Disclaimer: Arda and its inhabitants belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Author’s note: Thanks to my beta, Jenna. All errors are my own.

Yet my arm’s round my own little son,
And Love knows the secret of Grief.
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “Only a Curl”, Last Poems.

The white ship was ready to sail. On the quay, the Lady Galadriel was talking with Círdan, while the hobbits and Gandalf were exchanging farewells. Lord Elrond was contemplating the landscapes of Middle-earth one last time. He was drinking up images like a thirsty man: here a tree, there a cloud, memories of the land he had inhabited for so long.

He suddenly tensed, and shadowing his eyes with his hand, tried to see the small figure on the beach better. He let his hand fall back at his side. “I cannot believe it.”

He began to walk towards the figure, speeding up until he was running in a manner hardly befitting a powerful Elf-lord. He heard Galadriel exclaiming and calling after him, but he paid her no heed.

She started to follow him, but she was stopped by Círdan’s hand on her arm. “Leave them alone.” The shipwright’s eyes were fixed on the beach. Galadriel was opening her mouth to argue, when she recognised the little figure as well. She remained silent for a few seconds, then she deliberately turned away to ask Círdan another question about the weather.

Elrond slowed down when he was only a few yards away from the other one.

“Have you come to see me off?” he asked, his voice a mixture of humour and sadness.

The other laughed softly. “Of course. I would not have you leave these shores without seeing you one last time. I did the same thing with your brother when he sailed to Númenor, you know.”

“No. I did not know. Why did you do it? Why are you doing it now?”

The other elf looked away, refusing to meet Elrond’s eyes.

“You know,” Elrond continued, “every time my children have gone away from home, I have seen them off. It is only natural, I think, that a father would wish to see his children off.”

At the word “father”, the other elf looked up sharply.

“I barely remember Eärendil. Even before Sirion fell, he was always away at sea. But I have so many memories of you, Maglor. Tucking Elros and me into bed with a tale of Aman, teaching us the harp, coaxing us into eating some new food . . .”

Elrond’s voice died down. Maglor was looking away, at the sea, his eyes full of unfallen tears. “I am not your father.”

“Blood ties are not all that there is to fatherhood. And you were a father to Elros and me.”

“I did my best to provide you with a shelter. After all, I was responsible for your losing your parents,” Maglor said bitterly.

“You did not ‘provide us with a shelter’. You gave us a home. And love. You were responsible for my mother flying away, yes. But my father had been on his quest for the Undying Lands for years. Sooner or later, my parents would have left us. It just happened sooner.”

Maglor looked eagerly at the younger elf’s eyes. Suddenly he pulled Elrond into a tight embrace. “I love you so much. I loved both of you so much.”

After a moment, Elrond pulled away and gazed at the other expectantly.

“Will you— Will you come with us? To the Undying Lands?”

Maglor’s smile dimmed a little. “No, I will not. Do not tempt me, my boy! You know I cannot go west. But sail away and remember me.”

“I shall. Always.”

This time, it was Elrond who initiated the embrace.

“Namárië, Atar. Eleni sílar tielyanna.” (1)

“Namárië, yonya.” (2)

The ship weighed anchor. She began to edge away from the quay into the sea, and the shores of the Havens grew smaller and dimmer.

Elrond Half-Elven stood at the stern of the ship, gazing at the small silhouette on the beach, his eyes full of love and regret and sorrow. And only when it grew too tiny to be seen, even by Elven eyes, did he abandon his vigil.

(1) [Quenya] Farewell, Father. May the stars shine upon your path.

(2) [Quenya] Farewell, my son.