Eönwë had come out to personally deliver a message that Manwë wanted to hold a feast in Finarfin's honor. While Maglor was glad that was all it was - celebration, rather than punishment; their secret seemed to still be safe, for now - and he agreed that Finarfin deserved accolades, he nonetheless wished Manwë would have waited and given Finarfin at least a few more days to rest and recover. He could tell Finarfin dreaded the occasion rather than being excited for it, and Maglor felt the same way. The Valar made him uneasy, and Manwë most of all.
But still, the next day Finarfin went to the banquet, with Maedhros and Maglor, Elrond and Elros. Finarfin bore the Silmarils, which Maglor had mixed feelings about - on the one hand he hoped Finarfin wasn't going to be surrendering them to Yavanna, or that the Valar would ask for them even if Finarfin had no intention of giving them, on the other hand the last time the Silmarils were left behind, Morgoth stole them and though he was dead now, Maglor knew Finarfin was wary of history repeating itself with someone else taking them... so the Silmarils went with them, in a small box. Even covered, Maglor could feel the warmth and the vibration from the gems. There was power in them, and the Valar knew this, and Maglor suspected that had been the real reason why the Valar had asked for them after the Darkening - not to relight the world, but to feed on the energy.
That thought chilled him, despite the warmth radiating from the box with the gems.
The feast was a solemn, somber affair - the food was lavish, but there was no music, no merriment. It was more like a funeral than a celebration. But at last there was wine, and Manwë poured the cups himself, which sparkled with divine light as they were filled. And then Manwë raised his own goblet.
"Arafinwë Finwion," Manwë called out, his voice echoing against the gilded pillars. "For your valor in defeating Melkor and protecting the realm, please accept our gifts to you."
Varda had woven Finarfin a robe that seemed like it was made of the sunrise itself, shimmering with shifting clouds of pale gold, soft blues and pinks, lavender and peach.
Ulmo had a ship for Finarfin, a golden swan that could fold up and be carried in his pocket when not in use.
Yavanna had a small tree in a green ceramic pot that would produce golden apples year-round, and encouraged Finarfin to try one and share slices of it with his nephews. It was the sweetest, most delicious fruit Maglor had ever eaten.
Aulë had forged a gold and silver crown for Finarfin, tipped with jewels that reminded Maglor of the aurora borealis he had seen in Beleriand, shifting green, blue and violet. Maglor thought bitterly that his father's craftsmanship was still better, though the crown was still a lovely work of art.
Then it was time for Manwë's gift. "Name three things, anything, and I will grant your request."
Maglor's eyebrows shot up, and Finarfin's mouth opened. Maedhros sipped his wine, his expression neutral, but Maglor could tell Maedhros couldn't believe what he was hearing either.
"Any three things," Finarfin said softly.
"Anything at all, anything you desire, consider it done."
"You swear this?" Finarfin put his goblet down and folded his arms.
"I swear it."
"Swear to me in blood," Finarfin said.
Of course, the Valar didn't exactly have blood - they clothed themselves in flesh to interact with the Children, but it was not the same as having physical bodies. Even so, the flesh guise Manwë wore had something like blood, and Manwë made a dagger appear out of thin air and cut his hand, the essence pouring into Finarfin's goblet of wine. "I swear," Manwë repeated, his voice thundering through the halls.
Finarfin leaned back in his seat, and Maglor could practically see the wheels turning in Finarfin's head. If Manwë said anything at all, there were endless possibilities, but Maglor had a feeling he knew Finarfin would ask for things Manwë wasn't expecting him to request, and he braced himself, hoping Manwë wouldn't go back on his word.
Finarfin's eyes met Maedhros's across the table. Maedhros pursed his lips, glanced over at his stump, and back at Finarfin. Do not ask for my arm, Maedhros spoke into Finarfin's mind, letting Maglor hear it too. I can live without my arm. Ask for something... else. Something bigger.
Finarfin sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then he exhaled sharply. "For the first thing... you will not ask for the Silmarils. They are mine to keep, and do with as I see fit."
Manwë frowned slightly, and Yavanna gave Finarfin a murderous look. Finarfin shot one back. "You have the Sun and the Moon," Finarfin pointed out. "You no longer need the Silmarils, do you?"
Yavanna looked off to the side and Maglor once again had the feeling the Valar knew the Silmarils were something more than just lights - the power in them had been worth killing for to ensure they didn't fall into the wrong hands, much as Maglor felt many of those deaths were a mistake - but the Valar did not speak of it. Instead, Manwë replied, "Granted," in such an icy tone of voice that Maglor fought back a smile, knowing it annoyed him, and he felt Manwë deserved to be annoyed.
Then Finarfin's eyes met Maglor's, and Maglor's heart beat faster. Here it is, Maglor thought to himself.
Finarfin rose to his feet. "Change the Laws," Finarfin said.
"What." Manwë recoiled as if Finarfin had hit him.
"You said I could ask anything I wanted, you swore it to me, and this is the second thing I want. Before our people came to the Blessed Realm, they loved freely. Men with men, women with women, blood with blood, so long as they were grown and consenting. You forced our people to wed one man to one woman, for life, and that has caused more harm than you know. My eldest brother made many mistakes in his life, but perhaps he would have made other choices if he was not driven to misery and despair in a loveless marriage. I loved him, and I would have taken better care of him if I had been allowed to. One ruined life set off a chain of events that ruined the lives of many other people. So I ask this of you now: let our people love as they will, once more. Allow me to remarry and take a consort of my own choosing, no matter who it is, so long as they are grown."
Manwë opened his mouth, his eyes flashing like lightning, and Maglor was afraid - he felt as exposed as if someone had stripped him naked, as if their secret had been laid bare in the sight of the Valar even though Finarfin had not said who, specifically, he wanted as his consort. He glanced around the hall for the exit, though he knew it would be futile if Manwë wanted them in chains.
"You promised," Finarfin added, his voice rising. "You swore to me -"
Before Manwë could reply, Nienna called out, "He is right."
There was a long moment of heavy silence. Maglor felt like he couldn't breathe.
Then Nienna went on, "I have felt the sorrow of Fëanor, and many like him. I have wept tears unnumbered of my own, for his loneliness, and that of many others. For all that Fëanor burned with creativity, how much more could he have done if he had not been weighted down so much by sorrow, and had instead shone with joy? The Children have not known peace in this place when we promised it to them. Let them be free, brother. Let them love, so that hatred and strife may never darken this realm again."
Maglor swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. He was not expecting Nienna to stand up to Manwë, and he was grateful she did. He was still wary of the Valar, but she seemed the least bad. She had, indeed, done something right in challenging Manwë.
There was another long silence and Maglor continued to feel ill at ease, wanting desperately to be back home, hiding under the covers. But at last Manwë spoke. "Granted," he ground out.
Maglor breathed a sigh of relief. Finarfin clasped his hands together and silent tears spilled down his cheeks.
When Maglor looked at Manwë again he seemed to have shrunk slightly, the colors of his guise and garb more dim, and Maglor tried not to laugh.
Finarfin took awhile to consider his third request. Once again he looked at Maedhros's stump, and Maedhros shook his head, another firm No across their bond.
Manwë began to scowl, as if he regretted his gift, and finally Finarfin had his third and final request. "My kin who are in the Halls of Mandos," Finarfin said. "Release them, re-embody them. All of them. That includes Fëanor."
"It is not the appointed time -"
"You. Swore. To. Me."
Mandos stepped forward, stern-faced in his dark hooded robe. "It will take one cycle of the moon to re-embody all of them. You will need to wait that long. I am not happy about this request but an oath is an oath."
An Oath is an Oath. In a month's time, Maglor would see his father again. All time seemed to stop, the entire world seemed to stop. Maglor barely paid attention to the rest of the gathering, his mind far away, a whirl of mixed emotions. Joy at being reunited with his dead family, at long last. Dread for the long road of healing ahead, especially for Fëanor and Fingolfin.
Most of all, wondering how things would change with Maedhros, and with Finarfin.
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