"Come, you must be hungry," smiled Celebrían, taking Míril's hand in hers like a proper mother. "All of you!"
Elladan snorted and nodded. "Quite."
"We know where to take them," Galadriel smiled at her daughter. "My kin."
"Or we could take them to see my kin," Celeborn added. "Alqualondë would be truly magnificent as a first meal."
"I fear I am not welcome there," Maglor sighed. "Yet do not let this stop you."
Galadriel sighed. "Have you not been back since…"
"Nay, not even since my reembodiement." Maglor frowned. "I do not think Lord Olwë would welcome a son of Fëanor."
Míril frowned and looked long at Maglor before sighing. "I will go only where my kindred is welcome. If Lord Olwë wishes no child of Fëanor to set foot in Alqualondë, I will respect that. For I also am a child of that bloodline."
"Let us start with my father," Galadriel smiled softly. "Then perhaps Lord Olwë will be more forgiving."
Celeborn agreed and together, he and Galadriel led the party, Mithrandir included, back down the streets of Tol Eressëa. With Eldir's hand in one, and Elrohir's hand in the other, Míril walked confidently. Yet still her mind was entranced by the music and beauty of the city of the elves. She saw no harpists, no flutists, no musicians of any kind, yet still there was certainly a clear music in the air. It was like falling droplets of water and silver mixed as one.
She began to think of how her children would've enjoyed being here. She wished that Aderthon, Círeth, and Fëalas, even Tinneth, she wished they could see and experience the beauty of the Blessed Realm with her. But alas, it was their fate to remain in Middle Earth awhile longer and delay their choice.
She missed them dearly. With each glance at the stars far above them, she wondered what they were doing, what they were looking at right then. Were they enjoying one another's company? Were they alright?
"Peace, melda," whispered Elrohir into her ear. "I miss them as well, but they will be fine."
She sadly smiled and nodded. They would be. Aragorn promised to look after them, after all. He wouldn't let her down.
They reached a dock on the other side of the island. Similar in shape and decor to the dock where they arrived, Míril was led onto a swan ship. Galadriel instructed an elf to take them across the water.
Míril watched as the boat approached a wall of mountains. To her right was one so tall, the top was hidden from her. Taniquetil, she realized in awe. That was where Manwë and Varda resided, the high king and queen of the Valar!
The boat veered left around a jutting rock and then she saw it. Valinor. The fullness of the Blessed Realm. Beside her, Elrohir and Elladan were equally as awestruck. This was the land of their dreams, the land of their prayers and hymns. A land oft sung of but never seen by the living unless they sailed West.
As the boat drew alongside a small dock, the newcomers to the Undying Lands and to Valinor remained speechless at the great white city, Tirion upon Túna. The great steps leading into the city were long and steep, yet it posed no hindrance to the company. Galadriel and Celeborn led the way, followed by Elrond and Celebrían, Glorfindel, Gandalf and Eldir, Elladan and Elrohir, and Míril, and at last Maglor. He trailed behind. As of yet, Maglor had not set foot again in his ancient home, Tirion. Finarfin had invited him in his mercy, but Maglor had felt it wrong. Yet here he was, climbing the ancient steps of Tirion upon Túna in the starlight. He was home.
Several elves of dark hair were out and about in the city. They whispered in amazement and wonder as Galadriel passed, and some of the older ones looked curiously upon Maglor, as if wondering his identity. The three companions new to Valinor were paid little attention to; they were merely extras, the others were great Lords and ladies.
Reaching the center of the city, Galadriel led them to the foot of a great marble-white tower. At her approach, the doors were heaved open and trumpets blared. She smiled and nodded to the door wardens in thanks. Up they climbed, up the stairs of the great Tower to the throne room. When they got there, Míril could barely stand for the awe inspired fear she felt. For before her stood elven men and women of legend, elves she'd always dreamed of meeting.
"Father," bowed Galadriel. "I bring to you my grandsons, Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrohir's wife, Míril Fëanoriel."
A hush went over the room at that name, and at the notice of Maglor as he stepped out from behind Glorfindel. Lord Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Valinor, stood. His beautiful golden hair fell to his chest as he bowed to them like was customary for elves. When his head was raised again, he smiled.
"I welcome you, all of you. I am Finarfin, King of the Noldor. You are all of my house now, descended through my daughter." He walked forward, blue robes falling comfortably around him. He made no sound or footfall.
"My lord," said Elladan and Elrohir, bowing deeply.
Míril stood there awestruck. But eventually she bowed low, still saying nothing. She only lifted her head upon hearing someone address her.
"Míril Fëanoriel," someone said to her right. "Your deeds are known to us! Yours and Elladan's and Elrohir's!"
She looked at the elf who spoke. So like to Finarfin was he that she figured he must be related to him in some manner. But never was she expecting his true identity. For when she didn't respond, staring dumbly at him, he continued.
"My sister, Galadriel as you know her, related to us the tale of the War of the Ring, and other tales we heard from Ossë, of your work in the South."
"Sister?" squeaked Míril in amazement.
Everyone laughed but he merely smiled. "Indeed. I am Finrod, son of Finarfin."
Míril simply couldn't speak. Her amazement was so great that she opened and closed her mouth mutely.
"We thank you for your praise, Lord Finrod," Elrohir bowed his head. "Obviously your exploits in Middle Earth are known to us, and held in high regard."
"Come," Finarfin laughed. "We must feast tonight!"
No one argued. Celebrían split from her husband and ran over to a maiden who stood beside Finrod. His wife, perhaps? Elrond and Celeborn began conversing with a few other elven men while Galadriel and Glorfindel went with Finarfin to help oversee preparations for the feast. Elladan and Elrohir were speaking together closely, wandering away to where their mother stood talking to the elf maiden. Eldir had split, obviously familiar with some of the elves of the company and intent on conversing with them. Suddenly Míril felt very alone.
"Quite a crowd, no?" Maglor said to her, voice low and harsh as he whispered.
"Indeed." She nodded.
Suddenly they were interrupted. An elf with dark hair and shining grey eyes had come over with Finrod. He looked Míril over curiously before nodding to Maglor in greeting.
"It is about time you visited us, cousin," Finrod smiled. "How many times has my father invited you? A dozen?"
Maglor shrugged and shuffled his feet. "Didn't ever feel like a good time."
The dark haired elf smirked. "Truly, Maglor, you are more stubborn than ever after reembodiement."
Míril began to wander away as the three began to speak. She looked at the grand architecture and sighed. It was beautiful.
"Míril," Maglor chuckled. "You may remain with us if you wish, since your beloved seems to have abandoned you."
She made a face and took the few steps back to their group. Indeed, Elrohir had gone with his brother.
Old habits die hard, she supposed. Oh well. Let him have his fun.
"Míril," tried the dark haired elf. "A nice name. I am Fingon, son of Fingolfin."
Míril's mouth dropped. Had she been holding anything, that would have dropped too. Fingon.
"You mean the Fingon?" She squeaked again as her face went pale.
The three cousins grinned at her reaction and laughed merrily. Maglor patted her on the back.
"Indeed. The one and only." Maglor smirked. "He's a pain, you'll see. Always has to be so very valiant."
Fingon rolled his eyes. "I seem to recall you being quite valiant in your final act, Maglor."
"Not nearly as valiant as this lady here," Maglor shook his head. "You know of the deeds she did, especially as of late! Defending the descendents of Luthien, the daughter of Lord Elrond and her husband, King Elessar!"
They looked in concern as suddenly Míril keeled over, a pain in her side sharply tearing through her. She gasped and nearly fell to her knees as memories filled her mind, memories of dark days filled with fear and anger and bewilderment. They flashed before her eyes and she felt weak. Flashes of Tinneth's face through the years flew before her eyes and she felt ashamed and weary.
The pain in her side increased as these images pulsed through her mind. The spot where Tinneth had driven her sword deep inside, nearly killing her. If not for the healing arts of Estelwen, Aragorn, and Glorfindel, she surely would've died like Tinneth had wanted.
"Woah there," Maglor grabbed her and steadied her. "What ails you?"
Fingon and Finrod knew not what to do. No one else seemed to notice the woman's distress. As such, Finrod hurried over to his wife and retrieved Elrohir. He came immediately and eased her to the ground, kneeling beside her. By now, others were taking notice.
"Follow me," Finrod told them. "If she can walk?"
Míril nodded, biting her tongue. But as she went to walk, standing up, her side pulsed again and she nearly fell. Elrohir picked her up and together the small group of Maglor, Finrod, Fingon, and the couple moved out of sight through a small side door in the back. Here they found a room containing a circular table and many chairs. A conference room.
Elrohir set Míril down on the table, letting her legs dangle down. She gripped his arm tightly. They both knew what was happening. They were familiar with it. The pain of her memories from fighting her daughter still haunted her, as did the sword wound she'd incurred.
Soon, Finarfin and Galadriel burst into the room, followed by Elrond and Eldir. Míril was beginning to recover but it was still painful.
"I'm sorry," she huffed as she tried to catch her breath. "I fear I've ruined the feast."
"Nonsense," Finarfin shook his head. "My people are setting it up as we speak. But your health is of utmost importance, for you are family."
Míril smiled a tiny bit through the pain. Family. Yes she supposed they were family. As such, she did not protest when Finarfin asked to feel the wound.
His face grimaced as he felt her side. He could tell it had healed fine, but something was not right.
"I fear the only cure for you may be rest. I suggest you visit the Gardens of Lorien sometime. They might refresh you. Estë and Lorien shall surely grant you rest." Finarfin helped her stand when the pain has passed. "But for now, let us eat and drink and be merry!"