Hurricane Matthew is ruining my travel plans so I'm stuck at my parents' house with a few extra days to pack, and I have Tolkien on the brain cuz being here gets me all nostalgic, and Tolkien and nostalgia go hand in hand for me. So here, have this chapter that's been sitting around forever that I finally decided to polish up and post. Because nothing helps fluctuating-travel-plan antsy-ness like at least getting a fic chapter done. :P

This fic is also available on AO3, where the *'s have little hover boxes to go with them.

PNII Chapter 3 - Tralalalolly, Maglor's Not Jolly
In which Maglor can't get out of Rivendell fast enough, despite the fact he only just GOT there.

It was evening by the time the car careened around a mountain and came into view of the valley below.

"Woo!" Mithrellas cheered. "Nearly there! In record time, too!" She'd managed to cut a twelve-hour trip down to nine. Maglor was shocked that they hadn't been pulled over by the Autobahnpolizei.

"For the love of light, Mith, would it kill you to go any slower?" Nimrodel demanded as they sped down the mountainside.

"Maybe," Mithrellas said cheekily.

"Slow down," Nimrodel ordered.

"But Nimmy - "

"We're here, alright? There's no reason to shave off extra minutes; you've shaved off enough as it is!" Nimrodel looked at the speedometer for a moment before glancing back up at her friend. "Mith, please?"

Mithrellas sighed, but Maglor felt the car slow down to something below breakneck. "Alright," she said. "Since you asked nicely."

"Thank you," Nimrodel said, settling back into her seat. She leaned her head against the window, taking in the sight of the little white town tucked into the green valley below.

"How you doing back there, Maglor?" Mithrellas asked.

Maglor had been fearing for his life for hours. Now that the car wasn't in danger of breaking the sound barrier, though, he thought he might be alright. "Oh," he managed, loosening his grip on his seatbelt, "I'm alright." He didn't fear death, but the suspense of waiting for it was both terrifying and exhausting. "Thank you for slowing down," he added.

"Neither of you are fun," Mithrellas grumbled.

Now that he was no longer constantly bracing himself for a crash, Maglor took the time to admire the scenery. "Town's gotten larger," he observed. The little town of Dorf certainly wasn't huge, but its boundaries had definitely expanded.

"Yeah, it's grown since..." Mithrellas trailed off, frowning. "When was the last time you were here, Maglor?"

"The forties." He hadn't had much say in the matter, but then he hadn't had much to say at the time, either. Elladan and Elrohir had practically dragged him out of the trenches, and he'd been far too exhausted to protest. The fact that he hadn't complained once while they'd smuggled themselves through Germany had only made the twins more worried. They'd brought him to Imladris and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to rest and recover until they deemed him fit enough to be on his own again.

While the rest of the world was fighting and then recovering from World War II - while he was fighting World War II - Maglor was still recovering from World War I. War was always horrific, and Maglor was no stranger to death and destruction, but those two had been particularly terrible. The fighting had been bad. The war crimes had been bad. The new technology that had made it tremendously easy to kill other living beings for a few inches of land had been beyond bad - the Nirnaeth Arnoediad hadn't seen a quarter as much carnage. And in every decade since the wars the mortals had come up with newer, more efficient ways to kill each other and found excuses to use them. Morgoth would have been so smug.

There were reasons the elves had decided to start counting the Seventh Age with World War II's end.

Maglor had spent the latter half of the forties in Imladris, where the twins had kept a close eye on him. With no sea and no war, it'd been a peaceful few years. He hadn't even had to put up with Nimrodel, as she and Mithrellas had been off touring the Americas. It had been the longest he'd stayed in any one place for over a century. Of course, he had finally grown restless, and he left the little elven hideaway in the early '50s when Ronnie sent him a letter to ask for help with a book.

He hadn't been back since.

"Yeah, a lot's changed since then," said Mithrellas, and she turned down a little side road that led into a thick forest - a hidden trail that most people might miss. With a smirk she added, "Except for, you know. The things that stay the same."

Speaking of which...

"O! Where are you going?
And how are you faring?
The river is flowing!
Your tires need airing!
O! Tra-la-la-lally!
Here down in the valley!"

Maglor groaned. "No. No, no, no."

"Yes," Nimrodel sighed, sounding as excited about it as he was.

"Mmph," said Maglor, putting his face in his hands. "You'd think that they'd grow out of this stupid ritual after ten thousand years..."

"Crazy Sindar," Nimrodel muttered.

"I think it's lovely," Mithrellas said, entirely too cheerful.

"O! You've traveled for hours!
Your gas tank is draining!
Now please don't be sour,
And please stop complaining!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly!
The valley is jolly!
Ha-ha!"

Maglor was seriously reconsidering his decision to come - more seriously than he'd already been, that was. He wondered how Mithrellas would react if he jumped out of the car. It wouldn't be the first time he'd jumped out of a moving vehicle - he'd be perfectly capable of getting on his feet and making a break for it before Mithrellas could come after him. He could probably count on Nimrodel to keep her from trying to retrieve him for at least ten seconds, and then it'd be a few more before she'd managed to turn the car around and come after him. That was all the time he'd need to run into the forest, where the car couldn't follow, and then he could run to the town and find a way to get someplace saner. Somewhere where the only horrid songs were the ones he sang to keep idiot tourists at bay. At least his depressing ballads were well-written, as opposed to this tripe.

Imladris's welcoming committee was one of the very few things Maglor was ashamed of Elrond for. He had no idea why his foster son had thought this made for good entertainment. But he supposed he couldn't blame Elrond - it wasn't like Maglor had ever done anything to ensure his foster son had a deep love and understanding of music. All he'd ever done was teach the boy how to play the harp and lyre and flute and pipes and sang him and Elros to sleep every night and had them memorize a number of Valinorian songs and taught them rhyming patterns and scansion and how to properly project one's voice and given each of them a set of musical instruments of their own which, he knew for a fact, Elrond had kept and passed down to his own children years later. Clearly, Maglor just hadn't tried hard enough to make sure Elrond properly appreciated the art of music.

...That or Elrond had used the founding of Imladris and its traditions as an expression of childish rebellion.

And now, over fifteen thousand years later, Maglor had to put up with this awful excuse for music. Curse that boy.

"O! Stop being so grumpy
And try to be cheerful!
The road's sort of bumpy,
So Mith, do drive careful!
O tra-la-la-lally!
Come down to the valley!"

Maglor groaned again, face still buried in his hands. "That was the worst slant rhyme I've ever heard." He was exaggerating - the worst slant rhyme he'd ever heard had actually been in a long-forgotten dialect of Ancient Greek - but the situation called for it. He thought over his escape route. If he jumped out of the car now, he'd be able to run back down the road before Mithrellas stopped arguing with Nimrodel about whether he was worth retrieving and just turned the car around. There might be some interference from the singers in the woods, who might try to knock him out with their hideous caterwauling, but Maglor was certain he could outrun them. He was no Wood Elf, but he knew how to disappear when he had to, and the singing would just encourage him to run faster. He could be back at the main road within minutes, at which point he could run into the forest that wasn't part of the Imladris estate, make his way to Dorf, and hitchhike his way back to a beach.

For five seconds, he seriously considered it.

But then he heard the clatter of hooves and the jingling of many little bells, and he knew it was too late. A white horse burst out of the trees on the side of the road and galloped up to the passenger's' side of the car. Keeping pace with the vehicle, it whinnied a happy welcome, the bells on its harness jingling merrily. Its golden-haired rider gave the newcomers a jaunty salute. "Mae g'evennin!"

Maglor groaned and slouched back in his seat. It was officially too late for any escape attempt.

"Ciao, Glorfindel!" Mithrellas grinned.

"Good to see you, Mith!" the elf lord said. Catching sight of Maglor in the back seat, he exclaimed, "Gott im Himmel, you actually found him! And got him here!"

"Did you expect any less?"

"Truthfully? We were betting whether or not he'd even show up at your rendezvous point."

"In that case, I hope I just lost you an excessive amount of cash," Maglor said dryly.

Glorfindel laughed. "Quite the opposite, actually. Lindir's gonna be pissed..." His blasted horse shook its head merrily, setting the bells in a jingling chorus.

"O! The jingling bells
Sound so sweet with their ringing!
The river is flowing
And elves are yet singing!
Oh tra-la-la-lalley!
Come back to the valley!
Haha!"

"Don't they ever shut up?" Maglor asked.

"No," Glorfindel answered, still grinning. "Shall I ride on ahead and let everyone know you've arrived?"

"I think it's already obvious," Nimrodel grumbled, wincing as yet another verse rang through the trees. Maglor had to agree with her; it would be a miracle if anyone didn't know that they'd arrived.

"Ride on ahead?" Mithrellas repeated. "Are you mad? If anything, I ought to let them know you're on your way! Bona fide Valinorian stallion or not, my car can get to the house much faster than your ancient horse!"

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

Nimrodel turned around in her seat to look at Maglor, and they exchanged horrified, wide-eyed glances. Mithrellas speeding down a highway with traffic laws, police, and other people to keep her at least vaguely in check was one thing. Mithrellas speeding down a private road with no other cars in a race against one of Oromë's own stock? That was quite another.

Mithrellas, of course, was all too happy to accept Glorfindel's challenge. "You're on!" she grinned, all teeth.

"Um," said Nimrodel, "Mith - "

"Not now, Nimmy," Mithrellas said, braking the car to a complete stop so that Glorfindel and his steed could get in position beside them. Nimrodel and Maglor immediately went for the doors, but the handles were locked.

"Mithrellas," Maglor said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt as he wrenched at the handle. In the front seat, Nimrodel was slamming her shoulder against the door. "Mithrellas, open the doors." He tried to put on his oft-unused noble air, a tone he used sparingly but that always made people listen. He was an ancient Noldorin prince, the descendant of some of the most powerful elves in history, a commanding leader who'd fought dark lords and defied gods.

Mithrellas, naturally, paid him no heed. "Busy!" she said cheerily. "Besides, you're not disappearing off into the woods on my watch! Alright Glorfindel, on your mark."

Maglor swore the dratted Vanya shot him a smirk as he lined up beside the car. Nimrodel gave up on the door and threw herself against her seat in preparation for the thrust. "Maglor," she said, turning her head slightly to face him, "as someone with experience in the matter, if Mith gets us killed here, would that make her a kinslayer?"

...Was that a joke? A rather macabre one that slighted Maglor's family, of course, but still. Maybe Nimrodel didn't completely disdain him enough to die loathing his entire existence after all. "You'll have to ask Mandos," he said, double-checking his seatbelt. There was no possible way to make it any more secure. "I'm not sure if this will fit the criteria - "

"Get set..."

Maglor grabbed at the door handle again, bracing himself. He heard Nimrodel reciting an ancient Nandorin prayer.

"GO!"

The force from the sudden velocity was so great, Maglor wondered if he'd melded with his seat. Outside, the forest passed in a brownish-green blur. Nimrodel was shrieking in the front seat, and Mithrellas was whooping. Outside, he heard voices singing, but the words were unintelligible over the roar of the engine. And there was also the sound of furiously-ringing jingle bells.

Maglor thought about the Halls of Mandos. He wondered how he was going to explain to his family that, after countless wars and natural disasters and continental rearrangement, he'd finally been done in by a crazy Wood Elf and her obsession with flooring the gas pedal. Father would not be pleased. Maedhros would sigh and shake his head. Celegorm would roll his eyes and give a derisive snort, Caranthir would stop rolling his eyes halfway through the action so it didn't look like he was copying Celegorm, Curufin would file the incident away to use as future blackmail, and Ambarussa would be rolling around on the floor, laughing hysterically. Oh, and Grandmother Miriel would probably weave a tapestry of it. Curufin would probably blackmail her into making it as embarrassing as possible. That or he'd strike a criminally unfair deal with Maglor in exchange for telling Grandmother Miriel to make it as unembarrassing as possible.

The forest shot by the windows in a massive green-brown blur - it was surely only a matter of time before they crashed into something. But then, suddenly, Maglor saw the gates to the house itself up ahead. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't going to die. Unless he suffered a heart attack once this was all over. Could elves even get heart attacks? He'd never heard of it before, not counting that one time Elrohir had faked it to get out of a sticky situation with some mortals. If Maglor was the first elf to ever experience a heart attack, Curufin would have a field day.

With one last shout, Mithrellas drove through the gates and turned hard to the left. The car skidded sideways across the driveway, screeching horribly and leaving long, dark treadmarks. When it finally plowed to a stop, Mithrellas whooped again and jumped out of the car.

"YEAH!" she shouted. "THAT! WAS! AWESOME!" Glorfindel and his horse come galloping through the gate, and she whooped again, fists in the air. "Told you so! In your face! Yeah!"

Maglor sat still as stone in his seat, staring at the upholstery and enjoying the sensation of his furiously-but-still-beating heart. And breathing. It'd been a while since he'd had an experience that reminded him how nice breathing was.

Nimrodel, meanwhile, tore off her seatbelt and yanked her door open, bolted out of her seat, and hurried on shaky legs up the stone stairs to the door of the house.

"I've been wanting to test this baby out for weeks!" Mithrellas shouted, sounding absolutely ecstatic.

"I'm glad I gave you an excuse to do so," Glorfindel said good-naturedly.

"I didn't give Asfaloth a heart attack, did I?"

"No, no, he's perfectly fine...a little miffed, but fine..." The horse snorted and shook its mane.

"Mithrellas!" someone shouted. Maglor glanced up at the house, and saw Elladan standing on the steps. "Can I assume Nimrodel's cursing and the tread marks on my tarmac are somehow related?"

"You could say that."

Elladan smiled and hurried down the front stairway. "Did you find...?"

Maglor sighed and stepped out of the car.

"Maglor!" Elladan beamed, and then his face fell when he took in the Noldo's bedraggled appearance. "Oh, Valar, you look awful. Don't you at least try to take care of yourself when you go through this phase?"

Maglor scowled. "I survived three Ages without you two to worry about me."

"Yes, but that was before water pollution."

Maglor gave him a dull look. "Water pollution doesn't hurt us, Elladan."

"It's the principle of the thing," Elladan said. He looked Maglor up and down, taking in the battered sandals, ripped pants, and tattered shirt he was wearing. "Have you seriously been doing nothing but walking on beaches for the past year?"

Maglor huffed, grabbed his sack from the back seat, and began stalking towards the house. "I used to walk on beaches for centuries straight; a year is nothing. I don't see why you people are so obsessed over - " The rest of his words were cut off as the front door suddenly swung open and a blur of dark hair and wine-red skirts streaked down the front stairs, bowling him over in the process. Maglor lay on the ground for a moment and stared up at the darkening sky, wondering what had just happened.

"Rhíchen!" he heard Elladan shout.

"Sorry Lord Maglor!" the girl shouted. Maglor grunted and pushed himself off the ground in time to see her tackle her next victim. "MITHRELLAS!"

"Rhíchen!" Mithrellas cried, instantly turning away from Glorfindel. "I got you the loveliest pair of heels while we were in Florence..." She rummaged through the back seat for a moment, and then came the sound of impossibly high-pitched, dolphin-like squealing.

"OH. EM. GEE. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Maglor turned away from the shoe-obsessed elf women to stare at Elladan. "'Oh em gee'?"

Elladan shrugged. "All the cool kids are saying it."

It had been a year since he'd last been on a computer, but Maglor knew what chatspeak was. "By 'cool kids' I suppose you mean 'internet-obsessed geeks'?"

"Oh-em-gee you're here!"

Maglor groaned and turned to see Elrohir standing on the front landing. Elladan tried to contain his snickers.

"You came!" Elrohir grinned.

"You sound so surprised."

"Shouldn't I be?" Elrohir hurried down the stairs to Maglor's side. "C'mon, let's get you inside. I'll take your stuff," he said, grabbing Maglor's satchel, "and...um...I'll take your...stuff..." He looked around. "Uh, where's the rest of it?"

"He's wandering," Elladan reminded him.

"I don't see why you're so surprised," Maglor grumbled. "You knew I didn't know where I was when you called me."

Young Rhíchen suddenly hurried past them, carrying a mountain of luggage and shopping bags. "Mith, you're, like, totally my favoritest person in the entire world, you know that?"

"I figured," Mithrellas said amusedly, following after with a more moderate amount of baggage. "You know, you don't need to carry that all on your own..."

"Oh, but I owe you," Rhíchen said, the words coming out in a near-squeal. "Prada! Oh-em-gee I love you so much!"

Maglor scowled after her. "I can't believe people are actually speaking that out loud."

"What?" Elrohir asked.

"I think he means the chatspeak," Glorfindel said, coming over to them. His blasted horse followed him and started snuffling at Maglor's hair, which probably smelled like seaweed.

"Oh," said Elrohir. "Right. That."

Maglor yanked a lock of hair away from Asfaloth. "Of course I mean the chatspeak. It belongs on the internet. I never dreamed it'd cross over into the real world."

Elrohir laughed. "Maggie, the internet is the real world these days! Besides, we all know linguistic drift happens."

"I wasn't expecting that much drift!" Maglor said, stalking into the house. The others followed after him, with the exception of Asfaloth, who went off to do whatever it was ancient Valinorian-bred stallions did in their off time. Look pretty and chew up the garden, Maglor supposed. That was what Celegorm's stupid horse had always done.

"So," said Elladan as they walked. "How've you been?"

"The usual."

"That bad, huh?" Elrohir muttered.

"Yes, that bad," Maglor snapped. "And I hope you remember that it could always be worse!" And then he stopped in his tracks because Erestor suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Maglor," said Erestor.

"Erestor," said Maglor.

"Welcome back," said Erestor. "Don't break anything, and don't you dare stain the carpets again."

Maglor nodded. Erestor nodded back. Awkward reunion thus complete, they brushed past each other and continued in opposite directions. The twins and Glorfindel followed Maglor, of course.

"So, we have your room ready for you," Elladan said. "You remember where it is, right?"

"Of course I remember where it - "

"MERCIFUL VALAR, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DRIVEWAY?!"

The four elves turned around to see Erestor at the front door, staring in horror at the tire marks.

"Mithrellas happened," Glorfindel grinned.

"Did you encourage her?"

"...No."

"Calm down, Erestor," Elladan said. "This is nothing compared to the Doughnut of '97."

Erestor's face darkened. "Don't remind me. No wonder poor Nimrodel is in hysterics." He looked Maglor up and down. "You were in the car, correct?"

"No," Maglor said dryly, "I was strapped to the roof."

"Because you don't look like you're about to collapse from the overwhelming force of unleashing repressed anxiety."

"Can't afford to. It'd be seven Ages' worth of repressed anxiety."

"Is Nim alright?" Elladan asked.

"She's calling for Mithrellas's hands on a platter so she can never drive again," Erestor said. "I sent her to lie down for a bit. I'm sure she'll be fine in an hour or so."

"Oh, good," said Elrohir. "Just in time for dinner, then."

"Yes, and - GLORFINDEL!"

"Yes?"

"Your blasted horse is eating my love-in-a-mist!"

Glorfindel winced and rushed out the door. "Asfaloth! Bad! Bad horse!"

Maglor thought that Asfaloth was probably well aware that he was a bad horse who wasn't supposed to eat the love-in-a-mist and did so anyway. Celegorm's horse had always munched on the prettiest flowers - usually chewing in a mockingly slow manner while fixing the offended party with the equine equivalent of a smirk. It'd driven their mother crazy. It'd driven Maedhros crazy. It'd even driven Curufin crazy, because the damned mare had responded to neither blackmail nor bribery when he'd tried to stop her from destroying his wife's nursery of plant genetics experiments. Celegorm's stupid, stubborn horse had been responsible for the ruin of gardens across Valinor and Beleriand both. Yavannah herself had once cursed out Orome for allowing such a gluttonous, insolent creature to be bred. Maglor had it on good authority that half the reason for all that drama in Nargothrond had been because she'd eaten Orodreth's prized ornamental shrubbery.

Judging from the way Erestor and Glorfindel were shouting, Asfaloth was all-too-happy to follow in the long-dead mare's footsteps. Maglor wondered if they might be related. He'd never thought to check.

"Well," said Elladan. "Shall we get you to your room, Maglor?"

Maglor huffed and turned to head on down the hallway. "Fine," he sighed.

"So, here's your room," Elrohir said, waving his hand in a grand flourish. "Just the way you left it back in...uh…" He poked at the record player. "1950-something?"

Maglor snorted. "This is not the way I left it," he said, crossing the room. "For one thing, this bedspread is new."

"We do need to replace them every decade or so."

Maglor dropped his bag on the bed and looked around, frowning. "For another thing, where are my records?" He hadn't really meant to call them his - as far as he was concerned, they weren't, he hadn't paid for them himself, all he'd ever done was listen to them - but for the sake of the sentence, he used the possessive. He'd left an entire shelf full of the things behind when he'd left for England.

"Uh," said Elrohir, looking around. "I think...Lindir took them at first?" He scratched the back of his head.

"They're probably in the cellar by now," Elladan said. "Right between the Gondorian armor and the illuminated manuscripts."

"We could dig them out for you, if you like," Elrohir offered.

Maglor snorted. "I'm fine, thanks." He wasn't planning on staying long enough to care about digging up old artifacts. "I'm shocked you even still have them."

"Eh, some of them might be worth something someday," Elladan shrugged. "Also vinyl is just nice sometimes."

"iPods are so much more convenient, though," Elrohir said, and he peered at Maglor. "Wait, do you know what an iPod is?"

"Yes, I know what an iPod is," Maglor huffed, rolling his eyes. "I got one for Christmas for…" He trailed off, remembering just who he'd gotten that gift for, and realizing that he'd just inadvertently reminded Elladan and Elrohir about her as well.

The twins exchanged glances. "So!" Elladan began. "Jacelyn's doing great, you know."

"Of course she is," Maglor sighed, dropping down to sit on the bed.

"Job's going well," Elladan said, ticking off his fingers. "And she's been doing a great job running the boarding house. And she and Rashaad are still going steady."

"Really steady," Elrohir added.

"Yeah, really, really steady."

"So steady that we should probably figure out how to break it to him that his probable future fiance was actually raised by an assortment of immortal beings straight out of the greatest fantasy story ever told, since I'm getting the feeling that's probably the kind of secret that could damage a marriage."

Maglor snorted. "I'm sure Jacelyn will figure out how to explain it to him when the time comes."

"Yeah, she's a smart girl," Elrohir said.

"She's worried about you," Elladan added.

Maglor snorted again. "She shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"We're all worried about you."

"I highly doubt that you're all worried about me," Maglor said, because there were a few people he was fairly sure couldn't care less for him.

"Oh my god, don't start this again," Elrohir muttered.

"Maglor," Elladan said sternly, "it has literally been over ten millennia since the First Age. It's water under the bridge. No one in this house cares about your past anymore. And there's so few of us left these days that we're just glad to have another elf around."

"Yes, because Erestor looked so happy to see me."

"Erestor always looks like that," Elrohir said. "You really ought to know that by now."

"Look, Maglor," said Elladan, "we've been over this a million times. We get worried, alright? Especially with your habit of just wandering off whenever you want and not showing up again for decades. And now that technology's progressed to the point where we can instantly communicate with each other, no matter where we are - we just wish you'd try to keep in touch. Even if you just sent us a text message - "

"Ah, yes, the glorious cell phone," Maglor said dryly. Despite the miracles technology was working for communication, part of him missed the days when he could fall off the face of the earth for a few decades and no one was capable of finding him until he wanted them to.

" - even if you just sent us a text message every month letting us know you're alive," Elladan soldiered on, "we'd be grateful."

"You don't have to worry about me dying," Maglor said. "I don't think I'm allowed to."

Elladan ignored him. "I mean, would it kill you to send a text message every so often?"

Maglor snorted, but all he said was, "You never get on Daeron's case for disappearing!"

The twins exchanged glances. "Daeron is very hard to get ahold of," Elladan said.

"Not to mention a little..." Elrohir looped his finger in circles at the side of his head. "Out there."

Maglor snorted. "Oh, and I'm not?"

"At least you aren't always comparing us to Luthien."

No, he just mixed them up with their father and uncle.

"When was the last time anyone even heard from Daeron, anyway?" Elladan asked.

There was a moment of silence while they thought it over.

"...1911?" Elrohir asked. "He showed up for a week, sang a lot, made Lindir feel like his musical talent was inadequate, and wandered off into the woods again."

"Sounds about right," Elladan said.

"World War One," Maglor said. "At Roos." Daeron had come out of nowhere in the woods and scared the living daylights out of Maglor, who'd only just managed to not scream and alert the two mortals walking through the hemlock glade that he was kind of stalking them. The two elves had wound up having a jam session together, and Ronnie and Edith, bewildered but enchanted, had danced among the flowers to the tune of an unseen pipe and harp.

"So it's been, like, ninety years," Elladan said, frowning. "Huh."

Maglor privately envied Daeron's ability to just disappear for decades on end. He'd been able to do that once, long ago. Maybe he should just swear off cell phones.

"He'll turn up again," Elrohir shrugged. "Next time he needs to stare into our eyes and wax poetic about Great-Great-Grandma Luthien."

Elladan made a face. "Right. Anyway, we're talking about the wrong obsessively-nostalgic minstrel." He turned his attention back to Maglor.

"It's only been a year," Maglor said, refusing to be cowed. "A year. If you can't go a mere year without hearing from me without throwing a fit - "

"I don't mind so much that it's been a year," Elladan spoke over him. "Years are short, and barring nuclear war or the end of the world, we have plenty of them ahead. You know who doesn't? You know who sees a year as a very long time?"

Maglor clapped his mouth shut, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

"Mortals, Maglor," Elladan said. "Mortals like your daughter." When Maglor didn't say anything, he continued, "She misses you. A lot. And she's even more worried than we are. You just left her."

"She's a grown woman," Maglor protested, repeating the same argument he'd used yesterday. "She can take care of herself."

"This isn't about whether or not she's being provided for, and you know it," Elladan said.

"She misses you," Elrohir said. "A lot."

"And you know she has abandonment issues," Elladan added.

Maglor winced. It wouldn't be the first time he'd left someone who'd already been abandoned before. He tried not to think about Elrond.

"Mith and Nim moved in with her for a few months to make sure she was alright," Elrohir added. "She really didn't take it well. Especially since, y'know, you just kind of up and left."

Maglor fumbled with his hands. "She - I - it was time for me to go." He'd stayed in one place for nearly a decade to raise Jacelyn, after centuries of wandering. He'd been itching to get back on the move.

"Yeah," Elrohir said, "but you could've stayed in touch. She's worried about you."

"That's not how it works!" Maglor snapped. "I don't - I've never - " He'd raised dozens of orphans in the ages since Elrond and Elros, and with every adopted child that reached adulthood and self-sufficiency, he'd left a note and stolen away. It'd been so easy to just disappear before, when letters had been the only method of communication and tracking someone with a satellite had been impossible. "I'm not supposed to stay with them, I just - I make sure they're okay, and I - she's fine, she doesn't need me, none of them need me once they grow up and we're all better off - " He broke off abruptly, told himself to stop sputtering. He was Maglor Feanorion, master of music and words, son of the man who'd stirred the Noldor to rebellion by the power of his speech alone. He did not sputter. "I told Jacelyn I was leaving," he said. "I left. I'm sorry I worried her. But I've never…"

It was silent for a moment.

"It's a new millennium, Maglor," Elladan said. "Maybe it's time for a different approach to the post-parenting thing."

Maglor thought of his daughter - his brilliant, determined daughter, who could rap out verses and beatbox to his harpstrings, whose skill with a camera rendered pictures that were worth ten thousand words, who always worked hard towards her goals no matter how stuck or stupid or hopeless things seemed, who'd carefully needled Maglor for information on Middle-Earth long before Peter Jackson's films had catapulted the story into public popularity, who hated reading but had diligently forced her way through all of Ronnie's works in an effort to better understand her father's past.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss her.

"Alright," he sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable. "I'll call her."

Elladan smiled. "Good," he said.

"Not right now, though," Elrohir added quickly. "It's two in the morning where she is."

"Tomorrow morning, then," Maglor said. He thought for a moment before asking, "There's a phone in the kitchen, right?"

The twins frowned at him. "Doesn't your cell get international service?" Elladan asked.

Maglor shifted on his seat. "Well, yes. Yes, I suppose it did."

"Did?"

"Ossë and Uinen are probably fooling around with it right now."

Elladan groaned. Elrohir looked scandalized. "You threw your cell phone into the ocean?"

Maglor shrugged. "I have a habit of throwing bright, shiny things that cost far more than they're worth into large bodies of water."

Elladan groaned again. "I can't believe - no, wait, I can." He rubbed his temples. "Ugh. Alright. We're gonna get you a new phone before you leave here."

"Must you?"

"Yes," said Elladan.

"Alright," Maglor sighed, making a mental note to not tell them when he was leaving.

Elladan gave him a hard look, like he knew exactly what Maglor was thinking. Maybe he did. Elrond's children did seem to have inherited his intuition. "Well then," he said, standing up and heading for the door. "We'll let you get settled in. Dinner's in an hour - that should be enough time for you to get cleaned up."

"And for Nimrodel to stop yelling at Mithrellas," Elrohir added, following his brother. He paused in the doorframe after Elladan had gone out. "Hey, you know how this hallway is mostly storage space and you?"

Maglor blinked. "Yes?" Imladris was much smaller than it'd been in ages past, but even though many elves still called the place home, it had more rooms than it did inhabitants. When the twins had insisted on giving Maglor his own space here, he had in turn insisted that his room be located in the farthest reaches of the house, at the end of a corridor connecting rooms that were only used for storage, where he could be a grumpy recluse in peace.

"Well, it's not just you anymore," Elrohir said. "Jacelyn claimed the room across from yours for when she visits."

He closed the door behind him, and Maglor was left blinking on the bed.

Eventually he stood. He cleaned himself up in the small bathroom tucked in the corner of his quarters, checked the wardrobe just to see if anyone had - ah, yes, it was fully stocked. It seemed that someone had cleared out his 1950s attire and replaced it with modern garments, as well as a few pieces of recreated traditional Third Age Imladris fashion. Maglor ignored the embroidered robes in favor of the jeans and t-shirts. He wondered if they'd been here for a while, if the twins had the wardrobe cleaned out and restocked every decade or so in anticipation of his arrival, if they'd just slapped it together after he'd agreed to visit yesterday, if there'd been a shopping trip involved or if they'd just gleaned bits and pieces from everyone else in the house -

He slid another hanger aside to uncover a Walt Disney World pullover featuring a generic Mickey Mouse design, and he stilled. He knew this sweatshirt. He'd bought it while on vacation years ago, on Jacelyn's insistence that "You have to get something Dad, yeesh! How can you come all the way down here and not buy anything?" She'd picked it out for him, and he'd paid for the hideously overpriced thing, and a few months later when they were back home up north and winter was upon them he'd found it was actually very warm and cozy. He'd worn it every winter since, much to his daughter's smug delight, right on up until a year ago. It'd been in his closet in the house he'd signed over to Jacelyn when he left.

Maglor stared at the shirt, his thoughts straying to the room across the hallway. After a moment he slid the next six hangers across the rack, covering the old souvenir and keeping it out of sight. He grabbed the next t-shirt he saw - simple, plain, navy blue - and a pair of jeans, and then he closed the wardrobe and went to get dressed.

Dinner was served in the dining room, though the long table was rather empty. Most members of the household were apparently taking their dinner out in the forest, as the weather was nice and they didn't feel like taking a break from their awful singing to go to the actual dining room. Thus, the diners in the house consisted of the twins, Glorfindel, Mithrellas, Nimrodel, Maglor, and young Rhíchen, who was sporting her new shoes. She was practically bouncing in them as she flew back and forth between the kitchen and dining room with trays of food, with all the ease of someone who'd been walking in heels for over a century.

Maglor took the seat next to Glorfindel and across from Mithrellas, who was gushing to Elrohir about her new car. Beside her, Nimrodel looked annoyed but far less upset than she had earlier.

"Makalaurë!" Glorfindel greeted him with a grin.

"Laurëfindë," Maglor sighed. Rhíchen, in the act of setting down a platter of sliced bread and cheese and prosciutto, looked intrigued at the Quenya names.

"So how've you been?" Glorfindel asked, snatching a piece of prosciutto and grinning his thanks at Rhíchen. "How was the trip? Mithrellas has been giving us details but honestly all she's talking about is the car."

"My car is awesome!"

"Her driving skills are still terrifying but effective," Maglor said.

"Hey, if I'd thought we were in any danger at any time, I would've slowed down! You know I'm a very responsible driver!"

Maglor huffed, and Nimrodel rolled her eyes. For a moment, their gazes met, and they accidentally shared an exasperated look.

"The sad thing is, she's right," Maglor sighed. Mithrellas's lead foot notwithstanding, her elven reflexes and century of experience behind the wheel made her the most qualified person to go double the speed limit.

"I miss the days when cars only went thirty miles* per hour," Nimrodel said, ripping apart a piece of bread.

"Ha!" Mithrellas laughed. "No. Thank goodness that's over! There are numbers on speedometers that few people will ever safely hit now!"

Maglor and Nimrodel exchanged another exasperated look, this time completely intentionally.

"You enjoy your cars," Glorfindel said, grabbing a bowl of chopped potatoes drizzled with herbs and olive oil. "I'll stick with my horse. Asfaloth would be offended if I replaced him."

Maglor snorted. "Did you succeed in stopping him from eating all the love-in-a-mist?"

"I owe Erestor new flowerbeds," Glorfindel sighed, handing the bowl off to Maglor. "Oh well, I needed something to do tomorrow, anyway. Hey, you want to help me with the plants? They'd probably take root quicker if you sang to them."

"My songs would make them wither and die," Maglor deadpanned, spooning potatoes onto his plate. The empty chair beside him was suddenly pulled out, and he turned to see Rhíchen plop into the seat. Apparently she was done setting out food - judging from how much was on the table, there were few dishes left.

She grabbed for a piece of cheese from the platter in the center of the table and shot Maglor a grin. "Hiya Lord Maglor!"

For some reason, she'd decided to sit next to him. He had no idea why.

"Hello, Rhíchen," he answered. "Potatoes?"

"Po-ta-toes!" Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Mithrellas chorused. Maglor cursed himself for saying the P-word. He'd forgotten about the annoying "tradition" that'd ruined many a decent meal since 2002. He didn't think he'd ever forgive Sean Astin.

"Oh, yes please!" Rhíchen said.

Maglor passed the bowl her way and took a moment to survey her. She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her, during that Disney World trip back in the '80s, though he thought she might look a little older. Rhíchen was one of the younger elves - not the youngest, but still much, much younger than anyone else at the table. She'd been born sometime in the 19th century, though Maglor couldn't remember when, exactly.

"Where are your parents?" Maglor asked, glancing around for Calithil and Lindir.

"Nana's helping Erestor finish up in the kitchen," Rhíchen said, heaping potatoes onto her plate. "And Ada's probably going to avoid you and Glorfindel for a bit because he owes Glorfindel seventeen pfennigs** because he bet you wouldn't show up." She paused before adding, "And you always make him feel inferior with your singing, but I totally didn't say that."

Maglor smirked. "Didn't say what?"

She grinned.

"Still upset I won you that bet, though," Maglor added to Glorfindel.

"I had complete and total faith in Mithrellas's ability to drag you up here kicking and screaming," Glorfindel said. Across the table, Mithrellas raised her glass to him.

"Yes, all hail Mithrellas and her ability to pull people together," Elladan said from the head of the table. "Don't know what we'd do without you."

"I was in the car, too," Nimrodel said.

"Yeah, but I think we can safely say you probably didn't give a shit about getting Maglor up here - "

"LANGUAGE!" Erestor's voice bellowed from the kitchen. Elladan rolled his eyes.

"This is true," Nimrodel shrugged, turning her attention back to her food.

"Anyway, we ought to send you after Daeron next," Elrohir said to Mithrellas. "We just remembered it's been about a hundred years since anyone's seen him."

Mithrellas snorted. "Knowing Daeron, he's probably somewhere that not even an off-roader could get to. I'll pass. He can grace us with his presence whenever he's ready."

"I'd rather track down Tauriel, really," Nimrodel said. "Last I heard she was trekking through the Pacific Northwest."

"Ooh, rain and redwoods," Mithrellas hummed. "Might need to make that our next road trip, then. It'll be nice after hot, sunny Italy."

Rhíchen looked at Maglor. "So how were the beaches of Italy?"

"Sandy," he told the girl. "Very sandy." Sandy, and full of annoying tourists and bratty seagulls and the ever-present notion that Ossë and Uinen were laughing at him.

"I wish I could spend a year on the beach," she sighed.

"Great!" Elrohir said. "We'll make you Maggie's chaperone. He'll take you to all sorts of beaches, and you can make sure he calls us every so often."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Maglor said. "My songs would probably sink her into a pit of depression that she'd never be able to climb out of."

"Then you'd just have to sing about something happy," Elrohir snipped. Maglor gave him a dull look. Rhíchen glanced back and forth between them uncertainly.

Erestor and Calithil chose that moment to enter the dining room, Erestor with a salad, Calithil with a platter of sauerbraten. "And here's the main course!" she said, setting the food down on the table before taking the seat next to her daughter.

"Alright," Elrohir said, grabbing for the salad bowl the second Erestor set it down. "Everyone make sure you eat super healthy tonight, because tomorrow it's nothing but cheesy carby goodness until our stomachs commit mutiny."

"Seriously?" Maglor asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes, Maglor, that's the entire point of Pizza Night! You'll love it, don't worry. When was the last time you even had pizza?"

"I was in Italy," Maglor reminded him. "Of course I had pizza. Plenty of pizza."***

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "Okay, point taken. But tomorrow you'll have even more pizza! And watch a movie. And socialize. Pizza, movie, friends and family. It's gonna be great!"

"So glad we could drag you kicking and screaming to our little get-together," Glorfindel grinned.

"My pleasure," Maglor said dryly.

"Shush, you'll have fun," Elrohir said. "I mean, we haven't picked out what movie we're watching yet so that could be a total disaster, but at least you'll love the pizza. There's this pizza place in town that opened up a few years ago. It's great, you'll love it."

Maglor snorted. "German pizza," he said, mostly just to be a jerk.

"I like the pizza," Rhíchen said quietly, and then she jerked a bit, eyes widening slightly. Maglor recognized it as the universal look of youngsters who hadn't meant to speak out loud realizing that they'd just done exactly that. Huh. Interesting.

"Yes, we know, dear," Calithil laughed, and she looked at Nimrodel and Mithrellas. "I swear, this one goes out to eat pizza at least once a week."

Mithrellas snickered. "Alright hon, you love pizza that much, next time Nimmy and I decide to tour Italy you can come with. We can swim at the beach and shop for shoes and eat pizza to your heart's content."

Rhíchen smiled. "I'd like that."

Erestor had sat down beside Nimrodel and was helping himself to the roast beef. "How much pizza are we ordering tomorrow, anyway?"

"Enough for the whole household!" Elrohir proclaimed. "And at least one of every kind of pizza they offer. Plus a few they don't. I have a list."

"Even the arugula one?" Rhíchen asked, making a face.

"Yes."

"You're ordering that much pizza?" Maglor asked.

"Already ordered!" Elrohir corrected him. "I always let them know a few days ahead of time. It's only polite."

"How often do you do this?"

Elrohir shrugged. "Eh, often enough. They're used to us and our large orders."

"It makes me wonder why they aren't more suspicious about our parties," Erestor huffed.

"Because we tip very well," Elrohir said.

By the time dinner was over, the sky had gone dark. Melodious voices drifted in from the garden.

"Sounds like Gil-Estel's rising," Elladan said. "Shall we head outside?"

And just like that, dinner was adjourned. Calithil left the room, Rhíchen bouncing behind her, and Glorfindel trailed after them asking if he was going to have to hunt down Lindir to get his money. Erestor followed at a sedate pace. Mithrellas and Nimrodel exchanged glances at the table.

"Feel like going outside and singing to that guy we have no ties to from that legend that didn't concern us with the jewel we definitely don't care about?" Nimrodel asked.

"Sure!" Mithrellas beamed.

"We get it, you're Wood Elves," Elladan sighed.

Nimrodel stuck her tongue out at him. "Just a friendly reminder!" she said, and then she and Mithrellas were also gone.

The twins looked at Maglor expectantly.

"What?"

"You coming?" Elladan asked.

"Oh, no," Maglor said, standing up and backing away from the table. "I draw the line at singing to your blasted grandfather."

"How about Elbereth, then?"

"I doubt she'd like to hear anything from me."

"But - "

"Give it up, Elladan," Maglor ordered, getting up from the table. "I am not singing to Earendil or Elbereth."

Not in public, anyway.

They found him in his room hours later, sitting on the windowsill and gazing up at the stars while quietly singing in Quenya. The twins crept in and sat beside him. There was singing from the gardens below - real singing, not the horrid, pointless drivel from earlier.

It was a peaceful moment. Maglor ruined it by asking, "Shouldn't you two be in bed?"

"Nice to know your paternal instincts are intact," Elrohir said. "And for your information, we're all grown up. We can do whatever we want."

Maglor made a funny sound in the back of his throat.

"What?" Elrohir asked.

"Nothing."

There was another moment of silence, and for a few minutes they all watched Feanor's silmaril float across the sky.

"D'you think Ada ever rides along?" Elladan asked.

"Huh," said Maglor. He'd never considered it. "Perhaps."

"I hope so," Elrohir said. He looked intrigued at the idea. "It must be fun!"

"Most likely," Maglor agreed, and he had to fight a sudden wave of jealousy. Elrond was more than entitled to flying around on a space-faring ship with a glowing rock Maglor had sought after for an Age and his actual, biological father. Elrond was more than entitled to spending time with his actual, biological father, who hadn't acquired his children by killing anyone, or killed anyone in general who hadn't deserved it, or sworn a stupid oath, or completely messed things up so badly in Arda that it was still a mess Ages later.

Elrond was a grown Elf-Man-Maia-Person-Thing, and entitled to do whatever he wanted, and Maglor certainly wasn't jealous over Elrond hypothetically sailing the heavens with Earendil at all.

Maglor was still pretty sure that Earendil had commitment issues, workaholic issues, and parental issues, and also took smug satisfaction in the fact that he'd been the one to raise Elrond into what he'd become.

But he certainly wasn't jealous.

"Maybe he's up there right now," Elrohir said. "Watching us."

"I'd like that," Elladan smiled.

Maglor found himself smiling as well. He'd like that, too.

*Elves being primarily European, Nimrodel could've said "48 km" but in the days that cars only went that fast she and Mithrellas were on a decades-long road trip thru the USA and the terminology stuck.

**Pfennigs: Pre-euro German pennies that can date as far back as the Middle Ages. The seventeen Lindir bet have been rattling around in the pocket of his favorite robe since circa 1883.

***Actually due to the fact that Maglor was in the throes of an introvertive overdose and wanted as little to do with people as possible, he was mostly eating self-caught fish, wild aloe vera, seaweed, and an embarrassing number of Kinder eggs.

Hope you enjoyed! Please do leave a review if you're so inclined!

No promises on when the next chapter will be posted. :P