The Eight-Pointed Star by Tyelca

Day 2 - Maglor

Day 2 - Maglor! The prompts were Childhood, Music & Songs of Power, Elrond & Elros, Kingship, Maglor’s Gap and Redemption. Only Childhood and Maglor's Gap remain unused.

Summary: Maglor brings his new charges to bed, and wishes the Ambarussa had lived.

Characters: Maglor, Maedhros.

Warning: References to canon Kinslaying, thoughts about murder.

Maglor looks at the children sleeping in his lap - a lullaby has never failed to put them to rest. Gently he releases himself from the small hands that clasp his tunic, careful not to disturb the children. Their faces are peaceful and serene, and there are no signs of the hostility they show by day. Maglor sighs; what he wouldn’t give for those raven locks to be copper, glinting gold in the flickering candlelight.

He turns to go, for there is much yet that needs doing, and he cannot let his brother carry that burden alone. He understands why Nelyo buries himself in work, for he does the same. Nonetheless, the pain eases when they are together; Maglor doesn’t care to analyze what that means.

He leaves the children’s room, which they have fashioned out of an unused dungeon. He locks the door.

Maglor ascends the stone spiral stairway and becomes Makalaurë again. His back straightens and his features harden, and he allows himself to feel the despair and grief that plague his mind and soul. Their line may have given up their right to the crown of the Noldor in Exile, but that doesn’t mean the responsibility of the High Kingship has vanished. Especially now, with old alliances broken they have no one to turn to but themselves, and their followers know it. Makalaurë is proud of them, proud of what they have accomplished nonetheless, and proud of how they continue with their life and their fight when everything is hopeless.

He opens the door to Maitimo’s study and finds his brother - the only one he has left - sitting in his chair and looking out the window. There are no clouds tonight; the stars are bright and the moon illuminates the plains below. Makalaurë might have admired the view once upon a time, but now the stars are but cruel reminders of what they have lost and have yet failed to regain.

“Are they asleep?” Maitimo asks, and his voice is tired. Makalaurë nods and settles in the armchair opposite the desk. For a long while they don’t speak and Makalaurë allows his thoughts to run wild. He doesn’t do that often, these days; his mind keeps returning to the twin boys in the dungeon, heirs to those who refused to hand over the Silmaril and were thus directly responsible for the unfortunate happenings in Sirion. Still Makalaurë cannot understand the woman; she had not sworn in Tirion and nothing bound her actions. Yet she rather lost her children than give over what was rightfully theirs, and condemned an entire city to death.

The boys know nothing about the matter, of course; they idolize their mother almost as much as their father, and Makalaurë is careful to keep it that way. To them he is simply Maglor, a murderer who took them from their home and locked their door at night. He is aware of what they say about him and the tongues of children are a thousand times more cruel in their innocence.

Makalaurë wishes they had died in Sirion and the Ambarussa had lived. Sometimes he locks the door to the dungeon not to keep Elwing’s brood in, but to keep himself out; multiple times he, Maglor the Murderer, has descended the stone stairs with a knife in his hand, ready to cut their throat and forcibly dye the raven hairs a brilliant red. The time it takes to find the right key and open the lock had saved their young lives already more than once.

He knows he should not kill them, for they are not were-gild for his lost brothers; Mandos does not bargain. So the boys live on, and by day Maglor the Murderer tries to fill the alarmingly large gaps in their education; he teaches them music and art, reading and writing, healing and fighting.

He knows what he is doing; he has done it before, and every minute brings up memories of the Ambarussa, and Maglor the Murderer compares his perfect little brothers to the two specimens in front of him and finds the raven-boys lacking. It enrages him, but his anger is cold and silent and the boys never notice a thing. But he cannot kill them, for they are his punishment and his redemption, twin brothers that go hand in hand.

So on nights like this one, he sits in Maitimo’s study and cries, and Maitimo doesn’t say a word for his face too is streaked with tears, and together they brave the world.

Chapter End Notes

Makalaurë is Maglor, Maitimo and Nelyo (from Nelyafinwë) are Maedhros.