Where the Heart Is by Noliel

Where the Heart Is

Where the Heart Is

They are sick of wandering; he himself is. Since the end of the First Age, that is all they have done- first travelling the shores of Beleriand, which now lies under the waves- then making their way into the South and finally into the East.

The people in the South had differed from those of the West in both appearance and customs, yet had held true to the manner of the Atani when confronted with the Firstborn, treating Maglor and his people with awe, fear, and respect. But where the Edain had kept their distance, here they’d been more welcoming. Especially the children, who had followed in the Elves’ wake, laughing and hiding if any of them caught their curious gazes.

They’d turned East after many decades, following the path laid out through the boundaries set by the Sea, and it seemed as if the people of those lands had been made aware of their coming. The children there grew more daring in their hospitality, shyly presenting Maglor’s followers with small gifts of food or scented woven cloth.

But that was long ago, and those same offspring of Men are now dead and buried countless years. Only a dim recollection of the strange and beautiful beings that once walked the lands remains, a bedside legend.

And now they are in the farthest East- the uttermost, truly- and Maglor cannot believe his eyes at what lies before him. A large body of water, surrounded by areas which were most certainly once part of a lake, but are now dry. Small rivulets feed into the water from the remains of mountains behind them, the whole area looking as though broken by a tumult of the earth.

Over the centuries, his eyes have witnessed both the cruellest and the most beautiful of truths- and yet now… Maglor cannot believe. But he knows.

Like a whisper carried on the wind, the curse of Mandos comes to him out of the vestiges of memory:

“On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.”

They know this. He knows this. And still they follow wherever he may lead, damned and without hope, yet always, unwaveringly loyal.

Two Ages of this world…

Someone walks up to him as he muses, contemplating the ripples in the water.

“Do we set up camp, my lord?”

The speaker is the eldest of their party besides Maglor himself. His face is questioning, almost tranquil- but Maglor can see that it is not hopeful, and there is a worn expectancy in his eyes. He and the others have most probably circled nearly all of the Hither Lands.

They will wander no longer.

“Yes.” Maglor pauses before adding, “Permanently.”

The look on the elf’s face changes gradually, as though he does not trust what his ears hear. First there is confusion, then shock coupled with disbelief, before a brilliant, joyous smile lights up his features. Impulsively, he grasps Maglor’s hand, the gloved one, and presses his lips to the knuckles before turning swiftly to give this news to his fellows.

Maglor faces again the water, gleaming and cool and familiar. A shiver crackles along his spine and he closes his eyes as the words of his father in Tirion come back to him, more potent than those of the Prophecy of the North. A flame long-forgotten flickers and flares back to life inside him.

“In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars…”

Maglor opens his eyes, and they blaze quietly up at the star-studded sky as he smiles. He is home.

Chapter End Notes

Yes, I know Cuivienen was said to have been destroyed ("...to Cuivienen there is no returning...") but it seemed fitting to me, to have Maglor find it.