Chapter Text
Maglor refused to leave his mother’s house, which suited Elrond just fine. Although he enjoyed meeting all his distant relatives he found them tiring and overwhelming, and Nerdanel’s home was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the palace.
The last Feanorian paced around his music room, moving boxes and muttering to himself in distress. Whatever Nerdanel and Celebrian had done to clean it had apparently displeased him. Elrond made himself at home by the fire, watching as he opened a box, then closed it again and shook his head.
“There must be some order-“
“Alphabetical, Elrond, they’ve put them in alphabetical order.”
“Is that... wrong?” It seemed like a sensible way to organize things, but it was Maglor, and he always had been a bit odd.
“Yes, Elrond, it’s all wrong. I had my own order-“
“What kind of order-“
“My own!” He shook his head, muttered something about how no one understood him, and went back to his searching. Elrond sipped his tea and glanced out the window to see Celebrian and Nerdanel working in the garden. Well, Nerdanel was working and Celebrian was happily telling her some story, waving her arms as she spoke.
At least one of Elrond’s loved ones had found peace. “You should take a break, they will still be here tomorrow.”
“Take a break for what, Elrond?”
“You must have friends you wish to see-“ Galadriel had been absolutely overwhelmed by old friends, barely able to have a moment to herself since her return.
But Maglor flinched and Elrond wished he hadn’t said anything. “I doubt I still have any,” he said quietly.
“Celebrian says that most people seem to simply avoid discussing the deeds of Feanor, rather than hating him or-“
“Exactly Elrond, they are happiest pretending that I don’t exist, and I’m not going to take that from them.”
“Then come and have tea with the Hobbits, Bilbo adores your stories.”
Maglor smiled sadly. “I am far too tired for his questions, Elrond, and besides, will Mithrandir not be there?”
“He has spoken barely three sentences to you, Ada, he is not about to pronounce your doom.”
But Maglor only shook his head.
Elrond looked out the window once again. A visitor had joined Celebrian and Nerdanel in the garden. He was tall, broad shouldered and dark skinned. The women seemed to know him, although Elrond couldn’t place him at all.
It seemed best not to let Maglor know about him, whomever he may be, not with the Feanorian in the mood he was in. “Let’s bring up some more boxes,” Elrond said, guiding his foster father from the room. Maglor would no doubt spend ages agonizing over which boxes to carry next, as if it mattered what ordered they were transported. But at least it would keep him occupied and away from windows.
He deposited Maglor in the library and grabbed the first box of music that he saw, ignored the Feanorian’s protests, and set off back to the music room by himself.
He was passing through the front hall when the door bell rang, one of Feanor’s most useful creations. Elrond, having been told to treat the place as if it were his own home, deposited the boxes on a chair and opened the door.
It was Celebrian and Nerdanel’s strange visitor, looking surprisingly at home in Feanor’s house, and Elrond offered him a bow. Something in the man’s eyes made him suspect he wasn’t dealing with an elf, but one of the Ainu, no doubt a Maiar.
“I was told I could find Kanafinwe here,” said the man. Elrond immediately liked him, not just because he was a Maia, but because there was something warm and welcoming about him. He almost reminded him of Tom Bombadil, although he decided to keep comparison that to himself.
Supposing that the Maia had already gotten past Nerdanel, Elrond nodded. “In the library.”
Despite his large and intimidating frame, standing nearly a head taller than Elrond - to be fair, most elves were taller than the Peredhel - there was something gentle about him. His tunic was light green, embroidered with flowers, and the face he had crafted for himself had a gentle age to it, like an elderly mortal. He smelled of warmth and fire, and Elrond could only imagine that he must be one of the servants of the smith Aule, perhaps someone Maglor had known in his youth.
Leaving Maglor’s music boxes - they would, despite Maglor’s constant stress, be perfectly safe in the house, even left unattended - he motioned for the man to follow him.
He was more than used to dealing with the Istari , and had long since learned that those Maiar didn’t particularly enjoy being called Lord or Sir (or at least Mithrandir hated it, and no one looked at Radaghast and thought to use any titles).
So he said nothing and waited for Maglor to be able introduce him to the man. Hopefully, the Feanorian would neither panic nor lose his temper, although either was possible.
Maglor’s back was to them when they entered, and he didn’t look as he called, “Did you bring that box back? I’ve found a better one-“ He turned and, upon seeing his visitor, dropped the box. Music sheets flew everywhere, but he barely seemed to notice that.
Maglor, whom Elrond had always assumed was just as proud and haughty as the rest of the Feanorians, did the absolute last thing he expected and bowed. Then, as if deciding that wasn’t enough, he knelt.
Elrond gaped at him.
The visitor sighed. “Kanafinwe-“
“My lord.” Maglor tucked his wounded hand in his shirt, much the same way he had when Elrond had first found him. It was a movement Elrond was coming to associate with shame.
“I am not here to pass judgment nor to bring any tidings on behalf of my kin.” At that, Maglor flinched.
Elrond suddenly found himself realizing that he might have missed the mark when he assumed the visitor was merely a Maiar.