42: Máhanaxar

In the end, even Estel was not interested in leaving the mallorn to go exploring.

“We can do that afterwards,” he said with a shrug when Maglor, now calm, asked him if he wished to go into Eldamas now that the Elder King had given them his permission. Maglor exchanged a knowing smile with Glóredhel.

Thus, as the night deepened, the Harthadrim wandered the halls of the mansion in small groups or remained in the mallorn quietly discussing the visit by the Valar.

“And it wasn’t all of them,” someone commented, “only eight.”

“The eight most powerful,” another pointed out, and more than one contemplated what that might mean, that even among the Valar there were different levels of power and they were not all considered equal in that regard.

Maglor, for his part, felt restless, but like the others had no inclination to leave the mansion. Instead he wandered through the halls with Glóredhel by his side, stopping to admire the trees holding up the roof or the fountains that graced various ‘rooms’ which were set off by screens of vines that parted when one approached them. Most of the rooms were empty except for the occasional pool or fountain. When Glóredhel commented on this, Maglor shrugged.

“You saw how Lord Manwë called forth a chair for himself. The Valar and Maiar are able to manipulate matter in such a way as to cause things to appear and disappear. I suspect that if Lord Oromë or Lady Vána need anything, they just cause it to exist and when it is no longer needed, they cause it not to exist.” He flashed her a smile. “Saves on housekeeping, if nothing else.”

She laughed, playfully punching him in the arm.

At one point they wandered down a dim hall lit by a single crystal lantern. Maglor pointed to it. “Estel’s lamps, I think, are lovelier, don’t you?”

Glóredhel smiled. “You’re merely prejudiced, dear. Estel’s lamps are indeed lovely, but I think he has much to learn. Do you think when all this is over we can convince Lord Aulë to take him on as an apprentice?”

“Oh, I’m sure my brother will be more than happy to.”

They turned around to find themselves facing a smiling Oromë, who gestured for them to follow him. Maglor resisted a sigh as he and Glóredhel complied. They did not go far, merely to a branching of the hall and then a wall of vines parted and they found themselves in a small courtyard that was open to the sky full of stars. A fountain plashed merrily in the center and a small table was set up with three chairs to one side of it. Oromë was pouring wine into goblets when Maglor and Glóredhel came inside.

“Sit and have some wine,” Oromë said, taking his own seat.

The two Elves complied, though Maglor did not bother to take up the goblet before him. Oromë raised an eyebrow and there was the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“You were always a polite little elfling, Macalaurë. What happened?”

Maglor stood up and glared at the Vala. “You know damn well what happened, my lord!” he fairly shouted, then stalked away, not caring if Glóredhel followed him or not, just wanting to get away from everything and everyone.

“Maglor, stop being an ass and get back here,” Oromë commanded, speaking in Sindarin. Even as the Vala was speaking, vines rustled among the trees surrounding them and before Maglor knew it, several of them were blocking his path. “Now come and sit and have some wine. It’s Dorwinion, by the way.”

Maglor turned around and gave the Vala a surprised look. “How—?”

“How did I get my hands on Dorwinion when that part of Middle-earth no longer exists and hasn’t for yéni upon yéni?” Oromë grinned. “Actually, strictly speaking, this wine isn’t from Dorwinion, though it has been made from grapes that originated in that region. When Thranduil finally came here he brought with him some cuttings from the vineyards there and transplanted them on Tol Eressëa where they did quite well. So, let us drink to Thranduil Oropherion, who had the foresight and just plain good sense to bring the best wine ever made by Mortals to these shores.”

He lifted his own goblet and Maglor and Glóredhel joined him. Maglor took a sip and felt his eyes widen at the taste. “This is no mere wine, Dorwinion or no.”

“Well, I …um… improved on it a bit,” Oromë said with a wink. “Now enough. I wanted to speak to you about your other son, Russandol.”

Maglor cast him a wary look. “What about him?”

“Oh, fear not! I would like to take him on as an apprentice, with your permission, of course.”

“Russa is of age,” Glóredhel said. “You hardly need our permission.”

“But I do, fair lady,” Oromë said, “for what I have in mind for him, he is too young yet. I have created taurevaryari among the Eldar. In earlier times, they helped guard my Forests. Now, besides guarding the forests as well as the settlements in Hyaraman, much as the Rangers of the North or those of Ithilien protected the people living in those lands, they act as explorers of distant parts of Valinor and beyond. I think Russandol would enjoy joining them.”

“You need only ask him, my lord,” Maglor said. “Our son is old enough to decide for himself.”

“Yet, he is over young and he will perforce be living with strangers, for he would need to spend some time in my Forests among my Maiar who will train him. I never take anyone who has not seen at least a hundred years of the sun and often I prefer them to be older, but your son has lived in a much harsher environment than most who seek to join the taurevaryari. Even Hyaraman, primitive as it might be in comparison to Eldamar, is not so harsh.”

“Do you wish for him to join them immediately?” Glóredhel asked. “Would it not be better for him to wait until he has matured a bit? What, after all, is fifty years to any of us?”

“Indeed,” Oromë said with a smile, “but I felt I should approach you, his parents, first with the idea. In truth, all of you will eventually need to decide what you wish to do with your lives now that you are here. The children, especially, will need to learn to adapt themselves to their new environment. I suspect you older ones will be able to integrate yourselves more easily, since you know what life was like for you before the ice age. Estel is destined to join the Aulenduri and Míriel will certainly want to learn more of shipbuilding, either with Círdan or with Olwë’s people. The other children will need to be apprenticed to various guilds as their skills and interests dictate.”

“And the rest of us will need to resurrect old skills and interests long abandoned for survival,” Maglor said, nodding in understanding.

“Yes,” Oromë said. “Well, at any rate, I would like your permission to speak to young Russandol about joining the taurevaryari when the time comes.”

“You have it, my lord, and we thank you,” Maglor said. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I fear I am as much at sea as the others and my equilibrium is shot. I wish tomorrow would come so I can get it all over with and at the same time I hope the sun never rises.”

Oromë grinned. “Don’t think you’re the only one, my son. Now, I will leave you. Do stay and enjoy the wine.” He rose and gave them a courtly bow and then was gone.

After a moment or two of silence, Glóredhel stirred. “What do you think, my love? Do you think Russa would want to join these taurevaryari?”

Maglor shrugged. “I think it’s one option. Personally, I would like to see all the children sent to the loremasters for schooling first. You and I did our best with what we had to teach them something of our culture and history, but they need more tutoring about things that we did not bother with given our circumstances.”

“Well, it’s certainly something to think about and discuss with the others. For now, though, I think I would just like to sit here and enjoy this wine with my husband. I hope no one finds us too soon.” She gave him a suggestive look.

Maglor leaned over and gave her a kiss. “Me, too,” he whispered.

They ended up spending the rest of the night there and no one importuned them.

****

Dawn saw them climbing the stairs to the flets where they were greeted by a few people who apparently never bothered to retire.

“We wondered where you’d wandered off to,” Denethor said as Maglor and Glóredhel found their way to the dining flet where breakfast was waiting for them.

“We felt the need for some privacy,” Glóredhel said somewhat primly and more than one Elf grinned knowingly at that. Maglor ignored them.

“I’m for a bath,” he said. “I don’t think I can face food right now. Perhaps afterwards.”

“I’ll join you,” Glóredhel said, “but afterwards, I really do think you should try to eat something. I do not want you embarrassing me and the children by fainting before the Valar.”

“Yes, dear,” Maglor said with humility, giving Denethor and the others there a wink.

“We’ll save you some food,” Denethor said with a grin. “Enjoy your bath.”

Later, now bathed and dressed in a fresh tunic, Maglor was sipping on some tea and nibbling on toast when Roimendil appeared.

“If you will all come with me, I will escort you to the Máhanaxar.”

Maglor nodded and stood. “Yes. Let us not keep the Valar waiting. My dear.” He held out his hand and Glóredhel took it.

“Come along, children,” she said and the Elves followed the Maia down and out of the mansion, most of them blinking in the bright sunlight after the dimness of Oromë’s halls. They found themselves facing several Maiar, all of them wearing different colored surcoats. Maglor recognized Nyéreser and Olórin and he thought he knew one or two of the others, but the rest were complete strangers to him. Nyéreser smiled at them and greeted them.

“We meet again.”

“Why so many Maiar when we only need one to escort us?” Denethor asked with a frown, echoing Maglor’s own thoughts.

“You might consider us an honor guard,” Roimendil said. “Our masters have each sent a representative to escort you to them. It is a rare honor, I assure you.”

“Shall we go?” Olórin asked. “It’s not wise to keep them waiting, you know.”

Denethor glanced at Maglor, who nodded, then turned to the Maiar. “By all means, lead us hence.”

Surprisingly, all the Maiar bowed to them and Roimendil gestured for them to follow. The Maiar ranged themselves along the perimeter of their group and Maglor couldn’t help noticing how several people maneuvered themselves so that he and Glóredhel were in the middle of the group rather than at its head where Denethor walked with Roimendil and Olórin. He happened to catch Nyéreser’s eye where the Maia was walking along the left side and the Maia gave him a knowing smile and a wink. Somehow that simple gesture made Maglor feel, if not better, at least less tense and worried about what faced him.

“The last time I was here,” he said softly to Glóredhel, “the Valar were in council at the Máhanaxar. This was shortly after the Trees died. My brothers and I had raced from Formenos to tell atar that anatar had died.” He sighed, shaking his head. “So much darkness, and not necessarily because the Trees no longer shone.”

“It was a dark time for us all,” Nyéreser said, apparently having overheard Maglor’s words. “Some never fully recovered from it.”

By now, they had passed through the west gate made of silver and emeralds and were come to the Ezellohar, the Green Mound of the Trees. By mutual consent, they all stopped to stare in awe at the sight of the Trees. Maglor grimaced. “He should have given them the damn jewels,” he muttered harshly. “His refusal cost us too much and in the end what did it gain us except death?”

“Do not judge Fëanáro too harshly, Macalaurë,” Olórin said gently. “In spite of all, good did come of it, though I grant you that sometimes it has been difficult for any of us to see it. Yet, if you want proof, you need look no further than your lovely wife and your three beautiful children, none of whom would be here otherwise.”

Instinctively, Maglor looked to his children standing nearby and, recognizing the truth of the Maia’s words, gave them a loving smile which they returned.

“We do not have far to go,” Roimendil said quietly and when Maglor nodded they all continued on their way past the Mound and toward the Ring of Doom with its fourteen thrones. They stared in wonder at the sight, for the thrones were not built with Elves in mind. But beyond the thrones themselves, they could see that many Elves were gathered there. Maglor saw Arafinwë and Olwë and their respective spouses and he thought he could see Finrod and his sister, but there were so many crowding about the thrones that it was difficult to tell. He pointed to one Elf in particular standing a little apart.

“There’s Ingwë, the High King of all the Elves,” he said.

A space had been made between two of the thrones and the Maiar brought them into the Ring itself. The thrones were empty, though, for the Valar had not yet made their appearance. While they were waiting, Maglor took the time to tell them which throne belonged to which Vala, patently ignoring the Elves standing in the spaces between them. The fourteen Maiar who had escorted them drifted away to stand with the Amanians. Maglor had no doubt that if any Elf so desired to enter the Ring without permission, these Maiar would be there to stop them.

The Amanians, for their part, stood quietly, some whispering to their neighbors. Maglor saw Ingwë speaking to two whom he recognized as the High King’s twin sons, Ingwion and Ingalaurë. Even as he was identifying people he recognized to the others around him, Eönwë appeared, standing beside Manwë’s throne.

“The Elder King’s Court commences,” he announced loudly. “Let all be done with due reverence.”

There was suddenly a flurry of multicolored lights that blinded them all and when the light dimmed to something more normal, the Valar were standing before their thrones in all their majesty. Every Elf gave them their obeisance as the Valar took their seats and Manwë greeted them.

“Be welcome all of you,” he said gravely, nodding to the three High Kings. “Today is a day of doom, long awaited by many. First, we wish to welcome the Harthadrim to our shores. They have endured much hardship in the long years of their exile and we commend you for your perseverance. Lord Denethor, in the days to come, thou and I will sit together and discuss how best thou and thy people can be integrated into Amanian society. I know that all of you wish to know the fate of kith and kin who have come here before you and I assure you that in due time you will be reunited with them. For the moment, however, we have other business that needs to be addressed.” He paused for a brief moment before speaking again. “Macalaurë Fëanárion, quit hiding and come forth.”

Maglor raised an eyebrow at the Elder King’s tone and stepped forward as people made way for him, giving Manwë a brief, though respectful bow. “Hardly hiding, my lord,” he said with a sardonic smile. “My friends just feel a need to protect me.”

“And very commendable of them, I am sure,” Manwë said with a smile. “But you hardly need protection even from us. I would ask that all of you come stand here beside Olórin except for Macalaurë.”

More than one of his friends and family started to protest but Maglor shook his head. “No, do as Lord Manwë bids,” he commanded.

Reluctantly they did so, Glóredhel and his children giving him kisses before leaving the Ring to stand with the others. Manwë gave them an encouraging smile but then his expression became more distant and he looked up and across to Námo. “Read the charges, Morimando.”

Námo rose and gave Manwë a bow, then straightened. Maglor automatically turned to face him.

“Macalaurë Fëanárion, iNossë Finwëo, thou standest accused of the following: First that thou didst knowingly and with forethought speak the Oath which thine atar spake….”

As Maglor listened to the charges, never taking his eyes from Námo, who in turn never took his eyes from him, he was reminded of when his atar had stood in the selfsame place listening to the charges held against him. He recalled his atar’s arrogant and lordly manner before the Valar, his refusal to acknowledge that what he had done was wrong and that he had played into Melkor’s hands, though Maglor knew that Fëanáro had never held council with that one. Even then, under the benevolent Light of the Trees, his atar had sown their doom with his intransigence. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his mind of such thoughts and concentrated on Námo’s words.

“… and these deeds were unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. How dost thou plead?”

“Guilty on all accounts,” Maglor answered without hesitation, his back straight.

Murmurs rose among the spectators and Maglor wondered if most of them had thought to see him grovel and plead extenuating circumstances or just brazen it out as his atar had done and almost smiled at the thought that he was ruining their anticipated entertainment. Námo must have caught a glimmer of his thoughts, for the Vala actually did smile, though few made note of it. Maglor only saw because he was still staring directly at the Lord of Mandos.

“Are there any here who would speak on Lord Macalaurë’s behalf?” Manwë asked and as Námo sat, Maglor turned to face the Elder King. “No, my children,” Manwë said kindly to the Harthadrim, all of whom looked ready to volunteer to speak. “I know that you would plead for Lord Macalaurë and we may hear from you later, but I would give those who reside here an opportunity to speak on his behalf first, if there are any who wish to do so.”

He glanced about the Ring and for a long, interminable moment, there was naught but silence and Maglor resigned himself to the fact that there were none there, other than the Harthadrim, who would speak for him. Then, there was a slight commotion to his right and people began parting to let others through and he saw three people step forward. He gasped in shock, recognizing them, and felt the blood draining from him. He thought he might faint or weep or do something equally humiliating as he stood there slightly swaying. Almost immediately, Lady Estë was beside him, placing a cool hand on his forehead and the darkness that had threatened to engulf him receded and he felt himself breathing normally. He looked up at her and she smiled gently, giving him a pat on the shoulder before returning to her throne.

“Lord Eärendil of Aewellond,” Manwë said in greeting. “Wouldst thou speak?”

The Mariner bowed to the Elder King, then turned to face Maglor, who stared in wonder at the Silmaril that graced the ellon’s head. He tensed at the sight, wondering if the Oath would be awakened by proximity to the jewel, but when no siren’s call echoed in his soul, he relaxed slightly. Eärendil, for his part, did not speak immediately, but he and Elwing and their son, Elrond, crossed the intervening space to stand before him.

“Thank you,” Eärendil said softly.

Maglor gave him a quizzical look. “For what?”

“For taking care of our sons when we could not,” the Mariner replied.

Maglor snorted in derision. “If it hadn’t been for my brothers and me, you would not be standing here thanking me for anything.”

“Perhaps,” Eärendil averred, giving him a slight smile, “but you could have done elsewise. You could have abandoned them as my beloved’s brothers were abandoned.”

Maglor flinched, remembering the heated argument he and Maedhros had had about that. “We looked for them, but never found them,” he whispered, not looking at Elwing standing serenely between husband and son.

“It matters little now,” she said, “for they were eventually reborn and thrive. But I would add my thanks to those of my lord. I am grateful that there was someone who could look after our children when we could not.”

“Even if he was your atar’s murderer?” Maglor asked harshly.

“And were you?” Elwing asked, seemingly unfazed by his words.

Maglor shrugged. “In truth, I do not know who slew Dior. I remember little of that slaughter. By then I was sick of it all and just wanted to disappear. I think I even wanted to die and was hoping someone would do me the favor of spilling my guts, but of course, that didn’t happen.” He looked at Elrond, standing beside his parents and gave him a tremulous smile. “And considering how you and your brother worked so hard coming up with ways to kill me, I still don’t know how I managed to survive.”

Elrond actually laughed. “Not for lack of trying, I assure you, Ada Maglor. Believe it or not, some of my fondest memories are of you eluding one of our traps and then calmly telling us what we had done wrong and how the trap should’ve been set.” He laughed again. “Elros and I were totally confused by your behavior, for we were sure you would punish us for what we were doing, yet you never did. I think that, more than anything, convinced us that you were not as evil as we originally thought.”

Maglor could only nod. “I am glad that you have finally been reunited with your parents. I did not wish to give you up to Gil-galad, but I think, in the end, it was best for all concerned.”

“When this is all over, you will have to come visit us in Aewellond,” Eärendil said.

“Perhaps,” Maglor said, not wishing to commit himself to anything just yet. Eärendil seemed to understand and just nodded. Elwing gave him a light kiss on the cheek, but Elrond actually hugged him, much to his surprise, for even as an elfling Elrond had not been very demonstrative. He hugged his foster son back and when they separated they both had tears in their eyes.

All this time, the Valar and the Elves looked on in silence. Eärendil and Elwing bowed to Manwë. “Thank you , my lord, for indulging us,” Eärendil said before he and Elwing made their way back to where they had been standing. Elrond gave Maglor a loving smile and followed.

Manwë just smiled. “Is there anyone else?”

Again, silence settled over them and Maglor stood there feeling deflated. Even though he had been promised by the Valar that all was forgiven as far as they were concerned, he knew that for some, forgiveness would never be. Manwë turned to Eönwë.

“Read Lord Macalaurë’s Renouncement.”

Eönwë brought forth the Book of Oaths and the book opened of itself, settling upon a particular page from which he read:

“I, Macalaurë Fëanárion, confess to you who sit upon the thrones of the West and to the One who is above all thrones, that I have sinned in deed and in word most grievously in what I have done and what I have failed to do. I hereby solemnly and of my free will renounce all claims to this or any other Silmaril for all the ages of Arda that may remain and beyond. I humbly ask for your forgiveness and accept whatever punishment is my due for my crimes.”

As the Maia finished reading the words, the book closed and disappeared and Manwë spoke.

“Lord Macalaurë was given the opportunity to reclaim the very Silmaril he had thrown into the Sea but in the end he returned it to our brother Ulmo’s realm for safekeeping until the end of Arda. And as you have heard, he humbly asked for forgiveness for what he had done. That forgiveness has been granted by us and by Eru Ilúvatar and we declare that no further punishment shall be meted out to him. Lord Macalaurë is free to reside where he wishes, with whomever he wishes, though on one particular condition that pertains to all of the Harthadrim, and that is that they will reside in Lórien for a time where they will be offered a chance to rest and recover. There will also be an opportunity for them and their children to be tutored in the ways of Amanian society.” He paused and looked to where the Harthadrim were standing. “Is that agreeable to you all?”

Denethor bowed. “Yes, Lord. We are at your mercy, for we have no idea what we should do or where we should go.”

“Residing in Lórien should give you the time and space you need to decide what you wish to do with your lives,” Manwë said, then turned his attention to Maglor.

“And you, Macalaurë, do you accept this proviso?”

Maglor bowed. “Yes, Lord, I do, and I thank you for your mercy and benevolence.”

Manwë nodded. “Lord Findaráto,” he called and Maglor saw Finrod making his way forward to give the Elder King a bow. “Since this was your idea, are you willing to supervise the integration of the Harthadrim into our society?”

“Of course, my lord,” Finrod said, bowing again. He turned to flash a bright smile at Maglor. “I am looking forward to civilizing my cousin.”

“Hah!” Maglor retorted, returning Finrod’s smile with one of his own.

“Art thou satisfied with this Judgment, Morimando?” Manwë then asked formally.

Námo stood. “Yes, Calimando. The Judgment is just. Let none dispute it or seek to lay it aside.”

“Then, I declare this court adjourned,” Manwë said. “There is, however, one other matter that needs to be addressed before we depart. Arthalion, son of Mallor and Celebriel, please join Macalaurë in the Ring.”

Maglor saw Arthalion start at his name but after a moment’s hesitation, he walked to where Maglor was standing. Maglor gave him a sympathetic smile and clasped his shoulder, offering him support.

Manwë gazed upon the two gravely. “Arthalion, for a long time thou hast wondered if killing thy brother Arthad was a sin and that thou wast being punished for thy reluctance to leave in a timely manner for Mithlond, thus missing out on Sailing with the last ships. The burden of thy guilt lay heavily upon thee and still does, I imagine. Certainly, what thou didst was wrong on one level, but it was done as an act of mercy and love, and so I say to thee, that thou art guiltless of murder.”

He then nodded to Eönwë, who turned and gestured for someone to come forward. Maglor heard Arthalion gasp as an ellon with similar features as his friend stepped forth.

“Arthad!” Arthalion fairly screamed, and ignoring all protocol began running toward his brother, who in turn was running to him until they met halfway between Maglor and Manwë. The two brothers clung to one another, weeping. Maglor glanced up at Manwë who smiled at him and he smiled back.

He sauntered over to the two ellyn even as Denethor and the other Harthadrim also came toward them, surrounding the two brothers who continued to cling to one another. Amarthamíriel and her children were attempting to hug both Arthalion and Arthad at the same time. Maglor glanced at Glóredhel, giving her a knowing smile and began singing one of the lullabies he had sung to Arthalion when the ellon had first come into their lives and the other Harthadrim joined in.

Thus the Valar and the Elves of Aman were treated to the sight of the Harthadrim joyfully singing a song of welcome to one whom they had just adopted for the sake of one of their own.

****

Words are Quenya:

Taurevayari: Plural of Taurevaryar: Ranger, literally, ‘Forest Protector’ [taurë ‘wood, forest’+ varya- ‘protect’+ -r ‘gender neutral agental suffix’; cf. Envinyatar].

Aulenduri: Plural of Aulendur: ‘Servant of Aulë’, an attested word designating those individuals or families who pledge their service to Aulë and by whom they are taught.

Morimando: ‘Dark Mandos’, Námo’s title when in Judgment. Manwë’s title is Calamando ‘Light Mandos’. The names are attested.

iNossë Finwëo: ‘of the House of Finwë’.