The Exile's Daughter

The Truth at Last

My heart pounded as I stood outside Lord Elrond's rooms. When I had awoken, the worry of what he would tell me had returned in full measure. I barely noticed what I ate as Melda served me breakfast, nor how I looked when she gave me another dress to wear, this time in deep blue, and braided back my dark hair into an intricate bun at the base of my neck.

Forcing my hands to steady and taking a moment to slow my breathing, I mustered all the courage left to me and knocked on the door. Lord Elrond opened it almost immediately. Before me was a high-ceilinged, circular room, half taken up by a sweeping balcony. On the other side was a shelf covered from floor to ceiling with books of all shapes and sizes – some barely larger than my hands and others as big as the tiles of granite beneath our feet. They were in every colour, too; bound in leather, velvet and silk.

I looked back at Elrond and he smiled reassuringly. "There is nothing I will tell you today that will leave you choiceless. I will always care for you here should you need me to. That much at least I owe to your father, and much more besides."

"How did you know him?" I asked warily, biting my lip. Elrond held out an arm with a bow and guided me into the room. On a white high-backed chair sat Galadriel, straight and proud with her hands clasped in her lap. Her raiment was white, and her golden hair glittered in the winter sun. Another chair was beside hers and opposite, behind a desk piled with yet more books, the largest and most intricate chair of the three stood. Elrond pulled out the chair beside Galadriel and I sat, thanking him then bowing my head to the lady. He himself then took the other chair on the opposite side of the desk. Shifting the books aside so we could see him, he began to speak.

"There is no easy way to say what we must", Elrond said heavily, "but first we must discover what you know of the War of the Jewels." I frowned slightly at the mention of the long-ago battles of the First Age but launched into an explanation.

"Morgoth corrupted the hearts of the Noldor in Valinor, turning them against the Valar. He stole the silmarils, Fëanor's greatest creation, and slew the king of the Noldor, Fëanor's father, then he and his seven sons swore a terrible oath to reclaim the jewels at any cost." I answered, glad I could prove I knew at least a little of our people's history, even if I knew nothing of my own heritage. "The Noldor were exiled from Valinor and fought Morgoth in Middle Earth, but the quest for the jewels turned the sons of Fëanor to evil deeds. They never reclaimed their treasure, and all the sons but Maglor died in the attempt."

"You know much of this history, which will help in the days to come" Galadriel murmured. "I suppose your father wanted to tell you, so you would know your history even if you did not know him". Here she looked at Elrond, who nodded sadly.

"That is certainly something he would do. He was ever haunted by the Oath, could never escape the memories it wrought."

"I don't understand" I muttered. "Why was he haunted by something that happened to others?" However, the realisation of what the pair were trying to tell me was beginning to sink in. I looked between them in sudden shock.

"Who was my father?" I whispered.

Elrond seemed to crumple, and for a second his ancient years weighed on him. However, the next moment he was himself again, neither young nor old, the wise Lord of Imladris.

"Your father took the name Ionwë in this age of Arda. However, his true name was Maglor – the second son of Fëanor and Nerdanel his wife."

At last. The truth. 

For what seemed an age I sat silent, trying to digest what I had just been told. My father had always spoken of the sons of Fëanor with some contempt. I had grown up thinking them bold but misguided and desperate for that which should never have been theirs alone to keep. How could he, so kind and calm as a father, be one of those fell people from long ago?