“I don’t know why we thought that would be a good idea.” Elladan sighed.

 

“Indeed, it’s not as though there weren’t forges at Rivendell. I didn’t like them then and I don’t like them now.” Elrohir agreed.

 

“That’s not to say we don’t admire those who are competent. Competence in that discipline is to be admired greatly. Those at these forges are beyond competent. They are masters both in the practical and in the artistic. I thought the glass blowing would be a novelty, but it’s pretty close to metal smithing when it comes down to it and I just don’t have the temperament for it.” Elladan explained.

 

“Aye. I guess that means we are failures as Noldor.” Elrohir smirked.

 

“You are no such thing! I will not sit here and listen to this. Do you think every Noldo is a smith? For I can assure you we are not. There are bakers, tailors, horsemasters and all manner of occupations that people are called to during their lives. If smithing is not for you then you must seek out something that interests you.” Glorfindel said firmly.

 

“That goes for you too, nephew.” Erestor said.

 

“That’s true, but what of you? Will you join the Lambengolmor, uncle?”

 

“I’d like to but I’m not sure they would accept me.”

 

“You won’t know unless you try, uncle. I think you should go.”

 

“I will. But what of you?”

 

“I think I’m in the same position as the twins. I’m not sure where I belong.”

 

“I say! That’s not encouraging at all.” Elladan exclaimed.

 

“Indeed! If you can’t find your place, what chance do we have?” Elrohir agreed.

 

Sighing, Glorfindel said, “I fear we share the same problem. We both spent a great deal of our lives in one battle or another - even during times of peace. Spending all our time patrolling, training or in counsels about patrolling, training and battle strength. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for leisure activities.”

 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned to relax in all these years. If you haven't, I believe this is the best place to learn. Sometimes all you need is to be still in body and silent of mind and you’ll be surprised by what comes to you.” Arwen said.

 

“You learned that in the Halls.” Glorfindel said knowingly, “I’m afraid that being so long out of them and right back into a world that put me there in the first place has lost me that ability.”

 

“I love it here with you, sister. I hadn’t realized how much I missed your company,” Elladan began, “But when naneth and Frodo are done with their rejuvenating, I think I’d like to go back to Círdan’s island. To Tol Kimbalaer.”

 

“Whatever for?” Erester asked.

 

“Why to see Hobbits and Dwarves, of course!” Elrohir laughed.

 

“That - and he has some of those airships now.” Elladan added.

 

“If that is what excites your blood, perhaps that’s not a bad idea. You may not be cut out to be mariners, but perhaps mariners of the sky is an occupation you should seek to master.” Glorfindel smiled.

 

“Mariners of the Sky! I have to admit I like the sound of that!” Elrohir sighed.

 

“As the heirs of Eärendil that’s not so surprising.” Erester said.

 

“Perhaps. But even he became tired of sailing Vingilótë in the Ilmen. When we liberated them from that island they were heartily sick of it all.” Elladan said.

 

“Well, not Tuor and Idril. As far as they were aware they’d just gotten there the night before. But, yes! Eärendil and Elwing had resigned themselves to everlasting doom and isolation and counted it a small price to pay for the deliverance of Ennorath.” Elrohir said.

 

“What a terrible story. It breaks my heart to hear of their suffering.” Arwen exclaimed.

 

“Indeed!” a new voice said, and all turned welcoming smiles to Elrond as he entered the room and the conversation. “I remarked at the time that I really wished the Valar would do something right without having their hands forced. But then it occurred to me that they help quite often - as long as we are already acting by our own volition.”

 

“Well, I know that Lord Mandos came for me and Aegnor before you made your attempt to cause mischief. In fact, he urged us to leave of our own accord to prevent said mischief.” she said with an imp in her eye.

 

“You’ll never know how grateful I was for that, daughter! For those Finwions are trouble! Even when they insist on doing something for a good cause they just can’t seem to do so without some form of rebellion behind it all.”

 

“Not rebellion, adar! Rather they show determination. And I believe those who were born here have a different perspective than we who were born in Ennorath. I had long conversations with Aegnor and their experience was fairly benign - until the Valar released Morgoth from his captivity. That was the beginning of the end of their blissful days.” Arwen said.

 

“They should have stayed.” Elrond said and then had the grace to look abashed when his children looked curiously at him. For none of them - himself included -  would even exist if some of those Noldor hadn’t rebelled. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

Just then they heard a flute in the background and it had to be the most heartbreakingly sweet thing they’d ever heard. And Elrond recognized it at once! He’d heard it as a child when he and his brother had been with their foster-fathers, Meadhros and Maglor! And he looked questioningly towards his daughter who smiled and said, “Isn’t it lovely? He is our newest guest. Aegnor found him sleeping under a tree and brought him inside. He’s been with us ever since. His name is Glindil and he is equally gifted with lute and harp! And oh! His voice! I’ve never heard such a singer!”

 

“That is because he is not a random elf nor is his name Glindil. That is Daeron of Doriath - the greatest Bard to have ever lived. I met him as a child during the First Age as he traveled with us for a time before he left Beleriand altogether. It brings me joy to know he lives and that he is here. The last I heard he was traveling with Maglor. I must talk with him and see what he knows.” Elrond exclaimed and hastened from the Lounge leaving his children stunned.

 

“Daeron of Doriath is here? Daeron of Doriath is here - in your home, sister!” Elladan said in astonished awe.

 

“Indeed, sister! If you can convince him to stay, that would improve the reputation of your Sanctuary ten-fold!” Elrohir agreed.

 

“Stop you two!” Arwen admonished, adding, “He is injured in his Fëa and he is welcome to stay here as long as he wishes.”

 

“You know, sister, it is said you are the image of our foremother, Lúthien. And wasn’t Daeron in love with her? Do you think he stays so he can gaze upon you and think of her?”

 

“In the beginning, perhaps. But I think he knows the difference now.” she said firmly, now knowing why he had been so shocked to meet her when he’d first come. She’d learned that if you simply left a mystery alone they tended to reveal their secrets.

 

~Arcoa Maril~

 

Now that he was here, Fëanor made his way through the well ordered glassmaking facilities of his brother, Ñolofinwë. Built into the Pelori Spur, they were separated from the mining portion of the cave and cavern system that ran naturally through this section of the mountain range. Carved and delved into well ventilated workshops, storage areas and glass smelting foundry, Fëanor was impressed with the functionality, layout and cleanliness of the operation. 

 

In the old days he would have chalked it up to a reflection of Ñolo’s very organized mind, but these days he couldn’t be faulted for wondering where the workshops of chaos were located. He imagined there just had to be caverns full of water bombs, fireworks, colorful bouncing balls and other childish tools of mayhem to reflect his brother’s penchant for facilitating random acts of mischief.

 

Then he found what he was looking for - Ñolo’s workshop. He’d simply followed their sibling connection, barely brushing the edges so he wouldn’t alert his brother to his presence. This was his one chance to sneak up on his brother - though admittedly childish - and startle him as Ñolo had done to him numerous times in their recent past.

 

But now watching his brother work deftly with the superheated, but cooling glob of pigmented glass he was impressed with his brother’s technique and artistry. His gloved hand gripping a rod with the already blown and rolled glass section as he quickly turned and pulled at it with tongs, shaping it how he wished. Adding additional molten globs, then deftly stretching, twisting and shaping them into an ornate handle he was working on. 

 

This piece looked to be a pitcher with sapphire swirls running through it. It was, Fëanor knew, something Ñolo would consider practical and necessary - but also boring. Ñolo was an artist of unparalleled skill with his glass and even in the old days Fëanor knew he had no equal. But this was the first time he’d actually stood and watched his brother while he worked and he was quite frankly impressed with what he was seeing.

 

When he was finished and cut the rod from his work, setting it down on its cooling perch, Fëanor heard within his mind, “You can come in now.” and he swore softly. So much for his sneak attack!

 

Entering his brother’s workshop he could see this pitcher was part of an entire set with many matching glasses. This wasn’t even meant to be a formal set, but rather something a family would use for a chilled fruit drink out in the garden on a nice summer day. As beautiful as it was, it was for casual usage and he saw that the shelves were filled with many versions of these sets - differing in color, patterns and some decorative features, but all meant for the same purpose.

 

“You do good work, brother.” Fëanor said admiringly and then looked uncomfortable as his brother tilted his head inquiringly. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.” he began, but his brother interrupted him, taking pity on his brother’s discomfort.

 

“What do you need, Náro?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

 

Taking a deep breath, Fëanor said in a rush, “You know my son has been missing all these years. I think he’s here and I need your help.”

 

Taking his gloves off, Fingolfin smiled at his brother and said, “You have it, of course! I am here whenever you need me, Náro.” and then when he saw tears of relief spring to his brother’s eyes, added, “No! Don’t thank me. We are brothers. It’s part of the job description.”

 

~Daeron of Doriath~

 

Elrond hurried out to find Daeron - which wasn’t hard. He simply followed the music. Soon enough he was standing in front of the Bard and sat down cross legged on the grass in front of him and simply listened as the Bard played on, eyes closed, and lost in his music. Sensing he was no longer alone, he finished his song and brought the flute away from his mouth, its last lingering note floating away in the breeze and opened his eyes and looked long at the ellon before him.

 

Then he smiled gently and said, “You’ve grown since the last time I saw you, elfling.”

 

“How are you Master Daeron? It has, indeed, been awhile. And I can’t tell you how joyous I am to see you. You bring back fond memories for me.” Elrond smiled.

 

“You must be wondering why I’m here. And, indeed, there is a reason and one you will find grievous.” he began hesitantly and Elrond believed he knew what that reason was. Tears sprang to his eyes as grief twisted his heart.

 

“You’re trying to tell me he’s dead, aren’t you?” Elrond choked out. “How?”

 

“An accident. A tragic and unnecessary accident.” Daeron said heavily, before continuing. “We were in the Old Forest near Bree in the Spring when the ground gave way after a heavy storm and swept him away. Still, I think he would have survived if it hadn’t been for a large tree toppling over and pinning him. I tried to dig him out, but it had crushed his chest. The more I struggled to free him the more pain it caused him. He finally begged me to stop as the tree actually made breathing easier for him. I knew then he was done for and the only thing I could do was to stay with him until the end.” he sighed and tried to prevent tears of grief from falling. Maglor had been his best friend in that cold and harsh world and he still missed him dreadfully.

 

Continuing, he said, “I wandered about for a while but soon determined that there was nothing left for me in that world and when King Thranduil began moving his people to Mithlond I mingled amongst them and took ship with them. I stayed with their people for a while before taking a ferry here to the mainland and then I just started walking. This is where my feet led me and this is where they halted. I went to sleep under a tree and that is where that hulking Noldo found me the next morning. Though, I have to say, for a Noldo he is quite pleasant.” causing Elrond to bark in laughter since they both knew he was technically a Noldo, as well.

 

But Elrond sobered and said, “So it has been a while since Maglor has left you, then?”

 

“Aye! Many seasons now, though long after you had already sailed. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I’m now wondering if he has been released and if he hasn’t I happen to know many people who could expedite that release.” he said musingly.

 

Perking up, Daeron said, “Do tell!”

 

~Dinner Talk~

 

That evening Daeron sat next to Elrond and the two seemed to be conferring with each other the entire evening. The news that Glindil was actually Daeron of Doriath didn’t cause nearly the stir he feared and everyone seemed to take it in stride. Which told Elrond everything about their world if such news barely caused a ripple.

 

“They’re prettier than you and your brother and you lads were very fair. How is it they are yet unwed?” Daeron asked, referring to the sons of Elrond.

 

Sighing, Elrond said, “It certainly wasn’t for lack of interest. Which may have been part of the problem as every ellith they came across seemed to be on the hunt for one or the other of them and it didn’t matter which one they got. I can attest to this being a problem with twins. People seem to think we’re interchangeable and not individuals. Which sent them running for the hills, truth be told.”

 

“Maglor said the same with his twin brothers. From what he said they are beautiful ellyn and it wasn’t like you couldn’t tell them apart when they became adults. Unlike you and Elros - and your sons for that matter - the elder of the two, Amrod has darker hair than his brother. Amras had the color of his brother Maedhros. I know they are in Tol Kimbalaer, but I never caught sight of them.”

 

“Yes, but they were definitely known as Noldorin princes and so I imagine every ellyth within Tirion was batting their lashes and throwing their petals at the lads.” Elrond smirked.

 

“And Elros became king….so that must have been interesting.” 

 

“He already had his bride picked out, so not so interesting. Though he told me stories that fidelity wasn’t so important to men as it is for elves and they didn’t understand his insistence on remaining faithful to his wife. And I barely noticed the ladies until I met Celebrian. After that I was lost.” he smiled, and then, “I had thought that Elladan had formed an attachment with Lord Thranduil’s daughter, but nothing ever came of it.”

 

“She has since wed?”

 

“Nay! She has not!” Elrond exclaimed, and then more reflectively, “Do you suppose they had a falling out?”

 

“And they’ve yet to repair the breach?” Daeron finished and the two looked thoughtfully at one another... hmmm

 

And overhearing her father, Arwen leaned in and said softly, “You know, adar….both of them mentioned they’d like to go back to Tol Kimbalaer. Something about wishing to become Mariners of the Sky…..” And smiling sweetly, she turned back to her meal and left her father and Daeron to stare at her curiously until Daeron observed, speaking lowly, “Something she learned to do as Queen of Gondor, perhaps?”

 

“No doubt.” Elrond said with lifted brows.