35: Aftermath

Maglor woke to darkness and confusion, unsure what had happened. His last conscious memory was of falling and—

“My harp!” He started thrashing about, throwing back the furs covering him, looking for his harp.

“Shh… it’s safe. See you. It’s right here.”

He was not sure who was speaking, but he felt something being placed in his hands and felt the contours of the harp. He sighed in relief and lapsed back into unconsciousness, unaware that Glóredhel sat beside him readjusting the furs.

When he woke again, it took him a moment or two to remember what had happened. He was clutching something to him and realized it was his harp safely in its carrysack. Shadows flickered above him and he realized they were being cast by a fire and he was in the cave. Beyond the cave he could hear a storm. Gingerly sitting up, being careful with the harp, he saw Denethor and Arthalion sitting nearby. Denethor looked at him and smiled.

“Awake at last?”

Maglor did not answer immediately, staring out to see snow flying, though oddly there was thunder in the sky and a bolt of lightning that caused him to flinch.

“How long have I slept? Is it winter again?” he cried in dismay, feeling confused still.

Denethor gave him a surprised look but Arthalion just threw his head back and started laughing. Maglor stared at him, wondering what was so funny. He looked to Denethor, and the ellon smiled sympathetically.

“No, you have not slept that long, my friend. It is only the second day since you renounced your Oath. This is merely a spring storm. It came up yesterday afternoon. I suspect it will wear itself out before long. It’s not even noon yet.”

By now Arthalion had gotten himself under control. Maglor felt embarrassed and wasn’t sure where to look. Arthalion saved him from having to apologize by speaking first. “You must be starving. Would you like some stew?”

Maglor nodded. “Yes, though that will have to wait as I need to… um… get very wet first.” He gave them a resigned sigh, realizing that he would have to brave the storm if he wished to relieve himself.

Denethor grinned. “Arthalion, go with him and make sure he doesn’t slip or anything. The ground is treacherous,” he added for Maglor’s benefit when Maglor looked to protest. “I’ve made it an order that no one goes out in this alone if they need to.”

Maglor nodded and then realized that the three were all alone in the cave. “But surely the others are not out in this? Shouldn’t they all be crammed in here with us?”

“We found two more caves further along this cliff face while you were asleep,” Denethor explained. “I sent everyone to fend for themselves until this storm ends. Now, you go do what you need to and I’ll have the stew ready for you when you return.”

Maglor nodded and making sure the harp was safe, he stood, feeling a bit shaky and shrugged on his cloak which had been used to cover him. Arthalion helped him cross the short distance to the cave entrance and they went out. By the time they returned to the cave they were both thoroughly soaked but in minutes they were dressed in dry clothes and Maglor was sitting beside the fire warming himself with the stew.

“So what’s happened?” he asked at one point.

“Nothing much,” Denethor said. “Most of us spent as much time as possible yesterday exploring, though there was always someone watching over you.”

“I remember waking and worrying about my harp. There was someone there. I never saw who but I think it might have been Glóredhel.”

Denethor nodded. “She would have stayed, but I convinced her to go with Ragnor and Finduilas to one of the other caves. I thought you should have more privacy and Arthalion and I were quite capable of tending to your needs if necessary.”

“Thank you,” Maglor said sincerely. “So, what now?”

“Well obviously we’re not going anywhere until this storm passes, but I think we should return to Mithlond sooner rather than later. We will plan several expeditions to retrieve as much of the metal as we can though Glóredhel thinks that most of it is worthless and cannot be salvaged.”

“I have not seen any of the wrecks myself, so I cannot say yea or nay to that,” Maglor said, “but I trust her judgment. She is very knowledgeable about metals. I think we must look to the old Dwarf mines for our ores.”

“Assuming we can find them and they are accessible,” Denethor said.

“I suspect that the cave system north of Mithlond where Arthalion lived may once have been the mines of Nogrod,” Maglor stated. “We did not explore them as much as I would have liked, concentrating on inventorying what Arthalion and Arthad had collected. I think they deserve a closer look.”

“I agree,” Denethor said.

“How are you feeling, Maglor?” Arthalion asked.

Maglor gave his friend a brief smile. “Warmer, inside and out.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Arthalion retorted.

“I know, but, in truth, I’m not sure how I feel.” He glanced down at his right hand, suddenly aware of something missing. “It doesn’t hurt,” he whispered in awe and he held his hand up and opened it wide, wider than he had been able to for too long. “There’s no pain. Why is there no pain?” He flexed his fingers and there was indeed no pain, no spasming of tortured muscles and tendons. The scars on his palm were still there, white scars in the shape of a diamond where a facet of the Silmaril had lain, but the fiery pain was gone.

He looked at Denethor and Arthalion in wonder. “How is it possible?”

“You are asking us?” Denethor retorted with a grin. “Do I look like Lord Manwë to you? You’ll have to ask him when you see him, for I have no more idea than you and I suspect the same is true for Arthalion. Accept that the pain is gone. Accept it as a sign that you’ve been forgiven and do not dwell overmuch on it or on what that pain cost you all these ages. The pain is gone and you seem to have full use of your hand again. Rejoice, therefore, and be glad.”

Maglor put aside his bowl and reached for his harp, removing it from its cover and, tuning it to a bright mode called Nén Lálala Áressë, began singing, his voice raised in joyous praise:

“Á lirë vinya lindë Erun, á lire Erun ily’Ambar. Á lirë Erun, á laita esserya, ar á nyarë pa rehtië Eruannary’ aurello auren. Á quetë alcarya ímica i-nóri, alcarinquë cardaryar ímica i-lië.…”

He continued singing joyfully for some time, unaware that even those huddled in the other caves could hear his song above the storm and smiled at one another in gladness.

****

The storm ended shortly after noon and everyone crawled out of the caves and went to greet Maglor as he exited his cave, the ellyn giving him warrior salutes and the ellith kisses. He smiled warmly as Glóredhel came to offer him a kiss and whispered a thank you in her ear. She just nodded and stepped away to let Aerin have a turn.

“We heard you singing,” Ragnor said once everyone had greeted him. “Even with the storm, we could hear you.”

“Look!” Maglor exclaimed, holding up his right hand and flexing it. “The pain is gone.”

Everyone gasped in surprise and then there was a babble of voices with everyone wanting to know what had happened. Maglor held up both hands, calling for silence.

“I do not know how or why,” he said, “I only know that I woke to find full use of my hand and there is no longer any pain. Denethor said I must wait until we reach Dor Rodyn to ask Lord Manwë about it, otherwise, I should just be grateful and move on.”

His delivery was so deadpan that for a moment everyone just stared at him and then Damrod started laughing and soon everyone else joined him. When they had calmed down someone asked what they should do next. “Now that Maglor has done what he set out to do.”

“We’ll stay another day or two and see how the weather goes,” Denethor informed them, “but I don’t think we need linger. The warm season will be short and there is much we need to accomplish before winter sets in again.”

There were many sighs among them.

“I keep thinking that now that Maglor has renounced the Oath and the Silmaril is back where it belongs, that somehow the way would be miraculously opened and we could continue on,” Aerin said, looking wistful.

“It would be nice,” Denethor said, giving her a sympathetic look, “but that sort of thing only happens in tales told by Mortals. Lord Ulmo is not about to offer us a ride on an island nor is a rainbow bridge going to suddenly appear, but do not give up hope. We’re here together and we have the means and the will to find our own way home and that is miracle enough when one remembers what we were before we started on this impossible journey.”

There were murmurs of agreement among them.

“Well, I for one would like to look at the wrecks,” Maglor said. “Everyone’s had a chance to explore but me.”

“Your own fault for being so moody,” Arthalion said with a sniff.

“Moody? I wasn’t moody,” Maglor protested. “I was…contemplating my options.”

“If you say so,” Arthalion retorted, looking less than convinced.

The others grinned. “I’d rather eat than explore,” Sador said. “There’s not much left of the old wrecks anyway. I say, the sooner we return to Mithlond, the better. I want to explore those caves where Arthalion lived. They’re more interesting.”

“We’ll give Maglor a chance to look around,” Denethor said, “and if the weather is fair tomorrow, we’ll head home.”

“Home,” Finduilas said, sounding wistful as she gazed westward.

“Only for a time, my love,” Ragnor said, giving his wife a brief hug and a kiss. “Someday we will be home indeed.”

The others nodded and, as people began drifting away in pursuit of their own pleasures, Maglor stood uncertainly, not sure what he wanted to do. Arthalion looked to keep him company, but then Amarthamíriel asked if he would like to walk with her. He gave Maglor an apologetic look and Maglor just grinned as the ellon went off with the elleth.

“I think they will come to an understanding soon.”

Maglor turned to see Glóredhel standing there watching after the couple with a satisfied look.

“It does look like it,” Maglor said in agreement. “I am glad. Arthalion deserves some happiness after all he’s suffered.”

Glóredhel gave him a considering look. “And you? What about you? Do you not deserve happiness as well?”

Maglor shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “I gave up any right to happiness a long time ago.”

“Perhaps,” Glóredhel retorted, looking unconvinced, “but you’ve suffered enough for it, haven’t you? And now your hand is healed. I would think that would be a sign that all is forgiven and you have as much right to happiness as any of us.”

“I do not know,” Maglor muttered, staring at his right hand, flexing the fingers and marveling that there was no pain.

“I do.”

Maglor looked up into Glóredhel’s eyes, so full of warmth and tenderness and… love.

“I believe you deserve to be happy, Maglor, no less than the rest of us.”

“I’m not sure I know how to be happy anymore,” Maglor whispered.

Glóredhel gave him a wistful smile. “Then, why don’t I show you?” she said, almost seductively and she reached out and took his hand. He thought she would lead him back into one of the caves, but instead she led him toward one of the wrecks and he wondered at that but remained silent. She gave him a coy look.

“I thought you wanted to explore the wrecks,” she said.

“I do, but I… um… that is….”

Her laughter was light and gay and there was no malice in it. “Why don’t we spend a little time getting to know each other better before we do anything… um… rash?” she suggested once she had calmed down.

“Rash?” Maglor couldn’t resist saying, giving her a teasing look. “When have I ever done anything rash?”

She stopped and stared at him in disbelief.

“No, seriously,” Maglor said, feigning hurt. “When have I ever been rash in all the time you’ve known me, which has been, what, less than a year?”

Glóredhel rolled her eyes and Maglor grinned. “So are you going to show me the wrecks or what?”

“I’ll show you wrecks,” Glóredhel growled and lunged at him, but Maglor half-anticipated her move and skipped out of her reach, laughing, and then he was running and she was chasing him and those who saw them laughed and cheered and offered rude comments indiscriminately. He finally let her catch him and as they fell laughing into each other’s arms Maglor knew that all was well in the world.

****

They ended up staying two more days and then on the third day, the sun shining brightly in their eyes, they headed back up the Gulf singing as they went. The journey back was done at a leisurely pace, for the days remained dry and the nights were fair. Eventually, though, they saw the ruins of the city before them and crossed over to climb the cliffs into East Mithlond and made their way to Bârwain.

“It’s good to be back,” Maglor said to Arthalion, Voronwë and Neldorion as the four Noldor made their way into the room that was theirs, dropping their haversacks on the floor.

“Násië!” Voronwë exclaimed fervently. “Though, mind you, I did enjoy the trip, but if we’re not Sailing immediately, I just prefer to remain here and sit out the rest of the age until we can Sail.”

“Well we won’t be doing too much sitting around,” Neldorion offered. “There’s too much to do. I think we should mount an expedition back to that valley where we found the trees and gather as many seeds and saplings as we can and bring them back here and see if we can’t create our own nursery. We’ll need the wood eventually for building the ship and we might as well start sooner rather than later.”

“I agree,” Maglor said, “and I’m sure Denethor does as well. And speaking of Denethor, we should get going or we’ll be the last ones at the meeting.” The others nodded and headed out to the main hall where Denethor had asked everyone to meet once they had gotten settled. Most were already congregated in the hall when Maglor and the other ellyn arrived. Denethor came shortly thereafter accompanied by Damrod as his second. When all were gathered, Denethor spoke.

“I know that we’ve had many discussions over the last several days as to what we should do next. Some of our plans by necessity cannot be implemented immediately but others I think can be. The caves to the north need to be explored to see if we can extract any ores and the cat-creatures to the south need to be dealt with so we can live safely. I know some wish to return to Tûm Ivon and collect seeds and saplings and set up our own nursery, though we will need to find a suitable place first. The warm season is short so we need to do as much as we can in that time before winter sets in again. To that end, I think we need to deal with the cat-creatures before all else. That threat needs to be dealt with before we can concentrate on other matters.”

“To that end,” Damrod said, “I’m asking for volunteers to go with me to deal with the creatures. We will also check to see if there are any viable mines there as well.”

“How large an expedition?” Ragnor asked. “We cannot all go. That would be foolish.”

“Agreed,” Denethor said. “I think no more than six or eight should go, but Maglor, you and Arthalion have had more experience in fighting the creatures. What do you think?”

Maglor took a moment before answering. “Against those creatures I would wish for a hundred warriors at my back, but as that is not an option, I would say that ten would be better and at least half should be our best archers. The more of the creatures we can kill from a distance, the better. We’ve been lucky so far, certainly I have, but luck is a chancy commodity and cannot be relied on, except to suddenly disappear at a critical time, so we must be wise in our selection of who goes to ensure our success.”

There were murmurs of agreement all around and in the end it was decided that ten would go and six of those going were their best archers. Maglor, as a matter of course, included himself in the group, but suggested that Arthalion remain to lead the group that would be exploring the caves while the hunters were gone. He did not like it but understood the logic, for he was the only one who actually knew anything about the caves.

“When do we leave?” Sador asked.

“Sooner rather than later,” Denethor replied, “but certainly no later than a week from now. Rest up and check your weapons.”

“I will plan to lead anyone who is interested to the caves on whatever day the hunters leave,” Arthalion said and Maglor was not surprised when Glóredhel was the first to express an interest in joining him. In the end, six volunteered to go to the caves with Arthalion, all of them having some knowledge of ores and mines, though only Glóredhel could properly be considered a loremaster in the field.

Thus, the next few days were a flurry of activity and on the fourth day after returning to Mithlond, both parties were ready to leave. Maglor took Glóredhel aside to speak with her privately.

“You will take care, will you?” Glóredhel asked before Maglor could speak. “You won’t do anything foolish, will you?”

“Only if you promise the same,” Maglor said.

She gave him an arch look. “I’m not the one who feels he needs to prove himself.”

“Is that what you think?” Maglor retorted with a frown. “Would you rather I remain here or go with you to look at some caves while others risk their lives so we can live secure?”

“No, of course not, but you always seem to put yourself out in front of any danger, as if you are trying to prove something to someone or to yourself.”

“That has always been the case,” Maglor said with a wry grin. “Oh, not the proving part. I have nothing to prove to anyone, least of all to me, but I take my oath as a warrior seriously. Do not forget that once I was a leader among the Noldor. Oh, I did not style myself a king like my cousin Finrod, but I did rule a portion of our people and I took my duties as a leader seriously. This is no different. When I joined with you, I took you under my protection.”

“Rather full of yourself, aren’t you?” Glóredhel demanded somewhat angrily. “As if we needed the protection of the great Maglor.”

“Perhaps you are correct,” Maglor replied mildly. “One thing I share with others of my clan is an over-developed sense of pride and arrogance, or so I’ve been told.” He shrugged. “I cannot help it. When I joined with the Harthadrim, they became my responsibility, whether they knew it or not, or even appreciated it. Denethor, I think, understands, though I have been careful not to overstep bounds. He is our leader and I respect him for it.”

“Well, we seem to have gotten off track from our original discussion,” Glóredhel said. “You will be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you returning in worse shape than the last time you fought those creatures.”

“And I do not want to hear that you’ve managed to fall into a chasm because you were too busy looking up instead of minding where you were putting your feet.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a grin, then her expression softened and she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “The Belain go with you, my love,” she whispered and before he could respond, she fled and he stood there staring after her.

“And with you… my love,” he whispered.

“Maglor! We’re leaving.”

“Coming, Damrod,” he said and, gathering his supplies, he joined the other hunters. Everyone wished them good fortune as they set out. Maglor did not look back, afraid that if he did so, he would not wish to leave. The future lay ahead and, while it was still fraught with danger and uncertainty, it was also full of hope and, yes, even love. He knew that when he returned he would need to examine that feeling more closely and what it might mean for him and Glóredhel but for now he would concentrate on the task at hand, of helping to keep them safe so that when the day came, they would all be there to Sail.

As the hunters left the bounds of the city and headed toward the Tower Hills which they would use as a base of operation, Sador began singing a song, a spritely tune in praise of sunlight and flowers. Maglor gave the ellon a smile and joined in and soon they were all singing joyously under a fair sky.

****

Words are Quenya:

Nén Lálala Áressë: Water Laughing in Sunlight.

Násië: Amen.

Note: Maglor’s song is based on Psalm 96 (NRSV version):

Sing to the LORD a new song, sing to the LORD all the earth. Sing to the LORD, bless his name, and tell of his salvation day to day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among the people.

The literal Quenya translation is as follows:

Sing [a] new song Eru-to, sing Eru-to all the World. Sing Eru-to, bless name-his, and tell concerning saving grace-his day-from day-to. Speak glory-his among the nations, glorious deeds-his among the people.