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English
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Part 19 of Noldorin Finances
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Published:
2025-08-13
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1,474
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1/1
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Entanglements

Summary:

Elrond Peredhel has enough of Finarfin and Galadriel's politicking.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Maedhros watches from his place at the fifth row of the vacant seats in the council house as fifteen elves pore over an updated map of Valinor. Where previously the far south ended by the borders of Avathar, now the entire continent all the way to its southernmost tip has been illustrated, thanks to the effort of courageous cartographers who ventured into the now-renamed land called Loth. New stretches of forest and a mountain range lay waiting to be explored and sustainably mined and sourced. Maedhros knows his nephew Celebrimbor and a quaint little Sindarin miner called Maeglin (who eerily resembled Fingon) were petitioning the ruling council for funding and a party to establish the first Entulessian colony far south. 

 

He has his arms resting on the backrest of the chair before him, and in turn, his chin resting on his arms as he watches Caranthir and Finrod talk quietly with their colleagues: there are some Avari there, and a few Sindar, and re-embodied Noldor who didn’t want to return under Tirion’s yoke. Surprisingly enough they have a re-embodied Teler there as well. 

 

He hears the rustle of cloth somewhere by his right, but Maedhros keeps his gaze to the whispering council members at the center of the room. 

 

“I have heard that your father has re-embodied,” comes Elrond’s voice. It is decidedly neutral enough, perhaps tinged with fascination, even. Elrond, despite everything – his lineage, his history – he is a Loremaster first. 

 

“He has,” Maedhros agrees without turning his head. “However, he is presently confined to bed, cursing his incapacitated state. But mind you, he will be walking in no time. The standing bet is two weeks.”

 

Elrond chuckles in disbelief. He imitates Maedhros’s posture now, so there are two of them, leaning forward, arms on the armrests and chins on their arms. 

 

“Think you they’re discussing Celebrimbor and Maeglin’s proposal?” Elrond asks.

 

“Of course. The establishment of a colony is historical, especially here in Valinor,” Maedhros answers.

 

There is a pause. Finrod is unfurling a new set of maps and the council contemplates it. 

 

“Finarfin is petitioning Mahanaxár regarding the Noldorin succession,” Elrond says, voice quiet.

“I’m sure. All his brothers have returned, and last I heard, Fingolfin didn’t renounce his rights.”

“And Fëanor didn’t, either?”

“Not quite. We all renounced and concentrated all our rights on Ereinion.”

 

 Elrond pinches the bridge of his nose. “Finarfin is dragging me into it. He’s using Celebrían against me, through Galadriel.”

 

Maedhros lets out a laugh. Down at the center of the room, the council momentarily pauses to look at them. Maedhros gives them a small, jovial wave, and they return to their quiet discussion.

 

“Of course he is. I’m thinking he’s also using you as leverage against Fingolfin. But Maeglin also didn’t relinquish any rights.”

“He was ready to,” Elrond replies, tone cross. “But Celebrimbor said somebody annoyed him somewhere, and so Maeglin stood his ground. He complicates matters because…”

 

“Because if we strictly follow precedence, he is your senior.”

“Yes.”

“Well.”

 

Elrond huffs in great annoyance. He shifts; rests his forehead against his arms. “I care not for kingship. I want to keep tending Celebrían’s rose garden with her for the rest of my days.”

 

“Which is why Finrod renounced as early as he could walk,” Maedhros points out. “Angrod didn’t want any part of the succession either, and Orodreth has been traumatized from kinging entirely. Aegnor never cares for anything except Fingon.” A long pause. “However, your mother-in-law is something else entirely.”

 

“All my years I have had my differences with Galadriel,” Elrond begins. “But right now, the barest modicum of respect is what keeps me from forgetting I wed her daughter.”

 

“Naturally.” Maedhros finally leans back to sit properly. “She spent Ages queening around Middle-Earth. Now she returns to Valinor and Finarfin doesn’t let her have her day. Where is she going to go? She antagonized Finrod and her brothers in Beleriand, and none of them want to take her back now.”

 

Elrond falls silent. 

 

“The Second and Third Kinslaying were both preventable.”

“ I know, Ada. ”

 

Maedhros suddenly stands. “Walk with me, Elrond. I’m quite hungry.”

Elrond is quick to follow him.

 

=

 

They end up in an Avar’s hole-in-the-wall noodle house near market street in Entulessë. Both elves ordered big bowls of noodle soup with brisket, flank and tendon, with bean sprouts and fresh mint leaves and a sprinkle of lemon juice. Around them, outside the humble but filled restaurant, Entulessë is bustling as ever. 

 

Both elves do not speak for a while; too busy eating and slurping away the flavorful broth. They eat in the manner of the Avar, with two thin sticks used to pick up the noodles and pieces of meat from the broth. They also have some fried spring rolls between them. At some point, Elrond flags down the Avar shop owner and asks for a refill of the broth, which is gladly given to them.

 

“Paramount King Ingwë of the Vanyar wants to bring Entulessë to heel,” says Elrond, as he and Maedhros watch the bustling crowd outside of the restaurant. 

 

Maedhros gives a soft, unimpressed snort. “Not on his own idea. The old elf has likely forgotten how mundane kinging can get. It was suggested to him, more like.”

 

“Finarfin.”

“Who else?”

 

Elrond puts his chopsticks down and crosses his arms. He is upset. “I want no part in the politics of those who think that we who have sailed or re-embodied remain the same persons we had been.”

 

“Well then,” says Maedhros. “Make your position clear once your day to speak in Mahanaxár comes.”

 

“How much trouble am I going to get into?”

 

Maedhros laughs again. “Elrond, you are a capable elf. You have ruled on your own merit for ages. You tell me what kind of trouble you will face.”

 

Elrond irritably tosses his head and picks up one fried spring roll from the plate with uncharacteristic vehemence. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth and chews quite aggressively, his cheeks fluffing up. He swallows, picks up his glass of milk tea, and drinks everything down in four large gulps. Stress eater , Maedhros thinks to himself. A rather terrible influence from Maglor, who in turn got it from Finwë.

 

“Finarfin has two to pressure me,” Elrond says. “Celebrían and Galadriel. Celebrían has no care for it, but she will do anything for her mother, whom she loves and missed very much. Galadriel I know has little care for me ever since, but if getting me to heel will get her a seat in Tirion’s Small Council, then she will play tug of war.”

 

Maedhros leans forward, and steeples his fingers together. “Then concentrate your right on someone neither Galadriel nor Finarfin can bully.”

 

Elrond looks at his erstwhile father. He gives a snort. “Who? Thingol ? No, I’m sorry, he hates that name. He doesn’t answer to anything but Elwë Singollo these days.”

 

“No, not him, though I won’t dismiss him and his little delusions too easily. Once my grandfather comes back, Elwë has a potential to be a wild card in this mess,” Maedhros says slowly. He contemplates a fried spring roll, then picks it up and eats it. “Two options, both for spite.”

 

He and Elrond catch each other’s gaze. Of course, Elrond knows who Maedhros speaks of. The decision, however, is his to make.

 

“Times like these I envy Elros,” Elrond mutters, in a voice too quiet except for Maedhros’s own hearing. 

“Yes, the peace of it,” Maedhros says, contemplative. “But can you imagine him, if he chose to be elf-kind like you, and he finds out what happened to Númenor?”

 

At that, Elrond laughs. He laughs so hard he has to tip his head back.

 

=

 

Maedhros accompanies Elrond to the walk to his own home; has done so many times before in fact, but he never quite stays. Maedhros sometimes shows himself to Celebrían, greets her with the respect she is due, but he doesn’t go into the house. This has been his conduct for such a long time that Elrond has stopped asking and nudging him to, to spare them both of the exasperation and embarrassment. 

 

They round the street and Maedhros comes to a stop. Celebrían’s famous rose bushes are abundantly green and heavy with saucer-sized blooms of all imaginable colors. Smoke wafts idly from the chimney of the rather humble home.  

 

“I have decided,” says Elrond. He squares his shoulders. His back is turned to Maedhros, as he is two steps ahead of the Fëanorion. 

 

“Oh?” Maedhros gently prompts. 

 

“I am renouncing in favor of Ereinion Gil-galad.” Then Elrond turns to face his erstwhile father. A rather wicked smirk on his lips. “It should be fun if I do it this way.”

 

A grin also spreads on Maedhros’s face. He starts to laugh, and Elrond’s smirk widens.

Notes:

✨ Your thoughts are life.

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