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noirbriar · 2 months

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Glorestor: 5 Times They Denied (2)

+ 1 time They Did Not.

From the POVs of the various folks around the 2 elves who are convinced they are courting, or betrothed, even though they were told otherwise.

Let us welcome Lindir to the stage and hear his side of the tale.Thank you @mae-it-be-an-evening-dhros for suggesting Lindir! He actually had a small segment but Lindir popped in and said no, he would like to have the protag script instead lol.

Warnings: none too great but slight nudity.Nothing too mature.OOCs and dreadful writing mistakes are all on me ---

2] Lindir

As an ordinary young minstrel, Lindir did not expect to end up as Steward of the House of Elrond. Yet with war, it was inevitable that he had to lay down his harp and aid his Lord in every way against the forces of darkness. He is now one of Lord Elrond's longest serving staff, and have now seen the terror of war as well and its aftermath.The grief, the sorrow. The High King has fallen, and another Kingdom gone.

Ai, all that remains is woe to the living indeed.

With a heavy heart as Lindir hums.With Tilion's light absent, all he could find in him is a lament for all that is lost. With Lord Elrond now finally able to rest for the first time in awhile, the residents of Imladris finally settled, the bard is finally able to stop and breathe.

He leans back against the trunk of the oak tree he is on. As if by being nearer to the skies, he can find escape from the sadness that plagues this young valley fortress in mourning. Lindir wonders if how this is how the great Lord Maglor felt at the very end.

Lindir begins to sings a song of wandering folk and of hearth and home. Perched on the tree, he has a great view of the House in the distance and of the Bruinen and her little rivers. Soon, the other bards around Imladris joins the song, along with many more other voices echoing through their valley, soothing all the restless hearts on this moonless night of uncertainty together.

Maybe they will be alright, Lindir thinks.

Until his sharp hearing catches the sound of a soft splashing of water unlike that of the waterfalls.He continues to sing, in effort to not alert the possible intruder, while he takes a peek at the quiet creek near his tree.

A river spirit rises out of the water, his ivory skin marred with scars that has barely healed, hair dark as the moonless night above him flowing down, past that lithe body and into the water. The calm waters barely making a ripple around the figure's waist. The sight almost like from the songs of the edain of the unseen.

The figure shifts and Lindir finally sees the familiar face of Erestor. A complete professional and a master, Lindir paces himself, recovering from a dropped note and keeps singing.

Well, this is awkward.

Its not that Lindir is afraid of Master Erestor, in fact he is thankful and proud that the feanorian have recommended him to Lord Elrond for both his jobs. Its just that the advisor can be very...intense. In more ways than one.

Another soft splash and Lindir resists an urge to run in this strange situation.Quietly, he turns stiffly to spy another equally naked figure joining Erestor in the water.

Everyone has known that Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor have been on good terms since their days in Lindon. Apart from the occasional dispute in the war room. Even with the distance before the Golden Lord was permanently stationed at Imladris, thier friendship never wavered. The two mighty guardians of Imladris are often seen sharing a glass or two, or sharing poetry and playing chess with the other. It has never occurred to Lindir till now how close their bond might truly be.

Elves are not body shy, yet something about this scene before him seemed peculiar that he felt oddly like he is intruding in something private. No matter how this situation looks like right now, Lindir takes this opportunity to silently swear to all of the Valar he lists off his head he is not a voyeur. He is just a simple bard who greatly appreciates Art and by Elbereth's name, are these two not the specimen of beauty and power?

The advisor looks over his shoulder to watch the intruder of his peace with sharp watchful eyes. Lord Glorfindel smiles wryly and does not go further, but instead finds a spot among the smooth rocks and leans back.His hair spread like a halo, sculpted muscles in full view. Arms wide like it is his personal throne, letting the cool water lap against his golden skin filled with his own share of battle wounds. His azure blue eyes filled with treelight never leaving Erestor's form.

Erestor ignores the intruder and combs back his sleek dark hair.Before he dives into the peaceful waters and into nothingness, leaving barely a small ripple in his wake. It was awhile before the advisor resurfaces for air, and continues his slow swim elegantly, like a river fae.

Glorfindel watches on.Until Erestor finally swims to the shallow waters, resting beside to the Golden Lord.His head tilted back, eyes closed like the edain, as he lounges against the cool rocks with a slight shiver.

"You will catch a cold, little peredhel."

"I'm not that weak, you ancient ass."

The minstrel blinks.This is the first time he hears of Erestor's parentage, and he too is half elven? This was news to the bard.

Glorfindel gives a non committal hum and lets his fingers wander over Erestor's skin. Letting his fingertips chase the water droplets and trace the myraid of silvery scars idly.

Lindir was not there on the frontlines but he hears the whispers of Thandor and the warriors. They told of the unspeakable anguish of Erestor, having seen Lord Celebrimbor's defiled corpse hanging from the banners of Sauron's army. Of how with a wretched battlecry, the old feanorian general laid waste to all in his way, until his armor was nothing but a blacken mess, drenched with the blood of his kills.

It was the Balrog Slayer who pulled the Tempest back from his continued carnage. Who wrestled the mad feanorian, poisoned and wounded, arrows lining his back, hauling him back behind their lines with Lord Elrond. Oh how Erestor had raged then! With a desperate Lord Elrond desperately keeping the enraged elf from bleeding out. Lashing out without pause until he wore himself out hoarse screaming in the arms of Lord Glorfindel.

They, too, have been very close. Lord Elrond, Lord Celebrimbor and Master Erestor.

Lindir reminisces silently of bygone times and happier days as he sang, until he was rudely shaken out of his musings. When Glorfindel have not only started playing with those dark long locks, but begun braiding intricate braids into the finicky advisor's hair. The larger elf hovering over Erestor's figure, fingers teasing the rounded tips of the other's ear.Before leaning in, lips brushing over a ear,nipping it playfully.

Lindir nearly falls off the tree at the sight.

The eldar often share kisses and touches but even that was...rather intimate for friends.

"Do not even." Erestor warns dryly, his eyes still closed.

"Not until you get out of this water, Eres. You are freezing." Glorfindel chided lightly, caressing the cold cheek of his companion. Who finally peaks open an eye at the Golden Lord.

"...Fine." Erestor sits up, a palm against Glorfindel's arm.The cool water leaving his skin causing a shiver.In a swift blink of an eye, a large white robe gets pulled over from a low hanging tree branch and draped over the shorter elf. Glorfindel stands and Erestor takes his offered hand without hesitation as they leave the water, pulling on their robes and leaving the creak.

"If you are restless, shall we walk the longer path to the waterfalls? There is a lovely song of home to accompany us along the way."

"There is something odd with the song tonight..." "Must be the bards being too stubborn and tired to stop when they should rest!"

Lindir has to take a long moment afterwards as their voices trail off, hands clutching the tree trunk in a death grip as he processes all that he has seen.The minstrel lifts his head and finally sees the clouds parting, tiny stars twinkling overhead with Earendil, a strange lightness blooms from within and fills his being with such warmth.

For the first time in a while, as everything clicks into place, Lindir laughs brilliantly.

The minstrel is absolutely inspired, his fatigue gone, and his steps light.His fingers tingle and is aching to play a sweet melody. An excitement blooms in his chest.

"Oh! Oh, how wonderful!"

--- A quick word with the guards on their whereabouts, Lindir makes his way into the Inner Wing. A tray laden with whatever luxurious treats and some wine they are able to spare. However, its only right for the newly engaged couple to have something sweet.

Luckily, he spots the couple finally home and heading to Lord Glorfindel's chambers. Both clad in their simple casual robes,blue for the Lord and dark navy for the advisor. Though Lindir notices Erestor's white robe is peeking out too much like its an ill fit size.

"Lord Glorfindel! Master Erestor!"Lindir chirps brightly in greeting,"It is good to see you both still up, for I have brought you refreshments!"

"Our thanks Lindir, but, it is late? I am not complaining for this lovely wine though...What is this occasion that you spoil us so?" Glorfindel muses as he picks up the bottle and nods approvingly at the selection.

"For being here and bringing us light into our hearts." Lindir adds smoothly, as the Lord pops a raspberry into his mouth, offering a strawberry immediately to his partner.

"By the way, I must congratulate you both! When is the engagement?"

Master Erestor chokes on the fruit and Lord Glorfindel turns to face Lindir so quickly nearly giving himself a whiplash. The two officials then stare at their Steward blankly. Lindir then quickly realises his error in his eagerness.

"Oh! Oh, are you both bonding without the engagement? Ahhh, in such dreary times, I can understand how you both may want to do it quickly without the fuss. For who are we to get in the way of love-" "Lindir. Lindir, hold. I think you are mistaken. Glorfindel and I are neither engaged nor are we bonding." The advisor holds up his hand abruptly and explains slowly.His words spoken with such conviction that Lindir starts to doubt himself and what he had seen.

"What?"The ministrel twitters in dismay, dropping every bit of decorum in him,"that's impossible!"

"Indeed we aren't, though we may be close." Glorfindel replies with a shake of his head."Though if by saying 'yes' gets me this lovely tray you have painstakingly put together for us, then, certainly!" The light quip added earns Glorfindel a dirty look from Erestor, which he returns with a causual shrug. Erestor just rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile Lindir is just watching incredulously, hands full, and left by the side like an extra casted in a play. Standing there as he fills the empty space while the main leads take the spot light.

Eventually, Erestor finally gives up the silent,childish banter. He instead stares longingly at the lovely bottle of wine that has his attention for awhile now. He grabs it from Glorfindel's hand without hesitation,fingers trailing across golden skin with familiarity.Another hand flicking out a knife from his thin robes and uncorks the bottle smoothly before taking a swig at the vintage. An approving nod at the taste, the ellon leaves.

Glorfindel watches him go, staring at the elf sauntering away with his prize.His eyes darken,making that treelight within glow brighter as he follows Erestor's form. The Lord then turns back to a dumbfounded Steward. With a wide smile, he relives the younger elf of his burden with a cheeky nod, a wink, and thankful tilt of his head, follows after his companion with the tray of joy.

All that remains, is a terribly confused minstrel alone in the empty corridor, contemplating everything and his life.Before screeching out aloud the same baffling thought again that night, thought certainly not the last. The distraught commotion from his Steward causing a tired Elrond to poke his head out of his own chambers in wonder-

"WHAT?!"

---

A/N: ...and Lindir afterwards develop trust issues and there is little Elrond could do to stop his songbird from ranting to his Lord till the next age about it.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

#the silmarillion #glorestor #glorfindel #erestor #lindir #elrond #ficlet #yeets this and run

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 month

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Fëanorian Week - Maglor

And we continue with a little more sadness...

I am very sorry :S

Words: 510

Characters: Maglor & Maedhros, Maglor & Elrond

Prompts: Childhood, Music & Songs of Power, Elrond & Elros, Redemption

Warnings: Sadness, injury, abandonment

Nelyafinwë, glorious firstborn of their prideful father, had never amounted to more than a technically proficient but undeniably uninspired metalworker.

Few were the crafts made by his blessed, strong hands, and even fewer had survived the ravages of time and the justified outrage after their terrible crime.

As he sat by the water, Maglor who’d not been Kanafinwë in so long that he barely remembered the cheeky prince haunting his taut skin and spasming muscles, closed his burned hand around the miniature harp until the pain chased away the painful memories he’d believed to have been long lost.

Digging into his ruined skin was one of those fabled creations, as simple and sober as the man himself, and he added his own liquid sacrifice of fraternal gratitude and boundless solitude to the merciless ocean witnessing his ultimate fall from grace dispassionately.

He still recalled the day his tall, slender brother had presented him with the naïve imitation of an instrument Maglor would—in time—learn to tame and master to an unparalleled level.

It had been a gift of love, a solemn promise, and a heartening declaration of unconditional, unshakable faith in a younger sibling’s innate talent.

There had only been three strings then, and Maglor had lost one in the tumultuous events that had dominated their lives in this frightening, new world, but he’d never given up that tiny harp.

A puerile, paranoid fear assailed him at the mere thought of losing it as it had become the gleaming, fragile, irreparably battered symbol of a childhood he resented and regretted in equal measures.

His brother was gone, and he was alone, humming fitfully along to the dissonant strumming of the worn filaments that cut his body and soul to shreds.

What songs of power, what sweet music of happiness and horror he had unleashed on this precious treasure.

The dreams he wove now, though, were but fleeting whisps of fading nostalgia; they were as feeble and unsteady as the one coaxing them forth, one tremulous, wavering note at a time.

With a heavy sigh, he stood slowly before padding noiselessly to the boundaries of a realm he’d never willingly breach.

Laying down the last vestige of love and honour reverently on a bench Elrond visited at times, Maglor took his sullen, silent leave of all that had been and that would never return.

“May it sing for children and lovers once more,” he whispered hoarsely. “It is too beautiful a thing to be condemned to incessant dirges and lamentations.”

Accepting that even his tremendous might and desperate affection had their boundaries and that he’d drifted too far out onto the sea of oblivion to ever return, Maglor relinquished the part of him that yearned for redemption with the same cold resolution he’d displayed when casting the Silmaril into its watery prison.

Elrond, pitiful captive and beloved son, would find it in time, and he’d understand.

“Do not weep,” Maglor whispered. “Sing merry songs that dispel the gloom that has been blanket and coat to you for far too long.”

-> Masterlist

@feanorianweek, here is my second submission!

#og post #fëanorianweek #feanorianweek #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Maglor #Day 2 #Childhood #Music & Songs of Power #Elros & Elrond #Redemption #Sadness #Loss #Injury

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sunflowersupremes · 3 years

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Entreat

You shall find little pity, though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.

Characters: Maglor, Earendil, Elwing, Elrond, Celebrían, Erestor, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Finrod

Tags: Fourth Age, Sailing To Valinor, Kidnapping, This time it’s Maglor getting kidnapped, Arda is an escape room and Earendil has the emergency escape button, Earendil sneaks his son’s father into Valinor, Manwë is just done with the entire line of Finwe at this point, Elwing is just along for the ride (literally)

Read on AO3

At some point, it seemed, he had lost track of the years. It was well into the Fourth Age, perhaps even the Fifth, and all seemed well in the world. Sauron was gone, a houseless spirit who would never again take shape. Morgoth, too, was gone, trapped beyond the Doors of Night.

Even Cirdan, the only elf he had had any contact with in his long years of solitude (not because he had invited him) was gone. He knew only because the aged Shipwright had suddenly stopped leaving parcels of food and then the Grey Havens had finally crumbled to dust.

The world was peaceful and quiet.

And Makalaurë was dying.

It hadn’t been an Orc - they were gone as well - or a wild beast or even a mortal with a violent streak. No, Makalaurë Feanorian had stumbled in the dark, fallen to the bottom of a cliff, and the tide was rising.

He had fallen in the night, and when the sun had come up he’d realized how helpless his situation was. The small rock he was lying on jutted at least a foot out of the water, but with the tide… soon it would be engulfed.

I shall join my Silmaril then, in the depths at long last. And my brothers too, in Mandos, and there we shall remain, I imagine, until the unbreaking of the world.

It wasn’t that he was keen to die, or that he had given up, but his leg was shattered and there was no way off the rock he had landed on. The water was too choppy to swim, even without his shattered leg, and the cliff to steep to climb for a man who only had one functioning hand.

There was a ship in the distance, but he could not raise his voice enough to call it.

He wondered what Mandos was like, and remembered the Doom that had been put upon him:

‘your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity, though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.’

Ha! No one would entreat for him.

He would remain there, in the haunted depths of that place, until the Breaking of the World. Perhaps… perhaps they would even forget to Sing of him, in the Second Song, and let his soul simply slip away into nothingness.

That would not be so bad.

Was he hallucinating or was the little boat coming closer?

Maglor managed to raise his head, startled to see that, in the time he’d been contemplating his own death, the little boat was coming steadily closer.

Perhaps… perhaps he was not destined for Mandos just yet?

The man at the helm was young, his eyes gleaming, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. He was beautiful, but mortal.

It came to a stop beside him, but Maglor found his throat was still too dry to speak, barely able to raise one hand in greeting.

“Hail and well met!” called his rescuer. It was a mortal tongue, although the dialect had seemingly shifted since the last time Maglor had heard it. He was able to follow along well enough though.

The boat was secured to a rock, and the man jumped out, landing lightly beside Maglor, helping him to sit up. “Steady,” he murmured.

Maglor’s head spun, the world around him growing blurry.

“I have you, brother,” the man said quietly, crouching beside Maglor, sliding his hands under his legs and shoulders, carefully lifting him up.

He moaned as his leg was jostled.

The boat was larger than he’d realized, though it was still a brave little thing, with a cabin that Maglor was carried to. It was a good thing he’d been the smallest of his brothers, otherwise a mortal would never have been able to pick him up.

“I saw your fall,” the man said, bringing him a glass of water and holding it to his lips. “I thought to go on, that there was no chance you had survived-“ he shook his head. “And then I told myself, ‘no, no you must go for him, for if not you then who?’ “

No one, thought Maglor glumly.

“No one,” agreed the man, as though he had heard his thoughts. “For no one else could have reached you before the tide.”

The tea tasted faintly of herbs and he found himself growing more relaxed, his body begging for the bliss of sleep. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but his rescuer waved his hand, as though urging him to sleep.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, he thought he heard the man say, “No one else, I think, would even have tried.”

When he awoke his leg was wrapped and propped on a pillow. The boat was swaying slightly, rocking on the waves, and he imagined he was going to be dropped off on the nearest stretch of shore.

Very well.

It was more of a chance than he deserved, and he would savor it. The cabin was sparsely decorated. Just a bed, a desk, and a chest. Nothing seemed to signify where the man was from, or what the purpose of the little boat was. It didn’t seem to be a fishing boat. For pleasure, then? He could be a lordling who simply enjoys the sea.

Maglor laid on his back, studying the ceiling until the door finally opened and his rescuer stepped inside. Beyond him, Maglor could see miles of open water.

“You’re awake!”

“Tha- thank you,” Maglor choked out. His throat was sore from Ages of abuse and a lack of decent folk to make conversation with, but he managed anyway.

“Of course,” said the man easily. He brought Maglor more tea and helped him to sit up to swallow it.

Maglor pointed to the door, uncertain how to communicate that he needed to leave before he brought any Doom upon his rescuer.

“No, no,” said the man, “Stay here and rest a while, brother. Shore is a ways off yet, I should think.” He tucked the blankets around Maglor with surprising gentleness before slipping back out of the cabin as the medication once again sent Maglor to sleep.

A storm started up that night, tossing their brave little boat in great huge waves that reminded Maglor of the sinking of Beleriand or the fall of Numenor.

His rescuer came inside the cabin to shelter with him, soaked from having struggled to get the sail down so it wouldn’t rip. “I knew it was coming,” he said ominously. “The birds scattered.”

Was that some sort of Mortal saying? Maglor frowned, then groaned and attempted to push himself upright. He had to do something, after all, the man had saved him from a long and very wet death. The least he could do was ask Ulmo to maybe have a bit of pity on this child of Eru.

He wasn’t certain the Vala would listen, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, as long as he was careful how he worded the request and made sure to exaggerate that it wasn’t for his own benefit.

“Easy there,” said the man, pushing him back into bed as he tried to sit. “Stay down.”

Weakly he pointed across the room, where he’d noticed a flute earlier in the day. The power of Elves had once been well known, hopefully those tales had remained and the man would know what he wanted to do. His harp was long gone, but he could make due…

But the man shook his head. “You cannot Sing away this storm, I am afraid.”

“I can,” he whispered, willing the man to understand that he was not just any elf. “I can calm it-“ his voice broke and he struggled to cough “-perhaps a little.”

He was given a sad smile and a squeeze on his shoulder. “Rest, brother.”

The storm was gone by morning, and Maglor was again alone in the dark little cabin. The mortal had gone outside as soon as it had calmed, only returning some time later to say, “We’ve been blown off course, but it won’t be hard to correct.”

“The seas are calm,” Maglor croaked. The boat had ceased it’s incessant rocking.

“Lord Manwë is in a merciful mood this morning, it seems.” A man of Gondor then, if he knew the old tales.

Maglor studied him, then quietly said, “Lord Manwë is seldom in such a mood.”

The man’s laugh almost seemed nervous, although who wouldn’t be frightened by the Light of the Trees that still shone from Maglor’s eyes? Even if he had met elves before, those that remained were not exiles like Maglor, but rather elves of the Greenwood.

“Rest brother,” he said, then nodded his head and slipped back outside. He heard a key turn in the lock.

Maglor was out of bed in an instant, ignoring the pain in his leg. He didn’t like being locked up, even by foolish and well-meaning mortals. Perhaps I made him nervous when I sought to calm the storm last night. And clearly he was not pleased when I spoke of Lord Manwë. He must not have realized the full danger of what he had saved.

But he wasn’t about to stay locked up for long. He needed to know why it was taking so long to get to shore. He’d thought the man would drop him at the earliest convenience, but instead it seemed he’d decided to either take Maglor to civilization or hang onto him until he healed. Neither one would do.

The door was locked - and damn it, why? - but he was a son of Feanor, he’d learned to pick locks in infancy, and soon he had the door open.

Maglor stepped outside and froze.

They were not in the ocean at all, but rather sailing in a sea of stars. Realization dawned.

“Ah,” said the-rescuer-who-was-clearly-Earendil-son-of-Tuor nervously, stroking the head of a white-bird-that-was-probably-the-woman-Maglor-had-once-tried-to-kill that rested on the ship’s rail. “I wondered when you might try that.”

The Fic has several more chapters on AO3 than it does on here.

#maglor #earendil #elwing #elrond #kidnap dads #erestor #glorfindel #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfic #my writing #tolkien fanfic #story: entreat

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animatorweirdo · 3 years

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Frozen heart: Into the dark

Warning: Orcs dying.

Imagine: hanging out with your elf friend for the last time, but your heart decided to ruin things up.

part four

You laid on the grass, enjoying the smell of flowers and the breeze of the wind. Maglor played the harp, like a cupid from Heaven, because you're definitely in love with his music. Some of the animals of the forest have stopped to listen to his song. The melody he played has turned your moody, dark world into a peaceful paradise. You have even started sleeping well. His music has affected your sleeping quite drastically. You started to see fewer nightmares and sleep better than ever in your life.

Things between you and him have turned interesting as well. You two have started hanging out, and this little meadow where you two first met has turned into a little haven from all the drama of the world for you two only. You could say you two are close friends now. You two come here often to talk about things and sometimes to just enjoy each other's company. Complaining about family is a basic subject between you two. Maglor sometimes played songs, and you listened. Listening him sing was one of your favorite things to hear during the day. He just had that ability to make you feel calm and happy.

You smiled at the memory when you took Maglor to your place. Camilla freaked out since you two had an elven royalty in your house. Your house was not the fanciest place to house a royal elf. Luckily, Maglor helped to calm her down then everything was good in the end. It has been two weeks since that happened. You and Maglor turned this meadow into a hanging spot since the people of your village were not very comfortable with; an elf hanging around. Not in a bad way, though. You two didn't mind. It means you two can complain about your family and people in general in peace in this meadow of yours.

Maglor finished his song, then all turned quiet. The birds and animals continued their business. Allowing the sounds of nature to fill the silence. "Heh, are you a siren because you enchant me with your voice?" You said. He chuckled. "I'm not sure what this 'siren' is, but I take it as a compliment," He said. You mentally scolded yourself. Don't say stuff he might not understand, and why did you say that sentence. It sounded like a pick-up line.

"(Name), I need to tell you something," He suddenly said. You looked at him curiously. "What is it?" You asked. "I'm afraid we won't be able to see each other for a while. I need to return to my fortress at the other side of this land," He pointed toward the place where his fortress Maglor's gap resided. You sat up, feeling a bit sad. You could ask him to stay longer, but he had his duties as a prince and a lord of his land. "Is something happening in the north?" You asked. Morgoth guy's fortress Angband is supposedly there. It's the place where all the orcs and wargs are coming from. Maglor's kin, the Noldor, are keeping careful watch over the place.

"Not yet so far," He answered your question. "Hopefully, it stays that way," He said. "My brother just asked me to go check on things while my five younger ones are fooling around in their own lands," He said. Oh yeah, Maglor has six brothers. You almost spurted all your water on him when he told you that. His parents apparently couldn't keep their hands from each other. "It sounds like you have it busy," You stated. "It might have been peaceful for thousands of years since Morgoth has been contained, but they should not take this peace for granted. Who knows what happens next out of the sudden?" He said. He glanced at the pure clear sky with a thoughtful expression. "It almost reminds me of our time in Valinor, when all this didn't happen yet," He said. You could see the longing and sadness in his eyes. It made you frown because you didn't like seeing him like this.

He told you about his original home, Valinor. It's apparently the blessed lands where the valars and the rest of his kin live. Everyone lived there happily until Morgoth happened. He apparently destroyed two very valued trees and caused chaos among the elves. He killed Maglor's grandfather, the former high king of Noldor, and stole his father's most precious heirloom, the silmarils. Then some other bad things happened, but you won't go for that now.

"Well, I wouldn't know how living with six brothers is like. I only had one little brother," You smiled. "What is your family like?" He looked at you. Your heart froze for a moment; your family. Memories about the nightmare came back to you. Your father, mother, and little brother lying on the ground. Dead. Your grandma standing at the edge of the forest with that smile of hers. "It's nothing important, just a normal boring family," You tried to change the subject. "Well, I would be interested to hear about this boring family of yours," He said with a smile. Dammit, Maglor. You tried to come up with an excuse to avoid the subject. It's been years since the incident with your family.

Your heart suddenly let out a strange pulse. It was like your whole body paralyzed with shock. Your eyes widened in horror. You knew that pulse all too well. No, no, no...

"Sorry... but I need to go," You quickly stood up. Maglor frowned at your reaction. "Is something wrong?" He stood up. "It's nothing serious, I... just... need to..." Your breathing became heavier. "Go home," You gulped and turned around. "Was it something I said?" Maglor was feeling a bit worried right now. "No!" You almost yelled. He stood back from your outburst, and you immeadedly felt guilty. "You did nothing wrong... it's just..." You hesitated. "Me..." You turned away and started running toward your village. You ran away quickly as your legs can carry. Maglor looked after you until you disappeared from his sight. He frowned deeply. You looked fine moments ago until he asked about your family. You looked uncomfortable and scared for some reason. He remembered the look in your eyes and the words you said. What did you mean that it was just... you?

You banged the door open, looking around in panic. The pulsing in your heart has become stronger, and it was causing you pain. It was like your heart was freezing from the inside. "Can you not bang the door like -" You cut Camilla off. "Where are my pills?!" You yelled. You ran through the cabinets in search of your pill container. Why did you leave it here for the day, you idiot! Camilla noticed your rabid breathing then she noticed the temperature dropping in the room. Panic overtook her. She started helping to look for your container. This was bad.

"Here!" You yelled in relief when you finally found it. Your heart dropped when you opened it. There were only; three pills left. Your heart let out another painful pulse. You groaned in pain, holding your chest. You leaned against the table. Your lungs gasped for air. "(Name)?" Camilla said. You turned toward the door, and with slow steps, approached it. "I... I need to," You gasped in pain. Your pale white hand reached the handle. "To do this..." Your voice went high. Tears flowed out of your eyes as you walked through the door.

You groaned as you walked to the back of your house, approached the forest. Why, why is this happening? You tried to make your legs go faster, but you tripped on your foot instead. You fell on your fours against the wet ground. You looked up and saw a puddle of water in front of you. You saw your reflection on the surface of the puddle. Another pulse made you almost scream from pain. You closed your eyes for a moment, then opened them. You stared at your reflection in horror as you saw your eyes glowing bright blue. You stood up and forced yourself to run into the forest. You couldn't allow it to happen here.

The night came for some time later. Camilla sat at the dinner table, a cup of tea warming up her hands. Tea wasn't her favorite drink of the month, but it was now the only thing to calm her growing anxiety over your sudden disappearance. Someone knocked on the door. She frowned in confusion and stood up. She walked up to the door to see who would be visiting at this time of an hour.

"Hey," Maglor greeted after she opened the door. "Isn't it a bit late to be visiting us?" She asked. "I wanted to apologize for something. Is (Name) here?" He asked. She hesitated for a moment. She did know where you were, but he can't know that. It's for his own safety. "She's not here at the moment and I don't think she will be back before midnight," She said. Maglor looked at her curiously. What were you doing exactly that you would stay so late? Were you avoiding him? He felt a bit heartbroken from the thought. "May I ask what happened between you two?" Camilla asked. "I might have said something very upsetting and wanted to apologize for that," He explained. Camilla frowned. "Did you ask about her family by any chance?" She asked. "I did..." He was a bit surprised. Then it hit him. He had an idea why you reacted that way. "Did something bad happened to them?" He asked. "If you know what I mean, then yes," She nodded. "I am very sorry," He said. Regret in his heart."It's a sensitive subject to her. She still sees nightmares about it, but you don't have to apologize for it. She will not blame you for asking," She explained. She then looked at the night sky. "It's late. You should go back. I will tell her you came by when she returns," She looked at him. "Thank you, and goodnight," He nodded. "You too," She said back, then closed the door. Maglor turned around, then glanced at the moon. He won't be back at least five months. Your reaction and state still concerned him, but you weren't here. He only wanted to make sure you were alright, but it seems he has to leave without a proper apology. He started walking away from your house, returning to his horse, who waited at the edge of the village.

Maglor rode back to his brother's fortress in Himring. Someone waited for him at the gates. "Where have you been?" His brother, Maedhros asked. He had a stern look on his face, and his arms were crossed. "Nowhere dangerous if that's what you're wondering," Maglor answered. "Well, it's unusual for you to stay out this long," Maedhros said. "I just had a little turn in the road," Maglor said. They were both disturbed by strange noises. "Do you hear that?" Maglor asked. They both listened. They heard sounds of screaming and then howls of wargs. They saw smoke rising in a forest. "Guard, send the order, prepare for battle," Maedhros said to one of his men. "Why are orcs this close to Himring?" Maglor questioned, not breaking his eyes from the forest. He felt confused and concerned. This meant orcs have passed through the siege. "Whatever it is, we are about to find out," Maedhros sat on his own horse. They then set out toward the rising smoke with soldiers riding right behind them.

Maglor and Maedhros arrived to an orc camp, which was on fire. Dead orcs laid on the ground, their dark blood painting the ground. The camp was destroyed, and even wargs laid dead on the ground. "Search the area," Maedhros ordered. His men then began securing the camp and make sure all the orcs were dead. Maglor looked at the camp with confusion in his eyes. "It looks like someone else managed to get them before we did," He said. He was concerned about how the orcs seemed to be severed into pieces. The wounds they had didn't look like they were from a sword. He then saw some of the dead orcs bearing wounds like someone took a huge bite out of them. There was one orc who had a full metal armor on, but his head was missing. It laid on the ground next to its body, which meant it was cut clean. This was not done by elves.

"My lord, we have confirmed all the orcs are dead," One of Maedhros's men came to tell. Maglor glanced at his brother with concern. "Not even a single one managed to escape the assault," Maedhros questioned. "No, all the orcs and wargs are here. There are signs of a struggle, but we are unable to tell who or what did this," His guard explained. Maglor noticed something glittering on the fabric of a destroyed tent. He took a closer look. It was frost. This raised his suspicion tenfold. " I don't think this was done by an elf or a man," He stated. "Are you suspecting there is something out there hunting orcs?" Maedhros asked. "I'm not sure, but it's a possibility," He said. "Well, I hope they're on our side. I don't want to imagine something like this happening to us," Maedhros went to take a look around the destroyed orc camp. Maglor glanced at the frost that was melting from the heat. Frost at the end of summer. It's too soon for winter. He had a strange feeling about this.

#silmarillion x reader #maglor x reader #silmarillion fanfiction #the silmarillion #maglor imagines #maglor #silmarillion imagine #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagines #tolkien #silmarillion reader insert #elves x reader #elves #supernatural reader

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jengajives · 3 years

Text

Lots of feelings about how my fave siblings would have felt about Maedhros’s fun trip on Thangorodrim. Also Best Cousins as well

“Wake up, Your Majesty.”

Maedhros didn’t move until the sharp toe of an iron boot jabbed his side. Then he grumbled and rolled over, but would not rise.

“Your Highness,” sang the serpent’s voice from somewhere above him. “Your feast awaits, oh King.”

A clatter. The tray of whatever food he was gifted with for the day hitting the damp stone floor. Maedhros still did not move.

“No appetite, hm? Your Majesty just isn’t himself this morning. Usually you’re so excited for your meals.”

A high, hot laugh. Maedhros got the idea Sauron was putting his boot in the food. A lovely image.

“You can tell your master,” he said flatly, without cracking an eye or rolling over, “that if He wants me mocked and ridiculed, He’d better come down here and do it Himself. I give little weight to the word of lesser servants.”

“Lesser?” Sauron repeated. Heat leached into his voice; Maedhros could feel it rising from the coward’s skin even before the fire-bright hands reached down to grab him, burning another set of hand prints into his shoulders with fat, red welts.

“I will show you lesser, pup,” Sauron seethed, “Are the failure son of failure fathers, and I am Flame itself!”

“You,” Maedhros said though his voice quivered with exhaustion, “are just a slinking dog afraid to leave his master’s heels. More likely to roll over than to stand up and fight.”

The pain of heat grew red and wild, like touching molten metal. Sauron’s fingertips dug in and Maedhros found himself locked in a fiery scarlet gaze.

“We shall see who rolls over for whom,” Sauron snarled, and dragged Maedhros unresisting from the cell.

“Look at you!”

Sauron’s eyes glowed in the dim light, gleaming with smug victory. His hands, so rarely idle, twitched by his side until he had to grab Maedhros by the hair and yank his head up so he could get a good look at his face.

The small myriad of new cuts went from cheekbone to cheekbone. Jaw to jaw. It was nothing, of course, compared to the pain against his spine he was convinced would never leave.

It had been hours and still it hurt sharp and blazing hot as ever.

It seemed like Sauron was trying to burn letters into his very skin, though he worked too gradually for Maedhros to make out the script.

Sauron laughed and gave him a sharp slap.

“The High King of the Noldor, eh? I don’t see it. All I can see is a houseless and pathetic murderer getting what he deserves.”

Maedhros spit at him, splattering his face with blood. Immediately the flame in Sauron’s eyes went white hot.

“Why, you little-“

“Mairon.”

Sauron paused, one hand drawn back and glowing like molten metal, as his master appeared looming like a mountain in the doorway.

“That’s enough. Leave him.”

His eye twitched but slowly he straightened and obeyed, with a courteous bow.

“Of course, Master.”

He shot Maedhros a spiteful glare as he stalked from the room, still wiping blood and spit away with a sleeve.

The sound of Morgoth’s approach was like a rumbling in the earth, but Maedhros had learned to ignore it. He let his head hang limp, cheek pressed to the cold stone, breathing steadily, trying to convince his scrambled mind it was safe to rest, even if only for an instant.

He hadn’t yet fully mastered the terror when Morgoth reached him and lifted his head by the hair.

No rest. No rest was fine. He didn’t need to rest.

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Nelyo,” said Morgoth with mock pity, his expression twisted into a deep frown. “I’ve just gotten message back from your dear brothers.”

Something cold that probably had been hope once rose into Maedhros’s throat, and he didn’t have the energy to keep it from showing. Cruel amusement flashed behind Morgoth’s heavy eyes.

“Unfortunately, it seems they’ve abandoned you to torment and pain for the rest of eternity.” The sympathy dripping from his voice tasted like poison; it was difficult not to choke on it. “Isn’t that just awful? Your own family... not even willing to save their sweet Nelyo. Their King. How horribly tragic.”

Any attempt to think through the news logically failed, so the only thought going through Maedhros’s head was the certainty that it was a lie. Maglor and Celegorm wouldn’t abandon him to this, surely. Fingon wouldn’t... Fingon...

No. Fingon wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming, he couldn’t be, and even if he was, why would he want anything other than pain for the sons of Fëanor? After what they had done... after what Maedhros had done to him. No, there was no rescue. No freedom. The Oath bound his brothers never to give up the pursuit of their enemy, not even for his sake.

“Get on with it,” Maedhros growled, raising his gaze to meet Morgoth’s. “I’ll be avenged. You’ll be paid for the lives of my grandfather, and my father, and... and me. Go ahead and do it.”

A pause, and then Morgoth laughed wild and cold.

“Oh, sweet boy. You think I want you dead? You think I want to kill you? No, no...” He leaned closer, his breath a whisper of ice and stone. “I want you to watch your brothers die. I want you to see exactly how fruitless all your labors have been. You, my dear Nelyo, are not going anywhere.”

Maglor was so distracted looking out over the mountains that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until he got a hand clapped on his shoulder.

“Brother.”

He almost jumped as he flipped around, but managed to restrain himself.

“Celegorm!”

“Your hair is getting long,” Celegorm said, with a weak smile on his face as he rustle his fingers through the growing curls. Trying not to look as sad as he was. “It looks nice. Going to braid it again soon?”

“Oh. Yes, I think so.” Maglor did not have the energy to attempt a smile. Didn’t have the will.

“Good.” Celegorm patted him on the shoulder again. “Good. A king should have braids, yeah?”

Maglor was nodding along until he processed the words.

“K-King?”

“Yes.” Celegorm straightened up, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the same cool, collected expression that most of them wore nowadays. “You are next in line, Maglor.”

“Next in...” he trailed off, glancing east again to the mountains. “Wait, no, Celegorm, Maedhros is-“

“Maedhros is gone.” He would not meet Maglor’s shocked gaze. “It’s time we start accepting that. Our people need a king, and you-“

“No!” Maglor stepped back. “He is alive! Maedhros is our king, and he’s alive, and we aren’t going to abandon him like that!”

“I’m just saying we should think about it,” Celegorm said. “That’s all.”

“No.” Maglor looked at his brother in horror. “That’s awful, Celegorm, I’m not leaving him like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Celegorm backed up, hand raised. “But he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”

He turned and left the room, and Maglor put his face in his hands and wept.

The air was bitter cold up here. Bitter cold and reeking of smoke.

Maedhros tried so hard not to feel the pain anymore. Tried to close his eyes and drift to sleep but he couldn’t. The pain was too constant.

If his hand could have come off, it would have by now. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

The stone was razor sharp and tore at his back like knives. The wind bit into his flesh. And the manacle sliced his wrist and sent a constant stream of blood down his arm.

It hurt too bad to find escape in sleep.

It hurt too bad to think.

When the clear sound of horns rang across the hills and echoed through the peaks, Maedhros almost thought his mind had wandered entirely out of reality.

But then he saw the blue banners of Fingolfin in the valley below, and the horns rang out deafening and clear, and it was so loud it shook him to his core.

Fingolfin.

Fingolfin was here.

He was here, waving his banners, banging on the gates of Angband under the light of the silver newborn moon.

Strength flowed immediately through Maedhros and he squirmed, pulling himself up by the chain around his wrist. The white gleam of armor and jewels glittered like a living river of hope.

“Uncle!”

He twisted, trying to get enough air to his lungs to scream.

“Uncle!”

He didn’t know how Fingolfin had gotten here but he was here. He had come.

“Fingon! Uncle! Aredhel!”

His voice rang across the rocks loud and clear. Surely loud enough to be heard. Surely.

Surely. Please.

Please.

Night and sat blurred into one honey-slow and unsteady pulse, so slow. So slow and he had hung here longer than he could comprehend.

His back was sliced to ribbons by the stone face behind, and the cuts around his wrist were never properly allowed to heal and had turned his entire site dull copper with dry blood. It rained every once in a while and rinsed him clean, but mostly he was suspended there in his own blood and sweat and filth without escape.

No escape.

Never any way out.

Never.

The sound of strings on the wind couldn’t be real because no one would ever crawl up here for his sake, for any sake, let alone play. Let alone sing. Sing a beautiful song in Quenya that Maglor had written about the white streets of Tirion like some ghost of long-lost peace.

His body shook with shivers and fever and he closed his eyes and raised his nose to the wind.

Humming along brought momentarily peace, so Maedhros parted his dry, cracked lips and took up the tune slow and gentle. His voice was in no shape for singing, but he managed it, and it made him feel at home, so he tried anyway.

Abruptly the song stopped. The music died. He lowered his head and returned to the cold and the torment.

“Maedhros?” called a voice, and over a face of rock far below poked the dark head of Fingon.

Fingon.

Fingon was here for him.

He’d come.

Tears steamed hot down his cheeks, the only water he had left.

Fingon crawled onto the flat granite shelf and got to his feet, a vision in gleaming blue with a harp at his side. He stood for a moment studying the rock and the sheer face between himself and his cousin, then he cupped his hands over his mouth and called again.

“Maedhros, I can’t reach you!”

Even from this distance, Maedhros could see the silver bow slung across Fingon’s back.

He croaked words and just had to hope they reached all the way down.

“Just shoot.”

Blood ran down his bicep and dripped through the hollow of his spine.

“Fingon. Please. Just shoot me.”

He closed his eyes and missed if Fingon replied, because his arm ached so horribly he couldn’t even think.

It seemed to him a long time before he opened his eyes again and saw Fingon sat on the stone with his face in his hands and the bow resting next to him. He was crying. Maedhros could see his shoulders shaking from here.

Eventually he stood, picked up the bow and turned around to face the precipice.

Maedhros saw his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear the words. All he could see was the gleam of the bow as he drew it.

He closed his eyes again.

Awaiting the momentary pain that would herald his release.

It did not come.

He heard the wind of a hurricane, felt it push against his face and smack him back to the rock, and the roar of beating wings, and then hands on his shoulders holding him, warm, and firm, and present.

“It’s alright!” Fingon spoke through tears, a desperate smile on his face. “I’m here. I’m here, Maedhros. I’m going to take you home!”

Maedhros did not answer. It hurt. It hurt and it wasn’t like Fingon would be able to get rid of it.

He could feel him tugging at the chains. Trying to pry the manacle off the rock. Trying everything.

“Fingon,” Maedhros breathed. “Fingon, please. You can’t get me out of here. There’s no way out. Just... if you could just... please...” He looked meaningfully at the sword his cousin wore at his hip. “Just end it. Please. I can’t...”

“No, no. Stop that, I’m not leaving you. You’re going to be fine!”

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to cry but his body wouldn’t manage it. “Fingon. I’m sorry. I-I never meant to leave you b-behind.”

“Just hush. Keep your strength.”

“I’m sorry...”

Another tug at the manacle. It wouldn’t budge.

Finally, Maedhros heard the scrape of a sword being drawn, and a silver flash of sunlight blinded him.

Yes. Yes, at last. At last.

“Hold still. It’ll only hurt for a second, cousin, I promise. Just- Just don’t move!”

The dull pain in his wrist turned sharp and he let out a scream that echoed endlessly across the peaks.

So sharp. So cold.

Turned him to ice.

Froze him all up.

He didn’t even notice Fingon holding him, wrapping him in a cloak, forcing warmth back into his body. Binding his hand tight and clean.

His hand his hand his fingers were twitching and he could still feel the manacles.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed quietly into Fingon’s chest, and for the first time in too long he received an affectionate touch.

He closed his eyes and went at last to sleep.

#jenga makes junk #fanfic #fic #writers #silmarillion #sons of feanor #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #fingon #sauron #mairon #morgoth #tw blood #tw sucidal thoughts #look sometimes you just be in the mood for torture ya know #this is probably shit but you know what I do not care #good time for losing a hand you know

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saelwen · 4 years

Text

Maglor x Deaf!Human!Reader

I want to thank the lovely person who gave me this idea!

I was intrested if you would like an idea of Maglor and Deaf human.

Summary: You had suffered an injury from an orc attack that had left you deaf which leads you to the handsome elven Prince. (Sorry I'm really bad at summaries 😂)

Masterlist

Warning: a little bit of angst, fluff

Words: 3k

A soundless sigh fell from your lips as you look to the beautiful scenery before you, seeing the lovely calm water of the lake shining with the bright sunlight. A pair of little birds fly pass by you and land on a firm log floating on the lake bank. The two love birds begin open and close their little beaks, singing beautifully their song...but you couldn’t hear it.

When you were only eight years old, there was an attack on your small village. Orcs and Trolls had raided and killed every person, taking their jewels and gold while cutting their throats and heads. One of those horrible creatures got his disgusting hands on you, hitting you hard on your head which had affected your left ear.

Your older brother, Roth, killed the orc and could get you and him out of the village, taking you both to a town near the mountains. As you grew older, your left ear was completely deaf and to your luck. When you had turned fifteen, you got an awful cold which made an infection on your good ear...leaving it also deaf.

You have learned to live with it. It was hard at first, not knowing if was any threat behind you or surrounding. The people of the town were very kind and always help you and your brother, giving you jobs and a place to live.

A soft hand on your shoulder grabbed your attention, interrupting your trail of thoughts. Turning your face to the side, you saw your older brother standing beside you, looking down with gentle eyes.

‘Hey...’ he signs slowly with his hands.

The healer of the town was a very wise man, knowing all the old and new things around Middle-Earth. He was very old, his head was cover with a soft white hair and his rough face was cover with wrinkles but he still could teach like he was twenty. The old man was the one who created sign language to help you and other people who suffer the same as you to communicate. Not all the people could talk with sign language but it was a start. You, your brother and some close friends were part of the people who could communicate like that.

‘Hi! Should you be working on Mr. Daniel's garden?’ you sign, looking at him with a lifted eyebrow.

Roth let out a small chuckle and shrug his shoulder. ‘I’m taking a break.’ he signs with a smirk on his lips, making you roll your eyes.

You stood up and clean the wet grass from your red dress. You notice that Roth’s eyes were full anxiety but tried to hide it behind a smirk. Your brother was always like this. Whenever it was a problem or something that was bothering him, he would make a poker face. Trying to not to worry you.

‘You are hiding something...What happened?’ you sign with a frown on your face.

He sighs and runs his hand through his black hair. ‘The Lords of Himring had arrived in the town this morning... Lord Eddard wants you to serve on the feast this night.’ he signs slowly.

Your brother didn’t want for you to go and serve the elven Lords since he knew that they were dangerous...People that kill their own kin.

Smiling softly, you grab his hand and squeeze it gently. ‘Don’t worry, brother... I will be okay!’ you sign while walking back to the town with Roth close behind.

The truth was that you are a little scared but at the same time excited. You remember the tales that your father used to tell you before bed, telling about the elven Kings that had come from the blessed lands. You use to say that you would marry an elven prince which he would cover you in jewels and soft clothes...but that was the past. You were just a mere innocent child back then with silly thoughts.

You went home and change to your working clothes which were a simple grey dress with an apron. You braided your h/c hair, letting some loose hairs fall around your face.

Happy with your appearance, you left your home and go to Lord Eddard Palace. When you arrive at the Palace’s kitchen, you were met with chaos. The cooks and servants were running around in panic as they prepare for the surprise feast.

Suddenly you were grab and turned back, met by a worried red-haired woman. ‘Y/n! I’m glad that you are here! This place is in chaos just because of some elves Lords.’ the red-haired woman, Layla, sign with a huff.

You and Layla are best friends since you had arrived in the town. She was the first person to come and talk to us, giving us food and a place to stay. She was a beautiful young woman, with gorgeous long red locks and lovely blue eyes. Her skin was a brownish color, covered with freckles.

Roth has a huge crush on her, always admiring her from afar. You had asked him when he would begin courting her but he only huffs and shook his head, saying that he didn’t feel anything for her.

‘Well, I see that... Here do you want me?’ you sign with a smile.

Layla led you to where the large trays of incredible foods and wine were and told you to begin to take them to the feast. You nod and grab a tray with fruits and follow the rest of the servants.

Your breath was caught on your throat as you saw how beautiful the ballroom was. Decorated with beautiful flowers and lush furniture. The room was full of people, all of them well dressed. Your excitement only grew as you see the main table, seeing it filled with beautiful elves.

Taking a deep breath, you walk slowly towards their table with your head down. You could feel your cheeks starting to burn as you got closer to the table. Putting delicately the tray on the table, you bow to the elves Lords and left quickly, catching a glimpse of a black-haired elf, who you knew to be Maglor, looking at you with intrigued eyes.

As the feast goes on, you always feel the elf’s eyes on you. You once lift your eyes to look at him but look down quickly when you saw him staring at you with dreamy eyes, his pale face was soft and gentle. Layla notices too the elf Lord gaze on you which made her pass the evening signing you silly things, saying that he liked you and other stuff.

Maglor tilted his face to the side when he saw you and Layla making weird signals to each other.

Once everyone had their bellies full, you and the other servants stayed on the corner of the room, ready to serve if one of the people wanted something. You were playing with the tips of your fingers when you saw in the corner of your eye Maglor standing up, walking towards the middle of the room with a delicate harp on his gentle hands.

He begins talking to the crowd which made your body fill with sadness since you couldn’t hear his beautiful voice. The room fell in silence, the crowd focuses on the elf Lord as he begins playing his harp. He closes his grey eyes and begins singing softly, making everyone in the room shocked by how beautifully he sings.

You were hypnotized how his delicate fingers touch the strings of the harp, stroking them gently. His slender body emitted a soft relaxing aura in the room, making you melt into the wall behind you.

You couldn’t hear his beautiful voice and that made you feel miserable but something about his show made you almost hear his voice.

When he finished the song there was a long silence in the room. You notice that every woman in the room had tears in their eyes, weeping softly from his beautiful song.

---

Maglor’s eyes observed his crowd, seeing the women sob quietly with his performance but one caught his eye. You.

You were staying still on the corner of the room, watching the women sobbing with a confused face. This was a huge surprise to him since every time that Maglor performs in a feast, he made the women cry and fell in love with his voice. But you... You were just standing there like his performance was nothing special.

Maglor returns to his seat beside his older brother and gave a small sip on his wine, his eyes still focus on your small figure.

“You did well, brother!” Maedhros’s voice sounded beside him. “You made Lord Eddard speechless!” his brother continue talking cheerfully but Maglor wasn’t listening, his mind fogged with the thoughts of you.

“Lord Eddard! Who is that beautiful maiden there in the corner?” Maglor asked, interrupting Maedhros.

“That’s Lady Y/n!” Lord Eddard said while finishing his plate, taking a sip of his dark wine. “The poor thing is deaf. She and her brother had come to the town at a young age after their village had been raided by orcs... It was there that she had become deaf.”

At this new information, Maglor’s eyes widened in shock. No wonder why she wasn’t amazed by his performance, he thought. In the corner of his eye, Maglor could see his brother looking at him in confusion. Surprised by the sudden interest in a human girl, who is deaf.

Maglor caught you looking at him, your beautiful eyes shining with the light of the candles. He smiles softly and waves to you, making you duck your head down and leave the room with a heavy blush on your delicate cheeks. This action made his smile grew, he made a mental note to try to get you alone. To try to learn more about you.

---

You run quickly to the busy kitchen, your face hot from just a little smile of the elf lord. You put the last tray of food in the kitchen table and clean your hands on your apron. You turn to Layla and sign her that you had return to your house which she nods and signs a goodbye.

During your trip to you and your brother's house, you couldn’t stop thinking about Maglor's gentle smile. How his grey eyes observe you all night, studying all your movements.

When you arrive at your small house, Roth was already sleeping like a rock. Smiling gently, you made your way to your bedroom and change to your nightgown. Slipping under the warm covers, you let sleep take over you. Hopping that you would dream about the handsome elf Lord.

When morning came, you left the house early. Only grabbing a loaf of bread and an apple. You run to your safe place by the lake and sat there, letting the first ray of sunlight warm you up.

As you were about given a large bite on the apple, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder which made you jump in fear and surprise. Looking back, your eyes were met by grey ones. Standing there was the elf Lord from the night before, Maglor. Staring at you with gentle eyes.

He sat beside you and took a small notebook from his pocket. He opens it and begins writing something there. You sat there, looking at him with wide eyes. After a minute, Maglor put the book down on the wet grass to look it.

‘Hello, Lady Y/n! How do you find in this lovely morning?’ you read on the yellowish paper. You look up to him, shock spreading through your face.

Maglor puts the pencil beside you and nods to the book. Grabbing the pencil slowly, you write next to his words.

‘How do you know my name?’ a small chuckle fell from his lips as Maglor read your words. He grabs the pencil and wrote.

‘I asked Lord Eddard last night...He told me about your disability. I hope you don’t mind.’ a soundless sigh fell from your lips as you read his words. Of course, he asked. Maybe he even had talked to you and you didn’t listen.

Grabbing the pencil and wrote your words beside his. ‘I don’t mind...Why are you here?’

‘I saw you running into the forest and I wanted to know that you were safe...and also to know you better.’ his last words made a light blush appear on your cheeks. Know you better? Why a handsome elf Lord would want to know a silly deaf human girl? You are sure that he could have any beautiful woman in all Middle-Earth, so why losing time with you?

‘This is my safe place. No need to worry, I know this place like the back of my hand!’ you wrote on the paper.

Maglor nods and smiles gently to you, making melt into the grass. His smile was like a ray of sunlight, illuminating his surroundings.

‘That’s good!... May I ask you what were those strange signals that you and your friend were making last night?’ a small smile forms on your lips as you read his words.

‘That’s the way I talk! The healer of this town had created a language for people like me.’ his grey eyes widened with awe when he read your words, amazed by how a person had made an all-new language using only your movements.

‘That’s amazing! I’ve never had heard it. I must do some research about this new language.’ an excited smile spread through your face with his words, happy that someone like him is intrigued with your language.

You and Maglor pass the day lazing by the lake bank, writing favorite things and places. Telling stories and jokes to one another. You must say that you were surprised by his humor since you thought that an elven prince would be sterner and firmer but Maglor wasn’t like that. He was a gentle soul, always writing songs and poetry. Preferring the company of nature than his own brother which he said that they were loud and obnoxious.

After that day, you and Maglor spend the days in your safe place which come to be Maglor also a safe place. You felt at peace in his presence, feeling that you literally need no words to be with him. Resting your head on his shoulder while he wrote his beautiful songs.

As you were walking towards your safe place, you begin feeling cheerless. It’s almost been a month since Maglor and his brother had arrived at the town and soon they will leave to their fort in Himring. You two have grown a connection throughout the month. You could say that you had fallen in love with the elven Prince but you know that it all has to end at some point. Even if he stayed here, Maglor couldn’t stay with a human. You will die and he won’t. You will grow old and he won’t.

When you arrive at your safe place, you saw that Maglor was there already. Playing softly his harp while looking sorrowfully to the lake.

You took a step forward and wave shyly at him, sitting quietly beside him. Maglor gave you a sweet smile and put his harp on the ground beside him. He grabs gently your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, making blush heavily.

He looks to your e/c eyes deeply with his grey ones, like he was looking into your soul. Taking a deep breath, he begins moving his hands slowly.

‘I love you, Y/n.’ he sign. Tears begin running down your eyes, soaking your soft cheeks. ‘I don’t care if you are human or if you are deaf...i love you and that’s what it matters!... I told my brother that I will stay here and be with you.’ More tears fell from your eyes. You jump from your seat and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. You could feel his heart beating quickly from all the nervousness and happiness.

Pulling back, you smile softly to him. Your face was red and puffy from all the crying.

‘I love you too...I love you since the day I saw you, Maglor.’ you sign slowly, making sure he understated. He cleaned your tears dry and lean down slowly, looking to your eyes and then to your lips. With all the care of the world, Maglor crushes his soft lips against yours. The kiss was gentle and full of love, each of us pouring all our passion from one another into the kiss.

Maglor broke the kiss and rest his forehead against yours, smiling like a dork. You took a deep breath and smile gently. He put a piece of your h/c hair behind your ear, stroking slowly your earlobe.

‘When did you learn to talk sign language?’ you asked with confusion eyes, tilting your head to the side.

Maglor let out a laugh and kiss your forehead softly. ‘The healer had taught me during the nights... I really wanted to talk with you without the paper.’ he sign.

You smile brightly and pull him to another kiss which he did gladly, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

‘I love you, my elven Prince.’

‘And I love you, my voiceless Princess.’

Hey Guys!! So here is a new one-shot with Maglor!! What do you guys think? I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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amethysttribble · 4 years

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Maglor’s Songs

Once more, this is a continuation of Arwen Sees Ghosts, and is therefore a continuation of my @feanorianweek Entry 1.

For Maglor I chose the prompt ‘Music & Songs of Power’! More absolutely fucking terrifyingly powerful Maglor I say.

He was not a ghost like the others, but his spirit was so large it might as well have been.

Maglor, was his name, was what Father called him in rare, whispered stories, and it was the title Arwen gave to the presence that encompassed the western lands. He existed as a soft song on the wind. The tendrils of that powerful voice would tickle the back of Arwen’s neck some days, then she and her ghosts would turn to look towards the sea.

After Himring, she lingered on the shores.

There were no prints in the sand, but Arwen did not need any physical marks to follow. His feä made him a beacon, and the remnants of his voice left a trail as clear to her inner senses as black ink would be to her eyes. The notes were weeks, days, hours old, but Arwen heard them, and she followed steadily.

They were all sad. Dirges and laments and wails of mourning. How does one explain grief for an entire continent and then the individuals in one, continuous, age-long song?

Maglor’s songs were large, both in physical range and subject matter and depth of capacity. Arwen felt that she would find something nearly eldritch in its age and power. It frightened and excited her as she wandered up and down a haunted beach, looking for a ghost that simply would not show himself.

Dratted inconvenient. Just when I want one around.

The other wisps clamored, all with varying tones about their brother and his absence.

The trader- Caranthir, she dared to name him- he was grumbly. Macalaurë is dramatic. Damn the first day he picked up the harp.

The fire wrapped warmly around her ears, as if to shield Arwen from Caranthir’s slander against his brother’s craft. She laughed alongside the two, Ambarussa. The smith flared in annoyance, but Maedhros jumped to Maglor’s defense. Dramatic, but true-hearted. He loves, and that is why he stays away. He fears himself cursed.

Cursed, true, loving, Arwen replied cheekily, but you also name him dramatic.

Before there was a reply, the hunter howled. He’d been stalking forward, forging the best trail for Arwen to follow. She dashed forward through the sand, dirtying her slippers and feet in the process. She had to scale a dune, up the increasingly grassy climb. There she found a hunk of wood, which upon closer inspection proved to be a harp.

Arwen sat next to it.

“Our friend was in quite a hurry to avoid me,” Arwen declared, “for this carelessness he will have to return, or sing alone. And that I know he cannot countenance.”

His power stretched too far for him to manage it without accompaniment. Arwen had heard the barest traces of it her entire life, spreading like a blanket over all the western lands. It was like the power Arwen knew in the great rings her father and grandmother used to protect their realms, but thinner. It was ancient and foreign, and his songs made the nights lighter and the days clearer. All things were made just slightly… cleaner, or perhaps just warmer through his far reaching voice.

Frankly, Arwen could scarcely imagine Maglor beyond a beacon in the west of pulsing power, closer to one of the Two Trees in her imagination than a kinsman.

Such power, such… diligence. He protected everything up to the mountains with his feä, yet few even believed him to still be alive. Father believed. Arwen had tried to tell him when she was young, not quite understanding what her sweet, wispy friends were telling her.

Maglor lives, the king had promised her, there’s no need to grieve.

Arwen wasn’t quite sure about that. What did living mean? What warranted grief?

A tall Elf ambled in the distance, slowly coming closer. He wore dark rags, the bottoms of which had been paled by salt water and sand. His raven black hair was violently windswept. The eyes, though, Maglor’s eyes, that of one of the exiles… they were so bright that Arwen could not begin to guess the color. Not even when he came close enough for her to see how his nose was shaped the same way her mother’s was.

“Hello,” Maglor greeted in a croaky, ostensibly pleasant voice. “I don’t suppose you could pass me my harp?”

Arwen scooted closet, nearly on top of it.

“Maglor Feanorion,” she replied, “my father misses you.”

Maglor placed a hand on his heart, and closed his eyes for a moment. He swayed, and Arwen feared for him. But he didn’t falter. Maglor was dancing to a song that Arwen could only just hear. She felt it clearly, though, and swayed along with him.

“I would not offend your mother,” Maglor said wretchedly, at length.

Arwen had no answer to that.

“May I send word of you, then? At the very least.”

Maglor gave a hum that was almost almost a sigh, almost a moan. He looked away, towards the ocean.

“What would it help?” he whispered. Before Arwen could reply, though, he turned back to her with his burning gaze. “And you, my dear? Why have you followed me so determinedly? There is nothing to be gained from me.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide,” Arwen told him gently. “But as for the reason I have hunted the opportunity to speak to you… I bear a message.”

“Your father-”

“Father dares not hope aloud,” she snapped. Her father’s pain over the many holes in his family was ever present, and had been breaking Arwen’s heart for nearly two decades now, since she was first old enough to understand. She might sit here and argue with Maglor all day about the matter of Elrond. But she hadn’t started this trip for the living, nor would she end it for them.

Arwen stood, and swished her skirts to shake off the sand. She tried to meet Maglor’s burning eyes.

“Your father and brothers love you,” she declared. Calcified over many years by the sea, Maglor’s face did not move much. But she felt the sudden violent discord in his feä’s song, washing over her like a choppy tidal wave. Arwen had to brace herself before continuing.

“They are here with me, with you. And they love you, wish you to be happy and healthy and hale. They are sorry to have left you, but are… they are thankful.”

“Thankful,” Maglor laughed incredulously and wetly. “Forgive me, my dear, but my brothers would never speak-”

“So plainly or kindly or with so few vile curses? Yes, they would not. But, though I hear their voices, I hear their spirits far more clearly. They cannot lie to me, Maglor, and neither can you.”

Maglor paused for a long moment, her spirits crashing and pummeling against hers. It was almost overwhelming, though she knew he did not mean to be so. He was merely distressed, and unused to company that would be disturbed by such things.

“Child, I do not understand.”

“Do you not?” Arwen asked, trying to draw upon Maedhros’s infuriating calm. It made her stand up straighter. “You are the one who sustains them in this land, after all. You tether them to Arda, and then to Middle Earth. It is your song they followed instead of Mandos’s horn or the Oath’s wail to the Void. Your voice protects them from wraithdom. The notes of your harp have been salvation and torment for your brothers and father, brought to heel against your spirit by the laments you wrote for them. And then they watched you wonder, weeping for you. This is my message.”

Arwen reached down and picked up the harp. Then she placed it in Maglor’s unresponsive, scarred, bloody hands. It was… harder to face him, than her harmless ghosts. Though Maglor had paid his repentance more than they- Arwen truly believed that- he still had power about him. And though he used it to protect the western lands… Arwen still knew him to be a kinslayer.

To have tormented her family, through his sword and through his meaningless wandering.

And yet she closed his stunned fingers around his most powerful weapon, the battered harp that bore the Feanorian star.

“There are those who hate you and those who love you, and nothing will sway them from that. Nor should they be swayed. But some are still undecided. I think I can speak for myself, my brothers, and my infinitely kind mother when I say we would like the chance to decide, if just to offer Father some closure. You cannot pay your debt to all, but I consider what you have done to be enough for my purposes. As long as you keep using your songs to protect. Consider Imladris. In the meantime… Nelyo, Turko, Moryo, Curvo, Telvo, and Pityo, and Father love you. You need not be alone in body any longer. But in spirit you have never been alone.”

With her fingers wrapped around Maglor’s, they held his harp together. Then Arwen closed her eyes, and opened the floodgates of her feä. Maglor gasped as he felt it, the seven songs that haunted Arwen mingling around both his and hers.

Then he wept.

#maglor #feanorianweek #silmarillion #lord of the rings #tolkien #fanfic #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion #arwen sees ghosts #tribble post

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macabretrees · 4 years

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Title: Primavera Summary: Maglor sings the Noldante, and then he doesn't. or Maglor seeks to end his life at sea, though a sudden change of tune presents him with options he never thought possible.

A/N: Here’s my gift for @thegreencarousel! Surprise, surprise--it’s Maglor centric! I took some idea from a convo we had about Maglor and the Songs of power, and exactly what he could do with it! I hope you enjoy this! Merry Christmas! I proofread as best as I could, but I always miss things!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It must have been on the edge of the sea-shore, with his body half-submerged in the water, and the other damp on the sand did he realize it. When his voice had been lent to other things aside from the Noldante did he realize how frigid the air was, and how cool the water against his waist had been. Yet the tides had been so gentle, like soft hands kindly pushing him back to shore, as if to stop him from going deeper.

He sat up with a new awareness, his voice absent of song for the first time in years. Though the Noldante was less of a song and more of a self-imposed prison. He had seen nothing but his deeds during his seemingly ageless performance and had expected his encore to end at sea. Yet here he was, awake and alive, and less of a wraith than he was a day a before.

He shifted his body mechanically and hissed as his hands brushed against the tiny grains of sand, missing the numbness that came with being entranced in Noldante’s spell.

With a groan, he stood to his feet and braced himself as his legs shook. Part of him feared he would slip back into the water, though he doubted the Lord Ulmo would let him die so easily. For some reason, the water had not taken him, and there was a painstaking urge to know why. Death would have been welcome, but apparently, the Valar had thought otherwise.

Ahead of him, the sky bled a dull pink, and Maglor could not help but stare at the way they illuminated the clouds. It was an art in itself, the reds reminding him of his mother’s bright, auburn hair. He wondered if this second chance included her, though thought against it.

Maglor had no idea what this was, or what had broken him out of his stupor, but if it truly were the Valar, he would not be seeing his mother any time soon.

Though his current state did garner deeper speculation. Had the Valar truly woken him? Why would they wake him? Had it even been them?

Not all strange things had been the fault of their neglectful rulers. Some things just were.

To assume the Valar cared about him enough to rescue him beyond idiotic. He knew better. Though that still left him where he was to begin with.

Why had he woken? Why was he still alive? Why was—

In the ocean, a gleam of silver caught his eye as it rocked gently in the waves. Against his better judgment, Maglor reached into the water and winced immediately as his hands made contact with the waves. Nevertheless, he bit his lip and fished the object out.

To his surprise, it was a harp. His harp. The one he carried with him after he left Eonwe’s camp. The very harp he had used to conduct the Noldante.

He thought to let it drift back into the sea, suddenly accustomed to his new-found freedom. While the Noldante provided a sense of purpose, albeit morbid, it had laid down a path that he could not stray from. In fact, his entire life since he’d left Valinor had been decided for him. Now he had the chance to decide something for himself.

He strummed the strings of the harp absentmindedly as he thought, an action bred of habit. His lips curved as he prepared to sing the Noldante, though shut as he realized what he was doing. Not now. Not ever. He repeated the mantra over and over again, fighting against the very magic that had brought this all on him to begin with. He forgot who his father was, and remembered what power flowed through his veins.

The same kind that could reduce the will of the caster to nothing. The same that had created the Oath.

He contemplated dropping the harp and turning away from it forever. But something begged him to hold on, something yearned him to use it, but for what. All he knew was sadness and pain, guilt manifested into music for the deeds he had done.

There had been times in between that of course, times filled with laughter, joy, and happiness—Elrond, Elros, and Maedhros, Ambrussa as well. And even before that, he had been surrounded brothers and cousins, most of them banished, but together nonetheless.

The entirety of his life had been happy. Unfortunately, he had not seen it until now.

Suddenly he looked at the sky and gasped at its magnificence. Red. Red like his brothers. Red like his grandfather, like his father’s forge, like his mother, like home. And suddenly, a new tune to sing, a new-found purpose.

He sang of his childhood untouched by darkness, of the festivities he celebrated in Middle Earth with his brothers and cousins, of a world with his wife on his wedding day, of his mother’s lullabies, Elrond and Elros’ poor attempts at cooking, his father’s lessons—everything into a song.

The world around him changed as it had when he’d sang the Noldante. But there was no heavy miasma of darkness surrounding him, no agony following his every step. This was healing, invigorating. He felt as if he’d been reborn like every note healed his tarnished soul.

And then he dropped the harp and stared at his hands.

The scar was there, but the pain was gone. A reminder, yes, but a promise for a better future. Certainly, the Valar had not done this. This was something else. This was him.

He smiled to himself and hesitantly grabbed the harp.

Music had created the world, had it not? And was Maglor not the best singer among the Noldor. With that, the elf turned on his heel and resumed his walk among the shore. He would compose his new future.

#maglor #the silmarillion #silmarillion #tolkien #my writing

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aruthla · 6 years

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Day 2 - Maglor : Redemption

He never stayed more than a week in the same place, constantly moving like water which travels without ever stopping. Over the centuries, he had seen the world changed, both in form and appearance, and he had met people just as different from each other. He had met saint and wise person, fighter and scholar, ignorant and idiot, assassin and murderer ... He had spoken and taught something to each of them and in return, they had spoken and taught him something else. He remembered each of these meetings, whether they were good or bad.

But the first one remained forever in his memory ...

He walked slowly, feet bruised by his long walks without a break. His clothes weren’t more than rags, standing by some miracle, and bleached by the sun. His hair, black in the past, were only a whitish mass. His blue eyes were empty of life and looked without seeing the world around him. Suddenly he toppled forward and fell into darkness.

When he woke up, he didn’t see the sand like every time he fainted. Instead, he saw wooden beams supporting a floor. Getting up slowly, he discovered a small room where a fireplace was broadcasting a gentle heat. The furnishings were simple but they possessed a small discreet charm. The bed where he lay was covered in several thick blankets presenting embroidery relatively simplistic, but pleasant to the eye. A window near the bed informed him that it was dark.

Getting free slowly from the covers, he left the comfort of his bed to resume his way. However, when his foot landed on the carpet, the door to the room opened and a man of strong stature came in.

- Oh ! You're awake ! Exclaimed the man, a huge smile devouring his face, This is going to make more than three days you sleep, we began to worry, my wife and myself! I’m called Bern, and you my friend? Asked Bern, his brown eyes sparkling with life, before frowning when he didn’t answer, Can you speak ? What I’m saying, it must be days that you didn’t drink drinking, of course you have difficulty to speaking, he muttered, don’t move, I'll get you some water and eat.

And just as quickly as it had appeared, Bern disappeared. The elf remained motionless for a moment, still under the shock from this flood of words, before trying again to get up. But again, Bern arrived with a pitcher, and accompanied by a woman with black hair holding a tray.

- Hello. Bern told me that you had difficulty to speak, so I brought you a herb tea of sage, lemon, ginger, cinnamon, mint and chamomile, as well a little soup and a pitcher of water for the night. If you ever need anything, please come get me. In the day, I'm either in the kitchen or in the garden and Bern is in his workshop, a building just next to the house, so you can hardly missed him, especially with all the noise he makes. Oh ! I’m Lúviel by the way. We will let you rest. Good night ! Continue the woman named Lúviel without resuming once her breath during her whole tirade.

And the couple disappeared again, leaving the elf with a bowl in one hand and a cup of tea in the other one. It was at this moment he noticed that his left hand was bandaged and he was wearing clothes worthy of this naming, but also that his hair had been cut. Hesitantly, he put the cup on the bedside table and carried the bowl to his lips.

Lúviel opened quietly the door and penetrated on tiptoe into the room. The elf was asleep eyes closed, evidence of fatigue, and his pale face was marked by dark circles and hunger even after having spent the week staying in bed and be pulled out by her or her husband. On the bedside table was a cup half empty and a barely consumed bowl of soup, which drew her a pout. She took the dishes, taking care to make no noise to wake their guest, and just as quietly left the room.

- So ? Asked her husband.

- He barely touched the soup ...

- I’m going continue to watch him. Make something light for him, he can’t remain so long with an empty stomach.

- I wonder if ... She began after a pause.

- Give him time. He will eventually tell us himself, he murmured, kissing his wife who happily left again to the kitchen after acquired.

He listened for a time his wife bustled in the kitchen, then he concentrated again on their old guest whose restless sleep indicated an imminent awakening. With a leisurely pace, he went to the bathroom, great deal of ingenuity of the dwarfs, and ran a bath. Just as slowly, he returned to the room of their guest and gave a few knocks on the door before entering.

The elf was sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, distraught and pale face, wide and agitated eyes and restless and labored breathing, fixing the door as if he expected to be attacked. Keeping a smile, Bern slowly approached him, taking care to make no sudden movements and letting his hands in sight to not cause more violent reactions from their guest.

- There is a hot bath waiting for you. Come, he said kindly and gently grasping the hands of the elf, who followed him without resistance, still lost in the throes of the nightmare.

Once in the bathroom, he helped their guest to undress and to go in the bath. Little by little, the elf seemed to regain his senses. WhenBern decreed him sufficiently awake, he helped him to wash, then to dry off and to get dressed. Once all this was done, he took their guest in the kitchen, where a new cup of tea and an apple was waiting for him on the table. With a smile, Lúviel invited him to sit down and to begin to eat while she was serving her husband. When she was about to sit down, she noticed that the bandage on his left hand of the elf was about to come undone and thus left to get bandages to redo it. Seizing gently the hand of their guest, she removed the bandage and began to make a new one.

- Why…? Asked the elf, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

- I could give you an answer, but it probably will not be the one that you hope, she replied softly without leaving her work of her eyes.

- Why did you help me?

- Why not ?

- Because I don’t deserve it, he blew, eyes haunted, I have committed many crimes, too important to be forgiven! Even my death can’t buy back half of the offenses that I have caused! He yelled before his voice broke into a sob that he tried to choke.

Calmly, Lúviel took him in her arms, as we would take a child frightened by the thunder to comfort him, and began rocked him, before whispering in his ear: "I forgive you.". Then he snapped, releasing for the first time all his tears he had held over the centuries, screaming his sadness for his destroyed family , his dead brothers and all these lost and destroyed lives...

It’s with a smile that he remembered that day when he could finally begin to heal. It’s with a laugh that he remembered the long months passed with Lúviel and Bern, both acting like mother hens. It’s with a touch of sadness that he remembered the day he left. And today, it was with a free and light heart that he went towards the sea.

Sitting on the edge of the cliff, he grabs his harp, present of his father's whom Bern had repaired, and sang for the first time since he had thrown his silmaril into the sea. The music of his harp was sweet as his innocent young years spent in Valinor with his family, before taking a darker tone, a sign of the influence of false words of Morgoth on his father over the years. It was filled with lamentation when he sang the Kinslaying Alqualondë, the Doom of Mandos, the abandonment of Fingolfin and his followers in the Helcaraxë and the death of his father. He didn’t conceal any of his actions during his long centuries he had lived in Middle-earth, singing the Kinslaying of Doriath and of the Havens of Sirion. Then his music took a new note of hope when he sang these years when he took care of the twins Elrond and Elros. But soon came the darkness again in his song when he told the theft of the Silmarils with his last brother alive, who didn’t stay after this action. He spoke of his long years of wandering to sing his pain on the coast until his voice broke of fatigue. And suddenly, his singing resounded with life when he sang his meeting with Bern and Lúviel and all the other people he met thereafter. Whereas his music drew to an end, he heard the sea, silent, waiting.

Then he stood up and said:

- For a long time I carried the weight of the sins of others, without ever relieved my burden. Today I’m free from this chain because I was forgiven, but especially because I was finally able to forgive muself. I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë Maglor, second son of Fëanor Curufinwë and Nerdanel, brother of six other as brave and loyal as stupid and father of heart of Elros Tar-Minyatur and Elrond Peredhil!

At the same time he pronounced his words, the sea gave way to her joy and soon, a white bird flew for his last trip.

Same warning then yesterday. See you soon !

#feanorianweek #maglor #Probably Ulmo #I mean #He is everywhere and anywhere #as long there is water

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silmarilz1701d-blog · 7 years

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Exploring Westernesse: Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Welcome home, Míril Fëanoriel.”

At the sound of Lord Ulmo’s voice, Míril felt her heart skip a beat. She looked out from the small boat that bore her, Elrohir, Elladan, and Glorfindel across the Sea to the Uttermost West. There was an island before them and a great white tower rose from its midst. The night sky was speckled with an innumerable amount of stars, all bright and clear in the heavens.

Slowly the boat drew near to the island. Lamps of gold and silver and blue hung along its edges, lining the white marble docks. Míril watched in awe as Glorfindel guided the boat to the closest pier. She was completely dumbstruck at the beauty around her and she had yet to set foot in the Blessed Realm.

“Welcome to the havens of Avallónë,” Glorfindel smiled softly, as if recalling earlier years with fondness. “We will stop here, for here is likely where you will live.”

They came close to the pier and a youthful elf on the dock smiled, bowing to them. He took hold of a rope and brought the boat in close, clasping it with the rope to hold it steady.

Glorfindel stepped out and put a board down for the other three. Míril was so busy taking in the beautiful lamps and stone surroundings, she missed the people waiting for them.

“Mother!” cried Elrohir, sounding more like a lost child than Míril could ever remember.

He and his brother ran forward and grabbed their mother in a hug. Míril smiled sadly, remembering her father at that moment. She wondered where he was. Clinging to Maglor’s harp bag, she watched the scene before her.

Celebrían was weeping in happiness as she kissed her boys. Her silver-golden hair fell about her shoulders as she wept. Elrond, standing beside her, smiled. He looked happier than he had since Míril had known him. Galadriel and Celeborn were there also. Míril felt somewhat saddened, and Galadriel seemed to notice.

“Welcome to Tol Eressëa, Míril Fëanoriel,” she smiled, walking forward and taking the woman’s hand in hers to guide her to the group. “There are many that wish to meet you.”

Míril looked confused. “Who, my lady?”

She chuckled. “Your deeds have not gone unnoticed, not since the Silmaril was returned.”

Elrohir, turning towards Míril with tears in his eyes, took her hand and guided her towards Celebrían.

“Mother, this is Míril, my wife.” He smiled widely.

Míril bowed deeply to the elf maid. “Lady Celebrían.”

The woman laughed and pulled Míril into a hug. “Nonsense. I am your mother, too, now.”

As Míril pulled away, she caught sight of someone else, lurking in the shadows of the pier. She opened her mouth in surprise and then smiled.

“Maglor!”

She ran forward as Galadriel chuckled at her reaction. Míril embraced her distant uncle and he stiffened but eventually let a small smile form on his face.

“I kept your lyre safe,” she smiled, pulling back from him. “I brought it for you.”

Maglor smiled down at her. “Keep it.”

She teared up but nodded happily. By now the others had joined them, and together they stood side by side on the docks. Other elves, mostly silver haired, wandered around, speaking to one another. They took little notice of the newcomers or their reunion. Elrohir took Miril’s hand in his. They listened to Galadriel and Celeborn. Míril suddenly realized that both wore crowns of silver. She supposed they were royalty, even more so here than to the Silvan elves of Middle Earth.

“Come, we have a house set up for each of you, next to one another,” Celeborn told them as he led the way into the city. “You shall live in the upper circle alongside the rest of us.”

They wandered together up the beautiful city streets. The lamplight and starlight created dancing shadows along the way, casting darkness on the white marble beneath their feet. Míril heard the tinkling of fountains and the harping that sounded like falling water and silver moonlight wrapped together. Little bells tinkled joyfully as the slight breeze blew about the city. Míril was enamored of the entire experience.

They passed four gates, each of silver and white. Ever closer came the great Tower of Tol Eressëa, standing like a pillar of safety far above them.

“I wish Aragorn could see this,” she said with a twinge of sadness.

Galadriel smiled. “Perhaps there are even greater things for men when they die. Not even the Valar know this.”

She took comfort in that fact. Aragorn might never see the Blessed Realm, but perhaps he would get something better. Perhaps her father and brother were experiencing that joy right now!

“There is one last surprise for you,” Galadriel said as they stopped in front of a white stone building that was to be her and Elrohir’s house. “One that surpasses all others, I would guess.”

Míril was confused, as were the twins. But the daughter of Finarfin merely smiled and gestured for everyone to go inside the house. They did so, Glorfindel, Celebrían, and Elrond leading the way. Míril heard voices inside. She stopped dead in her tracks, all color drained from her face as she saw the two figures.

“Míril…?”

She felt tears forming in her eyes as the man spoke her name in a voice holding the same emotion she now was experiencing. She felt her heart tremble and her breath shake as she took a tiny step forward.

Her voice cracked as she responded to the tall, dark haired man. “Eldir?”

The man smiled and nodded, tears in his own eyes as well. Míril ran forward at the nod of his head and jumped into his arms, grabbing her older brother in a hug full of pent up emotion.

Míril was sobbing now, unable to control herself. She fell to her knees and placed her face in her hands. Eldir chuckled slightly and knelt down beside his little sister. He grabbed her and held her close, running his fingers through her hair to comfort her.

“How?” was all she could choke out between heaving sobs.

Eldir smiled. “I chose the life of the Eldar before I perished.”

Eventually she laughed and cried at the same time, taking her husband’s hand to stand up. Eldir looked Elrohir up and down and nodded his approval.

Elladan grabbed him in a quick hug, glad to see the man again so many years later after his death. Elrohir did the same after comforting his wife. Then they turned to the second newcomer.

“Mithrandir,” smiled Míril, exhausted emotionally already.

Stepping forward she embraced the Maia. He looked younger, more powerful than he had in Middle Earth when she had known him. But his eyes were the same. His eyes and his smile.

“It is good we are together again,” Míril laughed and cried at the same time. “Life is good.”

#fanfic #lotr #silmarillion #meet all the old elves #even the dead ones

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

Text

October 27th

Haunted House

OOoooftiiii, this is a rather long and sad one...I am sorry...

Inspired by @cochart's beautiful art and the many people truly invested in this gen pairing...

@mismaeve a story about the husband you left lol I blame you for this one turning out so sad instead of fluffy LOL

Words: 872

Warnings: sadness, mention of canon-death

Humming to himself, Elrond Peredhel knelt by the river and closed his eyes; their enemy was getting ever stronger, and the fate of the whole world such as they knew it hung in the balance.

Hence why he had drawn the ghosts that haunted his house to the water to converse with them as best he could; here, in the shadow of the trees, he allowed himself to discard the heavy robes that symbolised his station and to tie up his hair in the simple braid he had worn in his childhood.

He tilted his face upwards to bathe in the light of the celestial luminary that had once been his father and his hands plunged into the cold waters of the stream; summoning memories he kept buried in his heart most of the time for fear of being incapacitated by his grief, he let them wash over him like showers of stars and flames now, welcoming the pain rushing through his system.

“Grant me strength and patience,” he whispered slowly and opened his senses to the world around him as much as to the dimensions beyond his reach. “Sky who has taken my father, sea who has swallowed my mother, fire who has engulfed Maedhros, and earth who has claimed my beloved brother, hear me in my hour of need and give back a fraction of what you’ve robbed me of.”

A dry sob tore itself from his spasming throat.

“If only this blessed Middle-Earth for which we are risking more than we can bear losing could rise in defiance to strengthen the arms and lighten the hearts of those devoted to it.”

He felt old now, worn and heavy like the coat that fearsome Fëanorian had wrapped around him and Elros when he had carried them away to safety, brittle and cracking like the strings of Maglor’s old harp that had fallen prey to roughhousing one fateful summer evening.

Celebrían had often chuckled that they lived in a haunted house but that it was besieged by loving memories; now, she was one of the spectres walking the empty halls alongside the parents Elrond still missed with all the intensity of a frightened orphan in the middle of an autumn storm.

Upon building his own home, he had insisted on open spaces even though it had been deemed unwise and unsound in the face of the lingering evil in the world; he had refused to explain in so many words that he could never forget how Maedhros had struggled with doors and what joy the young half-elven wards had felt whenever they saw that tall frame push through gauzy curtains instead – a platter of treats in his lone hand – crooked shoulder first, followed by the lopsided grin and the pain-bent frame of one who had been born with great purpose and who had seen all his glory burn to ashes.

How could Elrond have made anyone fully comprehend why – despite everything that had happened – he yearned to see the starlight fill the rooms and to hear the soft sighing of white wings on swift winds?

Galadriel understood, of course, for – in her youth, in another realm – she had been lulled to sleep by Maglor’s melodious voice, teasing his brothers mercilessly or singing a song that had just come to him, echoing through open halls and down doorless corridors.

“Harken,” he begged again fervently, “for I truly am in need of some solace tonight.”

A long-forgotten recollection stirred like cold smoke within his soul, and his fingers clawed themselves into the silty ground at the bottom of the river frantically.

Maedhros who was as tall as a tree

Maglor whose voice moved friend and foe

Celegorm who was wild and free

Caranthir and his tale of woe

Curufin his father’s shadow

Ambarussa precious twins of yore

They all shall reap what doom they sow

And hence shall be seen nevermore.

It was but a silly nursery rhyme made up by their captors – by their protectors, by their providers, by their fathers – in a rare moment of humour, but Elrond now hissed the words like a desperate prayer into the still night air.

“Blood of my blood, love of my heart,” he groaned, “bring back what I have lost and inhale into this aching body the strength and the faith of those who have gone before me.”

His parents had taught him that desperate times called for desperate measures, his foster fathers had shown him that loyalty and kindness were possible even at the bleakest of times, and his beloved wife had let him understand that physical absence was not a testament to lack of love.

“Let me be haunted then,” Elrond declared, straightening slowly and steeling his nerves, “let the deaths and departures that are etched into my skin harden into impenetrable armour. Let them come!”

Behind a thicket, an old creature with luminous eyes blinked; Maglor had not expected his little star to remember the empty words of regret and love he had offered the child like a veiled treasure.

“To war once more, you old wreck of a cursed Fëanorian,” he whispered to himself, clenching and unclenching an aching hand, “and then home. Ai, I shall finally be homewards bound.”

@fellowshipofthefics and we're going for the final sprint here...

Force and courage to all of you & of course, lots of love...

-> Masterlist

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