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Chapter Text

Bungo heard the front door open and close. He hardly had time to look up from his book before Belladonna swept into the sitting room with a large basket and a disturbingly Tookish smile.

Bungo smiled back, disturbingly Tookish or not. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen Belladonna quite so delighted.

“I come bearing mushrooms,” she announced.

Bungo’s eyes locked on the basket she was flourishing. They’d be for supper of course, but perhaps just a small one now …

She knew him too well. She tossed him one even as she took a small one for herself. Her smile turned even more brilliant and just a touch wheedling. “Also, a guest.”

Bungo swallowed quickly. “A guest?” It couldn’t be a simple hobbit caller; Belladonna wouldn’t have hesitated to usher them in to either sitting room or kitchen. Unless - “Has Gandalf come back already? Why, he’s hardly been gone a month! Though he’s welcome, of course,” he tacked on hastily.

“Not Gandalf … “ she hedged.

At this point, their visitor must have grown impatient in the hall. A head poked through the door. The rest of the body followed swiftly.

Bungo gaped.

Their visitor was taller even than Gandalf, which made him quite the biggest person Bungo had ever seen. He could straighten within the room, but the top of his head brushed the ceiling.

And his height was just the easiest oddity to quantify. There was a light in his eyes such as Bungo had never seen before, a light that seemed destined for things far different than their sitting room, no matter how curiously those eyes surveyed it. There was a fire - a power - a, a something. Bungo couldn’t name it. The best he could say was that it reminded him of the one time he had seen Gandalf angry.

He also had pointed ears, which Bungo assumed meant he was an elf.

This was not at all what he had pictured when Belladonna had described her adventures.

“I found him in the woods,” Belladonna explained. “He seemed rather lost, so I tried to talk to him, only he doesn’t speak much Sindarin and doesn’t at all speak Westron, so I tried a bit of Quenya, only my pronunciation is terrible and I couldn’t remember much, so we both had to muddle through quite a lot. I think he said that something went wrong on his journey and he ended up in the wrong place, but I couldn’t quite catch what the trouble was.”

Bungo realized he was still gaping. He shut his mouth with a snap.

The movement drew the elf’s attention to him. “Hello,” he said carefully, in strangely accented Westron.

“I taught him that,” Belladonna said, looking proud of herself. “He learns very fast.”

“Hello,” Bungo said in a rather strangled voice. That would never do. This was a guest, no matter how strange, and he must be made welcome. He stood up, brushed the wrinkles from his clothes, and crossed the room to offer his hand. “Bungo Baggins, at your service.”

The elf’s eyebrows furrowed. Bungo looked helplessly at his wife.

Belladonna, thank heavens, caught on instantly. “Belladonna,” she said, patting her own chest. She held out her own hand and shook Bungo’s. “Belladonna, at your service.”

“Bungo, at yours,” Bungo said gamely, trying to ignore the absurdity of reintroducing himself to his wife.

But the elf’s brow cleared. He held out his own hand, “Feanor,” he said before echoing the rest of the words. “At your service.”

“Bungo, at yours,” he said in considerably relief, shaking Feanor’s hand vigorously.

“I thought that might do the trick,” Belladonna said in satisfaction. “I introduced myself earlier in a much cruder fashion, but now he knows both your name and the proper greeting. That should help if the neighbors show up.”

Bungo reclaimed his hand. “The neighbors,” he repeated. “Er … How long does he intend to stay?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Belladonna admitted, perching on the arm of her favorite chair. “He says he’s looking for his son, I’m sure of that much. I’m not quite sure what happened there - I think his son might have come to some mischief on an adventure and gotten rather turned about.”

This was commonplace enough for a Took and not at all in the normal way for a Baggins. Bungo had certainly never thought of elves as being at all akin to the Baggins clan, but it was still rather startling to think them similar to Tooks.

“So he’ll be wanting to be getting on with that then?” He shot a look at the elf and wondered what he was making of all this. But Feanor didn’t look at all frustrated, just intensely interested, like he was puzzling out the language even as they spoke.

“I’m sure he does,” Belladonna agreed. “Only - he didn’t have any supplies when I found him, and as I said, he barely has any Westron. And I don’t know quite how long it’s been since his son set out, I’m sure I must have misunderstood that part, but I don’t think a week here or there will matter much at this point. I thought maybe he could stay here for a bit to take a look at my maps and learn the language a bit better.”

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the neighbors would think. “And what does he want? Er, you? What do you think?”

Belladonna relayed the question in cobbled together words and gestures.

Feanor nodded decisively and said something in the flowing tongue Bungo had heard his wife singing in sometimes.

“He’s very eager to see his son,” Belladonna reported, “but he has little idea where to look and thinks some preparation would be wise this time.” She frowned. “I suppose that implies there was a last time. I wonder what happened then.” She shrugged this off and smiled at him winningly.

Bungo floundered for an objection, and then caught himself firmly when he realized what he was doing. Feanor was a guest and was owed hospitality. His staying here would make his wife very happy. The neighbors would just have to mind their own business for once.

“I shall start up supper if you’ll prepare the guest room for him,” he offered, shooting a glance at the almost forgotten mushrooms. “Although I don’t suppose he’ll fit on the bed.”

Belladonna’s smile was brilliant. She hopped off her chair and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Bungo! I knew you’d be alright with it. And I’m sure the bed will do well enough; it always does for Gandalf.” She hurried away to prepare the room.

Bungo sighed and picked up the basket. “Mushroom?” He held one out to Feanor reluctantly.

Feanor shook his head decisively.

It appeared they wouldn’t have to split the mushrooms three ways after all. Bungo’s spirits lifted considerably.

(A week later, Feanor was the talk of the Shire and had already learned enough Westron to realize it. Consequently, when the door was knocked on yet again, he thought he might as well be the one to answer it. Perhaps if whoever it was got a good look at him from the start, they wouldn’t insist on coming in.

He pulled the door open with perhaps slightly more than necessary force. A harried old man in grey, considerably taller than Feanor had expected, stood outside of it.

Then Feanor saw beneath the shell.

He was comforted by the fact that the Maia’s shock was at least the equal of his own.)

Chapter Text

Faced with an unexpected and unwanted Maia, Feanor followed his instincts.

He slammed the door.

Unfortunately, it appeared the old man was used to this reaction to his presence because he swung his staff out so that it was firmly wedged between the door and the wall, holding it open a crucial inch.

Feanor was faced with the indignity of either standing there firmly trying to hold the door closed or with opening the door he’d just slammed in the Maia’s face.

Neither of those options were appealing. Nor were they likely to help him evade capture long enough to find his son.

“Open the door,” the Maia commanded.

Feanor did not really feel at all inclined to do so.

Belladonna chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen to see what all the noise was about.

“Who is it?” she whispered. “Should we pretend we’re not home?” It was only then she noticed the stick in the door. “Oh, Gandalf!” she cried, much louder. “Back already? It’s alright, you can open the door,” she told Feanor. “He’s rather grumpy, but he’s a good soul underneath.”

Feanor was not particularly convinced by this, but it was an excuse to end the stalemate in a way that didn’t involve a battle of wills that might level Bag End, so he reluctantly opened the door.

Gandalf stood on the other side. Massive eyebrows were scrunched together dangerously, and the staff in his hands was very identifiable as a weapon.

“I knew there was some disturbance brewing here, but I hardly expected to find this,” he said. “How came you here, Feanaro?”

“Even Mandos’s Halls could not hold me forever,” he said. He had little fear of Gandalf finding the source of his escape. Those who knew of his work would expect metal or gems; the deceptively innocent looking tea cozy he’d tucked into a drawer in the hobbits’ kitchen blended in with the Shire far more than he did.

Three steps to the kitchen, two steps to the drawer. How quickly could he escape with it, if it came to that?

“Hold you?” Belladonna frowned. “Do you mean you were being kept somewhere you didn’t wish to be? You never mentioned that before.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows rose. “Do you not know whom you shelter, Belladonna Took?”

“Baggins,” she corrected primly. “And he introduced himself very politely once we started to get the language issue straightened out a bit. Feanor, son of Finwe, of the Noldor, which as best as I can tell are a type of elf that’s something like a cross between a dwarf and a Took.”

Feanor was not quite sure what to make of that last bit. Gandalf looked exasperatedly fond.

“Hobbits,” he muttered before saying, “Be that as it may, he is certainly not supposed to be here now. He must go back West.”

Feanor backed away. “I will not go willingly.”

“Come now, Gandalf, he’s looking for his son,” Belladonna pleaded. “Can’t it wait, just for a little while longer? You could go with him if you’re worried about him being out there alone.”

Gandalf hesitated.

Feanor was not at all eager to take a Maia along; the last thing he wanted was to lead one to his son and get Maglor imprisoned with the rest, but if he had the device with them … Gandalf might look askance at a tea cozy, but surely he would not suspect it of holding any great power.

“I seek no trouble in these lands,” Feanor said stiffly. “I only wish to find Makalaure. Then I will very willingly return West.” To free the rest of my family.

Gandalf looked somewhat doubtful, but he gave in with a long sigh. “Very well. I shall accompany you on this quest.” He turned to Belladonna. “And you? Will you come with us to keep the peace?”

“Oh!” Her hands flew up to her mouth. “Oh, dear, I don’t know. I should dearly like to help, of course, and I would like another little adventure, but … “

Bungo peaked his head out from the kitchen. “Belladonna, dear? Tea’s ready now - oh! Gandalf’s come again! No use standing in the door like that, come in, come in. I’ll lay out another spot for tea.” He hurried to do just that.

Feanor had seen too many couples parted at the crossing of the sea, but he would prefer not to travel with Gandalf alone, and he was fond of both hobbits. “Perhaps Bungo would consent to go with us as well?”

Gandalf ducked under the doorframe and finally entered the home. His eyebrows nearly reached his hair. “A Baggins on an adventure?”

“It isn’t as if it shall be a particularly dangerous adventure, I shouldn’t think,” Belladonna said slowly, obviously warming to the idea. “And Bungo likes his walks, and this is practically a search party, and those are quite respectable … Yes, why not?” She ran back to the kitchen, a bright smile already anticipating agreement.

Feanor and Gandalf were left to regard each other for a slightly awkward, silent moment.

The disapproval on Gandalf’s face slowly faded into something more thoughtful, even curious. “The first to break out of Mandos’s Halls. Well, well.” He sighed. “Someday you really must show me how you did it.”

Feanor thought of the confection of pink and green currently folded into a cupboard drawer. “Some things,” he said, “are more impressive as mysteries.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Belladonna said cheerfully as she finished pouring the tea. “Where do we start?”

Her collection of maps was spread over the kitchen table, with particular emphasis to those that showed the coast, as that was their best guess for where Feanor’s son was.

“I do not know,” Feanor confessed. He didn’t sound like he said those words often. “I’ve never even laid eyes on this coast.”

“I am not even truly convinced that he walks these shores,” Gandalf said doubtfully. “To speak truth, until you arrived and said otherwise, I assumed that he had long ago gone to Mandos’s Halls.”

“No,” Feanor said grimly. “He was spared that, at least.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows came together rather alarmingly in a manner that normally preceded a rebuke, which Belladonna rather doubted their other guest would take kindly. She intervened hastily. “Bungo? What do you think?”

“Oh, dear,” he said helplessly. “Well, I’m rather out of my depth here, you know, but this is rather a search party, as you said, and I can’t help thinking that when your young cousin went missing, we ended up finding her when her friend - Daisy, was it? - when her friend mentioned how much she’d wanted to climb that old tree down by the bridge, and sure enough, there she was at the very top. I don’t suppose there’s anyone else we could ask?”

“There are few indeed who look kindly on my house now. I doubt he has any he feels he may confide in on these shores,” Feanor said heavily.

“There may yet be one,” Gandalf said slowly. “I know Elrond searched for him for many years. He might, at the very least, have some information on where we need not bother to look.”

“Elrond?” Feanor looked startled.

“I suppose he was rather after your time. Idril’s grandson might be a more useful description - “

“I know perfectly well who he is, thank you,” Feanor interrupted. “Mandos liked to keep me updated on the damage brought about by my Oath. Fingon spoke better of the incident, but I was unsure how much of that was his rather singular optimism.”

Gandalf’s mouth twitched. “In this case, at least, I believe it was not misplaced. Elrond is also rather singular, in his case for his attachment to your eldest sons. I suspect he will be willing to help us, or at least to make the attempt.”

“It’s settled then,” Belladonna said brightly. “Elrond’s it is! Every quest ought to begin at Rivendell, I think, it’s such a nice destination, so that’s all right and proper. And you’ll finally get to meet him, Bungo!”

Bungo nodded firmly. “I’d best get started on the provisions, then. We won’t want to get hungry on our way.”

Gandalf shook his head fondly. “Hobbits.”

His eyes sharpened slightly when Feanor volunteered to help pack said provisions, though Belladonna couldn’t imagine why. Feanor had never been anything but a courteous houseguest, and she didn’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to help pack the provisions, anyway. It was the best way to get a say in what got packed.

It was a good thing Feanor volunteered too, or else she might have forgotten to return his tea cozy, and it was such a lovely thing that it would have been a terrible shame.

The Last Homely House was always open to any friendly visitors, but Elrond had to admit that he hadn’t been anticipating these.

He’d led them in to a private room near the center of the house where they were unlikely to be disturbed and where his guests could recover from their travels in comfort. It seemed the best thing to do, given that he could only guess what catastrophic events could have led to this unexpected party forming.

He hadn’t been precisely expecting Mithrandir, but given the Grey Pilgrim’s wandering ways, he never precisely expected him, which meant he always expected him in a more general way. The two hobbits, while certainly not anticipated, were not outside the realm of possibility; he had met Mistress Belladonna before, and while she had expressed her intention to leave her adventuring ways behind when she last left Rivendell, she would not be the first to leave that intention behind. Master Bungo’s addition to her adventures was sensible when viewed in a certain light, and Elrond was delighted to meet him.

It was the inclusion of Feanor in the party that made Elrond wonder if Dagor Dagorath was upon them rather earlier than expected.

The light of the Trees blazed from the ancient elf’s eyes more strongly than Elrond had ever seen. Power and heat radiated off him, and while he had so far been nothing but courteous, there was a tension between him and Mithrandir that suggested his time amongst the dead had not softened him toward the Valar and their servants. If the Valar had released him anyway …

Elrond exercised patience with more difficulty than he’d had for years as he let his guests get settled into their chairs and partake of refreshments before finally turning to Gandalf and asking, “Is the end of days upon us then?”

Bungo choked on his cake and had to be vigorously pounded on his back by Belladonna. “End of days? I thought we were a search party!”

“Has my presence becomes such an ill omen as all that?” Feanor asked with dark humor sparking in his eyes.

Mithrandir sighed. “It has been suggested by some that you would be released to fight in the final battle.”

“Really? Well, I wish someone had told me about it. I could have been preparing … Regardless, I have not been released, so you need not fear that battle just yet.”

“I found him in the woods,” Belladonna piped up, with one last concerned look at Bungo. “And then I took him home, of course, because he was dreadfully lost, and luckily Bungo didn’t mind, so he stayed with us for a bit until Gandalf showed up and said he’d escaped from somewhere, though I still don’t quite understand all of that bit.”

Feanor had escaped from the Halls of Mandos. Of course he had.

“The Valar had nothing to do with it,” Mithrandir confirmed, his voice growing dry. “The exact sequence of events is as of yet unknown to me, but I do know that the Valar are for once as confounded as the rest of us.”

“I weep for them,” Feanor said with even greater dryness. “Though if they paid even a modicum of attention to what their prisoners were getting up to, they would know perfectly well what I was up to - and I wouldn’t have had to be getting up to it, as they would not have left my sons to go slowly mad in solitary confinement.”

Maedhros. He had not been well even when Elrond had last seen him. If things were truly so bad -

Mithrandir sighed. “The ways of the Valar are not always easily understood - “

Feanor’s eyes gained extra heat. Elrond began to grow concerned at just how far this would escalate.

Belladonna coughed a little pointedly. Elrond stepped gratefully into the momentary chagrined pause. “And how may I help?” He turned to Feanor. “If you need a place to stay as you become accustomed to the world as it is now, you are of course welcome here. Imladris is open to all.” It would cause some difficulty, no doubt, but Elrond had never turned someone who had no ill intent away before, and he didn’t mean to start now.

Feanor actually looked a little rueful. “I would ask your forgiveness for earlier. I did not come here to start an argument but to ask a favor, though a different one than you have offered, and I fear I’ve made a terrible start to it.”

“A favor?” Several possibilities warred in his mind.

“I was given to understand that you once searched for the whereabouts for my son. If you can give me any information as to his whereabouts, I would be more grateful than I can express.”

Maglor. Centuries of panic at being asked on that topic froze his mind temporarily before sense returned. He had known this was a possibility, and while Mithrandir’s presence made him reluctant to speak of it, if even Feanor considered it safe to do so, surely it was. Still - “It has been many years since I searched these shores for him,” he said carefully. “Events eventually forced me to cease. Still, if there is any aid I can give, I shall do my best. Your interest in this is, of course, entirely understandable, but may I ask how your companions became involved in this search?”

“He was our guest,” Belladonna said cheerily. “Of course we had to help.”

“Only right,” Bungo agreed with a nod.

Mithrandir sighed. “And I came along to make sure this quest ended rather more peacefully than the last one.”

“Ah.” Elrond’s mind raced. There was only one thing to do, of course, but after so long, it went against all his instincts. And how would Mithrandir react … ?

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway outside the door, and Elrond tensed. It was either someone with more strange news, which he was not at all sure he could cope with today, or it was -

“Ada?”

The beautiful voice, high with incredulity, came from the arch of the door. The choice had been taken out of his hands.

Maglor stood in the entryway, eyes locked on the blazing figure in the middle of their party, mingled terror and hope upon his face.

“I thought - I was sure I felt your mind, but how - “ the bard said, his voice for once failing him.

Feanor just shook his head, his own eyes suspiciously full.

“Many long years since you searched for him on these shores,” Mithrandir said witheringly. “Events forced you to cease.”

Elrond gave in with grace. “Many centuries,” he said serenely. “These days I generally search for him in the gardens or the Hall of Fire. And the event of finding him did rather force me to cease or else act rather pointlessly.”

Mirthrandir’s expression suggested Elrond would be hearing about this at length later, but Elrond was far more concerned with the other scene progressing at the moment.

“I’m here,” Feanor said hoarsely as he rose from his chair. “I’m here, Makalaure. I came back for you.”

“But you can’t have,” Maglor breathed. “You can’t - you can’t be real - “ He looked appealingly to Elrond.

“He’s here,” Elrond assured him. “This is real.”

Maglor’s next breath came out as a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly. “So sorry, Ada. I failed you.”

“No,” Feanor said firmly, stepping forward, but Maglor seemed not to hear. He was scrambling at the pouch at his waist that until now he’d always kept closed.

“I couldn’t fulfill your Oath, but I could - I managed this much at least, Ada - “

The light that spilled from the pouch was blinding.

“He kept it?” the wizard said in stunned amazement.

Belladonna craned her neck. “What is it?”

“It’s pretty whatever it is,” Bungo said politely, and Elrond nearly choked.

He had known Maglor had kept it, safely insulated so that it would not burn. Its burn was not so keen now as it once was, though Maglor and Elrond’s views rather differed on what that meant.

Maglor reached in now barehanded and offered it to his father, ignoring whatever pain that remained. Elrond was unable to restrain a cry. The pain might have lessened, but he knew it still remained. He could see it in how the gem trembled in Maglor’s hand.

Feanor took it, and Elrond could have cursed him, but all that ill will was abruptly tossed away.

Rather literally. Feanor took the gem, but then flung it to the ground without even looking at it, instead embracing his son.

“You’re here,” he said. “I found you. That’s treasure enough.”

Chapter Text

Mithrandir insisted that Feanor, at least, must now return to Aman.

His father, much to Maglor’s surprise, had agreed.

But even Mithrandir would not insist on setting out for the Havens while night drew near, so for one night, at least, they would stay.

Which was how Maglor had found himself here, looking up at the stars by the side of a pool deep in the gardens with his father beside him.

“Have you been happy here?” his father asked.

Maglor considered this. His mind felt settled now, far more so than it had in a long, long time. “As happy as I could be,” he said with a shrug. “Happier than I deserved.”

His father drew in a breath sharply, and Maglor hurried on.

“I worried about you and the others. If the Oath would have - “ He cut himself off. “Now that I know, it’s - I’m happy. Happier than I thought I’d ever be again.”

“I’m sorry,” his father said quietly.

Maglor shook his head. “We all made our own choices.”

“We did,” his father conceded, “but one of mine was asking you to follow me. I’m asking you not to, this time. Let what I’m about to risk fall on me alone.”

“You’re not going back because of Mithrandir,” Maglor realized, and it didn’t surprise him at all. “You’re going back for the others.”

“I am. I wish I could stay longer, but - “

“But they need you more,” Maglor finished, and he thought of the half-finished argument he’d caught fragments of between Mithrandir and his father of exactly what value Mandos’s Halls were. “I could help you,” he offered.

“Help me by staying safe,” his father said. “And by watching over what remains of our family here.”

Maglor could push. He thought, if he did, he might convince his father.

But Elrond had made a very strong point all those centuries ago that he wanted Maglor here, and Elrond had been left so many times before. If this was what his father wanted too . . .

He didn’t bother asking his father to be safe. He knew that was a hopeless cause.

“Give the others my love,” he said instead.

“I will,” his father promised, and that would have to be enough.

The next morning, they all gathered in the courtyard to see the departing party off. The hobbits were packed to go too, though Belladonna had grumbled a little about Gandalf rushing them off so soon. She didn’t see why there to had be quite so much haste; Feanor hadn’t been causing all that much trouble that she could see.

But if they must, they must. She noticed Feanor was tugging at something in his pack when the farewells were over, and she turned to him with recovered cheer. “Do you need help?” she offered.

He smiled at her. ‘I think I have it now.” He pulled out his tea cozy, of all things, and turned it over slowly in his hands. “Thank you, Mistress Baggins,” he said, and she suddenly didn’t think it was just for the offer of help. “For everything.”

“Any time,” she said, blinking, because it sounded as if he was saying farewell, but surely -

He twisted the tea cozy in his hands, and then he was just - gone.

“Oh,” she said faintly.

“I’ve never seen a tea cozy do that before,” Bungo said from behind her, sounding vaguely alarmed. “You don’t think they’re all hiding the ability, do you?”

Gandalf, whose eyebrows had risen thunderously, threw back his head and began, rather helplessly, to laugh.

(Eventually, of course, the war comes and no one is safe. By the end of it, Maglor sees a weariness on Elrond’s face that says all too clearly that he has been worn too thin by this.

“You have to sail,” he says quietly when it becomes plain that it is this or fading.

“I know,” Elrond admits and then says, “Will you - ?” before catching himself and refusing to go further.

“I’ll come,” Maglor says anyway, because he doesn’t know what they’ll find in the West, what chaos may have erupted after his father’s return. He will not leave Elrond to face it alone.

And he has wondered for too long. He needs to know. To see for himself what has happened without him.

Dreams haunt him all through the voyage. His family cast into the Void at last. Aman itself erupting into endless war. The Halls of Mandos cracked open and something dreadful seeping out -

They are still doomed, after all. Whatever they find, Maglor doubts it will be good.

Which is why it feels like a dream of another sort entirely when at last they dock, and a crowd of familiar faces await them.

Maglor is pulled into the press of brothers and cousins and all those people he never dared dream he’d see smiling like this again.

He doesn’t know how his father did it - how such an escape from doom could have been possible, much less accepted enough to be flaunted openly on a public harbor - but at least for this moment, he doesn’t care.

Then a pair of arms tug him out of the general press, and he sees Aranel.

Aranel, standing there, smiling at him, as if no time had passed at all, and they were still in Tirion, laughing together against the world.

She flies into his arms, and he clings to her tightly, trying to figure out a way to never, ever, have to let go.

“You brought Elrond!” she says in delight as she looks over his shoulder, and he laughs because of all the things he expected her to say about that, this delight isn’t it. “You’ll have to introduce me as soon as you can.”

“I will,” he promises, still scarcely daring to believe this isn’t a dream.

“I almost had a child to surprise you with, you know,” she adds a moment later, and he almost chokes. “You got a new nephew instead, though, and that’s almost as good.”

He’s going to need an explanation for that.

Later, though. For now, he’s happy enough to just keep his arms around her and dream of never letting go.)