A/N: A gift. Chapter Thirty, and this ones... well...
Míril stayed quiet as they settled upon lounging rugs surrounding a low table. She regained control of herself, settling against Elrohir. Maglor refused to move from his brother’s side, shadowing him protectively. It made Elladan smile, and as he seemed the only one capable of such a feat in that instant, it stood out. So he quickly hid the smile.
“When you were in the Halls,” Maglor finally started a few minutes later after an intense silence, “did you see anyone else?”
Maedhros stared into the glass of wine that Míriel had retrieved for him. He did not answer right away, instead he merely stayed still, distant. But at last he shook his head. “None of our brothers, no, Káno. A few Weavers visited me, bringing me news.”
“News of what?” Fingon sipped his own glass.
Maedhros raised his eyes at Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril, causing Fingon and Maglor to look at them. Elrohir stared back. “Us?!”
Míriel spoke up from near the door. “I tend to all the grandchildren of Finwë. I have found that speaking of you and your successes against the dark has helped most of them.”
Míril choked on a grape she had been chewing. “All of them?!”
Míriel chuckled and came over to them, joining the group by sitting between Fingon and Elladan to the right side of the table. She nodded, her dark silvery hair bouncing with her movements. “Like it or no, you three are the heroes of this family. Alongside Galadriel, you are the lone survivors.” She frowned then and turned to Maedhros. “You, sir, must take care to not shut yourself away now.”
“What do you mean?” Maglor asked immediately.
Míriel turned to Fingon, and he sighed. “She speaks of Aredhel. You may recall she returned to the living shortly after these three arrived? I spend time with her when possible, but she takes up residence far away, near Lorien. Knowing her beloved Maeglin’s betrayal and without our brothers, she mourns in seclusion.”
“So that is where you disappear to,” Maglor replied quietly. Then he turned to Maedhros. “Fear not, Lady Míriel, we shall watch for this fool.”
Maedhros frowned then and looked at his grandmother. “You say you speak to the others?”
Míriel hesitated. “Yes.”
“How do they fare?” Maedhros looked about ready to break again. “Our brothers? Findo? Turvo? Aro?”
Míriel sighed. “Some better than others. Celegorm and Caranthir have calmed some in the Halls, but Curufin still fights repentence. Amrod mourns for Amras, and Amras for Amrod.” She paused before continuing. “Turgon… he mourns for all he has lost, and longs for family. Argon misses his sister most of all. Finrod has taken to quiet meditation. Angrod, of all the grandchildren, eagerly awaits news and begs me for information on his son. In turn, Orodreth wishes for Finduilas and Gil-Galad.” With a last pause she sighed. “Of all, Aegnor troubles me the most. For he mourns that which cannot ever be recovered.”
“Andreth,” Fingon realized with a sigh.
Míriel confirmed his suspicion with a nod. Then she turned to Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir. “Take heart, young ones. Your heroics have brought comfort to the aching here in Mandos. You have done more than you realize.”
Elrohir frowned. “And yet we too have lost that which we loved, and found little comfort. Where is our balm?”
No one had an answer. Míriel downcast her eyes, while Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon found their own food fascinating. But Míril decided to take a stand. She herself had found comfort in visiting Maedhros. It had shown her that perhaps Tinneth might someday be saved.
“Míriel, I visited Maedhros while he was in the Halls. Would Vairë allow it again, perhaps for my husband and his brother as well?” She looked at the woman intently. “Nienna taught me much, but more than that, helping the hopeless has shown me hope in darkness as well. Will Vairë and Mandos deny that of us?”
“We would not.” They all turned to see Lady Vairë standing in the doorway, a sad smile on her face. She continued. “My husband is skeptical, but we both sense the importance of this mission for you three.”
Míriel grinned. “My lady, I had someone in mind for Míril.”
Vairë chuckled. “Yes. I figured you did.”
Maedhros turned to his grandmother. “Who?”
Míriel smiled and looked to Míril. “Caranthir.”
“Caranthir? My forefather?” Míril hesitated. “Perhaps I should start with someone… nicer?”
Maedhros actually laughed, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. He shook his head grinned at Míril. “Truly you are blunt.”
“Right, my apologies, but am I wrong?” She turned to Maglor. “Am I?”
“Well…” Maglor hesitated. “Somewhat. Caranthir has never been the easiest of elves to get along with. The anger you deal with was felt strongly in him, but only towards those he felt treated others, or himself, unjustly.”
“Or if he found them incompetent,” Fingon reminded his friend.
Maglor nodded. “This is true.”
But Maedhros interrupted him. “Míril, when you came to see me, I was damaged. I had heard of you and your exploits.” He paused to compose himself before continuing. “But your deeds impressed me, truly. Caranthir will recognize an equal when he sees one.”
Míril hesitated, looking back at the Valië. Vairë nodded encouragingly. And so she screwed herself up and agreed. “Next we send one of those two to see someone.” She pointed at Elrohir and Elladan.
They all chuckled. Míril stood, and guided by Míriel and Vairë, she took the side passages that once she had taken for Maedhros. Soon she stood behind the towering gate guarded by iron-clad Maiar, and found herself instead in halls shrouded with mist on all sides. Míriel walked beside her this time, assuring her that Caranthir's bark was much worse than his bite.
“Like dear Auriel that Elladan now cares for,” Míriel reminded her. “Only his tongue is sharper. But I told you, he has calmed some. He seems to look forward to news from the outside.”
“Will he recognize me?” Míril asked.
“Not on sight,” replied the weaver.
At last they stopped before the only cell that appeared unshrouded. Míriel bid farewell to Míril before she even had time to process the situation, and Míriel disappeared. And so Míril turned back to the bars, which she touched. In an instance, she found herself transported inside, unlike last time, by Vairë's power presumably.
An elf looked up from where he sat against a wall. His nearly black hair lay about his shoulders and upper chest, but was shorter than both Maglor and Maedhros’. Clothed in a loose black shirt and black pants, he seemed more menacing than the broken Maedhros had. He glanced up quickly in surprise at Míril’s appearance.
“You aren't Míriel,” he stated simply.
“No-”
“Then why are you here?” Caranthir cocked an eyebrow at her. “I don't recall seeing your face in here before, and I have been here a long time.”
“No, I'm not a weaver.” Míril sighed. “You're Caranthir?”
He stared at her impatiently and replied quickly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “No, I'm Celegorm.” He sighed. “My dear handmaiden, if you have no news to share of the outside world then please, leave me in peace. I do not desire idle chatter.”
Míril rolled her eyes right back, placing her hands on her hips. “My dear Fëanorian, if you would only stop talking then I could explain why I am here.”
Caranthir's eyebrow arched at this, but he said nothing.
“I am no handmaiden of Vairë,” Míril told him once more. “It is true that Lady Vairë had tasked me with speaking with you, and Míriel suggested it too. But I am not one of them.”
“Then you are?”
She paused. “I am Míril, descendant of Fëanor, wife of Elrohir, descendant of Lúthien.”
Caranthir stared at her, eyes wide in shock. He scrambled to his feet, drawing a bit closer, and Míril found herself but a few inches shorter than him. And yet his piercing gaze seemed to her to undress her, as he tried to figure out if she lied or not.
“Miril Fëanoriel?” He nearly choked on unbidden tears, and his face intently reddened. “By Varda’s stars…. You even look like her.”
Míril frowned. She had not expected that reaction. “Like who?”
Caranthir looked away, turning from her to compose himself. Míril had the same eyes as she once had, blue like a deep lake, undecipherable in their mystery. And yet, her flushed cheeks clearly recalled himself. How had he missed it? How had he...
“Haleth.” He spoke her name reverently, quietly. He had not spoken her name aloud in millennia.
Author's Note:
TA DA! I've written it for you in under two hours. That's got to be a record.
So... How about THAT meeting
More to come next chapter. Hopefully soon, but I'm on an intense vacation so idk when.