Many Journeys by Elleth

Unchanging

After his return to Aman, Maglor's wife tries to help him unlearn his distrust.

Lasbaneth’s hand slid between Maglor’s shoulderblades. She was crooning in the old language of Mithrim that he had not heard spoken for years even beyond his own count (he did not speak the language of Aman well, not yet), and listening to the sounds helped - the lapping of water on the lake-shore when they had both been young, birdsong in the reeds - as she tipped his head back.

"Close your eyes. Trust me." He kept his eyes stubbornly open, and saw her frown as she retrieved the blade to set on his throat, dragging it upward with gentle pressure. He felt his jaw tighten, felt her pause and remove the knife, heard the splash of water as she rinsed it of hair and lather.

"There," Lasbaneth said. "I think I will be capable of not drawing blood. Your grandfather has been gracious in demonstrating it to me; you do not need to fret."

"It is not," said Maglor, "that I think you would seek to hurt me, but imagining for so long that I would find nothing except just hatred upon returning —”

" — you need to unlearn, and I will not budge until then. Close your eyes."

Chapter End Notes

Written for GG on tumblr, for the prompt Ayurnamat - the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed (Inuit).
 
It's set squarely in my fic 'verse in which Maglor wanders long enough to qualify for the obscure tidbit of Elves growing beards when reaching a specific age, and the rest I hope is self-explanatory.