24 | Fingon the Babysitter

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Fingon Ñolofinwion | The Valiant

Location: Forlond, Forlindon, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

There were times when he disliked having to tackle his cousins, mostly when Maedhros was not around and he was forced to hold back his exasperations. Don't get it wrong: he loved his extended family and albeit ignored the past – it was like having to deal with various clones of his sister all at once. And for Fingon Ñolofinwion: dealing with his cousins is like dealing with his siblings.

Knocking on the office door, the Fëanorian guard that stood beside opened it for him and Fingon entered the room.

He should have expected to find the two eldest in the city: one throwing a dagger at a wall plastered with maps whilst the other was busy writing at a large round table. Pages of parchment sprawled over the table, with a platter of some food and cups that were half-full of wine.

Expect the two of them already drinking in the early morning...

Finally one of them – unfortunately, the eldest – noticed him and Fingon nodded, "Tyelkormo."

"Findekáno." Celegorm returned, his demeanour already causing a headache forming as he stopped his knife-throwing and gestured to the platter of food. "You dazzle us with your wondrous presence, cousin. Biscuit?"

"No thank you," Fingon declined and passed over to him, placing down his satchel as he directed his focus to the dark-haired Fëanorian. "Ah, Carnistir. Someone with more intelligence for such things, I need to discuss some things on Maedhros' list."

Whilst Celegorm gawked and made a look of offence, Fingon watched as Caranthir stop his writing and make and peered up at him.

With a groan that almost sounded like a growl, Caranthir rolled his eyes. "Oh, not that list again." He complained as he eyed the pages that Fingon was now showing out of his satchel. "If I hear that list again I am going to genuinely go burn it and then put it in his tea."

Alright, Fingon might have to agree with Caranthir about that bit. As much as he loved him, Maedhros and his obsession with organization and routine were perhaps almost over the top. It was something he noticed when growing up with his red-haired ellon, a sort of coping mechanism he had when it came to being the eldest of seven.

Shaking his head, he returned to his agenda as he questioned him as well as Celegorm, "Please tell me we have completed the numbers correctly?"

"Yes, we have, Finde." It was Celegorm who replied, walking over to pat Fingon's shoulder. He sighed dramatically and assured him, "Stop worrying."

Yes because it's as if he could do so simply when there was a war going on.

Fingon shrewdly gave the two a look before bluntly answering, "Well considering I am also to keep an eye on you two for the sake of Maitimo's welfare I am trying to help you both." He paused for a moment, lowering his volume as he asked them with more concern than before, "Have you heard from Atarincë? Your mother?"

"No." Celegorm's voice grew harsh, the way his eyebrows furrowed. Afterwards, he glared down at the table, staring down at the list Caranthir was reading through. "We've asked Lord Glorfindel but all he's said is that nothing has corresponded."

Caranthir sighed and placed the list down as he plainly clarified, "What Tyelko is saying is that we don't trust Laurefindelë."

"What? Why?" Fingon turned, darting his eyes between him and Celegorm in confusion – and mostly concern. "I thought you all worked together?"

Or so that's what he heard and suspected from Maedhros. Before he left for his mission, Maedhros told him what exactly happened in Rivendell. From Elrond Peredhel almost dying to be horrified of the entire valley being burnt to the ground. All but the main house perished, with some forced to rebuild whilst the enemy fled out into the wilderness.

He also said that his brothers had a good relationship with the people of Rivendell, even saving those despite prejudices and offences of the past.

It would seem it was different in the eyes of Celegorm and Caranthir.

A scoff left Celegorm's lips as he folded his arms and said, "There is a difference between working together and being friends." He shook his head, changing the subject as he peered back at Fingon and repeated, "Look, we are just telling you to be careful. And as much as I hate listening to my brother; I don't want his partner to be stabbed in the back."

Fingon softened his expression, knowing well how rare it was to see Celegorm care even by the slightest notion. Even he struggled sometimes to know if he cared for Aredhel or his brothers at all, knowing from experience that his way of caring was a little more destructive and ruder to others.

"I appreciate your concern. The both of you. But I am alright," Fingon smiled, nodding at both of them as he then thanked Caranthir for going through the work. After a few minutes, the dark-haired brother passed the rolled-up parchment to him and Fingon said, "I'll be heading down to Mithlond soon."

As he was about to leave, Celegorm stopped him and noted, "Keep yourself vigilant." He paused, taking a small object from the side of his belt. "Which reminds me, here."

In his hand, Fingon took the small, clothed object.

"For Írissë, I presume?" He asked him.

Celegorm opened his mouth but merely made a grim line with his lips. He muttered, "As much as I dislike the bo-...her son." He stared back at Fingon and added, "It makes no difference that I want her safe. She'll need it."

With another nod, Fingon told him as he placed it in his satchel. "I'll let her know."

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The journey to Mithlond was faster by land than on boat thanks to his steed. Bless his horse companion as they reached the outskirts of the port city, removing his hood as he witnessed a rather discomforted and familiar ellon on the road.

Or rather a half-elf instead.

Fingon didn't intend to meet Elrond Peredhel until the council meeting the day after his arrival, and even the peredhel in question was surprised but had welcomed him to the Grey Havens just like any host would be. They hadn't spoken nor directly conversed at all, but only briefly remembered his conversation with Illyria Ettelëa and the times Maedhros spoke about them in Forlond. He was a little taller than himself, with an appearance very similar to that of the former Princess of Doriath – Lúthien Tinúviel. With the silver eyes and almost midnight blue hair, Elrond was perhaps a little more like what he remembered Princess Lúthien as than what he saw in Lord Dior.

But when they discussed the problems arising and the way how Elrond sounded so concerned about the entire situation, the truth hit him how much he sounded like his own side of his family. There was so much of Idril and Eärendil in him, but surprisingly the same as Maglor and Maedhros. All of these parental figures that had been in this Peredhel's life moulded him to become who he was now.

There was something hopeful about it as well. Fingon couldn't put his finger on it but it gave him a sense of happiness and light to see this half-elf push through the challenges.

Maybe one day Elrond Peredhel would be a name all of the Quendi would know. Though, someone so humble would rather choose to lay behind a title than to be paraded about with it.

By the time they arrived at Cirdan's home, Fingon and Elrond parted ways and he managed to meet with the Lord of Mithlond before deciding to rest for a couple of hours. He knew he would need some sleep before the coming few days. Because after the meeting he would then have to return to Forlond again and give his report to his parents and uncle, knowing that they would need to depart with their army to help in the east.

There was enough time to reunite with his siblings, though. Fingon found them thankfully as he knew Elenwë would want to know how her husband was fairing before they would all return to Forlond in a few days. Along with Aredhel and her son.

He tried his best not to question that, knowing that his little sister would begin arguing if he brought him up again.

This wasn't the right time to have any divides between them as well.

He found them in one of the terrace lounges which overlooked the city. Sitting on the ornate chairs around a reasonably sized table were both his siblings.

For a second his chest heaved, wondering where his littlest brother was and if he was alright.

The first to recognize his presence was Aredhel, who smiled with relief as she spoke, "Háno, you've arrived." She rose from her spot as he met them, speaking, "We thought you wouldn't ever get here."

Fingon felt her arms embrace him, making a short sound as she tightened her hold at his side. Pulling away, he smiled softly at his sister before squeezing her shoulder slightly.

"Apologies I had to finish my errands," He noted before Aredhel gestured at the empty chair beside her.

Across the table, Turgon sat with already a piece of parchment in his hand. He stopped and looked at him, a silent exchange between him and his brother before he sat down.

It was Aredhel who asked him, "Maitimo's?"

"I feel as if everyone knows this list," Fingon groaned before he changed the subject and asked them both, "Nevertheless, how has your stay been?"

"Boring."

"Interesting."

Both Aredhel and Turgon responded at the same time, with the former rolling her eyes whilst Turgon raised a brow back at their sister. Fingon couldn't help but chuckle at those two. He wasn't surprised that Aredhel had been bored for the past few days, understanding that she would rather be out in the woods or spending time with the Fëanorians.

But after hearing about Maeglin being able to be 'released' from Harlond, their sister took the chance and reunited with her son. Even if people were still sceptical of him.

"Oh, you find politics interesting all the time. If not politics, the architecture." His sister rambled on as she leaned back from her chair, gesturing her hand over to her brother as she commented, "Turukáno's been busy with Findaráto ever since we arrived."

Turgon peered back, coolly responding in defence, "That is because we are here for work and not for pleasure, little nésa." He turned to Fingon, ignoring Aredhel's scoff as he continued, "Háno, you should hear of what they speak of. I am rather interested in such a proposal."

"I've heard." He replied, explaining: "Well, Russo spoke of it."

Maedhros even showed it to him, with the odd contraption that shone light and showed writing and...moving pictures? He told him they were called vid-ee-oes? Videos? Something along the lines of that. Fingon would have to ask the youngest Fëanorian of it considering he was apparently the only one out of them who possessed such a highly technical device.

"Russo?" Fingon snapped out of his thoughts, noticing how his sister smirked under the rim of her teacup. Aredhel raised a brow and asked, "Since when have you and your husband turned back to your nicknames?"

Turgon frowned across them as he chided, "Írissë."

His brother would have said more but Fingon sent his younger brother a look and sighed afterwards. "Since we began to court," Fingon revealed – though he wouldn't be surprised how many of his family really knew about his official relationship with the eldest Fëanorian. "Look, I know our...partnership is not known but perhaps if there is enough support after this...perhaps—"

"They will, háno."

Fingon looked down, noticing that Aredhel placed her free hand atop his own. When he glanced back up, she showed a pang of genuine guilt mixed with sympathy in her eyes. Aredhel never much enjoyed nor liked to show this side of herself, but when she did: it made him realise how much his sister tried her best to show her affections.

Even if it was possible, he knew that their marriage would never be accepted. Not by any blessing of the Valar or his parents. Perhaps Lady Nerdanel would, who was the only one who openly accepted him as Maedhros' husband. But with what was going on...does it even matter?

"Ammë and Atto must already know about you," Aredhel removed her hand from his, deciding to punch his arm instead, which he should have expected. With a smug look, she snorted as she added, "You just need to believe it. You and Maitimo, Eru knows how much you and he compliment one another. Like fire and water."

For that moment he twitched his lips, shaking his head as Turgon looked even more peeved and rubbed his forehead what their sister just said. Meanwhile, Fingon simply took his teacup and spoke before he sipped, "I wish it was so simple as that."

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The meeting had been...perplexing.

That was the only thing he could describe as he left the meeting room, arms carrying several scrolls of parchment with dates, lists and maps he had noted on. The meeting consisted of most of those who were leading the hosts: consisting of him, Círdan, Aranwë, Finrod, Glorfindel, Gil-Galad, Elrond, Celebrimbor, Celebrían and Mereneth as well as his brother Turgon and Oropher. The former King of the Greenwood arrived just several hours beforehand, alongside Dior and Nimloth who were planning to head back with them to Forlond to discuss the final matters of departures to Aman.

The meeting was ideally supposed to be in regards to the alliance between Rohan, Gondor, The Northern Kingdoms and Lothlorien, how many would be going and how they were preparing to come to terms on supplies and weaponry. Many have already been prepared and to his surprise, Lady Mereneth piped in that she was able to ally with the dwarfs of Ered Luin.

Lord Oropher along with Lord Dior looked actually livid when the former queen and Teleri elf stated her alliance, causing an array of incoherent words that only came out as muffled noises from the former. There was a stifle of coughs from the only Fëanorian in the room alongside a proud smile from to his surprise: Galadriel's daughter, Lord Gil-Galad and Elrond Peredhel.

(He wouldn't be surprised if those four along with Lady Mereneth and Lady Illyria were once the bane of existence within the entirety of the Eldar of Middle Earth. Those certain six individuals all seemed to have a tight-knit friendship that reminded Fingon too much of his family as well.)

But with the way the room almost seemed to agree on Mereneth's side, considering it was better to have more allies than none at all, they quickly moved on with the rest of the conversation.

It all seemed to go downhill when not only Lord Aranwë, but Lord Dior and Lord Glorfindel planned to have removed a portion of their host from the alliance.

Confusion spread across them – more on both him and the youngest quendi in the meeting – and Fingon has somehow felt his eyes dart towards the voice of a certain Vanya-Noldo.

Thoughts of what Celegorm and Caranthir filled his mind, even the voice of Maedhros' as he warned him last time to care for what could happen.

A lot of people always said to him – no warn him – to never trust what the Fëanorians said. Never trust their actions unless you wanted to wound up a killer or dead.

However, for once the doubt didn't fall on their words but focused on the elf before him.

If he was even an elf at all.

Rumours from Lady Nerdanel as well as those he accidentally eavesdropped mentioned the true parentage of Lord Glorfindel, and Fingon never believed it at first until the move he heard of it. It wouldn't matter anyway, considering it may be the reason why Elemmírë Oialëa possessed beyond any power the Eldar had.

It was his alliance in all of this which concluded this all.

Maedhros didn't fully trust Glorfindel because of the possibility of his connections to the Valar.

But surely the Balrog Slayer would never betray them. Not when his sister loved the Noldor to much and considered them as her heritage.

As he was walking out, his brother had been quiet the entirety of the meeting (which was surprisingly odd for the one who loved politics too much). When Elrond approached them, Turgon bid Fingon for the afternoon and said that he would be discussing more of Elrond's plans along with Finrod and Celebrían.

Which left him standing in the hallway, just a few steps from the elf (not elf perhaps) who watched Lord Aranwë and Lord Dior leave the vicinity of the area.

He really didn't want to have this conversation, especially when all he could think about was—

"Lord Fingon."

Spoke too soon.

Inside, Fingon sucked in a breath before he tried to plaster confusion on his expression. He asked, "Lord Glorfindel, I thought you would be going with the rest?"

Guilt was evident on his face, but it seemed he was trying to hide something as Glorfindel replied, "I was but Lord Aranwë and Lord Finarfin has insisted me to help with the soldiers who would stay behind."

Fingon nodded and clarified, inhaling a little as he realised how many that would equate now. "So it would only be Lord Celebrimbor and Lord Gil-Galad then with the main groups. Lord Oropher would be leading those to aid Mirkwood and Lord Finrod with Lothlorien."

"I understand it is not what they had in mind but our focus is to have enough resources when we return," Glorfindel responded and Fingon refrained from asking even more questions.

He wanted to. He wanted to know why his father even agreed to this. And why was Maedhros not aware of the changes of this? Surely before he left his father and uncle would notify these. If not, perhaps even Glorfindel himself.

Instead, he restrained himself and nodded in understanding. "I know." Fingon paused before he then piqued out, "Though, may I ask why Lord Elrond doesn't wish to go to the front lines? I would assume he would want to help his family."

That was the one thing which made him wonder. During the meeting, Elrond had been too quiet and most of the time he would speak about these things. Though with his silent presence, even he had hidden from the rest of the figures that Fingon barely remembered if he even spoke.

The last time he spoke to Elrond he appeared fatigued and stressed, but not entirely shut behind closed doors. Had something happened to his family? Though by what Glorfindel appeared, it didn't seem to be that.

"Lord Elrond wishes to wait here as Lord Maedhros' insistence. Knowing my sister she would head there straight after her trip with Lord Maglor," Glorfindel spoke plainly and Fingon simply hummed.

"I see."

After an incredibly awkward silence between him and the Vanya-Noldo, Glorfindel bid himself farewell before leaving, letting him watch him round the corner and disappear somewhere in the villa.

But everything that was going on inside his head had just been that.

Fingon was even more confused. In his last conversation with Elrond, it was clear the peredhel was going with them to fight. What changed his mind? Surely not Maedhros as he would have known about it. His partner even told Fingon to ask Elrond to keep an eye on the west when they arrive.

Did Lord Glorfindel persuade him not to?

If so Fingon would understand for the safety of the relationship between his brother-in-law...but it just felt too weird. Too fake.

Maybe Celegorm and Caranthir were right. With what happened in the meeting, with both Finrod and Glorfindel insisting to half the forces originally for the plans as well as keeping Elrond behind: maybe it was right to doubt this Noldo-Vanya.

Unbeknownst to Fingon, a shadow of a bird lurked in the shadows...which heard every bit of the interaction between the two lords.

The crow flew off, returning to its master who would very much enjoy the news it just heard.

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Illyria Strange | The Eternal

Location: Arthorien, Far Harad, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Illyria Strange felt like she was a student again.

For the next couple of days: Maglor forced her back to the start.

And when he meant the start: he really meant it. Though considering who she was, Illyria's introduction to the Mystic Arts was different to those who came to Kamar-Taj. Novices arrived already as adults, people who have already experienced life in all various ways.

Now she understood the hardship of starting at the beginning, feeling as if she had never even touched the idea of her third eye and being more attuned to her surroundings and the mystical and spiritual plane. Maglor had forced her to forget everything she had known and to sit down and do the worse things she hated.

Meditating. Literally the one thing she was terrible at.

They would meditate at the beginning of their sessions and then at the end of them. They did most of their training in the woods, a quadrant where a majority of the Avari settled in their treetop houses. It was genuinely surprising, in contrast to the warm tropical sense of the lake or the Persian styled houses that were lavished with beauty and decoration.

There was a gazebo in the middle of the forest clearing.

Maglor formed a ward in the surrounding area where she was able to meditate before practicing her katas. Her new mentor didn't choose fighting as his lesson, but instead something she had once experienced with the Ancient One.

Their lesson was actually about the theory of emotions. How emotions fueled magic and sorcery and vice versa. He would ask her what she could remember from her readings and discussions with Uncle Wong and Master Hamir, remembering how her dad disliked this bit of the course. The idea and power of belief were not something her dad still was into until his stubbornness finally cracked open.

They had another lesson on the universe and the parallel dimensions, starting of with the lower planes of existence. She sort of assumed that the cryptid hermit sort of knew about her weird ability to create copies of herself, but he didn't question how she was able to obtain it.

Let's just say Illyria had a very good teacher during her little adventure in the Multiverse.

Whilst they discussed the Astral Realm, Illyria couldn't help but reveal about her daughter's abilities to him. If he was surprised about it, Maglor hid it well. Maybe he never met anyone with the ability to travel the physical plane through the Astral Realm via dream state. Though then again, Arwen was a part of her so maybe it was her half-Aini state?

Who knows?

She tried not to think to much about her children and she thanked Maglor for cutting her off and making her do her best to push her boundaries in creating a more corporeal clone. Apparently, if she was able to, there was a possibility for her to use her clone as her eyes and ears at larger distances. Not as if she was ever going to use it, but it could help in the future.

Throughout the next two other lessons, Illyria began to realise how she enjoyed Maglor's teaching. He was a good teacher, and that just sounded so weird in her mouth when she and Bilbo talked during dinner about what they did that day.

And goddammit: the damn Hobbit managed to meet the dwarrow living here without her!

Apparently, one of them almost looked like Thorin fucking Oakenshield, though a little gruffer and less brooding than his husband. Illyria couldn't believe that there was some doppelganger of Thorin walking about until she saw him.

It would be hilarious if it was Durin the Deathless. That would be a good joke to talk about to the rest of them.

Anyhow, she told Bilbo that Maglor's teaching was very different to the one she had with the rest. It reminded her of the lessons she used to have with the Ancient One. They were very blurry memories, but she tried all she could to remember her first-ever mentor and mother figure in this life. How Maglor and her once knew each other and speculated that they were very close – almost like siblings in a way.

Maglor even carried himself almost like her, especially when he appeared less dishevelled and more properly dressed as the leader of a realm and the Wanderer of Worlds.

They met again for a lesson in the morning of their third day here. Before breakfast, she met Maglor at the same clearing – dressed in her tunic along with the flowy linen trousers.

He had raised a brow why she came barefoot before he chuckled and shook his head.

As they sat down cross-legged, Maglor faced her and asked, "How is Young Shana?"

The name made her heart warm whilst she couldn't help but look in the direction with a knowing smile. God, if she had to say anything, she would say that she never regretted saving the little girl back in Bozisha-Dar.

Illyria continued to smile as she spoke, "She's getting better. Maybe if she stays longer, she'll look a little healthier. The food here is helping her out and she loves spending time with the children."

There was no doubt from only a few days how much Arthorien helped Shana: not only physically but mentally and emotionally. The girl was not fearing for her life anymore, but there was still the shyness and nerves that swirled around her. But with how friendly and open the children were to her despite what she was, Shana was in fact enjoying it. The stories she told Illyria after a day's worth of playing or even learning just made her heart pang.

She forgot what it was like to be a parent. It had been a lifetime ago for her, remembering her own children telling her what they did every day. What sort of pranks did they do and if they just made Erestor's hair grow more greyer every moment in their childhood and all the way up to the present.

Maglor must have noticed her mind flying, bringing her back to the present with a fond smile.

"That's good," He breathed in and smoothened his own tunic, his hands remained covered as he changed the subject "Now, this lesson I was hoping we would do more discussion than just magic. Tell me about the laws of energy?"

Her eyebrow rose. "You mean the conservation of energy? Well energy can't be created nor destroyed, you can only move it around and transfer it," Illyria paused as she joked slightly, "Unless you want the full explanation on laws on thermodynamics then we'll be here all day."

Maglor shook his head, but she could see the smile threatening to show.

A point to her for making him smile.

"That is correct. Energy and magic are all the same. Energy is movement, constantly moving and going even when it feels as if there is nothing. What kind of energy will be determined by you or what it is or who it is and how it is used. Control versus chaos, light versus dark, good versus evil...in the end, they are energy in the basic form. You can channel that energy, not just light," Maglor explained.

Illyria nodded as she revealed, "I've done it before, transferred heat into me to stop a burning tree. I used it to stop a train and made it into heat instead."

Yeah, those two examples were perhaps the worse ones to recall. Especially on how badly her chest burned. Or maybe it was just heartburn and her inability to stop eating food that caused it.

Not her fault she liked a bit of salt in her fries.

"What about controlling souls?"

"I..."

Her throat went dry as she spiralled once more down her mind.

The people she had killed. Destroyed.

When she dared to look back at Maglor, he only looked at her with a blank expression. He simply said, "I know what happened, Illyria. Souls are just like energy as well."

Her hands upon her knees clenched, breathing in her nostrils as she tried to calm herself. She could sense the air grow static, the ground before her somehow flicker slightly before she took another breath and tried to concentrate.

Trying to distract herself, Illyria turned her eyes back to him. She asked, "So I can tap into the energy of souls. Can't you do it?"

Shaking his head, Maglor revealed something that made her heart sink. "Not even I nor some Ainur could go within the most private place of a sentient being. We can detect if they are good or evil intent. What darkness or light emits from the soul but we can never go into them," He told her.

A hand lifted to brush over her pendant, remembering how Elrond's face scrunched in agony as the bullet went through his stomach.

How she had held him in his arms as the rain soaked them, blood seeping through.

How she had grabbed his soul and tethered it back to his body so quickly.

"I was able to because...because Elrond got shot," Illyria rasped, clearing her throat as she whispered: "I even stopped his fëa from leaving."

Maglor showed a flicker of sympathy, his eyes softening as he assured her with words: "Emotions affect the heart, and the heart and mind are connected to the soul and the power within that being. It is what happened in the War of Wrath, in the final battle against Sauron and with Angmar I assume?"

"With Gondolin I suppose. That was in fact the first time I truly felt like I broke. Like something came out of me. It wanted to come out of me," She answered. Illyria hadn't thought of the other times, or maybe it was because she didn't have anyone else to talk about it in general.

With a hum, he responded, "It is pure energy that comes out of you. Energy transferred into light." Maglor straightened his spine and carefully continued, "You need to be able to control how you transfer it through your body. For now, you are using it to flow through emotions, which usually affect where your heart is. And since your form is not only physical but mortal as well, it cannot handle so much energy passing through."

She placed her hands back down, her face contorting into displeasure whilst all she could think about was how much Maglor just told her how she sucked as half-Aini. If she was created by an Aini, why didn't they make her into something better then? Not some human or elf that could take physical damage.

"What else is there?" She asked him.

"Another possible way is using a relic. The Gem is a good example of the Silmaril's power." Maglor noted, but then thinned his lips. With that sort of look, she knew that what he was about to say was something she wouldn't like to hear. "The only way for you to allow a higher energy level of your own power to pass through is simply to parallel it to your form. And that is allowing your true form to go through."

Yep. Definitely right on her behalf.

"Wait a minute."

Illyria held her palm up in a gesture, lowering it before she gave him a disbelieving look. "You're telling me, to control this power I have to lose control?" Several weird and indescribable noises left her mouth before she questioned him, "Did you not see me back in Isengard? Isengard could have just been some crater if Mae didn't stop me!"

Her voice rose, but Maglor remained so calm as he answered.

"Yes."

Illyria couldn't help but scoff before he continued, "But you are inexperienced. Saruman is a well-versed Ainu who can control his form well and be able to keep his physical form safe from you."

"Should have blasted the bastard," She muttered under her breath before clamping her lips shut.

Maglor's choice still made her doubt him. He knew what Saruman would do and yet his reasons didn't cover why she let him live.

"He was testing you and it's clear you have experienced moments in your past life to sometimes reveal your fána." That made her turn, focused on Maglor's words as he calmly explained, "You merely just need to do so without the dependency of extreme emotions. This is why we will be using the technique the Ancient One told me when creating my relics."

That was when she sucked in a breath.

When she stared at him, Maglor wasn't joking at all. Not this time.

Just like the conversation, they had in Norway about Nexus Beings, which from time to time still poked into her mind but Illyria did all she could not think too hard of it. Being half-Aini was already enough to accept.

With a shuddering exhale, Illyria answered him: "We're using the transcendence of planes."

Maglor nodded.

Illyria's fingers stretched outwards, clenching her knees as she furrowed her brows to him, worry now filling her. "Maglor—Don't you know that it's a risk? I don't even know how many were able to do that. I don't even know if my dad's been able to do that."

Yes, because the only person she did know was dead. Dead over ten years ago after getting killed by Kaecilius with a Dark Dimensional weapon. The Ancient One was known to be the most knowledgeable and had been powerful enough to control herself to transcend the cosmos to stop one of the most powerful cosmic beings of the universe. But that cost her more than anything, more like her life as Illyria heard through stories that she had become weaker since her fight against Shuma Gorath.

But Maglor? Well duh, if anyone would think they could survive the most dangerous ritual known to the Mystic Arts then it would be a son of Fëanor.

He chapped his lips as he told her his own part: "I have been able to do so and tapped into the sixth plane enough to bond with the Silmaril...which allowed me to control it and create The Gem."

Illyria just didn't care and just simply stared. She replied, "Fuck me, you know you're a maniac right?"

The audacity Maglor had to smile made her even more nervous, especially as he added in return, "I've been called much worse."

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A/N: Another new chapter and we got to see more of Fingon's viewpoint. It's been a while since the first and to be honest he won't be having another one in a while.

We also got Maglor and Illyria discussing sorcery and magic again, which I do enjoy. I really like this duo, setting apart from her and Maedhros or even Illyria and Elrond. I think I only like it because Illyria is quite snippy with him - giving off that master/padawan relationship (if you know Star Wars that is).

We're gonna get more training and Arthorien next chapter.

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Edited: 13/03/2023