Maglor

I hear music even in my sleep. Intertwined chords shimmer among constellations of countless stars, they soar among dawn-tinted clouds, they crush upon crests of mighty waves against coastal cliffs and fade sighing in the sand with the tide. I wake with the melody coursing in my blood. As I dress, I am humming it; as I brush my hair, my other hand is drumming the rhythm on the table. But it is not enough.

Surely, there must be writing implements somewhere in the house? I walk through the rooms, my gaze passing over the surfaces, music raging in my mind. But instead of pen and paper I find another way of setting free the melody. By the window of a spacious room stands a harp, a beautiful instrument with inlays of pearl and silver. Impatiently I pull a stool towards it, sit down and draw my hand over the strings that require only a slight tuning. And then, I play.

I start cautiously, at first, for fear to strain my wrist, but within moments all care is forgotten. Sunlight and birdsongs are streaming through the open windows when the last chord fades. I may have played for hours, for all I know, but now I breathe in relief. The melody is still here, elusive notes set firmly in my mind.

“It is good to see you well enough to play.” I jump to my feet and turn towards the Elf leaning against the wall by the door. His face is a mirror image of Elrohir’s, but his voice is different, the timbre slightly lower. His twin brother, then. He tilts his head, then approaches. “I am sorry to have startled you. We have not met, at least... not to properly greet one another.”  His handshake is swift and firm. “I am Elladan.”

“I am Maglor. You have my gratitude for what you did for me. You and your family.” Elladan merely nods. He is clearly not one for long pleasantries. I shift in my stance and cast my gaze at the harp. “I should have asked permission before playing.”

He shrugs. “Father would not mind.”

Awkward silence falls. Elladan’s grey eyes are deep and piercing, reminiscent of... Elrond, certainly, but also of someone else from a long time ago. Of my cousin, the king who kept hidden and safe his city and his people until treachery breached the walls, and the Flower of Stone fell to ruin. After our meeting on the shores of Mithrim there was always ill-concealed anger in Turgon’s gaze, but Elladan now looks at me with pity and quiet understanding.

“I feel it, too,” he says at length. “What you were playing about.”

Embarrassed, I shake my head. “It was just a melody that took hold of me. I do not even know what I was playing about.”

“Do you not know?” A fleeting smile passes Elladan’s lips. “Hope, I think.”

I stare at him in silent astonishment. Yes. That must be it. He just named with one word what I had put in sequences of countless notes. Hope. That tiny spark of yesterday, now a steady flame warming my heart. And yet...

“I still find it difficult to believe it is there,” I quietly say. “Hope. It is so strange to feel it again.”

“I understand you,” he replies. “I also... I had been for so long without true hope. Despair and grief had smothered it. Every sad thing that happens to us... They are like rocks, heaping on a spring of clear water, quelling it. Our sister’s passing... it was the last stone in that pile.”

His gaze strays to the wall, towards a painting I had not noticed in my single-minded purpose. All Elrond’s family is there: himself, Celebrían and their three children, young and fair, with laughing faces and a glint of mischief in their eyes. Their sister... I gasp at the sight of her, so alike she is to Lúthien. To lose her...

“I am sorry for your loss,” I softly say. “We can only hope her time in Námo’s Halls will be short.”

Shadows deepen in Elladan’s eyes. “You do not know... Arwen... She bound herself to a Man of Elros’ line, to Estel, our foster-brother. Aragorn of the Dúnedain. Elessar, King of Gondor.”

I do not know what to say, what words of consolation to offer. So Elrond’s daughter has shared not only Lúthien’s beauty but also her fate. Silence stretches between us, until Elladan speaks again.

“That was her choice, and we must abide by it. But it has been hard. As hard as losing mother.” He shakes his head at my bewildered stare. “You did not know that either. Our mother... She... Orcs captured her on a mountain pass, as she journeyed to Lothlorien. We freed her, but father could not heal her. Not entirely. In less than a year she took the ship to Valinor. It was like an evil dream – one moment, we had everything, and then – everything was gone. I still remember the spring before that fateful journey. Mother’s begetting day feast. Dancing under the sunlight. Her planting a tree. The white mare father gifted her. In a few months, the Orcs had killed the poor animal, and mother... she was broken beyond any healing Endor could give her. The tree... it did not survive the winter.” He falls silent, then frowns, looking at me intently. “Uncle? I am sorry to have distressed you with the darker pages of family history.”

“I...”

In vain I look for words. None come. Elladan probably says something, but I do not listen. I run, like the despicable coward I am. I run again.

***

The path winds down a gentle slope, then up again, over a dune, towards the Sea. Wind carries a salty tinge. Water glitters in the sunlight, and seabirds circle overhead, filling the air with the strange music of their cries. The melody I played but a moment ago still rings in my ears, now no more than a cruel mockery. Everything clicks to pieces – the horrible truth, the depth of my betrayal. I shall never find words to beg Elrond’s forgiveness. I shall never summon enough courage to seek out my wife and my children. My life is now bound to a promise, but I shall spend it like I have spent ages in Endor – alone, running, hiding, avoiding company of people. Hope? I do not deserve any.

Eyes blind to everything fair around me, I stride along the shore and halt only by the stone pier. I stand for a long while staring at it, then walk slowly to its further end. The landscape around has changed over the ages, but I recognize the place. The pier was shimmering white in the Years of the Trees; it was a starting place for those seeking adventures on shadowed waters, only barely touched by the Treelight. And a starting place of my own fateful journey... I shudder, remembering mooring here after the encounter with lady Uinen’s wrath. My brothers’ pale faces. Silent accusation in the eyes of my uncles’ people. Arafinwë’s bitter words as he cast down his sword and turned away from us. Father's disdainful words. My own silence. Why was I silent? What if I had spoken? What if I had gone back then? Why...? What if...? Useless, empty questions.

Steps sound behind me. I do not turn. I do not want to see that compassion, that understanding. Elrond will never truly understand. How could he? I have sensed his fëa, so pure and beautiful even after every loss he has encountered, every wound he has received, including those dealt by me. Yet I must say something.

“I will keep my promise, Elrond. My life belongs to you now, so I will not cast myself into the waves. But I deserve neither your love, nor forgiveness. I am just like those others who abandoned you. No, I am worse. I deliberately avoided you when you were seeking me. Mere months before Orcs ambushed your wife I was hiding within the sight of your house. And then... I turned away. I left when I could have remained and maybe... maybe supported you at need.” A sound of shuffling feet, yet no reply. “Those history books that show Fëanor’s eldest sons as monsters are true. That is exactly what I am, Elrond. A monster. Blood and madness have followed me since I set my feet on the land of Endor! In the Ring of Doom the Valar bade me recount my crimes. Some, I could not remember clearly. About some I am not certain. I am not even certain whether I did not push my brother into that fire-filled crevice! And to such one you would give love and forgiveness?” In the end I am nearly shouting; my hands are clenched in fists.

“You did not push me in. And you could not have saved me either. Before I jumped, I made sure you were far enough.”

I spin around. My eldest brother stands mere steps away from me. After moments... hours?... ages?... of frozen silence I close the distance between us in a few swift strides and grip his hands... both his hands. They are warm and strong, and his face, even though now sad, bears none of the hopeless despair I remember so well from those last decades in Middle-earth. That expression I still see in my dreams.

“You...” My voice breaks. And then, in a fit of sudden rage I slap him so hard that my palm stings. “You left me!”

“Yes, I did.” Maedhros makes no move to defend himself, to counter my anger in any way; he merely stands still looking at me with deep grey eyes. “There are few things I regret more.”

I stagger back as the outrage of what I have just done dawns on me. “Russandol... I am sorry! I...”

He catches me in time to save from falling into the water.

“Do not be sorry. I deserved that and more. I left you alone in a hostile world.” When I just stare at him in silence, my brother smiles wryly. “You are welcome to slap me again if it helps you feel better. Or else...”

“Or else...?” I repeat in a trembling whisper.

“Or else, you may listen to a thing or two I have to say about your speech and why most of it was nonsense, and then go back to the house and speak with Elrond. He awaits you.”

“I...” My voice fails me utterly.

“In a short while,” Maedhros quietly says and pulls me in embrace.

In a short while, I will listen to all he has to say. In a short while, I will find my voice again. But now I merely cling to my brother and cry like I have not cried for ages.

~ The End ~

Note. This is it, for now. 😊 Thank you for reading and commenting!