Magloriana by Himring, Elleth, Agelast
Fanwork Notes
This trio of drabbles developed out of a comment situation over on LiveJournal.
There is a certain amount of Maglor angst, so it's been rated Teens for now.
- Fanwork Information
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Summary:
Maglor on the beach: a set of three drabbles about Maglor by three different authors.
Major Characters: Maglor
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: Fixed-Length Ficlet
Challenges:
Rating: Teens
Warnings:
Chapters: 3 Word Count: 297 Posted on 27 January 2013 Updated on 27 January 2013 This fanwork is complete.
Chapter 1
The first drabble is by Elleth.
Maglor in history (modern times).
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The beach finally cleared in the evening, though the heat of the day lingered even after sunset. The few people who had not yet departed paid little attention to the dark figure emerging from underneath the pier. He kept a careful distance to the humans, as always beginning to slouch through the sand, gathering this discarded piece of trash or that, seeking food, only to toss them away again, empty. If anyone had watched his face closely, they might have seen a muscle in his cheek twitch upon finding a half-eaten chocolate bar, which he quickly pocketed, and moved on.
Chapter 2
The second drabble is by Agelast (Moetushie).
Maglor after the War of Wrath.
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Finally, he thinks, as the Silmaril’s light is extinguished by the sea. He is left swaying in the surf, the saltwater burning at the raw skin of his hands. No more mad brothers, no more mad oaths, no more stolen children. No future.
Nothing but the past that he is entirely cut off from.
As the tide rises around him, his abandoned breastplate bangs hard against his shins. It would be appropriate, if he should drown. But no, that time has already gone.
Instead, he makes his way back to the shore, his mind abuzz.
Death, of many deaths I’ll sing.
Chapter End Notes
Acknowledgement: The final sentence is a quotation from Walt Whitman.
Chapter 3
The third drabble is by Himring.
Maglor in history (modern times) II.
(100 words according to MS Word)
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He encountered her on the strip of moist sand between the waves and the beach. Unfaded, Avarin and far too young.
'Parents', he said reproachfully.
She shook her head. It was clear there weren't any. She was scantily dressed in frayed bath towel, her neck and wrists strung with sea shells and discarded plastic. And of course she was painfully thin.
'No more abandoned children', he had sworn, but such oaths were made to be broken. Some habits could not be shed. He gave in and gave her the bit of chocolate bar he had scavenged.
'Well, come along', he said.
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