He urged his mount to go faster, faster, although the creature was near collapse. Lather flew from its mouth, and its flanks heaved with every harsh breath. But it faithfully kept going despite its fatigue, sensing the great need of its rider.

Hooves pounded the earth and sent sod flying, stirring up a cloud of dust and dirt that trailed in its wake. Overhead, gray clouds scudded along the sky, threatening heavy rains, but so far they had been fortunate and the downpour had not yet materialized.

The rider peered ahead along the equine neck, squinting against the rushing wind that whipped through his hair and tugged at his cloak. The colors were fading from the lands around him as the clouds thickened and the storm approached. Far, far ahead, dark mountains shimmered on the horizon.

His mount stumbled, caught itself, tripped again, and the rider's breath stuck in his throat for an endless moment before the animal regained its balance and continued its mad gallop. The poor beast ran on its last legs. How much further, until he reached his destination? How much longer before he could deliver the dire news he carried? He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, back at the way he had come. Time was running out.

Hours later, Elros cursed soundly. It was clear that the horse couldn't go on any further today. And he was exhausted himself. Exhausted and completely alone in a strange country. As he led the horse through the rainy twilight of the late and stormy fall evening, he wondered whether he would be able to get to the meeting point in time. And if he did, whether the one he was needed to meet would be there at all.
Finally he found a spot that would serve as a camp for the night. It was a little dell that offered at least some shelter from the elements. Tired as he was, he took care of his faithful steed first, rubbing it down with clumps of heather, watching the stallion patiently as it slurped water from a pool that was little more than a large puddle, and then pulling out the small bag with oat he had left.

All the while his thoughts were chasing each other in mad circles. How would he react to this news? This ... mission, this foolhardy quest? Would he be there at all, when he had not understood Elros' initial choice?

Elros sighed and settled down on the sheltered side of the little vale. The ground was wet and it was cold, but his cloak was warm and would withstand the onslaught of rain a while longer. Elros pulled out a package of way bread. Mechanically he started breaking it into bits, putting it into his mouth, chewing, swallowing, eating. The taste - honey, sunny Númenor - never registered with him.

He should have sent a messenger. He should have stayed in Armenelos. He should have ... never accepted that fool's errand in the first place. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here, when he could be in Númenor, preparing for his coronation.

Elros rubbed his aching forehead. He should have, he should have ... But on the other hand, with the situation as tangled as it was, what else could he have done? How could he ever have thought that he had a head for politics? That he would be able to get all parties and factions and busybodies to accept him? Looking back, it seemed to him as if all he had managed to do was get himself into worse and worse difficulties. Including a marriage proposal.

He winced. Tindóme was beautiful and smart and loving and kind. She was everything he could look for in a spouse. But he did not feel ready for marriage. He knew he had to marry if he wished to become King of Númenor. There had to be children, soon, to ensure the stability of his reign. This was, after all, how the realms of mortals and their ruling worked.

And now it had to look as if he were running away, away from his coronation and away from his wedding. In anguish he balled his hands to fists, trying to suppress a mounting anger. Manwë himself and Varda had offered him crown and country. They had offered him all he could ever wish for. All he had ever wished for. A home for his soul and his body. The opportunity to leave a mark on a land and its people. To change, to create, to ...

But like everything else in life, this offer had come with a price.

A mission to undertake. A quest to fulfill. Here, in the wastelands of Middle-earth.

And worse yet, it was a quest he could not accomplish alone. And worse again: no istar, no warrior, no mortal man or woman could help him.

There was only one in all of Arda who could help him. Only one. An Elf. His twin-brother. Elrond. Who had not spoken with him since they had made their choice.

Elros heaved a sigh and forced himself to relax his hands. His nails had bitten deeply into his flesh. Oh Valar, he thought. You told me that together we can accomplish this. I pray you were right. I pray he will be there. I pray that what I came here to do is right.

At last Elros lay down, but instead of finally finding the sleep he needed to relieve his exhaustion, his thoughts went back to Númenor, to Armenelos, and the day when Manwë and Varda had appeared to him with their offer and their request ...

Elrond awoke gasping for breath and felt his heart breaking within his chest. The dream had been so clear. It was as though he had been Elros…feeling what he felt, thinking as he thought…a disconcerting feeling, after all these centuries. He looked down at his hands, unconsciously searching for nail prints in the flesh, but saw only the trembling of his uninjured hands. The lord of Imladris drew a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to steady his nerves, and recover from the experience of sensing his twin alive, and then losing him again, albeit only in his dream.

Elrond searched his mind for what might have triggered the dream, and paused and closed his eyes when he realized the date. Something so rarely marked by elves, yet he expected this date would haunt him all of his days even unto the Undying Lands.

Elrond got up from the bed, pulled on his velvet robe and tied the gold cord tight about his waist, then stepped into his house slippers. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the robe and moved out to the balcony where he could better hear the roaring of the waterfall. He had always found the sound to be soothing. He smiled briefly, thinking of the effect it had on his foster son, Estel, when he was a child. For Estel, the sound had been a constant aggravation, sending him scurrying to the bathing chamber to relief himself. Elros would have loved Estel. Ah, back to Elros.

Elrond soaked up the solitude of the very early morning and forced himself to relax and review the dream in his mind. The master healer had learned long ago that dreams could be keys to unlocking painful secrets in patients or ultimately leading to inner peace with themselves. Elrond had never set himself apart from others. If something was true for those he treated, then the same applied to him. But to learn from a dream, one must face it, replay it in their mind.

Alone on his balcony, in the predawn light, Elrond replayed his dream. He relived Elros' urgency and exhaustion and admired his devotion to his horse, but those were as fleeting thoughts. The two things that struck Elrond most vividly were how uncertain Elros had been that Elrond would meet with him and how unprepared his brother had felt for what lay before him. The former struck Elrond as a knife in the heart, but the latter…the latter made him think of Estel. Only days ago, he had told his foster son his true name and heritage, that he was Aragorn, the last in a line that began with Elros. Estel had been excited when his foster father presented him with the ring of Barahir and the shards of Narsil, but in recent days Estel had fallen silent and Elrond feared Aragorn, like the Elros of Elrond's dream, felt unprepared. "Dream" Elros was only unready to wed, but Estel appeared weighed down by many things. That was reasonable and to be expected. The real Elros had made his own choice, while Aragorn's fate seemed beyond his control.

Almost as though thinking of the young man had conjured him up, Estel stepped quietly into Elrond's room. "Adar, are you well? I was worried when you did not join me for breakfast. I knocked. Did you not hear me?"

"Nay, my son, my thoughts were on other things and I did not note the passage of time nor hear your knock. Come, join me." Elrond motioned his youngest son to him. When Estel reached his side, Elrond put his arm about the young man's shoulders and drew him close. "I was thinking of my brother Elros. It has been long since I told you a bedtime story, but there is one tale in particular that I would like you to hear, if you are willing."

"Of course I am willing, Adar." Elrond took pleasure in the fact Estel responded without hesitation. "If it is important to you, then I will treasure your sharing it with me."

Elrond took a moment to organize his thoughts and then began.

The next days were as windy and cold as the last, and when night fell upon the lands once more, Elros huddled close to his horse, hoping to gather some warmth. More than once he wished to be back in Numenor, in Armenelos, where the weather was fine and no danger lurked around every corner. He should prepare himself for his coronation, for being the ruler of his people. He should prepare himself to become who he had chosen to be. A man, a human, a mortal King.

And truly, although his decision had hurt him greatly, deep inside he had known that he had made the right choice. He had been ready to embrace his new life, his new responsibilities, and then…then everything had changed. He had not thought that he would have to marry so soon. Have children so soon. But it was not that which had driven him away from his city and out into the wilds. That had not been what had made him race towards Lindon, towards his brother…to Elrond.

No. The decision to find his brother, with whom he had not spoken since that fateful day that they had made their life altering choice, had not been his to make. It had not been his choice. Not this time. While Elros raced over the plains towards his destination, his thoughts returned to that night, when Manwe and Varda had offered him country and crown in exchange for...No, Elros was not yet ready to think about the price he would have to pay to finally find the peace he so desired. The future he had not dared to hope for since the day his mother had thrown herself from that cliff, abandoning him and his brother to an uncertain fate.

His brother. Erond. Only too clearly did Elros remember the look in his brother’s eyes when he had heard of his decision to become a man. Elrond had chosen to be an elf within the blink of an eye. And then the small smile on his face with which he had looked at Elros, as if he wanted to say ‘Look, brother, now we can be together forever, immortal’. What had Elrond felt when he had heard that he wanted to become mortal? He knew his brother’s heart had broken, Elros had seen it in his brother’s face, when Elrond had shaken his arm in disbelief, as if it could change his mind. But it had not.

And then, then Elrond had left to serve Gil-Galad and they had not seen each other since. Would Elrond have forgiven him? How would he react when he saw him? And maybe even more importantly, would his brother help him to fulfill this quest? Would Elrond help him, even if he would leave him forever should they succeed? Elros’s stomach churned every time he thought about it, and an indescribable dread filled him. Still, he raced on.

Many days later, when horse and rider were exhausted beyond measure, Elros rode through a wooded area. Huge trees rose all around him, and for the first time in days, the rain was held back from thrumming on his shoulders. The ground was muddy, and needles and leaves made his horse’s footing slippery. Tired and weary, Elros leaned low over the long neck of his horse, slowing his tireless pace. It would not do to slip, fall and break his neck in the process.

Wiping a hand across his brow and shaking rainwater out of his hair, Elros groaned softly. His very bones protested the long hours in the saddle, and maybe for the first time in all his life he understood what it meant to be human. Was this really what he wanted? To be so susceptible to the weather? To cold and hunger? Disease and pain? How could he fulfill this quest and rule over Numenor when even a journey to his brother could tire him so?

Shaking his head and sighing wearily, Elros rode on through the forest. Neither did he see the dark shapes following him in the treetops, nor did he hear the strings of bows that were strung. And when his horse suddenly whinnied and reared, throwing him from its back so that he tumbled to the ground, hitting his head hard, it was already too late. With dread filling his stomach, Elros more heard than saw numerous dark shapes jump from the trees around him, with bows in hand and arrows nocked.

With more speed than any man would ever possess, Elros rolled around, jumped to his feet and unsheathed his sword. The blade glimmered deadly in the little light that there was. Straightening and moving into a defensive position, Elros narrowed his eyes and studied his adversaries. They all had hoods drawn over their faces, hiding their features, but Elros had no problem whatsoever in recognizing what they were. But that did not mean that he would lower his sword. Not yet.

Silence settled over the group and no one moved. Elros horse had sprinted away, but it had not gone far and was now standing in the middle of the road, waiting patiently for its master to return. The rain fell softly on the green canopy of the trees, its soft sound only pronouncing the silence of the beings on the road.

Finally, when Elros began to wonder whether he should take the initiative, a tall figure stepped forward. He said nothing for a moment, simply gazed at Elros. He had no bow in hand, but a long sword was strapped to his side and a finely crafted bow was slung across his shoulder. After another long moment, the tall figure took another step forward.

“It has been long…brother.” Elrond said, pulling down his hood.

Elrond fell silent in the telling of his tale. In spite of his eagerness to hear more, Aragorn sat quietly patient, mulling over what he had already learned, as he waited for Elrond to continue. After a moment, however, he felt the need to speak.

"It must have been strange for you to meet in such way -- after so long apart, to be met with a drawn sword! Did he actually fear your reception of him that much? Your own brother? I wonder... How long had it been since you had last spoken together? How did you part?"

"It had been many years in the eyes of Men, though the Elves would have thought little of the passage of those years," Elrond replied slowly. "After the Choice, we took our leave of one another. Our parting? It was difficult, though there was no anger between us. Yet I wondered in later years if perhaps Elros would have remembered it differently -- his choice was the harder one, and he may have felt I did not understand it or appreciate it -- and that I was angry with him. Perhaps I was... at first. But I thought better of it later -- but by then, he was far away."

Elrond sighed and looked off into the distance as if seeing into the past.

"In any case," he continued after a moment, "our ways led us apart. I went with Gil-galad to Lindon, and Elros remained by the shore to oversee the building of the ships that would take him and his people across the sea to the land that would be theirs. When he sailed, I did not expect to ever see him again."

Aragorn frowned in sad concern.

"I... it must have been difficult. I see how the twins Elladan and Elrohir deal with one another, and and how they react when they apart. There is a connection there that I have seen in no other relationship. Surely it must have been the same for you and your twin?"

"You may be young, Estel, but you see with the eyes of great wisdom!" replied Elrond with a fond smile. "Indeed, it was the same. The decisions we made that separated us did not change the fact that we were brothers, and twins, at that. Though we were soon parted by a sea so wide, and by a doom even wider, there was still that special connection between us. It was painful to not have him by my side. Even as I felt that connection between us that twins share, I also felt my brother's absence from my side when he went away, and so the years seemed longer and emptier than they might have to any other Elf. As they do still!"

"Do you think Elros sensed that you missed him so?"

"That was not clear to me. A change occurred when he chose to be counted among Men, a subtle change in how we related to one another, particularly from afar. The thread between us was still there, but it was more... more tenous, perhaps? It is hard to describe."

"Forgive me for being presumptuous, my father, and asking you things that touch you so closely, things you have perhaps shared with few others. I am honored that you are willing to share such memories with me!"

"Yes, such matters do touch me closely, but they are part of the tale I am telling you, and you need to hear them, for they touch you closely as well. You are a Man, and you are the son after many generations of Elros himself, and I think it will help you understand yourself if you understand him -- and I will benefit from that understanding as well! That is the way of most tales, even bedtime tales, is it not? That they teach even as they entertain."

Aragorn chuckled.

"I thought perhaps that was the way of it. Tell me more of Elros, then. What did you say to him? How did he respond? And why did he return to the shores of Middle-earth and summon you to him?"

"I will tell you!"

***

"It has been long… brother," Elrond said, pulling down his hood.

"It has... brother," answered Elros. A look of uncertain hope crossed his face at the use of the word.

Elrond stepped forward, one hand extended.

"Put away Aranrúth, King of Men, and put away your fear and doubt with it. You have need of neither sword nor doubt. I am here, and no matter what else has come between us before this, we are two brothers met here after long absence. Let us greet one another appropriately!"

"Yes!" cried Elros, and sheathing his sword swiftly, he strode forward and embraced Elrond.

They held each other long, and though no discernable words were spoken, it was obvious to those who had accompanied Elrond that communication of a very deep nature was taking place. They waited, silently patient, until the two brothers separated, and took care not to notice the tears upon the faces of Elf and Man.

"I think you doubted I would come, Elros," said Elrond, but it was without reproach.

"I did wonder! I am sorry now that I did not trust you more, and that I let my fear of your disapproval overshadow my knowledge of your heart and love. Is that a thing that comes with being mortal, this giving in to doubt and fear when the end cannot be clearly seen? If so, I shall have to be more aware of it in the future, and guard against it!"

"It could be so," replied Elrond thoughtfully. "I do not envy that of you! But you have the strength of mind and heart to overcome such fear, that I do know. Mortal Man will benefit greatly from having your blood flowing in his veins!"

"I wonder sometimes if that is part of the reason I chose as I did! But I do not analyze my decision so often, because I know it was right for me, and it needs no justifying. I regret nothing of the choice I have made for my own peace of heart and the guiding of the people of our fathers -- but it does often lie heavily on me that you wished I had chosen otherwise!"

"Of course I wish that, my brother!" answered Elrond. "And I do confess that my heart broke a little when I heard your words of choice. But do not fear that with such regret comes anger or an unforgiving spirit. Your choice and mine cannot stand as a barrier between us. We are brothers, like no others! We have seen much and known much together, of mortal Man and of Elf lord both, and we have a bond that will last for all time, and perhaps even beyond. So I believe! Rest you assured now. You do not blame me for choosing as I have done, do you? Just as I do not blame you for choosing what seemed so right to you -- for I could see even then that you did not choose blindly."

Elros bowed his head, then once more embraced his brother fiercely.

"Who knows?" said Elrond, returning the embrace just as fiercely. "Perhaps our doomed separation will serve some higher purpose that as yet is not revealed!"

Elros laughed.

"As always, your wisdom sees beyond even what your eyes and your heart know, for it is of choices and doom that I wish to speak. That is why I have called you here."

"Ah! Tell me!"

"You called me King of Men, and so I am -- or will be, once the quest I have been given is fulfilled, or at least attempted. Alas that I cannot yet have what my heart yearns to have for my peace and the needs of my people! Alas that I cannot yet have the fruit of my choice! But I digress. Not long ago, I received word that there was a mission I must undertake in order to gain all my desire -- a quest I must complete before I can gain my place as a leader of Men."

"Who set this task for you?"

"None other than Manwë himself, and Varda his Queen!"

It was several moments before Elrond found his voice, such was his amazement at his brother's pronouncement.

"It is an awesome thing to be the tool of Manwë in the world! It is no wonder you are distraught!" Elrond exclaimed. "Yet, I wonder... why would they lay such a burden on you, that to have the one thing you must do another? You say it is so that you can win your land and your throne -- but was that gift not already given, when you made your choice? Surely there could be no further conditions to that choice, that was made of your own free will. No, it must be something else."

Elros shook his head doubtfully, but then hesitated, as if a new thought had come to him.

"I... I understood it as a further condition that must be fulfilled, yet... Now that you put it that way, perhaps I was mistaken..."

"Perhaps," Elrond agreed. "I wonder if this quest you are to fulfill is not only a thing that Manwë deems important to himself and to the succour of Middle-earth but also is something that needs doing for you as well. A thing that if accomplished -- or even simply attempted -- will cause you to be free to rule as you wish. Is there an unfinished task or a thing that plagues you and occupies your mind so that you cannot move forward as you should? Something from the Age that has passed which should not linger in the new age, but does so because your heart cannot let it go? What task could there be that would answer that need, as well as fulfill the desire of Manwë the Great?"

Elros sighed heavily.

"There is such a thing! And it took you and your wisdom and knowledge of the Valar to help me see it. I have done right to ask your aid in this!"

"You have not yet asked me, nor told me your need," smiled Elrond.

"No, I have not. But I shall! You know that Maglor, son of Fëanor, refused the summons to return to Valinor, though his heart wished otherwise. He feared there would be no forgiveness for his Oath and the evil that was done by his own hand, and he felt himself to be damned and unforgiveable."

"Yes," replied Elrond sadly. "I know this."

"Have you seen him ever, since he left the fellowship of Men and Elves, and wandered away alone?"

"No, I have not, but I have heard it said that others have seen him, or heard his song in his wanderings."

Again, Elros sighed.

"I am to find him, and urge him to return. Manwë wishes him to know that the way is not barred to him, if he will choose it, and he bids me do this on his behalf, because Maglor was once as a father to me for a time -- and to you. Will you help me find him? Will you help me persuade him?"

Estel stared at him. “Maglor? But he …” he stopped.

“You have learned of Maglor in your lessons,” Elrond reminded him. “And of all the sons of Fëanor, and their quest for the Silmarils.”

“Yes. But … Maglor and Maedhros kidnapped you – you and Elros. Why would Elros want to find him again?”

Elrond frowned. “How much did Erestor tell you? Yes, Maglor took us to try and force our parents to return the Silmaril. But by then he was sick and weary of his oath, and knew in his heart it was wrong. He had lost his father, and all but one of his brothers. Amrod and Amras were also twins, did you know that?” he added.

Estel nodded.

“Maglor could have killed us when Elwing took the Silmaril. By his oath, he should have. But he showed pity and compassion for two orphaned children. He defended us from the wrath of Maedhros, protected us and raised us as his own. He grew to love us – and we loved him.” Elrond smiled. “Now, I know how he felt.”

Estel gave a slow nod. “I see – at last, I see. I never understood before why Maglor acted as he did; why Erestor said you regarded him as a father.”

“And now?”

“And now – well, I know that you and Elladan and Elrohir are not my true family, but you have cared for me and treated me as your own ever since I can remember. In every way that matters they are my brothers – and you are my father. The circumstances were different – very different – but I never understood before how or why you came to love Maglor.

Elrond smiled. “So can you see why Elros and I wanted to search for him?”

Estel nodded. “Yes. So what happened next?”

***

Elrond fell silent, staring at his brother. “Maglor.” He could not hide the love or yearning in his voice. “To find him again – to see him – to talk to him once more …” He nodded decisively. “Yes. I will help you, brother.” He embraced Elros again, then turned to the elves who still stood silently waiting.

“This is my brother. He … he has requested my help in a quest. It is a personal matter, so we will be travelling alone.”

There was a sharp note of protest. “Lord Elrond! You cannot simply leave like this! You cannot expect us to forsake you.”

He sighed. “Peace, Bereg! I must go – I have to. You are to return without me, but I will come back to you. You have command for now.”

Bereg shook his head. “Elrond, you should not ride off alone like this. Take some of us with you – we can help you in this quest!”

“Alone?” Elrond glanced at Elros, still standing silently by his horse. “I will not be alone.” He smiled, joy at their reunion and reconciliation welling up inside, and mixing with excitement at the thought of the task ahead. “I will be with my brother.”

***

“So, my brother,” Elrond asked as they set camp. “Have you any idea where Maglor may be found?”

Elros grinned. “None at all. But you already have a reputation for lore and wisdom – why do you think I sought you out? And you were probably closer to him that I was. Where do you think he would go?”

“I remember he loved the sea and the shore and the wilderness. And the last tidings I heard of him were from Eglarest – but that was many years ago. Who knows where he may have wandered now?”

Elros sighed. “Eglarest? Well, it is a start.” He glanced at Elrond. “Do you think we will find him?”

Elrond shrugged rather helplessly. “Who knows? I would dearly love to see him again. And I think – as the Valar themselves set you this task – that it is not hopeless. Perhaps they themselves will guide us.”

“I am glad I thought to seek you out, my brother. You encourage me.” He gazed at Elrond across the flickering fire. “And I am glad to have you at my side again. I missed you.”

As he fell into sleep, Elrond realised he felt a sense of peace and contentment that had been missing for many years. He felt whole again.

***

As they rode he felt his bond with Elros reforging itself. They spoke of their hopes and dreams, of the few memories they had of Elwing, and of their childhood with Maglor. As they spoke, he understood more and more why Elros had chosen as he did, and the slight bitterness and resentment that still lingered finally faded away. Whatever the outcome of their quest, he knew the Valar had already granted them the greatest gift – they had found one another again.

They travelled further and further west through forests and across moorland. The rains eased, and at times a pale, watery sun peered out from behind the clouds. The land was deserted, and at night they slept without keeping watch on the barren landscape.

Elrond found himself dreaming of Maglor, dreams which grew more and more vivid each night. He saw Maglor walking alone along a deserted beach, or wandering on a high, windy clifftop. Always he was by the sea, and always he was alone. In his dreams he could hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore, or wind hissing though the clifftop grasses. And always he could hear Maglor singing – plaintive songs of loss and loneliness, full of grief and regret.

After a week of journeying they drew nearer to the sea. The wind freshened, and brought with it the scent of salt and waves and seaweed. The moorland gave way to high dunes of sand dotted with clumps of long, sharp-edged grasses, and beyond them, across a long stretch of wet, glistening sand, they saw the sea.

As he slept that night among the shelter of the dunes, Elrond’s dreams seemed more real than ever. He saw Maglor as always, a lonely figure walking at the water’s edge, watching the gulls wheeling overhead. He sang of sorrow and pain – such deep, lasting sorrow that Elrond wept with him.

He awoke in the morning to the cry of seabirds, tears still wet upon his face. And faintly, far off in the distance, he could still hear singing.

“Now even I can hear his voice,” Elros said as he stowed his bow case on the horse. His dreams had been empty of Maglor’s lament, for men could not hear the minds of elves. “Never have I heard a fairer song or more sorrowful.”

The brothers led the horses between the grassy dunes; then they mounted and rode slowly along the shore. The sand flats were bared, the sea a far-off line of silver. A lone seal, stranded when the tide turned, wandered among the sun-warmed kelp. Bewildered by the loss of her kindred, she called in answer to Maglor’s voice. His singing grew louder, until they could hear the words.

The waters now keep what I could not hold
A treasure more dear than coral or gold
Searching, I wade in the shallows by night
But weed and dark water veil its fair light...

A barefoot elf, his leggings rolled up to his knees, sang as he dragged a rake through the sand. Every so often, he reached down and tossed a white shell into a low basket. His long arms and legs were well-muscled, but he held the rake awkwardly, clearly favoring his right hand. A wide-brimmed hat, woven from seagrass, shaded his face.

A treasure more dear than coral or gold--

When the elf saw the horses, the song suddenly stopped. Rake in hand, he watched unmoving until he could see the riders’ faces. Then with a glad cry, he threw down the rake and ran across the sand to greet them.

“How can this be after all these years? I had not thought to see you again.” The Eldar changed little with age, but grief and exile had left their mark and Maglor’s black hair was heavily streaked with grey. He no longer wore the braids of a warrior; instead, the locks were shorn about his shoulders, after the manner of the fisherfolk.

“We should have come sooner, Uncle,” Elrond said as he swung down from the saddle and hurried to their foster father. Elros had already flung his arms around him.

“What happened to my twin bear cubs? You stand at least a foot taller than I do.” Maglor laughed even as tears coursed down his face. He stood back an arm’s length and gazed at the two brothers. The smile faded, and his face seemed to settle in old lines of grief. “Is it true then, Elros? That you have chosen the fate of the Edain?”

“It was no easy choice, Uncle, and it grieved me to leave my kindred.”

Maglor shook his head. “Always you had to find your own way. In that, at least, you have not changed.”

“Remember when he flew from the roof of the chicken coop?” Elrond asked. The brothers glanced at each other and laughed.

“I still think those wings would have worked if I had had the right sort of feathers,” Elros replied. Since their mother had taken the form of a seabird, Elros had fashioned makeshift wings in hope of flying after her. The journey had been swift and short, ending in a broken arm. No doubt the arrival of two young elflings had wreaked unforeseen havoc on Maglor’s household. Looking back, Elrond deemed that their guardian had shown remarkable patience.

“You wished to be a seagull,” Maglor murmured. “By my hand did you lose your kindred and home, yet you gave me only joy in return. So many wrongs. I sink beneath their weight.”

“Do not speak so, Uncle!” Elrond cried. “You have suffered too long. We bear a message from the Valar. They offer forgiveness, and they bid you return to Valinor.”

Maglor looked away from the brothers, staring across the hard-gleaming water. After a long moment, he spoke. “Let us get out of this wind.” The son of the High King tucked the rake under his arm and picked up the basket of clams. Elrond caught a glimpse of his right hand, burned and maimed by the touch of the Silmaril.

Leading their mounts, the brothers followed across the wet sand, then past an overturned skiff that had been dragged above the reach of the tide. The rocks were veiled with fishing nets, spread to dry in the sun, and herrings dangled from wooden racks. This seemed a fair place in the bright summer weather, but Elrond could well imagine the gloomy cold of a winter day. 

The hut crouched in the shelter of the dunes. Villages of fisherfolk, lordless and poor, were scattered along the coast, but Maglor’s dwelling stood alone. The ceiling was so low that the brothers had to walk with their heads bowed. Mats of seagrass covered the floor, and the simple but sturdy furnishings had been fashioned from salvaged wood. A sword hung on the wall, its well-polished fittings gleaming in the shadows.

“At times, this coast has been troubled by raiders, and so I keep the sword in readiness,” Maglor told them with a wry laugh. “Though a one-armed swordsman is about as much use as a leaky bucket.”

“Yet your brother Maedhros learned to fight one-handed,” Elros pointed out.

“He was a skilled warrior; I was never his equal in feats of arms.”

Elros started to speak then fell silent.

The small table was soon set with cups and plates of pearly shell. Maglor stirred up the fire, a halo of sparks darting around his head. At their foster father’s bidding, the brothers sat on the driftwood benches while he cooked their supper. He asked many questions as he worked, always using his left hand to wield the knife or stir the pot. How did they fare on their journey? What route did they take to Eglarest? No, he saw few travelers here. What news from Imladris? And what were the tidings from over the sea in Numenor? Soon, dried fish and chopped root vegetables went in the battered pot. Prized from their shells, the tender clams would be added later.

Elrond could scarcely bear to watch the slow movements of his maimed hand. “May I see your hand, Uncle? I have studied with the healers of Lindon and have some skill in their art.”

“The wound is old and long-since healed,” Maglor replied, but he held out the hand.

The palm was thick with scars and the fingers fused together by clumps of tissue. Elrond had never seen such scarring on one of their people, for their hurts were wont to heal quickly and cleanly. But Maglor had been burned by the living fire of the heavens. Elrond strove to hide his grief and horror as he spoke. “Perhaps the Valar can help you.”

Maglor shook his head. “For years, I longed to cast myself after the Silmaril, to find forgetfulness under the waves, except that death would lead me to Valinor. What welcome would I find among the elves I have slain?”

“The Valar have forgiven you, and that should be enough for the others,” Elrond said firmly.

“Do you not remember how I cut down the household servants as they tried to shield you with their bodies?”

Elrond remembered how, dagger in hand, their nursemaid Olwen had faced the mailed warriors. His feet had slipped in her blood as Maglor led him away with his brother. “Yet at the last, you stayed your hand.”

Maglor stared into the fire. “I am unfit to dwell among our people.”

Shoving aside the bench, Elros rose to his feet. “So you squander the years in endless remorse? Hiding among the dunes as you sing laments to the wind? You who were a prince of the Noldor, learned in both handcraft and lore? You who defended your lands against the armies of Morgoth?”

“Ever were you wont to speak your mind; and that, I see, has not changed,” their foster father replied. His voice was quiet, but his eyes gleamed in the firelight.

“If you are unworthy of Valinor and must remain in exile, then at least make amends to the people around you, the fisherfolk of Eglarest. You should be their teacher and leader.” Elros crossed the room and then lifted the sword from its place on the wall. Kneeling like a squire before Maglor, he offered the weapon on outstretched hands. “Take up your sword and learn to fight one-handed. Show the courage that befits a son of Feanor.”

“Elros, I would sooner you strike off my head than ask me to take any oath on that sword. I have found that little good ever comes of such solemn vows. And do not speak to me of duty for that is a bitter word to one who has murdered for its sake.”

“Then you have turned away from all that you once were?”

“I surrendered that burden full willingly. It was not so great a loss. You and your brother will need to bring your horses into the shed before nightfall. There is no proper straw for their bedding, but we can cut some sea grass to spread on the floor.”

Elros rose to his feet without a word, but his face had flushed dark red. He cast the sword upon the table then strode out the door.

His silver head bowed, their foster father began to clear the table. Now that their talk had ended, Elrond heard again the distant waves, the rumble and hiss as endless sheets of foam wore the rocks to sand.

“He was grieved by the news of your exile,” Elrond said quietly. “As was I, Uncle. Whether elf or man, none of us is meant to dwell in solitude. And even in these times of peace, it is unwise to live alone. You said that this coast is troubled by raiders.”

“Yes, they come after the spring fishing season, in search of dried herring and slaves. Though of late, their visits have happened less often.” Balancing a stack of dishes on one arm, he nodded toward the wall. “The sword goes on those pegs, if you would do me a favor.”

The sword had slid in the scabbard when Elros had flung it away, baring part of the blade. Even in the dim firelight, Elrond could see where deep nicks had been carefully polished from the steel. Repeated sharpening had worn the blade thin, and he deemed it would last for only a few more battles. Though the weapon had seen hard use, the fittings and blade had been kept with great care. He quickly sheathed the sword and set it in its place.

Sleeves rolled up, Maglor was washing the dishes. Elrond found a linen cloth, and his foster father handed him a plate. A long scar, still pink and tender, creased the skin of Maglor’s right forearm. “How did you gain such a mark on your arm?” Elrond asked sharply.

His foster father held out another plate to dry. “I was gutting a sand shark, and my hand slipped on the blood.”

Elrond peered more closely at the injury. “I studied too long with the healers to believe such a tale. The angle of the cut is wrong. Is this the work of the raiders?”

“Never try to fool a healer.” Maglor laughed then shook his head. “Grey-haired and crippled, I had not planned to take up the sword again. I possessed neither land nor honor to defend, and after Maedhros was silenced by the mountain's fire, I counted myself an exile among the living.”

“Would that we had been there to aid you.”

“I doubt I would have let you, for pain and long grief had darkened my mind. When first I came to this place, the villagers begged me to lead their defense, deeming a one-armed swordsman better than none. I did not refuse, thinking it a fitting jest for the last son of Feanor to die on the swords of brigands.”

“So you became their lord?”

“Though some would call me so, I am not worthy of such a high estate. Once the dishes are dry, we had best help your brother with the horses.”

The horses looked up and whickered when they entered the shed. The floor had been spread with a thick layer of dry grass, and Elros was braiding the mane of the grey mare. Combs still in his hands, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Uncle. I have no right to judge you, and it is an ungrateful son who speaks so harshly to his father.”

Shaking his head, their foster father raised him to his feet then drew him close. “No elf—or Man--could hope for better sons.” He reached out with his maimed hand and drew Elrond into the circle of his embrace. How long had it been since they had huddled in the shelter of his arms? A hundred years, two hundred? Yet their bond was so strong that even death would not sunder it.

Saying he needed to bank the fire for the night, Maglor returned to the hut, leaving the two brothers to finish grooming the horses. Elrond spoke of what he had learned, of how Maglor had taken the fisherfolk under his care, and the brothers were agreed that they would speak no more of Valinor. 

They departed in the morning, leading the horses along the rocky shore. Their foster father walked alongside them for he had an errand in one of the villages. An empty sword sheath was tied under Elros’ bedroll behind the saddle; his fine sword was left behind, buried in the flour barrel in Maglor’s hut. The twins would be far away before the ruse was uncovered. As they walked, men hailed them from the boats near the shore. Three children threw down their clam rakes and ran across the wet sand, calling “Lord Bard! Lord Bard!”

“’The mighty singer’,” Elros said with a laugh. “The name is not unfitting.”

The older children hung back, staring wide-eyed at the tall lords and their horses, but the youngest one ran forward, arms outstretched to Maglor. Laughing, he scooped her up with one arm and settled her weight against his shoulder.

“You need not be afraid,” he told the others. “These are my foster sons, Elrond and Elros.” The barefooted maids made a shy courtesy, still watching them from a wary distance. “Their horses are from the elven lands and are most gentle. Come closer so you can meet them.”

The grey mare whickered softly and lowered her head as the children came forward to stroke her silken mane. Despite the bare feet and faded garments, their eyes were bright and their faces smooth and well-rounded. Maglor told them the horses’ names and showed them how to offer a handful of oats in an open palm. The maids laughed as the horses licked their hands.

“Ever you had a kind manner with children,” Elros murmured.

“I have found that these little ones are not so different from elflings,” Maglor replied with a smile.

They set out again, still following the shore. A few leagues away, they struck through the dunes until they reached the stone highway that led to Lindon. They made their farewells on the desolate road.

“Fair journey and safe return.” Their foster father gave Elrond a quick embrace. “Take care of yourself and look after your brother. The girth on that grey is too loose; be sure to tighten it ere you mount.”

“I will come again to Eglarest as soon as I can, Uncle.”

Maglor turned to Elros. “You and I will not meet again, unless there is a place for Men beyond the circles of this world, and that I cannot say. Yet to see you once more has brought me great comfort.”

“Never will I forget you, Uncle,” Elros said as they embraced.

“I will think of you often, my bear cub,” Maglor replied. Tears coursed down his weathered face. “Now fasten the front of your cloak before you take ill. You men are prey to all manner of sickness.”

The road sloped gently up a hill, and when the two riders reached the crest, they turned to wave one last time, and then the grey-haired figure was lost to their sight.

**************************************

Elrond fell silent. Beyond the circles of this world. How was it that after so many years he could feel these ancient griefs anew?

After a time, young Estel asked quietly, “What became of Maglor, Adar? Did you ever see him again?”

“Two times more I journeyed to his hut among the dunes, but after a fierce winter storm, the coast was changed and I could find no sign of either him or the villagers. I pray that he led them to some place of safety well above the reach of the tides. Years later, there were tales of a wanderer who sang as he walked where the sea met the land, but my searches for him have been to no avail.”

“Then he did not return to Valinor. What did you tell the Valar?”

“I did not journey to Numenor with my brother, but later he told me of his meeting with the Exalted Ones. As darkness fell on eve of the coronation day, he sat under the White Tree, his head bowed in thought. It seemed to him that his quest had failed, for Maglor still dwelt in mortal lands, and Elros deemed that his crown was forfeit. As he pondered his fate, the wind rose and stirred the branches above him, rushing stronger and stronger, until he heard again the sound of the waves at Elgarost and when he lifted his head, Manwe and Varda stood before him. 

“’What said Maglor when you told him of our summons?’ the Lord of the Winds asked.

“Turning aside his gaze from their splendor, my brother replied, ‘Still he refuses to journey to the Undying Lands, deeming himself unworthy of grace.’

“’And did you try to sway him, as we commanded?’

“’Such was my intent,’ Elros said. Try as he might, he could not keep his voice from trembling. ‘Yet in the end, I did not press him to leave, for I would not rob the people of Eglarest of their lord and protector, not though it cost me the throne of Numenor.’

“’What care you for these lesser Men who dwell on the shores of MiddleEarth?’ This was the voice of a woman, the words as cool and sweet as the swaying of silver bells.

“’I pity them for their days are short and burdened with toil, and though they are lesser Men, through many generations they are akin to my people.’

“A gleaming, snow-white hand reached down to touch his face. ‘So for their sake you must fail in the quest?’

“’Not for their sake alone, Lady of the Stars.’ Elros looked up, into those eyes as deep as the well of the night. ‘Among these poor folk, Maglor has found some measure of peace. I beg you to let him abide there for now.’

“The leaves of the White Tree rustled as Manwe spoke. ‘Not for the first time is Feanor’s son redeemed by his pity for the weak. Let him stay in Eglarest to lead his chosen people.’ Then the Lord of the Winds smiled upon my brother. ‘And with our blessing will you don the crown of Numenor, for you have shown the manner of your lordship. We would not see your people bereft of such a merciful lord.’

“Elros bowed his head, and when he looked up, they were gone, but in the branches above him, white flowers had opened like so many stars lighting the darkness.

“He would rule for four hundred years, the longest of any king of the Dunedain. Like him may you choose to lead with kindness, with regard for even the least of Men.” Elrond leaned down to kiss his son on the brow, for Estel had yet to reach his full stature.

--The End--