More about Maglor by Himring

A Distant Shore (Maglor and Gilmith II)

Gilmith, daughter of Mithrellas, walks by the sea and meets someone she remembers from her childhood.

Inspired by Elleth's wonderful photomanip This Far Distant Shore

Written for Elleth for Fandom Stocking 2014

Rating: General

They call her elven-fair. Although she buried her husband years ago, she still turns the heads of men--and women. There are also others who call her fey behind her back. But she herself knows better. In the mirror she can see fine lines around her eyes and her mouth. She has felt the weight of age and mortality settle in her bones. But she still walks the dunes occasionally, although she is no longer seeking her mother.

Today the weather is kind, the sky serene. The sea's great voice is deep and calm, breakers slowly rolling in, and as soon as she emerges onto the beach, she hears the music.

She recognizes it at once, of course. She marvels, now, that it could have meant to her only one thing the first time she heard it. How single-minded are the young! Then it mattered only that the singer must surely be elvish. Now she hears the song's sadness and its beauty overwhelms her.

Maybe she was only permitted her encounter as a child because she did not know or care who he was? Maybe now that she is older and wiser, the song and the singer will fade away as soon as she perceives it? She stands still, listening, and the song draws her in.

The song sings of a Valinor that is out of reach. The song sings of a Valinor that no longer exists even on the other side of the sea. The song sings of a Valinor that never existed, even in Valinor...

Gilmith walks along the shore in Elvenhome, the sands strewn with pearls and opals; she walks hand in hand with her mother. They turn towards the Calacirya and see the light of the evening star spilling out of a cleft in the high hills.

Suddenly, the song breaks off. Gilmith almost stumbles forward onto her knees. For a moment, the fine white sand of Belfalas seems grey and gritty. Her throat hurts and her eyes burn. But she cannot tell what grieves her most--the singer's exile, her own mortality, her mother's continued absence...

'Gilmith,' the singer says, behind her.

And she know it was none of those. She had feared that he had gone without speaking to her again.

'You know me!' she whispers.

'Of course I know you, Gilmith, daughter of Mithrellas,' says Maglor.

She dares to turn around.

'I have changed,' she says. 'I am old now.'

He, of course, looks much the same as he did when once, long ago, he attempted to comfort a child desperately, stubbornly seeking her mother.

'You have not changed so very much, to me', he answers. He hesitates. 'I never did learn any news of your mother...'

She brushes that aside, with a little movement of her hand. They hear the sea birds calling. His clothes are weathered in the rain and the wind of Middle-earth, but his face--and the grief in it--are ageless.

'If you know me still, will you tell me again what you told me then?' she asks.

It is a childish request, worthy of the child she once was. But it seems he does not think so...

'You are a daughter any elf would be proud to have,' he repeats, softly.

'But you are not any elf,' she objects, this time.

A shadow of a smile.

'Why then, you are at least a daughter Maglor Feanorion would have been proud to have.'

'There is no "at least" about it,' says Gilmith, firmly.

He is legend. He is also a man who once fumbled cram out his bag and offered it to her when she was sad and hungry.

'Maglor,' she says, taking a risk--but nothing ventured, nothing gained--'will you stay a little while, this time?'

For a moment his eyes look past her, a long way ahead, to journey's end. Then they come back to her, the girl--the woman--on the beach.

'Yes,' he agrees, quietly. 'A little while.'