Indy's B2MeM Stories by Independence1776

2009

Some of these have been reworked into other stories.

Read 2009

Prompt 1: learning to make a fire
Father knocked softly on the open door and came into my room when I looked up from my book and smiled. He sat down in front of me on the hardwood floor.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said and gently placed Nelyo’s old harp between us.

I looked up at him, puzzled. Nelyo didn’t like me playing with his things.

“Káno, what is the matter?”

“Not mine.”

Father sighed and corrected me. “It is not mine. Káno, Nelyo’s hands are too big for it. This is a harp for a young child, not an adult. I asked him if you could have it, and he said yes.”

I nodded slowly and pulled the instrument into my lap. I strummed it like I had seen my brother do, and smiled when music rang through the room. I stuck the tip of my tongue out of my mouth like Father did when he was working on something, and began to play a simple melody, one I had heard many times when Mother calmed me to sleep after a long day of playing outside. When I finished the song, I grinned and looked up at Father.

“What can I play next?”

Prompt 2: Mercurial Monday (Great Danger): Gone
“You can hardly blame me for running from the Dark, Maitimo-- you did so yourself!” Makalaurë shouted. He gestured behind him at the empty iron chamber, careful to keep the torch’s fire away from anything flammable. “This is not my fault; it is not your fault; it is not Father’s fault. The only person we can blame this on is Melkor!”

The soft glow of someone with a torch approaching the room abruptly ended their argument. Once inside, a grave-faced Tyelkormo simply nodded at the empty place where the Silmarilli had been, almost as if he had expected it, and faced his older brothers.

“Grandfather’s dead. He… he was slain before the main doors. Why didn’t anyone notice he hadn’t followed?”

He started trembling and Maitimo hurriedly wrapped Tyelkormo in a hug. Looking over his shoulder at Makalaurë, Maitimo said, “Go saddle some swift horses. We need to tell Father.”

Prompts 3 and 4: Happiest Moment and Role Models
“Second father?” I asked when Maglor didn’t respond.

He smiled and leaned forward on his seat. “It was very well performed, Elrond, but you rushed the introduction. I think that was nerves, which won’t disappear, but you’ll be better able to work through them with practise. You have a talent for writing evocative pieces. It reminded me of a windy spring day.”

I grinned. Elros had said Maglor wouldn’t appreciate it, but I knew my brother was just jealous. Besides, even the best had to start somewhere, and Maglor was the best musician I knew. And he had liked it!

Prompt 5: Regret: If
I looked at the young twins sleeping curled together on the big bed. They sometimes reminded me far too much of Ambarussa. I turned away, blew out the candle, and silently walked out of the room.

I sat down in a chair in the main room, a wine glass in hand. What had brought me here? No, I corrected myself, I knew what had.

The damned Oath. I shouldn’t have been so blindly loyal to Father. I could have refused. If I had the chance now, I would. But I would have still followed him, for Valinor was no home.

Prompt 6: Music: Noldolantë
I slipped through the starlit camp, not wishing to talk to anyone. I shifted my harp to my other arm and reached my goal shortly after: the large oak tree that stood in the middle of the empty space between the Fëanorian camp and the Host of Valinor. They tolerated our blades, but they did not tolerate our presence.

I settled myself against the rough trunk, tuned my harp, and began the mournful strains of the lament I had been writing for nearly six hundred years. Both camps grew quiet, and in the near distance, I could hear someone weeping.

Prompt 9: Hero: Defense
“We do not speak of him here,” Finarfin said as he swept along the corridor leading to his study, the newly arrived half-elf following behind him.

Elrond frowned. He knew quite well that Maglor Fëanorion was not the best of people, but he was far from the worst. He also knew that there was bitterness between the half-families, especially since the Darkening. And yet there was more to the Fëanorians than Kinslaying.

“Then I will,” Elrond said quietly, holding the door shut. Finarfin turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “He is my father and I will not ignore that.”

Prompt 10: Travel: Longing
I looked out over the Sea, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see the land of my birth. It was too far away, and the curve of the earth meant that I wouldn’t be able to see it if it was closer.

“Maglor?” I turned to face my only living brother. “You cannot stay here forever.”

“I know. But I miss home.”

“So do we all. But your sons need your attention.”

I nodded, took one last look at the sullen gray waves, and headed back to our reduced camp, to care for the children whose lives I had destroyed.

Prompt 11: Humor: Replaced with Prompt 16: Limits:
I lightly tossed the bundle containing the Silmaril into the air, checking its balance so I wouldn’t miscalculate how much force I needed to throw it, and the jewel fell out onto my palm as the covering fluttered down into the surf. I cursed, bit my lip from the pain, drawing blood, and threw the jewel into the Sea. I would not keep it, but nor would I kill myself. I was the last living son of Fëanor, and I could not face Mandos. Not after everything I had done. No, I would wander and hopefully learn to live again.

Prompt 12: Innocence: Replaced with Prompt 2: (Tedious Jobs): Scales
Makalaurë stared at his teacher. Scales. It was always scales, never anything interesting.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with it.”

He turned back to the composition that had occupied his attention for the past two weeks. Makalaurë scowled, but began to play the scales, from easiest to hardest. He stopped, but his teacher raised his eyebrows, so Makalaurë continued. And continued.

Finally, the “lesson” was over. As Makalaurë packed his harp, he asked, “Why scales? They’re tedious.”

“As is the grunt work of being a musician. Only discipline will help you become the best. Scales are the beginning.”

Prompt 13: Friday the Thirteenth: Gone
I looked down at the shaky desk, not truly seeing it. I had refused Morgoth’s terms, but I had condemned my brother at the same time. Maitimo, one of my closest friends. The one who had been there for me through everything, who had given me his old harp, who had explained to me why Father sometimes acted as he did. The one who had listened to me when I babbled about the woman who eventually become my wife. The one who understood me better than anyone else.

Now he was captive in Angband, unreachable, and I could do nothing.

Prompt 14: Seasons: Renewal and Prompt 8: Beauty: Fire
“I find it striking.”

Maedhros shot me a disgusted look. “The trees look like they’re on fire. Furthermore, Maglor, the leaves are going to fall off. Winter is death here. The trees only remind me of that.”

He stalked off, heading back inside. I continued standing on the ramparts, leaning against the cool stone in the crisp air, looking over the red and gold forest. I could understand why he felt as he did-- it reminded him of Father, though he would never state it. But to me, Middle-earth felt more real than Valinor. Here, life was precious, for we couldn’t know what would happen next. Father had been right; Valinor had been a cage. Now, even though we were at war and exiled, it was still more freedom than we had in the land of our birth. I could not fault Father for leading us here, though the manner of our departure… That I wished I could change. But there was no going back, only forward.

Forward into the fire of our lives, for though I knew we could not defeat Morgoth, we would willingly die trying, going out in last burst of flame.

Like Father.

Like the trees.

Prompt 15: Ides of March: Fate
I looked at the gems shining in the dark room. I knew they were special, given their potential as lighting. But they weren’t special enough.

I spent the next few years happily with Nerdanel, never forgetting my projects, though she had her own. We raised our children, watched some of them start families of their own. But I always searched for the next project, the next thing to discover, to create.

It took many years, with many setbacks, until I finally created what I had longed to make: three gems, shining with the light of the Two Trees. The Silmarils.

Prompt 16: Mercurial Monday (Adventure) and Prompt 7: Tree Speaks: Choices
“Elrond?”

I giggled and pressed myself further into the hollow tree. Maglor would never find me here. The dead wood groaned around me in the slight breeze, but I wasn’t worried. The trees had told me I would be safe here.

Maglor grew closer and finally bent down to peer into the opening. “There you are.”

I pouted. “How did you find me?”

He grinned. “The trees told me. You shouldn’t hide in the woods next time. Now, let’s go find your brother.”

I grinned back. “I heard him clambering around the boulders after we split up.”

I took my second father’s hand and we headed off together. But as we grew closer to the pile of boulders, both of us heard someone crying in pain.

Maglor looked at me and said, “Go find Maedhros. Have him bring a healer.”

I looked at the rock pile and nodded before I started running back home. I ran into a guard who stepping into my path and babbled that my brother had been hurt. She nodded and told me wait where I was. It was only a few minutes later that both my foster uncle and one of the healers ran up. I led them back to the rock pile, where Maedhros stayed with me, holding me close. It seemed an eternity before I saw my brother immobilized on a stretcher. Maedhros let me go and I ran to him. He looked up me through his tear-streaked face.

“Next time, I’ll hide in the woods.”

I nodded, nearly in tears myself. “The trees are nice, though they don’t really understand hide and seek. They helped Second Father find me.”

He smiled a little and Maglor and the healer bore the stretcher away. I took Maedhros’ hand and he pulled me against him, comforting me as best as he was able.

It was only later, as I was sitting by my brother’s bedside, that I realized he had been crying himself. And I knew it wasn’t because of Elros.

Prompt 17: Stereotypes: Fëanáro
Fingolfin, sometime before the creation of the Silmarils.
Fëanáro
So stubborn.
But he bends
And apologizes to me.
Forgiven.

Prompt 18: Through the Window: Ladder
I groaned and rolled over in bed, glaring at the square of light shining on the wall. Elros had been far too rambunctious last night, and it had taken me forever to fall asleep. Now, he was up too early and I had the room to myself, though that meant little when I knew I would not be permitted to sleep in. I rolled over, looked out the windows, and sat up in shock to see him looking in. By the Valar, how had he gotten a ladder?

I stood up and walked over to the window, opening it so I could drag him inside.

He grinned. “Happy birthday, Elrond.”

I smiled at him and said, “Happy birthday yourself, Elros. You’d better get inside before Second Father finds you.”

The grin remained firmly in place. “Who do you think is holding the ladder?”

I blinked and stuck my head out the window. Sure enough, the black-haired Noldo was holding it steady. I shook my head and drew back inside. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I shut the window and grabbed a tunic and trousers from my dresser. Out of all the things to happen today, I hadn’t expected that.

Prompt 19: Wisdom for the Future: Star
I lay next to second father, looking at the stars. “Why you are so quiet tonight?”

“I’m remembering Father and how he loved to look at the stars.” I heard him tilt his head toward me, crinkling the grass beneath him. “Elrond, Father was brilliant, but he should have listened to others. Promise me you’ll do that?”

“Of course.”

“And treat your brother as if you might lose him-- in the war, you can never be sure you won’t.”

I nodded, knowing Maglor was paying attention to me. He drew me into a hug, comforting me in my confusion.

“And teach your children the stars, for they will bring comfort even in the darkest of times.”

He fell silent, and I focused my eyes on the new star that meant at least one of my first parents was alive. Yes, I would teach them the stars, starting with that one.

Prompt 20: Caught Unprepared:
“I’m supposed to do what?”

Father looked at me. “You know when your presence will be required. If you are ill prepared, you have only yourself to blame.”

I looked at the formal robe that had been crumpled up and shoved into the corner from the last time I had worn it. Father followed my gaze.

“Makalaurë, you said you were old enough to handle your belongings. No longer.”

“Yes, Father,” I muttered.

“See if Maitimo has a robe you can borrow.”

Father walked out of my bedroom, rubbing his forehead. Maitimo would not be happy with me.

Prompt 21: Big Storm: Devastation
I clambered over the wooden debris of my small house, looking for the bits and pieces of the life I had lived here. I hadn’t known that storms could come with such ferocity, or that water could surge so high. I had been hunting farther inland, so I didn’t deplete the sources around me. That trip had saved my life, for the waters that had destroyed my house would have drowned me. Since I had no desire to face Mandos…

I shook my head and straightened up, looking at the changed and debris-strewn coast. It was time for me to move on once again. There was no point in rebuilding-- I did not know when or if another such storm would come. No, I would gather what I could and make a life for myself elsewhere. Middle-earth was a large world; there would be a place where I could live.

Prompt 22: Principles of the Law: Words
“You told me you would.”

Elros screwed up his face, threatening to cry. But he hadn’t done that in years, and I knew he wouldn’t do it now. He didn’t want Second Father coming outside.

“I changed my mind. It’s too dangerous.”

He snorted, “I did it. You can do it, too.”

“I am not climbing the fireplace. The roof is not a safe place.”

He shook his head. “Coward.”

He turned and walked away, heading over to the chimney. I watched him scramble upwards, fear fighting with anger. I wasn’t a coward; I just knew better.

So why had I agreed in the first place? Because he was my brother and I loved him. But it hurt when he called me something I wasn’t.

Prompt 23: Mercurial Monday:
Mother looked at us and then down at the brilliant jewel she held. After fastening the necklace around her neck, she knelt, drew us into a hug, and kissed each of us on the top of our heads.

She released us, standing up, and led us outside, into the smoke and confusion, heading to the dock. I heard metal clanging against metal, and squeezed Elros’ hand tighter. Mother looked over her shoulder and directed us to hide in a nearby tangle of ropes and nets. We did so, and then saw her run to the end of the dock. Someone with red hair rushed passed our hiding space, followed someone with black hair carrying a bloody sword. Elros gripped my arm even tighter than I had squeezed his hand. But we couldn’t help but cry out when Mother jumped. The Elf with black hair spun around, sheathing his sword when he spotted us. He walked to us, kneeling down, but swiftly moving aside to show us a white bird flying away from us with the Silmaril.

Softly, he said, “Look-- your mother lives still. But you have no one to take care of you now. Will you come with me?”

Prompt 24: Favorite Quote: Words
“Words-- so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

“Father was a great speaker, something that is important to remember when you two study this. He may have been insane with grief, but he never lost his charisma.” Maglor sighed and looked out the window at the snow-covered ground, not wanting to meet his foster sons’ eyes. “Only he could have enflamed the Noldor to leave Valinor, even after the Oath was spoken.

“It was a time of madness and uncertainty. All that we knew-- that Valinor was safe, that the Trees would never die-- was proven a lie. And Father used it as only he could: with language.”

Prompt 25: Memories of Childhood: Home
“When is Father coming home?”

I looked at Mother, who was standing next to me on the wooden dock as we watched a fishing vessel coming into port. Elros stuck his left thumb in his mouth. Mother sighed and knelt down, pulling us against her.

“He’s looking for a way to protect us all, Elrond. If he reaches Valinor, we won’t have to hide here anymore.”

“But you didn’t answer me.”

“I don’t know.”

She hugged us and stood up, taking our hands and leading us away from the water. I looked over my shoulder, wishing Father’s ship would appear.

Prompt 26: Think of a Teacher:
Ah, Father, what have you brought us to? Until now, swordplay has just been that-- play. It was a sport, something to learn, something to spend an afternoon with friends. Now, I look at my bloodstained blade and know that you have taught us something far different: how to kill. How to take a life and not think of it. How to move on from the bodies, the only goal protecting yourself and those on your side. How to ignore that you have killed friends and kin.

No, Father, we would rather not have learned this lesson. But we did.

Prompt 27: A Trunk: Memories
I walked into the suite that had been provided for me, barely able to see through my tears. Elros, why did you have to leave me so soon? Why did you have to chose to be mortal? I walked to the balcony and clenched the cold metal rail. A bell began to peal and the noisy streets grew silent. Now the people of Númenor knew as well that their king was dead. I could not face them, even from this distance, and headed back into my room. I lay down on my soft bed, suddenly too exhausted to even contemplate anything else.

An insistent knock on my door jerked me awake. I blinked and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I walked over to the door, opening to find two servants standing there, carrying a small leather trunk. I stepped aside and let them into my room, curious. My nephew-- the new king-- followed them, his eyes taking in my rumpled clothing, though he didn’t say anything about it.

“Your brother wished for you to have this,” he said, gesturing with one hand at the trunk the servants put next to the desk and giving me a key with the other.

I nodded, and he withdrew with a slight bow, the servants following. I locked the door behind them, not wishing to be interrupted. I lay back on my bed, fully intending on ignoring the trunk, for I was in no mood to open it. But the curiosity that had gotten me in trouble when I was a child, the curiosity that drove me to chose to be counted as one of the Firstborn, would not rest. I finally knelt before the trunk, running my hands over the soft leather before turning the key in the lock. The lid easily opened and I gasped, looking at the shallow tray filled with trinkets from Elros’ life, as well as a folded piece of parchment resting in the middle. I lifted out a toy soldier, the last from a set Maedhros had given us for our birthday one year. I replaced it, rubbing my eyes from the sudden sting of tears. I looked over the trinkets, only recognizing one or two others. I finally lifted the tray out and found volumes of books. I opened the first one to see my brother’s handwriting, shaky at times, but still clear. I closed the journal, not wanting my tears to ruin the ink. I placed it back in the trunk and lifted the tray of trinkets back into place. I finally removed the parchment and shut the lid.

I unfolded it-- it wasn’t even sealed-- and smiled through my tears.

Elrond,

I know what you’re thinking at this point, that like everyone else in our family, I have left you. That may be true, but please remember I chose this. The long life of the Firstborn was not for me. I was happy here, and I had a full life. Please remember me as we were when we were children, not as I am now. And remember that you are not alone-- Mother and Father are alive and you will see them again one day, when you sail.

The trinkets, as you have undoubtedly guessed, are the mementos from my life. They have little significance to anyone else. My family has more to remember me by than you. Please keep them safe. The journals are a record of everything, including our fostering by the sons of Fëanor. Preserve them as best as you are able, for not everyone wishes to remember Maedhros and Maglor as decent people.

Elrond, please forgive me for leaving you. We knew this separation was coming, but we had years together. Please remember that I love you and I will see you again, when Arda has been renewed.

All love,

Elros

I put down the letter on the lid of the trunk and nodded, tears silently falling down my cheeks. Yes, Elros, I will remember, for I cannot forget-- and nor do I want to. I looked out the window, then, at the blue sky. May Ilúvatar grant you rest, little brother, for I can think of no one more deserving.

Prompt 28: The Calendar: Creation
I looked up when Elros came into the room, banging the front door shut behind him. He shot me an annoyed glare and then stomped upstairs, a couple stairs creaking underneath his feet. I shook my head, bemused, and turned back to my composition. I wanted it done by the end of the month, but it was not cooperating. The notes simply were not coming, even though I had a good beginning. Elrond followed his brother’s movements with his eyes from his seat on the burgundy rug next to the cheerfully crackling fire, a book in his lap. He glanced at me, back at the Tengwar on the page, and then closed the book with a snap.

I looked at him, pen in my right hand, and patted the seat on the soft couch next to me with my left. “What is the matter with Elros? He tells you more than he will ever tell me.”

Elrond gracefully sat down next to me, but he ruined the image by placing his legs underneath him. I smiled slightly-- Father had often lectured me about proper posture when I was going through puberty myself, but he didn’t need that right now.

“He’s been hoping that with the weather shifting toward winter, that you’d be more willing to go hunting with him. I know you go, but you spend more time with me. I think he thinks that I’m your favorite.”

“You aren’t; I don’t have one. But I have no interest in hunting at this moment.”

“Tell him that, Second Father!”

“I have, young one. I promised him we’d go when I finished the composition.”

“And you haven’t.” Elrond sighed and ran his fingers over the smooth leather of the book he was holding in his lap. “I’ll tell him you’re trying.”

“I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

He smiled and stood up, leaving the book on the couch. “I already am, just by living here.”

He slipped up the stairs, skipping the noisy steps. I heard a faint knock on a door, and then a quick opening and shutting of it. I shook my head and turned back to my composition placed on my small lap desk. Maybe, if I hurried, we could leave by the start of next week.

Prompt 29: Falsely Accused: Pain
“Go to your room, Elrond.”

“But I--”

“Now.”

I looked at Maglor, tears of fury stinging my eyes, before turning and stomping upstairs. I hadn’t done it! But Elros… Oh, no, Elros had proof that he hadn’t climbed up the chimney. I slammed the door shut and flung myself on my bed. And Second Father hadn’t listened to me.

An hour or so later, Elros slipped into the room with a wicked grin on his face. “Told you you should have climbed it.”

I threw myself at him, catching him in the stomach. Stupid Elros, so cocky, so sure he was right. It was his fault, his lies that put me in so much trouble. And he would pay.

He started hitting me back, trying to defend himself. But he couldn’t. I hit him square in the nose, causing blood to start dribbling. He screamed and hit me harder. But shortly after that, two arms grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off my brother, holding me in the air. I glared at Maedhros, who was helping my brother up and out of the room. Only after the door closed behind them did Maglor put me down, turning me to face him.

He bit out, “What happened?”

“Elros lied. He’s the one that climbed the chimney, and he came in here to gloat that he got me in trouble because I refused to do so.”

Maglor sighed. “And this was cause to bloody his nose?”

“He deserved it.”

“No, he didn’t. I’ll talk to him, Elrond, and see what he truly did. You stay here-- if I unjustly punished you before, you deserve it now.”

I nodded, knowing better than to argue given his stern expression. He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. I sat down on my windowseat, curled up, and leaned against the frame. A tear ran down my face. Elros had to confess. He just had to.

Prompt 30: Mercurial Monday: Fantasy
I looked up at the woman dressed in a severely cut gray suit who kept staring at me and gave her a brief smile, hoping she’d leave me alone. I had been in the coffee shop since lunch, working on a composition, and she had only come in a few minutes ago. But I was taking a break and reading a book, and some people took that as an invitation to bother me.

“Someone so handsome shouldn’t be reading stuff like that.”

I looked up, now highly annoyed, at the blonde now standing next to my table, closing the book and putting it on top of my open notebook so she wouldn’t see my work. “It’s an interesting story.”

She sat down-- without invitation-- in the chair opposite me and picked up the book with two fingers, a mildly disgusted look on her face. “It’s fantasy. Shouldn’t you be reading something more connected with real life?”

I took The Silmarillion back from her, placing it exactly where I had before and rested my left hand on it. I met her blue eyes, not bothering to temper the intensity of my gaze as I had learned to do over the past millennia, “This is my life. I did not ask for your opinion. If you don’t like fantasy, that is your business. But do not criticize someone because they like something different than you do.”

She squirmed slightly and finally said, “I suppose all you do is go to conventions and such. Pity that you don’t have a real job, or even a life.”

I bit back a laugh. “You don’t know me, so how are you to judge? As for my job, I’m a freelance writer, as well as a composer of classical music. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

I picked up the book again and opened it, hoping she’d take the hint. She huffed, stood up, and stalked away, muttering under her breath, “While I never!”

I snorted then, amused. If only she knew…

Prompt 31: Tomorrow or Yesterday: Choices
I looked at the sunlight glinting on the water, soft in the dawn, running the events of the previous day through my mind: the Silmaril burning me; my tossing it into the Sea that I had slept next to last night, listening to the crashing waves; the burn that I had only been able to treat with my drinking water and a clean shirt torn into strips as a bandage; my wandering down the shore singing in pain and regret. Yesterday had been the culmination of everything that had occurred since the Darkening. But tomorrow… tomorrow I could start again.

2010

“Negotiations” has been slightly reworked into a “Sparks” story. The stories that don’t belong on this archive are posted here, as is one Silm-based story that I hope to rework and expand one day.

Read 2010

The Singer
Janelle slipped out the back door of the beach house, careful not to let the rickety screen door slam, and for a second stood silently on the back porch in the darkness. She needed to see what the ocean looked like under starlight, so she could plan tomorrow night’s photography, if the weather held. She walked to the sea and stood there, staring at the water and the stars overhead, feeling the wet sand between her toes, hearing the crashing waves-- and something strange: a gorgeous voice unlike any she’d heard before, singing in a language that sounded vaguely like something she’d heard in those Lord of the Rings movies.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tall man walking along the shore. He passed by only a few feet above the waterline, acknowledging her with a nod, but he didn’t stop singing. Entranced, Janelle could only watch until he was indistinguishable against the night.

She turned back to the sea, but no longer focused solely on the patterns of light. Janelle couldn’t help but wonder what the singer’s story was, and she knew it was likely she would never learn. Still, she could imagine…

Negotiations
Makalaurë turned, mixing bowl in hand, only for me to chuckle when I saw the amount of flour he wore. “Maitimo! Please, can you cook dinner tonight? I promised our parents it would be done by the time they returned from Lady Vilyandolië’s poetry reading, but I completely forgot I was meeting Narmincë in half an hour for dinner and a concert.”

I raised a hand to stop his flow of words. “What will you do in return? You know you shouldn’t break your promises, especially to Father.”

His shoulders slumped and he nearly dropped the bowl. “Anything you want.”

“Anything? Even something unpleasant?”

“Anything!”

“You can intervene the next time Father wants to pick a fight about my lack of interest in romantic relationships.”

“Fine!” He shoved the bowl into my arms and ran out of the kitchen. I shook my head as I heard him pounding up the stairs. He’d regret the agreement once he actually thought about it, but he was my brother. How could I not help him meet his sweetheart?

Pride
It hurt! That thought kept jolting through my mind with every jostling step my sons took, to the point where I had trouble concentrating on what I needed to tell them.

I made them stop. I could travel no further, wanting my last sight to be of Thangorodrim.

Fighting to breathe, to talk, I said, “Swear to me. Swear you will keep the oath, that you will bring the vengeance of the House of Fëanor to Morgoth, that you will not rest until you have regained the Silmarilli. Swear it.”

I died with satisfaction, knowing they would continue the fight.

Red
The color of Maitimo’s hair, though it wasn’t a true red, more a dark copper, almost auburn.

The color of the coals in Father’s forge.

The color that ran from a cut on my arm, when a harp string broke.

The color of metal heated by fire, to be turned into swords.

The color that spilled from Grandfather’s broken body.

The color that we spilled on the quays of Alqualondë.

The color Father was bathed in when he died.

The color our swords and armor turned in skirmishes and battles across Beleriand.

The color of leaves in the strange season we learned to call autumn.

The color our brothers shed from their mortal wounds, what Maedhros jumped into.

The color that, in retrospect, dominated our lives.

The color of our lifeblood, our history, and our legacy.

Red.

2011

Read 2011

March 25: Lothlórien: Broken Glass and Shattered Dreams

She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?

To most people, the etched glass had depicted only a small clearing in a mountain forest. For Nerdanel and Fëanáro, it was where they had first met, during their wandering years. The glass was one of the few things from her life with him that she had wanted to display. Now it was nothing more than a symbol of what had been-- broken glass and shattered dreams.

She grabbed the broom from its hook by the kitchen door.

2012

Two stories written for this year are posted elsewhere on the archive.

Read 2012

Annoyed
Prompt: o68 Women of the Silmarillion (sisters and sisters-in-law)

“It is entirely unfair that our actions don’t even rate a mention,” Írimë said.

Findis shook her head. “I don’t mind that so much as the implication that we don’t exist. And I wasn’t even the one who went into Exile.”

Írimë snorted. “Apparently, the only thing I managed to do was survive. Which in and of itself is rather remarkable. But nothing was mentioned of my deeds, or of your deeds in helping the Noldorin remnant thrive after the Darkening.” She sighed. “We’re women. Evidently, we don’t count.”

“We’ll just have to write our own histories to show otherwise.”

Cliff
Prompts: b7 Landscape (cliffs) and b7 Poetic Forms (haiku)

Morgoth gloated well.
“Pain and torment,” he declared,
“hanging from a cliff.”

Tunnel
Prompt: o65 Women of the Silmarillion (women of Gondolin)

It was stupid to ignore a Vala’s warning. Which is why she’d spent much of her free time studying maps of Gondolin and the surrounding mountains. Idril sighed. It would be difficult-- and break laws-- but it had to be done. She had to build a tunnel beneath the plain itself, ending close to the northern pass Cirith Thoronath.

It could be constructed, she’d discovered. But those who would design and build it must be handpicked by her, to keep word from getting to Turgon and Maeglin. It would be difficult, but she knew that the tunnel would be needed.

Sail
Prompt: o65 Of the Sea (sailor)

It had been centuries since Idril had been on the Sea. Tuor’s ship was mighty and well-built, but she worried.

How could she not? She was an Exile and her husband a Man. It would be so very easy for the Valar to never let them land, not even on Tol Eressëa, where no one lived. They didn’t know what defenses would be arrayed against them. They knew nothing save that the Valar would not be pleased with them.

And yet, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, sailing on a ship with her love. It felt right, just like building the tunnel had. Tuor looked young again, steering as she handled the sails. This journey was worth it for that alone.

He’d even begun to teach her how to sail. It was different from the swan ships she’d occasionally been on, partly because she was in control and not just a passenger, but followed the same principles. But she finally understood the Telerin refusal to give the Noldor their ships. To sail alone, with nothing but the waves and the weather to contend with-- it was freedom.

She looked over at Tuor and laughed for the sheer joy of it.

Assignment
Prompts: G59 Silm Fanon (Maglor+Daeron=BFF), Crackfic (Jedi powers and lightsabers), Song Lyrics (“And the songs that I have sung echo in the distance like the sound of a windmill goin’ round.”); B6 Crackfic (they fight crime)

“I cannot believe this,” Maglor muttered to himself, shoving an extra robe into his pack. “How? How in the name of the Force could the Council think assigning Daeron as my partner would ever lead to anything but bloodshed?

“’You’re the best musicians the Jedi Order has, Master Fëanorion.’ Best musicians my ass. You just want us to overcome our rivalry. That won’t happen.”

But he showed up precisely on time at the spaceship, the one that matched their cover story of a traveling duo of singers/songwriters. And all to infiltrate a crime syndicate based on a backwater planet who used the entertainment industry as their cover. Daeron, of course, was already in the pilot’s seat. “Well?”

Maglor thumped into the copilot’s seat and fastened his restraints. “Let’s get this over with. And I hope to the Force you’ve been practising with your lightsaber.”

“If you practised your music more instead, maybe you’d be a better singer.” He pulled the joystick back, launching them into the sky. “But I doubt it. That last song of yours reminded me of windmills, spinning and going nowhere and meaning nothing in particular, just sounding pretty.”

Maglor growled and clenched his armrests. He would not kill Daeron. He would not kill Daeron. He would not kill Daeron. But, oh, the Council would pay for this assignment. They would pay.

2014

A Change in the Wind: A slice-of-life of Maglor on market day in an Avarin community. Rated General. (Written for the prompt Under the High Sky by MirachRavaia.)

Many thanks to Elleth for both the Avarin names and the idea that Maglor has Avarin relatives on Mahtan’s side of the family. My thanks also to LadyLunas for looking this over.

Read 2014

A Change in the Wind

The wind howled through the oak, beech, maple, and pine trees surrounding his cabin. Maglor looked up from his seat on his bed, leaning against the house’s wooden wall. He’d closed the shutters already, but even so, he wouldn’t be able to see much in the dark. Not that he would open them in this wind and certainly not with the rain pattering on the roof. His cabin contained everything he owned and he didn’t want to ruin it. And Varnë didn’t appreciate being wet any more than Maglor appreciated the smell of wet dog.

The wind howled again, shaking the shutters and whistling around the corners, and Varnë lifted her head from where she curled up on the rag rug in front of the fireplace, a large brown splotch against the multicolored rug. Maglor dropped his notebook on his bed and went to sit next to her. She nudged his right hand with her nose and he obediently began petting her.

She curled back up, shifting a little so she leaned against him, and went back to sleep. Maglor stayed there, repetitively running a hand down her side, listening to the rain and the wind whistling through the trees, creaking their limbs. He hoped none fell on his house. That would be an unmitigated disaster and-- if he survived the collapse-- he’d have to move into town until the cabin was either repaired or rebuilt.

Despite the Kinn-lai’s acceptance of him in spite of everything he’d done, he had little desire to live among other Elves. He satisfied both his relatives’ desire to have him nearby and his desire for solitude by living in the forest near the border of the tribe’s lands, closer to the nearest border town than the town where his second cousin and his wife lived. It was something he appreciated for both the variety of mortal and Elvish goods and the ability to leave if he wished-- or had to. (Among other things, it allowed for a greater trade in reading material.)

He only owned a handful of books now-- one of poetry that he’d trade at the market in the morning, one of fiction, one of local myths (including those of the mortals), and the rest were poetry he’d bought before he’d arrived in the area fifteen years ago.

That had been an eye-opener. When he’d run into several Kinn-lai in the nearest mortal town, he’d expected to be run out of said town when they spotted him. Instead, they’d invited him to visit. During the welcoming feast, Asmal, his second cousin on Mother’s side of the family, found him and his wife Lillinn persuaded him to stay despite everything.

When the fire died, Maglor nudged Varnë awake and let her outside to do her business. When she scurried inside, sopping wet with muddy paws, he dried her as best as he could with a rag and changed into his nightclothes. Varnë settled on his feet after he lay down on the bed, furs pulled up to his shoulders. Despite it being summer, the cabin was chilly. Due to the trees surrounding it, it never got direct sunlight save near noon-- and the clouds and rain didn’t help. The lack of glass in the windows let in the damp.

* * * * *

The morning dawned clear and Maglor let Varnë out to run. She wouldn’t go far. Maglor washed with a rag and pulled on some clothes. Tomorrow, he needed to do laundry. Today was market day.

It was a walk of about three hours to the border town, and he’d arrive shortly after midmorning if he left now. He ate the last of his cheese and bread and whistled for Varnë when he stepped out of the cabin.

She came charging through the brush and began prancing in front of him, a stick in her mouth. Maglor tugged it from her and tossed it. She took off running and Maglor started down the wet, two-mile-long path leading to the main road. Varnë caught up to him and he tossed the stick again. After a few more throws, she grew bored with the game and stayed near him for the rest of the trek, only occasionally running off into the underbrush.

Trek it was. There were several fallen oak and beech trees and large limbs they had to maneuver around, and he moved them when he could. He may be the only one living out here, but the path was wide enough for a wagon and it needed to remain so if the border was overrun. Maglor thought that unlikely; the ravine that marked it was deep and well-patrolled to the point that any mortal attackers would prefer to cross the wooden bridge at the border town.

When he stepped out of the forest onto the stone main road, Maglor took a moment to appreciate the view of the fields on the other side of the road appearing to stretch to the mountains and then tied a thin rope he took from his pack’s front pocket around Varnë’s neck. He didn’t want to risk her darting off at the wrong moment and getting hurt.

Despite the cool wind coming off the mountains, the walk in the sunshine was pleasant. As he grew closer to the town, more people joined him, many with packs or pushing handcarts. Several of the farmers recognized him and they waved at each other as their wagons rolled by. By the time he reached the town, the market was in full swing.

He made his first stop the bookseller and greeted Tarasin. She grinned at him. “Finished already? I’m going to run out of books for you to read sooner or later.”

Maglor laughed and traded his book for another poetry book. “Any news?”

She shook her head and tilted it slightly toward a group of mortals standing nearby. “There’s talk of tighter border control, and that doesn’t surprise me. The new king’s less than thrilled with some of our queen’s rulings.” She shrugged. “I don’t think much will come of it. We’re too valuable a trade partner.”

He thanked Tarasin and left the stall. He wandered the market, listening to the gossip. Most of it was of little concern, generally about the storm and the border, and he’d heard over and over again that the Rider had taken no one. That was a superstition he’d been sick to his stomach to hear, and despite knowing that Morgoth was imprisoned in the Void, it still sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He didn’t trust that the Valar had found every servant of Morgoth’s. They hadn’t before. And one of Morgoth’s servants would well know and continue the history of fear of dark riders in the night snatching away the vulnerable.

He finally grew tired of the gossip, finished his errands, and bought lunch to eat on the long walk home. About halfway there, Maglor sat down on his pack in the grass on the right side of the road, next to a stray patch of wheat and daisies, positioning himself so he could see the mountains rising in the distance over the fields, and gave Varnë a link of cooked sausage, saving the second for himself. Just when Maglor finished his lunch, the sound of bells jingling and hooves clopping on the road caught his attention. He looked up, waved, and Asmal’s horse cart drew to a halt.

His auburn hair shone in the sun and his grin lit up his face. “Afternoon, Maglor! The guards told me you’d visited the market today. Kept me from worrying you’d disappeared in the storm.”

“I didn’t know you were dropping off supplies for your daughter. I would have stayed longer.” He shrugged. “Mind giving me and Varnë a ride home?”

Asmal said, “Not at all. Hop in.”

Maglor gestured for Varnë to jump into the back of the empty cart and sat down next to Asmal on the seat, his pack at his feet so Varnë wouldn’t get into it. “Anything new in town?”

Asmal shook his head with an exasperated look. “Council politics. One of the guild leader’s complaining about too many of his people being called up and sent to the border.” He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that, I see. He’s lost three people; the carpenters have lost four.”

Maglor looked at him, more than a bit unnerved. If the reserves had begun mustering… But he hadn’t been told to either evacuate or arm himself yet. “I think it’s for a show of force.”

Asmal gave him an odd look and eventually said, “Lill’s birthday is next week, and she said she’d have your hair if you don’t show up.”

Maglor winced. “I’ll be there.” His hair had barely reached his shoulders since the last time he’d insulted someone badly enough for him to demand Maglor cut it. And that apart from the fact that it was Lill who convinced him to stay fifteen years ago, found him a place to build his cabin near the border to give him the privacy he desired, and then given him a pup from the litter she hadn’t planned on breeding three years ago.

“Good.” Neither one said anything for a little while, and then Asmal said with a sly grin, “Daissir will be there.”

Maglor groaned. “Will you leave us be? I’m not looking to court anyone; she’s not looking to court anyone. We’re just friends!”

Asmal chuckled. “But it is so easy to get a reaction out of you.”

Maglor wrinkled his nose. There had been… less than pleasant responses to such provocations-- some greater, some lesser-- in the past. The Oath being the result of one of them. “There are some subjects you should just leave alone.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But a bit of gentle teasing never hurt anyone.”

Maglor rolled his eyes. “If everyone stopped bringing it up, it would be gentle. As it is, I am tired of it. So is she.”

“Are you two working on something?”

“A duet,” Maglor said and looked over the fields slowly rolling by, grains ripening in the summer sun. “If all goes well, we’ll be ready to perform at the turn of the season.”

“I look forward to hearing it.”

They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence. Maglor paid little attention to the horse’s hooves clopping on the road, the birds singing, or the other myriad noises of the countryside and forest. He’d struck up an unexpectedly fast friendship with Daissir, but they’d also known from the first that neither of them wanted a romance. Daissir simply wasn’t interested and Maglor… His betrothed had fallen in Alqualondë with a bloody sword in her hand and a Telerin arrow through her throat. While he knew that the likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim, he still loved her.

“You can stop here,” Maglor said when they reached the path. “There’s a lot of limbs down and I need time to clear them before you’ll be able to make it down there.”

“All right. I’ll pick you up in six days.”

Maglor smiled and got out of the cart. Varnë jumped out and stood in the middle of the path, her tail wagging gently. Asmal handed Maglor his pack and Maglor slung it on his back. “Tell Lill I said hello.”

“I will,” Asmal said, flicking the reins. Maglor waited until the road was clear and crossed it. Varnë barked, went into a play bow, and dashed into the woods. She returned carrying a stick in her mouth and generally made a nuisance of herself the rest of the way home.

After he’d opened the shutters so he would have light, he put away his supplies and then dragged his outdoor chair back outside. He went back in, shooed Varnë out, grabbed his new book, and came outside to read, firmly shutting the door behind him. He settled in his chair and Varnë lay down at his feet, panting happily.

2015

There are two stories posted in this chapter-- a Maglor and Elrond ficlet (rated General) and a Nerdanel/Fëanor Cuiviénen AU double drabble (rated Teens, warning for mature themes).

Read 2015

Prompt: This fic uses “Books! Create something from the Library of Rivendell: Any kind of fanwork - story, art, craft - show us or tell us about a book/scroll/manuscript from Elrond’s library” and touches on two others (an injured Maglor brought back to Rivendell by Elrond and anything about idioms and translation).

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Elleth for the beta and also to SurgicalSteel for medical advice. The title comes from this Sydney Smith quote: “Live always in the best company when you read.”

Summary: Books can keep people close, even if they're far away.

 

The Best Company

The book sat on a shelf in Imladris’ library, rarely touched. It didn’t take pride of place among the books of the Eastern languages; it was a copy and not in the author’s hand.

On occasion, though, on certain days of the year or when specific songs were sung in the Hall of Fire, Elrond would go to the library and pull the Variag-Westron dictionary off the shelf. He would stand there, slowly flipping through the pages. When the book had been made he did not know, nor why the trader who had overwintered in Imladris one year had it. But he could imagine the hot, dry air of the steppe surrounding the scribe as he worked, could imagine the time and care spent to make the book as useful as possible, could understand why Maglor would to turn scribing to make a living.

But he knew nothing more than that.

It was then Elrond would close the book, run his fingers over the camel-leather cover, and slide it gently back onto the shelf where it would remain until the next time he thought of his foster-father.

* * * * *

Maglor reached for the camel-leather book on the shelf, nearly hidden between two larger tomes, and carefully pulled it out. He nodded to himself when he saw the title and opened the book to a random page in the middle, recognizing his own handwriting. He turned when he heard footsteps on the flagstone floor behind him. He raised an eyebrow, but smiled at Elrond. “How did you come to have this?”

Elrond half-smiled. “A trader a couple of decades ago had it. I don’t know how it came to him; all he said was that he’d picked it up in Gondor.”

Maglor shut the book and slid it back onto the shelf. “The author hired me to make a dozen copies for her trade caravans. Tidir wanted there to be less chance of misunderstandings between her people and the Gondorians. Trade happens, but with the constant tensions between the countries, it was safer for them to have their own copies rather than be forced to rely on the diplomats for every problem.”

Elrond nodded. “How well did you know Tidir?” Maglor moved to the nearest chair and sat down, getting the weight off his ankle. Elrond sat down next to him. “And how is the boot working?”

Maglor said, “Very well.” He’d completely torn the ligaments when he’d slipped off a boulder near the sea, and despite Elven healing, his ankle would never be the same. The lace-up boot with its built-in supports would ensure that his ankle had the support it now needed. “I knew Tidir well; she was a dear friend. When I left Khand a dozen years ago, she was still the reigning matriarch of her house. But I cannot stay in one place overly long, no matter how friendly, and if I am away from the sea too long…”

Elrond frowned faintly. “The Sea-longing or--”

“The Silmaril.” Maglor rubbed the fingers of his left on the ugly scar that covered his right palm. “It calls to me sometimes.” He fell silent for a bit, trying not to think about why, and finally met Elrond’s eyes. “I know you worry about me, that you wonder how I am doing, how I am surviving, or even if I’m still among the living. But--” he looked around at the library, the people scattered around reading or researching, the garden and the mountains beyond the windows-- “I cannot stay among the Elves. Do not ask me to.”

“I won’t.” Elrond reached out and placed a hand on Maglor’s. “All I ask is that you write to me when you are able.”

Maglor thought about his lonely wanderings, his journeys in the empty parts of the world, and his occasional forays into larger towns and cities. “I cannot guarantee it will be often, or that my letters will be long, but I will try as best I can.”

“Thank you.” Elrond leaned back in his chair. “What is Khand like?”

Maglor smiled. “The stars are different.”

* * * * *

In Elrond’s library, there was a book in the section about the Eastern countries. It was not often read save by those who were curious about Khand’s history and culture, or those who wished to read about one merchant family in particular. For Elrond, though, it was a gift that both kept Maglor living in Imladris well past the time his ankle had needed to heal, and for the detailed glimpse of several decades of Maglor’s life it let Elrond have.

 

 

 

*************

Prompt: Finwë never travels to Valinor, instead remaining in Cuiviénen with most of the Noldor. He marries both Míriel and Indis. Some years after the birth of their last child, Finwë is taken by the Dark Rider.

Author's Note: This is not the story I meant to write when I left the prompt, but it works much better than my original version.

Summary: Nerdanel will not fight.

Art and War

Fëanor stared at her. Nerdanel sighed and turned to look at the running water of the creek. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the water, the bird song, the rustling leaves, and the noises of other animals in the woods. She finally said, “I cannot go with you. All of our sons are. Fingolfin and Lalwen are, as are most of our nephews and some of our nieces. You do not need an artist at your side when you are leading a war, Fëanor.”

He lifted up one of her hands and kissed it. “Do they really need you here?”

Nerdanel sighed. “People need art in times of trouble even more than they do in times of peace. And your mothers and siblings need assistants, if you want a place to return home to when you are victorious. Someone needs to farm and gather and weave and smith. We can't all fight.” She met his eyes. “Go avenge your father, Fëanor. We will ensure you have something else to fight for.” She leaned over and kissed him.

He shifted slightly and raised his hands to the string lacing the bodice of her dress up. “I already do."

---

Chapter End Notes

I wrote one LotR-based fic this year and it is posted on AO3.

2016

A graphic (of the Prophecy of the North) and a Teen-rated (for sexuality) Maglor/canonical wife drabble.

Read 2016

Graphic

The prompt was Scavenger Hunt P: "For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos."

For full size, click here.

The picture for the graphic was found on unsplash.com and is in the public domain.

 
_____________________________________________________

Drabble: Many thanks to Zdenka and Kayleelupin/KayleeArafinwiel for the prompts that sparked this fic. The B2MeM prompts were from the bingo cards "Women of The Silmarillion and "Sons of Fëanor", respectively "wives and mothers unnamed in canon" and "Maglor as regent."

I used the Quenya names: Maglor is Makalaurë and Curufin is Curufinwë.

Distraction

When the house shuddered with the force of the closing door, Naitë sighed and shut the ledger, looking over at her husband. “Another fight with Curufinwë?”

Makalaurë nodded. “You know full well how he feels about me leading--"

“That you were trained for music, not leadership. Yes, dear, I know. But you have me to help.”

Makalaurë kissed her. “How do the accounts fare?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. Now if only we could guarantee the trade goods we receive from the Úmanyar… Mmm…,” she said as he kissed her neck. “Don’t you dare stop, Makalaurë. The accounts can wait.”

2018

This was written for the 2018 initial prompt "crossing the ocean."

Maglor, Lalwen, and an invitation during Númenor's seven hundredth anniversary of its founding. Ficlet. Rated General.

Read 2018

Maglor unrolled the message he’d clenched in his hand. The paper was already starting to tear given how many times he’d looked at it since it was hand-delivered by a palace guard late the previous evening.

Maglor,

I know you know I saw you in the market this early afternoon; I let you leave without making a fuss because I thought you would appreciate it. You managed to disappear quite thoroughly after the War. Yet an Elf trying to be inconspicuous in Númenor? I talked to Tar-Elendil and he knew within hours where you were boarding, how long you had been there, and on what ship you had crossed the ocean.

I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, but I would like to converse with you. Given that neither of us will be here for much longer, I do not think it too much to ask. Come to supper tomorrow evening at sunset. I guarantee it will be private. Tell the guards at the palace garden gate that you will be visiting me; they’re expecting you and someone will escort you to my chambers. I look forward to seeing you again.

With my full regards,

Lalwen

He rolled the note back up and shoved it into his pocket. He glanced at the guard standing next to the open gate into the palace gardens, sighed, and stepped forward. His cousin had not lost an iota of Finwëan stubbornness and he knew full well that if he did not listen to her, she would come to him. That was a disturbance he did not want; while the proprietor of the inn Maglor had arranged to board at for providing light entertainment every other evening during the festive week knew he was an Elf, it would not do to have any more attention drawn to him than necessary. Of course, that caution had proven all but pointless when Lalwen spotted him.

True to Lalwen’s word, he was admitted and led by a guard through the winding gardens-- some decorative with flowers in full bloom, some useful for healing and kitchen, one with a hedge maze-- to an offshoot palace wing that overlooked one of the gardens that had required the unlocking of a wrought-iron gate to enter.

Lalwen, her black hair now cropped short in an interesting change from what had been typical Elven hairstyles, opened a glass-and-wood door near the building’s end and smiled at him as the guard took his leave. “It’s lovely to see you, Maglor.”

He raised an eyebrow and stepped into the dining room. It was small, private as she’d promised: there were only two place settings on the wooden table. A bottle of white wine stood on the table next to a covered tureen on the embroidered runner. Two doors on opposite sides of the room from each other led elsewhere in the wing. He suspected this was supposed to be a private dining area, either for immediate family or a pair of lovers, for it was hardly furnished apart from a small china cabinet against the wall opposite the garden door. “Are you sure?”

She sighed. “Maglor, if I want to see my cousin again, I can. You are not out of bounds here and neither am I. Regardless,” she said, “if people question me, I can say I am ensuring my people’s safety from a Kinslayer.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at the chair closest to him. “Sit down. I promise I haven’t poisoned the soup.”

Maglor chuckled and moved toward the chair when the door opposite him banged open and a woman with auburn hair in a loose braid hurried in. “Lalwen, I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of time in the statue gard--” She stopped when she saw him, one of her hands rising to cover her mouth.

Maglor swallowed, staring at her. Both of them ignored Lalwen slipping out of the room through the door behind Maglor. “Mother,” he finally said and took two giant steps across the room to embrace her.

Nerdanel wrapped her muscular arms around him and held him tight.

2019

Maglor visits Elrond after Gil-galad's death. Rated General. Triple drabble.

Prompts: G48, Maglor Through History, the death of Gil-galad and N42, Four Words 2, early, skyline, almost, mask

My main fic this year was "Fear No Darkness," a Silmarillion-Star Wars fusion, but I also wanted to write something set in Middle-earth. Hence this drabble.

Read 2019

Maglor crept through the Elven camp, doing his best to keep out of the skyline of the brightening dawn. The patrols would not take kindly to him being here, though they may look the other way this morning of all mornings. He slipped through the flap of Elrond’s tent and found his foster son sitting on his cot, head in his hands.

“Elrond,” Maglor whispered.

Elrond’s head jerked up and he all but jumped off his cot, almost bumping his head on the low canvas roof. Maglor embraced Elrond. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

“There was nothing anyone could have done. Once Sauron… Once Sauron--”

“I know what happened,” Maglor said. “Círdan told me when he met me earlier entering camp to report in. He also told me which tent was yours and when the patrols would be farthest from.”

“People want me to take Gil-galad’s crown,” Elrond said, voice muffled in Maglor’s shoulder.

Maglor couldn’t help but snort. “Do we truly need a king?”

Elrond stepped back, though he kept his hands on Maglor’s forearms. “No,” he said softly. “That is a role I have never wanted and feel unnecessary now. The Noldor have all but vanished. What do we have left apart from remnants in Lindon and Imladris?” He shook his head. “I will refuse it and will honor Gil-galad’s memory in a different way.”

“How?”

Elrond sighed. “I don’t yet know. There are so many details and decisions to make concerning the armies… Isildur kept the One Ring…” A blank mask settled over his face. “I fear nothing good will come of that, but we cannot coerce him.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Take breakfast with me, Maglor. Please.”

He could not leave his foster son to grieve alone. “I will.”