Renewing The Song by Naltariel

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A New Bond

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Chapter 6: A New Bond

 

Dawn had just risen. Anar awoke from her slumber, spreading a reddish glow across the cloudless sky as she shyly came from her hiding place beyond the far horizon. Her visage was ever changing, from the half orange disk to the full round golden plate, from the timid glow beyond the horizon to the engulfing brightness of the day, overshadowing the dim light of the stars. Her power too, was ever changing, from the meek warmth of the morn to the burning heat of the noon, and would fade again when night came. But she had not faded yet, for a new day had just begun.

 

It’s too bad that the only person who had the chance to behold the glory of the new day was too absorbed by his work.

 

The little ship was almost done. Maglor stepped backward and smiled, admiring his handiwork with sheer satisfaction, like a painter admired his masterpiece. The ship was not exquisite, nor stunningly beautiful. But it was perfect. And was built with such passion and determination as the builder hadn’t felt for a long time.

 

As a Noldo, creating something was part of his blood. Yet, Maglor hardly used his hands to produce something. He was admired for his talent in music, unlike his father who was well known as the best craftsman in Arda. Maglor had always known that he was different from Fëanor.

 

When he was a child, his father always told him that he was different from him and from his brothers. He possessed a gentler heart and his flame was far subtler than theirs. The first was obviously proved when he took Elwing’s sons into his care, and raised them with a love that could put a mother to shame. But was it also true that his flame was dimmer than those of his father and brother? Perhaps nothing or no one had ever lit his fire before. Or perhaps he was too afraid to let his fire burn freely. Afraid that he would turn out as his father, whose untamable flame caused his downfall. 

 

A playful gull flew by his face and landed on top of the unfinished ship. Then the creature tilted his head and looked at Maglor, as if wanting to say something. The gull’s amusing behavior made him want to laugh. He stretched out his hand slowly, intending to pet the white bird. But it fled just a second before he could touch it. How very like the Sinda minstrel who was sleeping in his hut right now, his only companion since he stopped counting the passing of Time. He came for just a while and would leave soon. 

 

Maglor shook his head and chastised himself for too much musing. So, after being a minstrel, a kinslayer, a father, and a carpenter, now you become a philosopher, reflecting and contemplating endlessly? He laughed inwardly as he pictured his father's face. If only he knew his son's choice of career.  He turned and headed toward the hut to fetch a can of paint for finishing the ship. Sometimes he made some wooden figurines and sold it in Men villages, that was why he kept many woodworking kits and materials. 

 

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Inside the hut, he found Daeron was still sleeping peacefully. His starlike eyes were wide opened, but unfocused. His chest was moving up and down in a slow rhythm, signaling his peaceful rest. A great minstrel he might be, and a great loremaster too, but now he seemed more like a child, vulnerable and innocent. Just like any other Elves when sleeping.

 

Maglor could not suppress an urge to place a chaste kiss on his forehead before he left.

 

 

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“What do you make this ship for?” asked Daeron, confused. He had awakened and was looking for Maglor while the Noldo was wholly concentrated on painting the ship, oblivious to his surroundings, his brows frowned in his earnest attempt to create the perfect result. He was so engaged in his work that he would not have noticed Daeron’s coming if the minstrel had not called out his name at first.

 

Maglor had told Daeron that he was banned from returning to the West. But why did he build the ship? The Sinda assumed that perhaps, Maglor wanted to try his luck by sailing to the West with him. Perhaps he thinks that the Valar will not have the heart to forbid me from entering the West just because he is with me, Daeron thought. Still it is a great risk to take, at least on my part. I would have to face the Valar’s wrath if I dare to bring this kinslayer with me. Should I reject his request, though? But he makes the ship! I would not possibly do it myself if he didn’t help me.

 

“I am making this ship for you,” the busy Elf answered, not looking to at Daeron as he spoke. Understanding the thoughts battling in Daeron mind.

 

“For me? Why?” Daeron was more puzzled than before, if that was possible. 

 

“You cannot build this ship on your own. So, I make it for you,” Maglor continued to paint as he spoke. His face was a rigid mask, which was hiding his own longing and despair. You had better go before I get too accustomed to your company, he thought silently. Sooner or later you will go, and I will be alone again. But it will be less painful if you go sooner. Please go, Maglor pleaded silently, half expecting Daeron to pry into his mind, so he would understand his pain.

 

“Why?” Daeron asked again, walking closer to Maglor. He was tempted to pry into his mind, but was reluctant to do so. Maglor had warned him, and he too understood that he had no right to do so. But something was telling him that Maglor wanted him to pry, to listen to the cry he could not utter with words. He could not explain, but the urge was overwhelming, and Maglor too, seemed to lay bare his mind before him, waiting for him to come, though he did not, or could not say it out loud.

 

He probed a little and moved further when he felt no resistance from Maglor. “You miss your family. And you wish me to sail to the West and return to your family as an exchange of your inability to do so. “

 

“If you don’t mind.” Maglor answered with his mind. Tears were pooling in his eyes, but he quickly wiped it them away, not wanting to look vulnerable in front of Daeron. After all he had his pride, no matter how insignificant it was. He put down his can and paintbrush, and stared unfocusedly to the half painted boat.

 

“I do not. But your family does, for you can never be replaced by anyone, much less by me,” came a gentle reminder from Daeron’s mind. Gentler and more comforting than he had intended to. He had touched a part of Maglor’s mind, and therefore, felt his pain as if it was his own. The Sinda sensed there deep remorse, not only for the kinslayings he had committed, but also for leaving his mother, and his foster sons. He missed them terribly. He missed his mother, the gentle but strong Nerdanel. He missed his sons, Elros, who was now resting in the Doom for mortals, and for Elrond, who he knew had never ceased to expect him to return. If only it were possible. He sensed his loneliness and despair, the feelings which made Daeron wanting to weep on his behalf. Surely, there was no punishment crueler than this, he thought.

 

”Then you can deliver my message to them.”

 

“Saying what?” Daeron asked, though he already knew the answer.

 

“That I love them, and I am sorry for causing them pain.”

 

With the words, a sob broke from his throat and he buried his face into his hands. His pain was so palpable that Daeron could not help but sit beside him and gathered him in his arms, giving the Exiled Elf something he did not find for Ages. Comfort and Understanding.

 

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