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Chapter Text

The first time she saw him, he was one of eight, and she wondered if he was a Vala.

It was hideously clear, by then, that the orcs that had come pouring from the North in great numbers were not only raiding for slaves, food, and whatever took their fancy. Not this time. This time they had come to stay.

Her people had tried hiding at first, and that was something that long years of slave raids had taught them to do with unparalleled skill. Later, they had tried to fight: hunting spears, bows and reaping-hooks of herdsmen and farmers against the serried, armoured ranks of the enemy. They had tried to fight, and they had lost.

And then the Noldor had come crashing into Hithlum in shining armour, a host lit by many lamps and by a soft radiance that clung about them. At their head were eight bright figures with eyes that shone like stars, and the orcs fled from the hooves of their tall horses in terror, leaving their captives to weep with unexpected wonder and joy.

When the surviving chieftains of Hithlum came to meet the Noldor, the shining figures took off their high helms and called greetings in voices that were strange, but friendly enough.

In their camp upon the shores of Lake Mithrim they seemed more like people, and less like some strange power from beyond the world. She went with Annael and the others to meet with them, bearing gifts of fine-woven grey cloth, smoked duck and venison, and received as her own gift a knife of some astonishingly sharp grey metal, the hilt worked with strange shapes and set with glittering stones.

It was then that she first heard Makalaurë Fëanor’s son sing, there by the lake under the stars.

She was not entirely sure, at first, that she liked the Noldor music. It did not unfold in the way that the songs of the great singers of Mithrim did; silvery notes woven together into a complex whole. Instead, he sang alone, accompanied only by the instrument he played; a mighty voice that echoed the golden light in his eyes and spoke to the stars as if they were well-known friends. But there was no doubting the power in it, and as he sang on, a song of defiance against the shadow in the North, the vision of a land filled and overbrimming with light overcame her.

The Noldor did not stay long. Annael, Renion and Faechith, the chieftains of the great families, had hoped to persuade them to settle in the lands around the lake and form a strong defense against Angband. But Fëanor the king would not be stayed, not by any news of the power of the Enemy. He waited only long enough to learn their speech, to hear the full report of what had happened in the land of mists and the news from Beleriand before he marched out again, east through the mountains to the plains, and to what lay beyond.

*****

The third time she saw Makalaurë, he stood before his people in the starlight. His head was high and his face defiant, and as he spoke, he wept, and the tears on his face reflected the fierce light in his eyes.

The Sindar had come out to meet their new friends in their retreat back to the lake of Mithrim. So she heard the news at the same time that many of the Noldor did,  told in that great golden voice, that Fëanor the king was fallen in battle, and that his eldest son was captured. Makalaurë would stand as king of the Noldor. They would hold the land of Hithlum within the mountains, and build up strength for a new attack.

*****

The first time she spoke with him was different. No shining armour, and his voice of gold quiet and a little sad, like a weapon sheathed. She had brought in a draft of pony mares from the hills, and after she had turned them out in the big paddock for Ambarussa and some of his people to take a look at them, she turned and found that the Noldor king was leaning on the fence next to her.

“They don’t look much like war-horses,” he said to her in his oddly accented Sindarin, when she caught his eye.

She shrugged. “No. But we have no war-horses, here in Hithlum. These are the tallest that we have.”

He said nothing but tilted his head to look down at her, and raised an eyebrow. “They never needed to be,” she said, defensive. “We aren’t as tall as you, and we don’t wear armour. Our skills are in stealth, not in battle. But I think they will bear taller foals, if we bring them to your stallions..”

“Ambarussa thinks so too. I hope you’re right. I wonder, do you think any of your people might be persuaded to wear armour and to ride them, in time, if we made the armour? It’s become painfully clear to me that there are not enough of us to assault Angband alone.”

Startled, she looked back at the ponies circling the paddock in the starlight. “You can’t summon more of your people to come across the Sea to your aid?”

He scrunched up his face and laughed wryly. “There were many more that were eager to come, but... at the time, we thought this would be enough. Something of a mistake, as it turns out, but it’s too late now. We must press on with the allies that we have, and... since the Enemy holds my brother, the problem seems particularly urgent.”

She nodded with sympathy. “He holds my brother, too, I think. My father was killed, but we never found my brother’s body, and the last we knew of him, the orcs had taken him.”

He stared at her wide-eyed for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged unhappily. “If you really think the Enemy can be defeated, you’ll find many of us here in the North who have our own quarrels with him.”

“Do you think your King Thingol might aid us?” he asked seriously. “Annael thinks not, but surely if his own people are held as thralls in Angband..”

She had to laugh at that. “We’re not Thingol’s people. Not any more. He left us.for long ages to be alone with his lady-love, and when he returned, we had grown tired of kings and left to seek our own lands in freedom.”

He smiled at her. She was getting used to those disconcerting eyes. “That’s what Annael said too.”

“It doesn’t make you angry? You’re a king.”

“Not your king, though, so why should I be angry?”

This strange king-from-across-the-sea intrigued her. “Perhaps I expect all kings to be angry!”

“Angry about wanting freedom and wide lands to wander in the starlight? That’s what we wanted, too.”

“ Through sorrow to find joy; or freedom, at the least? ” she quoted the Noldor saying, trying to speak the words as his language made them.

He made a face and looked away. “That was the idea. Ironic, really, given where my...our brothers are now. Not much freedom there, nor joy... But we didn’t know about Angband then. We thought we would find our enemy, take our revenge and reclaim the Silmarils he stole. I think now it might take rather longer than we thought it would.”

The very idea that the Enemy could be defeated was intoxicating. And, though unlikely, there were still the armies that had swept the orcs from Mithrim like leaves in a stream.

“Maybe you will manage it yet. But I wouldn’t count on Thingol’s help: he thinks we can’t be trusted. That we are spies for the Enemy.”

He frowned. “A strange thought that you’d spy for the enemy who took your brother as a slave.”

“Isn’t it? But they live a very long way from Angband, in Doriath, safe behind their walls of enchantment. Annael must have told you that.”

“He did, but well... we are strangers here, in a strange land, speaking a strange tongue. I hope you’ll forgive me if I ask a question twice.”

She considered him for a thoughtful moment. “You’re a very odd king,” she said eventually. “Not that I know any other kings. But you don’t seem much like anything I’ve heard of Thingol.”

He frowned, and then shrugged. “It might be that I’m doing it wrong,” he admitted. “I never thought I’d be one, and so I didn’t do a lot of preparation. So, if I suggested to Ambarussa that some of the Sindar of Mithrim might be prepared to ride the foals that these ponies will drop one day, you think you might be one of them?”

She looked out again in the starlight at the ponies, which were standing calmly now, heads up and looking at the tall Noldorin war-horses grazing not so far away. She followed their gaze, and looked at the Noldorin horses too. They were fine, well-balanced looking beasts, with powerful necks and haunches, and they were taller than any horse she had ridden. It would be interesting to try their paces. In fact, as she looked at them in the starlight, more than interesting.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Chapter Text

The stars turned and turned, misty starlight mingling with the reflection of the lamps in the dark waters of lake Mithrim as the peoples of Mithrim, both new and old, became settled together. The Noldor had become accustomed to their new land of mist and starlight, and the servants of the Enemy had drawn back to Angband. The Elves of Mithrim could wander the hills almost in peace, as they had done long ago.  

The ponies that the Sindar had sent to the Noldor camp as gifts of thanks for aid beyond hope had foaled.  When she rode down to the lake bringing supplies from the slow, starlit woods that grew through the misty hills, it was a joy to see the foals growing up in the starlight. 

Usually she spoke of cloth, rope, food and horses with the king’s brothers, the russet-haired hunters, or the fierce laughing warrior with the hound near the size of a horse that kept pace with him always. 

But now and again she encountered the king himself; busy with the business of the camp. Busy sending patrols to watch the Enemy, keeping up the constant vigilance that held the mountains clear of the orcs and trolls, and taking counsel with the people of the land. 

A fine thing that the new allies had a leader so tireless and so grim, she thought, though they had lost both the kings that had led them here.  

*****

The new king of the Noldor might have smiled to hear himself called tireless, if it had not been that smiling was surprisingly difficult, now, and so he kept it for situations where it might improve morale. He felt very tired, though of course, one could not show it; not to anyone.  Not even to his brothers, who must have confidence that the leader of the House of Fëanor knew what he was doing. 

Rest was hard to come by. When he tried to sleep, thoughts came to him of burning ships, Father and Maitimo arguing, or Father in agony, scarred by flame and Balrog whips. Visions of Light that failed, and red battle following.  His grandfather’s body on the steps of Formenos. The wicked laughter in the eyes of the messenger that had come from Angband, demanding as the price of his brother’s freedom, that the sons of Fëanor abandon their Oath, and lead their people away into the South. His own voice, refusing. Abandoning his brother to torment in the darkness. 

One could not pay attention to those things. There was too much to do. 

He had followed Father with a high heart, to swear the Oath, to battle, and across the Sea, confident that Fëanor, who was excellent in all things, would lead them well. Confident too that his fiery, brilliant elder brother would lead them through to victory. 

And now both of them were gone, and command lay heavily upon his shoulders. 

It was becoming horribly clear that there were not enough of them. The Enemy had a mighty fortress-kingdom, filled with orcs and weapons-foundries.  The Noldor had a small cavalry force, a larger force of foot-soldiers, and the weapons and tools they had brought from Aman.  They might have the support of the Elves of Middle-earth, too, if they could arm and train them into a host that could march out to war, but would even that be enough?  Perhaps, perhaps....

Maitimo would have been in his element here, with an impossible puzzle to solve. Father might have come up with one of his sudden flashes of inspiration and brought into play some factor that they had all entirely overlooked. But his own abilities were different, and no matter the goads of guilt and duty that he laid upon his mind, he could not manage to be either his father or his elder brother. 

Through the long dim starlit night filled with training, planning, talking, building, Makalaurë strove more and more desperately to find an answer.  

He went among the Sindar, talking to Annael of Androth, Renion of the North Vale, listening patiently to Hethiel of the hills, hoping for information, some hint of weakness in their Enemy that could be exploited. 

He met with Círdan of the coast, and was thanked again for the aid that he had brought out of the West in the nick of time.  That would have been more cheering if he had any idea what to do next. 

He heard from Círdan a good deal about the mysterious Elwë Thingol, his Maia wife, and the strange new fortification that she had set up around the land of Doriath. 

“Should we send to Doriath and ask their aid?” Tyelkormo suggested at the war council. “I could go. I’ll talk him round. He was grandfather’s friend, after all.”  

“And he’s King Olwë’s brother,” Makalaurë pointed out. “I don’t think we’ll find it easy to make friends there.  Not after Alqualondë.”  The thought of Alqualondë made him uneasy, but it was done and not to be undone now.  Perhaps one day he would make a song of it.  A lament, for Noldor and Teleri fallen, beginning with a single unaccompanied voice in the Teleri manner, and then... 

“He doesn’t know about Alqualondë,” Tyelkormo said confidently, interrupting his thought. “It’ll be fine.  I’ll talk about grandfather and win his sympathy, then flatter him a bit. Surely he can’t want orcs as neighbours.” 

“We think he doesn’t know about Alqualondë. He has a Maia wife. For all we know, she is in communication with the Valar,” Curufinwë objected. 

“He hasn’t sent to us , “ Carnistir added, almost inaudibly.  He was staring gloomily at his own hands.  

“Two good points,” Makalaurë said, making sure his voice was both encouraging and confident, and saw Carnastir lift his head.  “If he knows about the battle, messengers to Doriath might not return, and we need you here, Tyelko. We won’t send to Doriath — not yet, anyway.  We’ll work on building up our forces here in the North.  We aren’t ready to assault Thangorodrim yet.  But we will be.”

Thangorodrim brooded darkly in the distance,a great three-headed shape silhouetted against the stars which seemed colder and less friendly, here in this strange land, than they had done in the distant regions of Aman. 

The council over, he walked along the lakeshore looking out at the starlight. He urgently needed to get away from everyone for a little while, to clear his head and think of music.  The light from the camp behind him shimmered on the dark water at his feet, though further out on the lake, a pale mist hung. Above, Varda’s stars glittered fiercely against the endless darkness. He had written a song once, naming many of their names, and he ran through it in his mind.  Varda might no longer be a friend, but she was the enemy of darkness, and Morgoth feared her. 

He heard splashing along the lakeshore, and then saw two dark figures against the pale lakeshimmer: horse and elf moving together through the shallow water.  The Noldor all knew perfectly well when it was wisest not to disturb Fëanor’s second-eldest son. The Sindar, presumably, did not. 

“Hello, king,” she said, with a grin.

“You say that as if you think kings are funny,” he said, annoyed. Probably he should have smiled and welcomed her — relations with the Sindar were vital, after all.  But he could not quite manage it. 

Her face became serious in turn, and she said awkwardly, “No. You looked very stern, and so I smiled, that’s all.”

He had behaved like a rude adolescent and put her off-balance. Great.  

He set himself to mend the damage and be charming.  He reached out to scratch the horse’s neck. “I didn’t mean to speak so rudely. It’s a sore point, the name of king, and so it pricked me... ‘King’ should be my grandfather or my father, or at least my brother.  He’s still alive... probably.  So it isn’t really mine, only something I’ve had to put on for a little while in his absence. I’d dearly love to give it back.”

Her smile came back, warm and honest, and he was unexpectedly touched by it.  “Were you looking for me?” he asked her.

She shook her head, long dark hair loose upon her shoulders.  “Not for you in particular. It was only that I saw you standing here alone, and... well, it isn’t very dangerous,  I suppose.  Not here beside the camp, near the lights. But my people learn early that going off alone isn’t safe.  People who do that often don’t come back.”

“So you came to make sure I was safe?  That was a kind thought.” And it had been, even if he would have welcomed a problem as simple as a few orcs to kill, just now. 

She shrugged. “Not very kind, only practical. There’s strength in numbers, that’s all. Every one lost makes us all weaker.” 

He winced.  His eyes were drawn North to the menace of Angband for a moment, and then he turned himself deliberately away again. “Let’s go back to the lights.”

******

The Noldor furnaces, some distance from the camp, blazed bright: a red light that mingled with the pale blue of their lamps. The sound of hammers rang out across the misty land, beating urgently to the sound of smiths singing songs of spear and sword, helm and plate. 

Makalaurë had announced that the Noldor would arm anyone who would come and fight beside them. Not many came, at first. The Sindar of Hithlum were cautious, wary of battle.  Unsure that victory against the Enemy could even be hoped for. 

Makalaurë told himself, his brothers, his lords (his lords! Once he had had friends, not followers) that victory was possible, and only a matter of time and hard work.  He threw himself into making them believe it, knowing that if they did not, that itself would make the task impossible. 

And, one at at time at first, then in small groups and families, the Sindar of Hithlum began to come in to pick up weapons, to train with the horses that were being raised from the mingled stock of the Mithrim hills and the tall stallions of Valinor.  Barely daring yet to believe that Angband could fall.  Remembering their fallen and their lost, and beginning to hope. 

And then the Moon rose, and with it came his half-uncle, and all his people: near twice as many as the host of the Sons of Fëanor, even if you counted the new Sindar auxiliary forces. He gave urgent orders, and they retreated across the lake, leaving the camp that his father had built.

If only they could have come as allies. But the blazing ships at Losgar had made that impossible, of course.  

Again he stood alone by the lake after another fruitless meeting with his brothers, looking out across the mist-wreathed waters. He had meant to think of music, but the music turned within his mind, and left him deep in memories of bitter arguments in Tirion. 

But now the blazing light of the new Sun lit the land, so that rolling purple hills reflected in the shining water, and Makalaurë could just see the houses and the tents of the camp on the other side.  His cousins must be there, if none of them had turned back. 

And again she came splashing along the lake-shore, a horse beside her, but she was wearing a coat with the family star upon it now, as one of his new recruits.

“Now, I recall that you had no desire to be called king,” she said, in her melodic, sing-song Sindarin, as if they were picking up their previous conversation without interruption. “But here I am with this great silver star on my jacket, and I don’t know whether that means that now I should call you king or not. A confusing matter.”

“I thought you had no time for kings?”

“I don’t. But I wouldn’t want to be rude, now would I? My Mam brought me up better than that.”

She had a sparkle in her eye that made him smile. “You can call me what you like,” he said. “At least among the Sindar. As long as you fight Morgoth, that’s all that matters there. For the Noldor, I have to be the king, or else the whole thing falls apart.”

Her eyes narrowed with mischief. “Now there’s brave. Any name at all? Foreigner? Fire-eyes?  Too-tall?” 

“Neither Fire-eyes nor Too-tall seems very insulting. Foreigner is only accurate.” Her smile was infectious, and so he firmly set aside the echoes in his mind. “I could get used to Too-tall. I’ve never been the tall one in my family.” 

“So it doesn’t fit, although you have a foot’s advantage of me! But perhaps... Harper,” she decided. “I’ve never seen a harp played the way that you play yours. Though I still think that it’s a brave thing, to take a name given you by a stranger.”

“Harper!  Now that’s a compliment. Harper suits me far better than King.”

“So give up on being king, and play the harp instead.” 

“I can’t do that. Let’s not wrangle about the rights and wrongs of kingship — the Noldor do enough of that. And anyway, I don’t count you a stranger. Even if you weren’t wearing my star, you came to warn me of my peril, that other time. I feel that more than serves as an introduction.”  

“No need to fret that orcs might be hiding in the shadows now. You can stand there like a stone by the lake as long as you like and yet be entirely safe. A strange and wonderful thing! I miss the stars, but there are good things to be said for light of sun and moon.”

“Anything that orcs dislike as much as sunlight has a good deal going for it,” he agreed.

“I like the golden sunsets. The hills were always dark under stars, or maybe with a shimmer in the starlight with the dew.  It’s a fine thing when the hills catch the golden light above the mist.” 

“I heard that the Sindar preferred the stars,” he said, a little surprised.  

“And I’ve heard that the Noldor cannot make music!”  She laughed, and so did he. 

“A few of us do our poor best, from time to time,” he told her, thinking of other Noldor who had played the harp, once. 

She turned and followed his gaze across the lake at the other camp. “They still haven’t sent a messenger?” 

“Nor will, I fear. We could use their strength and they ours, when we attack the Enemy, but... under the circumstances, the first move has to come from them.” 

“I’ve been over visiting them,” she volunteered, to his surprise. “We went to greet them, just as we greeted you. The tale goes that they had a thin time of it, crossing the Ice. They didn’t speak well of you.” 

“I wouldn’t expect them to. We were not on the best terms when last we met.” He ran a hand down the horse’s soft nose, and it leaned into his touch. “Did you see Findaráto or Findekáno? My eldest cousins.” 

She frowned in puzzlement. “Finde.. What was it?  Findarano?”

“Two of them. Findaráto has golden hair, and he would be the leader of his house. Findekáno’s hair is black, and usually braided up with gold ribbons. Or it used to be.”  

She shook her head. “I met no princes, though I saw their king at a distance. Do you miss them, then, your cousins?” 

“Of course not,” Makalaurë said hastily. “We don’t see eye to eye on a number of matters. But they are enemies of Morgoth, so if they are here, that might affect the strategic situation.” 

“Right,” she said, regarding him doubtfully.  “Well, I’ll wish you well for now then, Harper.” Without another word began to lead the horse away up from the lake, leaving the reluctant king to wonder why, when he was known for a voice of gold that could persuade anyone of anything, those particular words had been so entirely unconvincing. 

*****

At long last, word came from the other camp, carried by a resentful-looking group of Noldor on foot demanding rudely to see Fëanor’s sons. 

She happened to be one of the people who saw them first, and so it was she who led them from the gates to Harper, who was king, and she was one of the first to hear the news: his brother had been rescued from Angband by some Noldor prince or other, and was safe, though he had been cruelly treated.

She saw the smile shine across Makalaurë’s face, and he turned to her, bubbling with delight, took her hand and twirled her around in a brief moment of dance.

It was, to him, probably, nothing but a moment of high spirits, the release of fear and strain, but his hand was warm in hers, and she felt her heart leap, fierce and warm and hopeful, in answer to his mood. Then he remembered, and said to her; “If my brother can be rescued...”

“There’s hope for mine,” she said, and alight with hope, she kissed him. Something for him to remember her by, as she would remember him, even if it would come to nothing more; a flame burning bright against the darkness. His eyes widened in surprise, so she broke it off and gave him a mischievous grin. 

“Hope,” he said, as if it was a word he had never heard before, and he was looking at her properly, with all his attention fixed on her alone. “Hope for the thralls of Angband. Hope for us.  Hope for the Silmarils...” And he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

A shiver ran through her at his touch, and she met his eyes, feeling that she had pushed something that had begun as simple lightness of heart over into a place that was both bright and perilous, like the heart of the fierce new Sun. 

And then his brothers Ambarussa came hurrying into the tall white council tent, demanding to know the news, and his brother Curufinwë, who had turned to his son in a wordless embrace, began to shout for his horse, and the kiss and the bright moment around it tumbled away and was gone.  But not forgotten. 

*****

He found her two days later, at the inner pasture where she and some of her friends were turning out some of the mares.  He caught her eye almost without moving. It was hard to ignore any of Fëanor’s sons. There was an intensity about them. 

She pushed the gate to, and went over to him.  “I thought you’d be off across the lake by now to see your brother.”

He looked up idly at the sky for a moment, and, when the clouds appeared uncommunicative, shrugged.  “He’s had all the other five there, demanding to know if he is well and when he will be joining us. They tell me that he’s lost a hand, is terribly thin, and needs to sleep. He doesn’t need me to rush over there.  Might even prefer me not to.” 

“If it were my brother, I don’t think I could wait to see him again with my own eyes.  Though, I suppose you do all have a great number of brothers.” 

He smiled, though with less than his usual confidence. “Too true.  And our nephew has been to visit too, not to mention all our cousins around him: I think he should be resting. You only have the one brother, then?” 

“Yes. He’s older than I am. I was the baby of the family. Mam says that’s why I’m the bossy one.  Mothers!  I don’t think I’m bossy at all.”

“I hadn’t noticed you being bossy, certainly.”

She looked up at him, thoughtfully appraising.  “You barely know me, so how could you tell?”  

“And yet you kissed me.” He leaned his forearms on the fence, so that their eyes were of a height. His strange eyes glinted with the light out of the West that she would never see except for its reflection in his eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“Why, hope. And...” she left the sentence hanging, unsure if she wanted to finish it, and instead made a small business of pushing her long dark hair back over her shoulders. 

“Also?” he asked, and hooked a finger around a strand of her hair behind her ear, pulling it forward again, and considering the light that shone on it gravely, as he let it fall. 

“That I’m not some light girl to be taken by the hand for a moment and then as lightly set aside,” she told him, and laughed, feeling daring. “If you choose to dance with me, you’ll remember who you danced with!”

He blinked. “You think I’d forget?”

“Who knows what the Noldor will do?” She felt oddly off-balance, and shook her hair back again. “Isn’t it the truth that you came here for your Silmarils, and don’t care much for anything else?” 

“We came here for the Silmarils and to avenge my grandfather,” he said, meeting her eyes.  “That’s important, but I can’t do it right at this moment. It doesn’t mean I never think of anything else.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” and then, testing, with a shimmer of laughter to the words “You think of Sindar women often, do you?” 

His eyebrows went up in incredulous amusement.  “I have found myself thinking of one particular woman of the Sindar, as it happens. Now and again.”

“In between more important matters?” 

“Of course. Important matters such as supplies of beans and hay and leather, and recruiting allies and how to break the power of  Angband do attract my attention occasionally.” 

“Break the power of  Angband? You’re mad.” And yet, looking at his shining eyes, she almost believed him. 

He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “It has been said. But that’s what we came here to do.”

“And now you’re bragging.” 

"Well... maybe a little,” he admitted with a flash of a rueful smile. “You must have many matters to think of, too...” 

“You know, as it happens, I haven’t made any plans to kill Morgoth recently,” she said and laughed. “It never occurred to me, strangely enough.  But I think what you mean, Harper, is that you wonder if I have had time to think of you, too.  And the answer to that is yes. I have.” 

He said nothing to that, but leant over sideways, still leaning on the fence and kissed her, deliberate and careful at first, and then as he felt her respond, tangling a hand in his hair, more passionately, there where half the camp could see them. 

A shiver ran through her, as if of a spring wind rising, and she reached out with mind and hand together, feeling the strange shining complexity of his mind reach back, golden with light as the sunrise. They touched for a moment, brief as a bird that alights upon a flowering tree, and then flits onward, and then parted again, having learned just a little of the other’s heart.

Chapter Text

Neither torment, nor rescue by the cousin they had left behind, nor even dealing with uncle Nolofinwë had blunted Maitimo’s edge.  He had many probing questions to ask his brothers, plans to make, and all too soon, orders to give. 

One of the orders he had for Makalaurë was about names. 

Half-Uncle Nolofinwë had decided to give himself the provocative Sindarin name Fingolfin; a name that made a proud claim to kingship as Finwë’s son, in these new lands of Middle-earth. 

Makalaurë was given the dismal task of ensuring that none of their own people made jokes about it. In the process, he lost his own name, and gained another. It felt like a loss, to be Maglor rather than Makalaurë, but, after all, there had been many losses already, and if Maedhros could live without his names and his hand, and forgive his brothers that it was Fingon who had come to save him, then Maglor was not disposed to complain. 

Another order was about the need to keep Curufin, Caranthir and Amrod out of trouble. 

Maedhros did not, at least in so many words, ask Maglor to stop them storming into the camp north of the lake where Maedhros was still recuperating to berate him as a traitor for having chosen to give up his own claim to the kingship, or (worse) to confront Fingon, or Finrod, or Fingolfin himself.  

Maedhros only said mildly; ‘keep them busy’ and left Maglor to deal with the details. 

Maglor deputed Amras to watch Amrod, and had words — loud words, and many of them — with Caranthir. 

Once that was done, he spoke more quietly with Celegorm, and left him uncomfortably clearly aware of his status and responsibility as Fëanor’s third son.  He was fairly sure that Celegorm would ensure that Curufin would not cause trouble that Maedhros might have to mend. 

That left Maglor free to ensure that Maedhros would have new quarters suitable for Fëanor’s heir to move into, once he was well enough to travel from his uncle’s camp to that of the Sons of Fëanor.  

In the meanwhile, Maedhros sent messages, all of which had to be dealt with and replied to. 

*****  

And then, there was arranging attendance at the grand meeting of all the Noldor princes, which from Maglor’s point of view involved a number of careful conversations with his younger brothers about things that Maedhros would, or would not, expect them to say. Explaining pointedly that Maedhros and Maglor were entirely as one on the topic of the kingship, and as Fëanor’s two eldest sons, had every right to do as they wished about it, regardless of the opinions of those who came after them in terms of succession. 

Neither Maedhros’s nor Maglor’s opinions on this matter were accepted easily. 

None the less, at the meeting, Celegorm, Curufin, Amrod and Amras dutifully sat upon their opinions and presented a united front.  

Finrod noticed, swept an amused look across them which seemed almost too carefree, and quirked a smile at Maglor, who had no idea how to respond. He and Finrod had shared a number of interests, and had been friends of sorts, but whether that meant anything now... Well. That was one of many reasons why Maedhros had decided that he must pick up all his people and everything they had done and made in Middle-earth, and take it all to the distant uninhabited lands of the East. 

Caranthir appeared to be obeying orders at the meeting too, until he became irritated and apparently decided that since he was forbidden to mention the kingship directly, he should take out his frustration on the House of Arafinwë. 

Finrod stopped smiling, then, and you could see the steel beneath the gold in his expression. 

Maedhros set himself determinedly to heal the breach, but it was clear to everyone that the sons of Fëanor would have to leave Hithlum, and do so sooner rather than later. 

****

With all of this to keep him busy, it was some time before he got around to mentioning to Maedhros that he had met a woman of the Sindar; one woman in particular, with long dark hair and a sparkle in her eye.  

That there was something growing between them, unfurling like spring leaves, though the time was not right, and yet it was the only time they had, and so... 

Maedhros, on horseback for the first time since his capture and riding with caution along the open lake-shore, took it better than Maglor had expected.

“Congratulations,” he said gravely. “So when is the wedding?”

“A little soon to think of that, surely?” Maglor said, obscurely alarmed. 

“That is a decision for you and for her. It’s none of my business... unless you were thinking of staying here in Hithlum with her?  I’m afraid that is not a choice you can make.  I need you with us in the East.” 

“Of course. I said I’ll lead the cavalry, and I will. Or at least... her family are here, of course. I don’t know if she wants to leave them.”

“Whether she wants to go or not, you must,” Maedhros told him, in a voice that was sharp-edged and hard to ignore. 

Maglor winced. “I know. And I am ready.”  He thought about it for a few moments as they rode on, troubled by that sharp note in Maedhros’s voice that reminded him of their father.  “Would you really make it an order?” 

Maedhros met his eyes across the crest of the palfrey that Celegorm had picked out as having a smooth pace suitable for an invalid. Maglor could see a hint of flame in his eyes. 

“If I have to make it an order then I will,” he said, his thin face resolute. “I need your support to fulfil our Oath, and I will have it. If this woman is what it takes, then by all means, marry her or sleep with her or whatever you wish. But the war comes first.”

Maglor almost glared, before he remembered that Maedhros was still recovering from years of torment, and exempt from irritation for that reason, and probably always would be, since Maglor had left him there.  “It’s my Oath as much as yours,” he said instead. “We will fulfil it, and of course that comes first, always. I haven’t forgotten that, nor will I.” 

That won a hint of a tired smile. “As long as you are there to act as my second-in-command,” Maedhros said.  “I need you. If you’d asked me ‘is this a good idea’ I might have said ‘no’.  But you didn’t ask that.” 

“I didn’t ask you, and now I know what you’d say, I don’t intend to.  Surely there’s some space left for matters other than war.” 

Maedhros smiled properly then, and the faint lines around his mouth went away.  The tension like a steel wire drawn tight between them faded and was gone as if it had never been.  “I hope so. I wish you joy, truly. Will I be allowed to meet her?”

Maglor laughed, relieved.  It was good to ride with Maedhros again, and good to see him smile. “Of course. She has met all my other brothers. I told her I had saved the best for last.” 

“Ah, honeyed words.” Maedhros teased, almost as if he were the brother of old. ”There were enough maidens who longed for you to sing their willing hearts into your hand in Valinor: this one must be something special, that you actually chose to do it.”

Maglor laughed, raising a hand to fend off the joking accusation. “I did nothing of the kind! She tried to convince me that I should give up playing at being king, and play the harp instead, and since I was very aware that I was a deeply unconvincing king, I lost my heart to her at once. She likes to mock me too, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear.  And she has been kind enough to keep my heart for me, though I wasn’t sure at first if she would want to.” 

“No?  Because of what we did at Alqualondë... and at Losgar?” 

Maglor began to tease a knot from his horse’s mane, and did not look at Maedhros. “She has no close kin in Valinor, and little time for Elwë Thingol,” he told him, once the silence between them had begun to stretch out uncomfortably. 

Maedhros raised his eyebrows in a manner that made him look far too much like Father.  “That isn’t what I asked.” 

Maglor looked away again. “I thought we’d all agreed not to mention that to the Sindar,” he said lightly. “No point looking for trouble, wasn’t that how you put it?”

“So you haven’t told her.” Maedhros was smiling again, and that was worth something. “I said that shortly before I was captured, yes. Things have moved on a little since then... and if you are serious about this, surely it’s only fair to discuss it with her? You might have killed one of her family yourself. Or I might, or Celegorm.” 

Maglor pushed a hand into his curling hair and pulled at a strand of it. “Unlikely. The whole family came to Hithlum soon after the Great March.  They have nobody at all in Valinor.She does have a cousin in Doriath. I’m told that’s considered unfortunate.”

Maedhros barked a sudden laugh. “Unfortunate?  I wouldn’t be too proud to use a girdle of enchantment, if I had the choice. But a connection in Doriath... well, that might be useful. But the idea of keeping Alqualondë private was never supposed to extend to our close friends.”

“You think I should talk to her about it.” 

Maedhros held up a thin hand. “Frankly, yes! But after all, it’s none of my business. I wish you both joy, truly. And I’m very much looking forward to meeting her. Tell me everything: how did you meet?” 

****

Curufin was less pragmatic than Maedhros.  It almost seemed at first that he was looking for a fight. “How can you?” he demanded.  “You should be concentrating on the war. That’s the point of all of this!”

“Are you suggesting that I may not pay due attention to the war? I assure you that you need not worry about that, Curvo,” Maglor told him coldly, and had the satisfaction of seeing him step back warily. 

“I suppose it could be considered an alliance, at least.  Who is she, this woman of yours? Does she have connections?”

“Her father was slain by orcs, her brother likewise, and apart from her mother, she has few of her kin still living. I do not consider that important, Curvo. I did not fall in love with her because I hoped that she would bring us allies.” 

“No, you fell in love with her because you are a poetic idiot with no sense of timing,” Curufin said, but the smile pulling up one corner of his mouth softened the words. “Well, we can’t stop you, so I might as well wish you joy together.” 

Maglor rolled his eyes.  “Thank you, Curvo.  I think.” 

“If you marry her, I’ll stand in for Father,” he offered, a speculative hint of humour in his eye. 

Maglor gave him his best elder-brother look. “No. For one thing it’s far too soon for that, for another, that would be Maedhros’s place, not yours, and for a third thing I can barely believe that you are old enough to have married and have a son yourself!”

Curufin laughed. “Oh, all right then. I’ll make you the rings though, if you like.”

Maglor opened his mouth to protest, and then gave up.  At least Curvo seemed to have given up the attempt to get Maglor to hit him.  “Maybe,” he said, “If it ever gets so far, and if the lady agrees.  Thanks, Curvo.” 

*****

The sun was sinking over Hithlum, dyeing the mountains and the sky glorious shades of red and gold that shimmered, reflected in the lake, like embers in the heart of a fire.

A group of Sindar had been picking the new small sweet berries that had appeared on low bushes across the foothills of the mountains of Mithrim where they marched down tawny to the lakeside. The berry-picking was not very serious: although they had filled their baskets, there had been a good deal of laughter and singing and a certain amount of dancing too, for by the standards of chill, misty Hithlum, the sunlit summers now were generous, and birds and beasts feasted and grew fat on the new green grass.

A handful of horses cantering gently along the shore turned and began to climb up towards the Sindar, and as they passed the shoulder of the hill, one of them lifted a hand to his companions and dropped to the ground, his horse slowing and dropping its head to crop at the nearest berry bush.  The others rode on without pausing. 

She stood, as the rider caught her eye, and the elves around her called out greetings of various degrees of friendly and teasing. He answered in her own tongue, almost without an accent, now.

“Come and walk with me,” he suggested, and picked up her basket and moved away without waiting. 

“Always in a hurry, these Noldor!” someone called out, laughing, and she flashed them a smile as she caught his arm as she walked, showing off just a little, because she could not quite help being aware that they made a handsome couple, and although it did not mean much really that he was a prince from far away, the star on his coat always reminded her of the darkness of the time when she first saw him, a star of hope that came before the sunrise. 

The smile on his face faded a little as they moved away from the berry-pickers. “I thought I should come and tell you at once. We’re leaving Hithlum, and going into the east.”

She slowed, startled.  “Oh! But I thought...”

“You thought I might stay here?”  He shook his head, gravely attentive but utterly determined, and she wondered if she had misread him all along. 

“I hoped, at least.  I thought that we had begun something together, Harper. I would have liked to see it grow.”

“So would I. But...I can’t stay here, even with you.  Maedhros has decided we must all leave.” 

“And you must always do what your king tells you?” she demanded, half-teasing to take the edge off the sinking feeling. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“You still have outrageous views of kings, I see... But Maedhros is not only my king.  He’s my brother, returned beyond all hope.  He is our leader, and our hope of defeating the Enemy once and for all.”

His brother returned — she saw her own brother’s face for a moment, all too vivid out of childhood memory.  “I understand.”

He gave her a twisted smile. “He needs my support. I should have done more, sooner.  If I’d only known... And I swore an oath, too. I can’t turn aside now, no matter what.”

She looked up at those sad bright eyes, and squeezed his arm. “No.  I can see that.”   

He hesitated. “But you might choose to come with me. I’d like that.”

“Leave Hithlum and run away with the Noldor?”  She laughed at the idea, even as she began to turn it in her mind like a feather found by the lakeshore. 

“Why not?” He was smiling too, but there was a daring light in his eye. “It won’t be easy. We’ll be holding the whole Eastern March between us, starting from nothing but what we take with us.  But there will be wide lands to explore, and a great many orcs to kill.”

“A tempting proposition. Though, honestly, I don’t particularly enjoy killing orcs.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but nor do I,” he said confidentially, and flickered an eyelid over one bright eye in the briefest of winks. “But needs must, if it’s them or us.”

“Always better them than us,” she said ruefully, remembering iron-clad mobs of orcs stamping through the dark with flaming torches held high. “Perhaps...perhaps I will come. If you are sure you want me to?” She was still not quite sure how to read him, even though they had kissed and felt some new thing flare into flame between them. 

“I do.  I truly do.  I came to Middle-earth looking for vengeance and the Silmarils, but I have found a different kind of light.  Let’s not let it flicker out?”  

She considered him thoughtfully. “Do you mean, you are asking all the Sindar riders to come with the Noldor who are going East?  Or do you mean me, in particular?”

“You, in particular, of course!” he exclaimed. “Or at least... if you want to come as a rider, for the adventure, you will be welcome. I hope many of your people will come with us. But I didn’t come to ask you as an extra sword!”

Her heart lifted with a kind of wild giddiness. “No? And yet I am the best of all of them, am I not? You should ask me for my sword-arm, if not for my heart!”

“I can’t speak for your heart,” he said quietly. “Only for mine, and you have that already.”  

Her own heart leaped at his words.  “I’ll come.  At least for a while. I can always come home again, now the Sun has risen and the lands are full of light.”

“You can always come home again,” he echoed her, and somehow there was more weight to the words as he said them. “You can, of course. But I am asking if you will come with me as my wife, and make your home with me for good.” 

But then he shook his head. “I’ve done this all the wrong way around. I must tell you something. I should have told you before. But you should know now, before you decide to have any more to do with me.”  He gently pushed her arm away, and stepped a pace backward, there on the narrow path among the heather. 

“Tell me then!” she exclaimed. 

“When we came across the Sea,” he began, frowning a little, “we did not come with the blessing of the Lords of the West. They forbade us to leave, forbade all the Noldor to leave Aman, save only for my father the king and his sons, and us they banished from the land.”

“Oh, how terrible,” she replied, smiling. “You know I have little time for that kind of nonsense. Why should you and your people not leave if they want to, just as we left Beleriand and came to Hithlum - or before that, the wide green vales of the East?”

He smiled, his face lit by the warm golden light brilliant against the blue shadows growing behind. “Why not! But no, I must tell you this tale, hear it to the end. We swore an oath to reclaim my father’s Silmarils, that Morgoth stole when he slew my grandfather. For that we were banished, while the Valar sat and did nothing! But our people would not stay, and our cousins would not wait idly at home. We set out to cross the Sea, but we could not find a way.”

His voice dropped, and he looked away for a moment. “And this is what you should know, before you choose if you will come into the East with me. We could not find a way to cross the Sea. My people are not ship-builders and we did not think the Ice could be crossed.  So we returned to Alqualondë, the swan-haven, where the Sea-elves of the western shore now dwell, and we asked for their help.  They refused us.”

She stared at him. “But... why? Did they not know what was happening here?”

He made a face, as if he could taste something bad. “They knew.  Everyone knew by then. The Black Enemy of All had come out of the East to murder and to ruin, and into the East he returned.” 

He gestured with one hand, as if indicating a fleet of ships hanging in the valley-haze before them. “They did not wish to risk their white swan-ships, and they did not want to go against the will of the Valar. They fear Morgoth, and they fear what they remember of Middle-earth, and they had no desire to serve Thingol, or to return into the East. They would not give us the ships, nor loan them, nor help us in building ships of our own. So we took the ships from them.”

“You stole them? Harper, how ...?” She was half-laughing again, imagining some daring raid in darkness, and the foolish fearful Teleri of this far-off Western city awaking surprised to find their ships boldly stolen away by the valiant Noldor.

But his face was very serious.  “We took them,” he said. “And when the people of Alqualondë saw what we were doing, they came out to stop us. With bows and clubs, with boat-hooks and knives. We had swords and armour, and they... they were afraid.”

She frowned. It was not quite the picture she had made for herself. She watched his face, as his eyes flickered away westwards. 

He went on; “Afraid with good reason: we had swords and armour, and we did not hold back.”

Before her eyes a vision unfolded as he spoke, growing from the rhythm of his voice: a distant haven lit with golden lamps, whose light glittered on the restless sea and glimmered on the great white wooden swans tied up along the quay. A movement beyond the lamplight and she saw him, armour shining, one of his brothers beside him as he swung himself up onto one of the great swans, across its wooden wall.  Voices were calling,many voices, warnings, threats, and with a shock, she saw an arrow appear, splitting the wood just beside his hand.  It was flighted with white swan feathers. He jumped back, eyes wide, and drew his sword, and his brother followed him. 

There were people running from the buildings now, and a running fight was developing at the water’s edge, a splash as someone hit the water. Caught in the vision of his words, she followed him as he leaped from the ship and ran back towards the people struggling on the shore.  Saw the blue eyes of the woman with a club in her hand, as Maglor’s sword hit her shoulder, and as the blood sprayed out in a great arc, dark and shining in the lamplight, impossible to tell from orc-blood in the dim light, and spattered across his face. She could hear a thin, ragged desperate screaming, and it went on and on as he whirled through the fight that was swiftly becoming a battle.  

She jerked backwards involuntarily, back to where she was standing on the open hillside, and left his illusion to drift away like a leaf on the evening breeze. 

He was watching her face. No bloodstains now, no wounds, only the bright eyes and the face that she had grown fond of.  No. She must be honest with herself: the face she was growing to love. 

Her stomach tightened, and her eyes flickered to the sword at his belt. 

He nodded. “There were a good many killed on both sides, but more of the dead were theirs.  Far more, once Fingon and Fingolfin came up with their people.”

And the vision folded around her, inescapable as the oncoming night, and as she stood stiffly, aware of her own swift noisy breath, she saw the bloodstained Noldor shields moving back under the assault, the cries from the waterside as the sailors advanced, unarmoured, bloodstained and terrible and yet, somehow, still coming on. 

She could hear his ragged breathing, see his brother’s pale face next to him as the Noldor were forced back towards the water. Fëanor was urging them on in a great voice, but there were more of the Teleri, and their silvery cries rang out to one another, calling the Noldor traitors, kinslayers, thieves. 

And then...  

In the vision, Maglor’s head went up, and the elf he was fighting backed off, looking over his shoulder. In the distance, faintly calling, she could hear the sound of silver trumpets.

“Findekáno!” his elder brother was calling, further down the line. “Findekáno! Aid us!” 

And the blue and silver host was there among them, and the Teleri were falling back, were running, were dying. The Noldor were pressing forward, jumping onto the ships and smiling.

Maglor was standing near the swan-head of a ship, as a long line of swans headed one by one out to sea. The vision faded.  

The Harper that was real and standing before her took a long, slow breath, and his eyes were fixed on her face. “So the first battle of the Noldor was not in Beleriand, and not against the forces of the darkness, but against our own kin, to steal their ships. And then... and then, there were not enough ships. There were storms, and the anger of Uinen.

“There began to be murmurs against my father, saying that he had run mad, saying that he would doom all the Noldor.  Then the Valar sent their Doomsman, and he set the anger of the Valar upon us. Upon my family in particular and anyone who follows us.  So that is the truth. I am a slayer of kin, and an enemy of the Valar unrepentant, and their anger is upon my house from the West into the Uttermost East..”

She looked at him carefully, his serious sharp-angled face bright in the last light of the westering Sun against the purple dusk of the valley. “I don’t think I care about the Valar. They don’t seem to care much about us.  But I wish you had told me sooner.”

“I should have. I am sorry.  We had agreed not to speak of it, and be united once again — but it’s one thing to make it a policy, and another to keep it from you. I should have spoken sooner. 

“This is all of it?  There’s nothing more?”

“Our guilty secrets revealed...” he hesitated. “No. Not quite all.”

“Tell me.”

“When Fingolfin’s House began to murmur against my father, it seemed that we could no longer trust them. That they would turn back if they could — you must remember that we had little idea of the strength of Angband then, and my father was... wary of treachery. He decided that we should seize the ships and sail across the sea, leaving Fingolfin and Finrod and their people behind.  When we came to the Hither Shore, we burned the ships, so there would be no returning. The rest, you know: the... High King, Fingon and Finrod led their people across the Ice.  We thought that was impossible and that they would prefer to turn back anyway: they would have had every excuse. But we were wrong about that.”

“And so they came to your aid a second time,” she said slowly, trying to fit the tale together with the Harper that she had come to know, with the grey eyes that watched her. “That was why you were so wary of speaking to them, when they first came. Your cousins.  I wondered about that at the time.”

“Yes. I was ashamed,” he admitted openly enough. “They endured great hardship, and need not have done, if we had only sent the ships back to them. My father... we were too fearful of treachery, and not fearful enough of the true Enemy. For good reasons but... well.  It was a mistake, clearly. And that is why we must leave this land — one of many reasons.  Maedhros has made peace with the other Houses of the Noldor. The peace was dearly-bought enough, but the alliance is worth the price. But the alliance will hold better if we are a good distance away.  In any case, there is a great gap in the hills south and east of Angband through which the Enemy’s armies could come south and entrap us. We must close that gap, and hold it, to keep Morgoth imprisoned under his mountain until we can break it over his head.”

She caught onto those last words as a lifeline. “And you still think you will break Angband?”

He frowned. “We are sworn to it. I and all my brothers. This we have sworn against the thief of the Silmarils: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end!”

His voice rang out across the mountainside, golden in the dusk. High above them in the velvet blue sky, stars were coming out one by one, and his tall Noldor horse came picking her way down the path behind him and nuzzled at his shoulder. Shadows lay in the valley, but standing beside him, she felt no fear of them: orcs seemed a far-off threat, one that could be ended once and for all with shining sword and the thunder of hooves. 

She remembered the face of the woman he had slain, the first to die upon that shining sword, and she shivered. A small cold wind stirred her berry-stained apron and rustled about her ankles.

“Give me three days,” she said at last, when the silence had stretched into a wide empty gulf between them, and still he said no word. “Three days to think on... all of this, Harper.  In three days, I will give you my answer.” 

There was the faintest echo of hurt in his eyes, but he bowed swiftly.  “Three days.”  He pulled himself up onto the horse again, and was gone into the purple dusk almost before she could nod. Part of her wished that he had stayed with her until she had re-joined the berry-pickers, who were making their way down the hill some way behind her, but the other part was glad of the space to walk and think.  And there had been no orcs in these hills for a good while, not since the Noldor came. 

****

Three days later, he came to her mother’s house for her answer. 

He had not asked her to keep his words a secret, and yet, that he had not told her sooner made it clear that the story of Alqualondë was a trust not to be lightly broken. She would have liked to speak of it with her mother, with her friends, to help her decide what to do. But she could not break his trust to do it, and without seeing the look in the blue-eyed woman’s face, she was not sure she could explain it, anyway. 

In the end, this was a choice she must make alone. 

She thought of him, coming into Hithlum like lightning that rends the night sky, to strike down the orcish slavers. She thought of her brother, and of the hope, so slender by now that it was almost gone, that he might one day be free. Without the Noldor, without their kings and princes, that hope would be gone. 

She thought of Alqualondë at peace, and her Harper’s sword raised in anger, and imagined Angband broken, and trees flowering in the ruins. Could you weigh that against kinslaying? She thought of the Valar — not easy, that, she could barely imagine what the Valar might be like, until she wondered why they had gone away into their own land, and realised with a shock that the Valar might be mightier than Elwë Thingol, but the way they behaved... that was not so unlike. Thingol too had retreated behind his walls, leaving the misty debateable northlands and all their people to the orcs. 

She thought how it might be to stay here beside the lake, and see him ride away.

*****

It was a day of rain, not cold, but everything hazed with a fine mist of water, and even the sunlight felt silver shining through the droplets felt silver instead of gold. Two of his brothers were with him, the one with a perpetual frown, who had been by his side in the theft that had turned into a battle.  He looked younger now that she knew that about him, and not so certain. The other was one of the twins, the darker-haired one.  

All three of them wearing the star of their house, and walking together as there were no doubt  that anyone coming the other way would move aside. 

She came out to greet them, setting the grey heron pin in her hair carefully, and wrapping her grey cloak around her with just a little more care than she might have done for any other visitor.  His younger brothers both bowed to her with great respect, which was... not important, of course , not important. But not unpleasant, either.  

“Was three days enough time?” he asked, with a fleeting smile, and she found herself smiling back. Droplets of fine rain were caught in his curling hair. 

“Yes,”

“Just as well. Maedhros is insisting we must be there soon to prepare for the winter, and I am running out of ways to play for time.” 

Caranthir, somewhere that she barely noticed a few steps away, made a muffled snort of amusement. “I knew it,” he said. 

“And your answer?” Maglor asked, ignoring him. 

She took a deep breath, and gave the answer: the only answer it could be. “Yes. I will come, and gladly.  We will go into the east, you and I together, and fight the Enemy with all we have.

But I have a condition.”

“Name it.” 

“No more secrets between us, Harper,” she told him fiercely, and caught his hand. “Tell me things! Tell me everything.  If I am going with you, if I become your wife, then I must know . The bad and the good, the hard things too.”

“You have my word on it,” he told her, wrapping his other arm around her. His face was wet with rain, but his lips were warm. 

“I would deck you in gems, if I still had any,” he said fervently, when the kiss ended.  “Rubies to shine in your hair, and tiny golden apples to hang from your ears..only I left my rubies behind in Tirion, and the gold has mostly gone to our half-uncle as a were-gild...”

“Never mind,” she said, filled with bubbling warmth. “I shall weave myself a coronet of spring leaves, and one for you too, and the Noldor can laugh if they wish, but I shall be happy.” 

“And you would laugh back at them, if they dared,” he said, laughing himself. “Oh, my dearest, my beloved, star of the eastern shore from the twilight glimmering, brighter than any jewel of the earth!”

“Will you make a song of me then?” 

Caranthir said laughing: “He will, and many of them, I am sure of that. My congratulations to you both.”

“And mine!” the other brother said merrily. “If we thought that luck had deserted us, here is proof it has not, oh Lady of the Star of the East. Welcome to our family! You are a lucky man, Maglor.”

“I am,” he said and grinned at her. “See.  I have brought you six brothers to avenge the one you have lost. We will not make the same mistake twice.”