Chapter Text
Ára laughed cheerfully as Huan loped past them with Aredhel perched atop his back and Tyelko chasing after the two of them, yelling at his traitorous hound and thief of a cousin.
Aredhel was cheered on by her brothers and son, Tyelpë and Lómion on the opposite side of Ára. The three of them painted a rather comely picture together; three cousins of the same generation reunited despite the sins of their forefathers, quite literally in their circumstances. Still cheerful, the three rose up, giving small waves to their parents as they wandered off. It likely had something to do with the projects they had been so focused on.
Maglor’s immediate family was to his left in their own groups. Curufin and their father were debating heavily over some linguistic drift that had affected a smithing project of some kind with their mother speaking up and keeping them on track. Maedhros had his head bent together with Ambarussa and Findekáno, likely plotting some mischief if the looks thrown at Turukáno and his tied-together boots were any indication. Moryo sat under a shade for his sensitive skin, his birthmark standing out even more due to the sun he had been under, calmly weaving a beach blanket of green, blue, grey, and white.
“Are you happy, Atto?”
Maglor looked up and smiled at Elrond, feeling his heart warm as he met the gaze of his younger son. “I am, yónya, I am so happy. I never dared to hope that we could share this happiness.” He paused, glancing around once more. “Where are your sons?”
Elrond sighed, sounding much like Nerdanel when she had tried to wrangle her own sons. “Most likely causing more mischief with Thranduilion now that he is visiting.”
“Is that why I saw Laurefindil, Ecthelion, and Erestor covered in mud and rushing off into the forest?”
Elrond turned to face Turgon, who was now peering around Elenwë, Idril, and Tuor. “Aye, your twice-great grandsons likely disappeared on a hunt to starve off the vengeance that the lords will enact upon them.”
Turgon sighed, shaking his head, “Ai, they have inherited Irissë’s penchant for mischief then.” He rose to his full height, automatically bending to help his wife up, only to stumble and fall over his tethered together feet. “What—?”
Findekáno and Ambarussa started to cackle as Maedhros ducked his head to hide his chuckle. Turgon spluttered as he glared at his brother and cousins.
“Ambarussa! Findekáno!”
“What did I miss, Atto?”
Maglor lifted his head to meet Ára’s gaze and blinked, suddenly all the differences the passage of time had made were much more noticeable. She was older, her hair slightly longer (noticeable even when pulled back at least), and wearing a smithing apron that she had likely stolen from one of her favorite cousins. The lightning scar that Voldemort had once slashed open had long since faded, but the marks carved by Bellatrix Lestrange still traced his daughter’s face. Once again, Maglor felt something in his fëa ease as he was reminded that all of his children were with him here in Valinor. He was so blessed, and unbelievably happy.
“Where did you disappear to, dearest?”
She grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “To check on Eönwë’s gift in the forge. Nothing exciting. So, what did uncles Ambarussa do this time?”
“They decided that Turuk needed his shoes tied together.”
Ára laughed, delighted. She did that often now, noticeable after the forced silence her injured throat had enacted on her randomly for years after the battle against Voldemort.
“Will you visit your friends across the sea soon? I believe Luna and Ginny will be celebrating their eighty-ninth birthdays in a month or so.”
His daughter grinned at him. “Yes. It will be good to see them. I’ll stay for the celebrations, visit some other friends, and make sure the others’ graves are clean.”
“Is it easier to bear their losses now?”
“Yes,” Ára nodded, smile turning bittersweet, “still painful, but bearable. It helps that their legacies and memories are still remembered and passed on.” Her smile turned into an amused grin, “Especially the twins’ shop.”
Maglor sighed, shaking his head. “You need to stop bringing their prank supplies to Ambarussa, especially now that Legolas is here to encourage Elrond’s sons. Any other plans for the Wizarding World while you visit?”
“I want to check on Scorpius, see how he’s doing after Draco’s passing. Last I heard he had a new granddaughter, Leon and Dahlia decided on Serena.”
“That will be good for him, and you I should think. Will you visit Numenor at all?”
“Yes. Celebrimbor wanted to see if Manwendil and Tindómiel had found any land for him to build an order of smiths. He was thinking of naming it Mírëopelë, or perhaps Caras Gelebren.” (Jewel-town and Silver Bastion in Quenya and Sindarin respectively; I borrowed these names from The Lord of the Rings Online.)
“What if there is no land in Numenor?”
“He was thinking about opening Formenalta to more than the Ñoldor, but he understands how apprehensive many could be due to its past.” (Northern Radiance, the radiance coming from polished metal or water.)
“True, though with how well Tyelpë has rebuilt it one can hardly tell it was an exile town, much less Formenos.”
Ára hummed. “I want to explore the ruins of Gondor and Hobbiton while I’m there. I’ll be visiting Thranduil and Celeborn after that, a small journey. Legolas misses his father and asked me to deliver some letters for him. Galadriel is much the same for her husband and wants me to tell him that his visit with his cousin has ended.”
Maglor nodded, his younger cousin had never been the fondest of her husband’s kinsman, and found it stupid how long he had remained in Arda. She, Celeborn, and Legolas were all trying to convince the King of Mirkwood to come to Valinor. Celeborn and Legolas had proven more successful than Artanis, but the Elvenking refused to make the journey until his beloved reembodied.
“Will that be all, then?”
“For this visit.”
Ára turned her gaze in the direction of the piers and docks. The pair was content to allow a comfortable silence to encase them.
“Lauriëára?”
“Yes, Atto?”
“I believe that I have done two great things in my life. The first was taking in the twins after the attack on the Havens. The second was finding you on the beach and naming you as my own all those years ago.”
Lauriëára Ingólefinwendë Magloriel, born Harriet Lily Potter, daughter of James and Lily Potter and the minstrel Maglor Fëanorion, only daughter of the line of Fëanor of the House of Finwë, Half-Elven, Song-Caster, and Magic-Gifted smiled. Her joy was a palpable thing, she seemed to shine brighter than her grandfather’s jewels and the Trees they had been born from and borne in turn.
“I believe that you were one of the best things to ever have happened to me, Atto. I have never been happier than when you called me daughter and gave me my name.”
And, under the Light from the Trees of Valinor, Maglor Fëanorion and Lauriëára Magloriel lifted their voices in Song and sang the Noldolantë. They Sang of the Revolt of the Ñoldor with much reference to the Kinslayings in despairing lamentation, and how their people had redeemed themselves. They Sang the narrative of their people that had come to an end as a new Age had blossomed.