Elemental by Ysilme

Part two: Sky - Freedom

Sky

Each morning, Maglor started off along the beach, following the ebb and flow of the waves. Every day he walked until he grew tired and needed a rest. Then he sat, watching the sea and the sky, and then he walked again.

The sun had gone once through the seasons since the days of the fog, and more memories had come back every day. Good memories, sometimes, but mostly, bad ones. Memories of pain, of fire and fury and of desperation and loss, and of the black, black, nothingness which he had finally given in to. He still did not know why and how the black nothingness had started to change into the fog, and then, into clarity. Or how long the process had taken - it must have been a long time, though, if the length of his hair and the gauntness of his body were any measure. He did not even know if it had been a one-time process, or if he had gone through it more than once. His memory of this period was not linear, and it also had different textures, for lack of a better world: sometimes, the memories were those of a clear mind, and sometimes, they were just a jumble of colours and sensations.

He also still had things eluding him, things he knew he should remember, but could not. Maybe his mind had suffered in the process, or maybe it was just keeping some things hidden to protect him from going mad? He remembered how it has been with Maedhros, after his rescue, and how jumbled his brother’s mind had been at the beginning. Maybe it was better not to know more. So he kept walking without knowing the reason why, and chose not to wonder about how things changed, but just followed along.

He was grateful, though: it was better to be, and to be aware, than to just fade away into nothingness. There were no Halls of Mandos for him, the kinslayer -for that, he remembered very clearly. No rebirth in the Undying Lands, no reunion with his loved ones. He did not know what lay before him, and could not hope for much. But he had the sea and the sky, he had the seasons and the elements, and he had song.

Song. Music. Music, which had always been part of his mind, part of who he was, even at the time when he had forgotten about everything, even himself. Music, which was everywhere, in every thing and being, all around him. The song of the sea, the rush of the wind. The cry of the gulls with their shrill, harsh, harmonies, weaving a beauty of its own.