Silent Lake by SonOfMandos

Silent Lake

Maglor left the shores of Gondor. He was tired of the sea, its smell, its saltwater. The gentle rumble of the waves irritated him. Seagulls and seals were to him an annoyance he could not walk away from. He had known every ship, every boat, and every Mannish fisher that lent a generous hand and gave him employment. To witness death claim one person after the other burnt him out. The Noldo did not have the resilience that was unique to Mortals. An impending sense of doom gripped his guts when an old blind lady touched his sunburnt skin and told him he would not see the dawn of the new generation.

He eloped. He roved without knowing where he was going. Maglor’s wish to reach Cuiviénen where it all began was laughable; he did not know where it was. Furthermore, he underestimated how far it was from Anfalas. He did not bring a map with him. Maglor knew to follow the stars.

The Elf fished, hunted, trapped and gathered food to sustain himself. He carried wooden beams and large sheets of animal leather. The small tent he built was fit for a single pilgrim. Sometimes, a curious critter investigated his shelter. Maglor was relieved he had no chance to face a moose, a brown bear, a mountain lion or any of the scary animals that lived in northern Beleriand. Coyotes kept their distance. Bobcats shied away from him. Maglor was safe as far as he was concerned.

Until he ventured into the steppes that bordered Gondor and Khand. It came to him that he did not have the necessary knowledge to hunt in this vast land. He saw a herd of camel from afar but did not bother. It was suicide to hunt them alone.

Maglor relied on small-game hunting and fishing. He thanked the abundance of creeks and rivers.

A group of pastoralist herders welcomed him into their tents. They rode tall camels. Maglor was terrified of them. He almost refused the Men’s offer. The seeming cosiness of their round homes won over his fright of the animals.

He stayed with them for weeks.

Summer was at its peak and Maglor was weakened. His journey had cost his body a lot. One day, his hands clutched around a mug of camel milk, he promised himself he would not give up so easily.

One day, the group reached a lake. They met other groups of herders, gathered, sealed alliances and exchanged. Maglor stayed in retreat.

Sat in front of the still waters, the Noldo saw a tall figure not far from him. The figure noticed Maglor and approached. It was an Elf with square shoulders, long and straight black hair, pale skin, and a dark tunic. He was barefoot.

“Grandpa?” Maglor asked tentatively.

The Elf sat next to him. He cupped his cheeks with his hands.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” smiled Finwë. “Let’s go home.”

“This place,” said Maglor, “is it Cuiviénen?”

“No. It doesn’t matter anymore,” replied Finwë. “Come with me.”

Maglor took refuge in his grandfather’s arms. For the first time since his departure from Tirion, he felt at home.

He woke up in his hosts’ dwelling. A dog sniffed his forehead. The door faced the lake and was opened. The sun was setting. Men were cooking and playing music. Children played in the water. A large horse stood on the shore and a Man with an impressive build was watching them. Curiously, he had antlers. As if he sensed Maglor’s gaze on him, he turned around and locked eyes with the Elf. Maglor froze, unable to look elsewhere. He felt light.

“Do you see that?” he told the dog. “The man and the horse. They’re here to take me away.”

“There’s no horse nor man,” replied the dog.

The Noldo frowned. He did not know dogs could speak. He shook his head and rolled on his side, showing his back to the lake.

The man kept staring, amused.

Maglor died that night.