#maglor is listening for his heartbeat

[heathcliffgirl1847]

Hi! For the drawing requests could I ask for Maedhros and Maglor (maybe post-Thangorodrim) if that catches your fancy? thank you! ❤️

hello! im not very good at sad stuff but i wanted to try a little sketchy thing

[animatorweirdo]

Into the dark

You end up as a prisoner to a group of orcs, who were trying to escape to the north. Unfortunately for them, the spirit within you decided to come out and claim its first victim.

Warnings: violence, bruises, reader being a bit snarky with her captors, being cold, nightmares, getting shot with a gun, hiding things, blood, and screaming.

Chapter 9

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The brew was boiling above the little flames. Camilla carefully mixed in the crushed leaves and made the final touches. She picked up the pot and poured the liquid into a mug, letting it cool off as she cleaned up the workplace and grabbed the mug, walking out of the tent. 

Walking out of the tent with the hot brew, she was then stopped by Faye, who looked panicked. "Camilla. Have you seen (Name)? I can't find her anywhere," she asked. "She's not available at the moment. She got rather feverish, so I'm bringing her medicine to help her feel better," Camilla explained. "A fewer? The last time I saw her. She was nearly cold as ice. I was going to bring her some medicine, but then she just vanished," Faye explained. "Well, thank you for your help, but we have it under control. She's currently resting," Camilla answered before her eyes noticed Maglor walking into the camp, bruised up and in a hurry. 

When his warriors noticed him, they stood up as he spoke to them and his second-hand man Rhaon. Camilla then watched as his warriors suddenly dropped everything, grabbed their equipment, and ran to their horses – indicating something serious had happened. She had a slight feeling it had something to do with you. 

Maglor then approached her with an apologetic look. "Lord Maglor, what happened?" she asked. "An ambush, but not only that — the orcs had taken (Name) as captive," he answered. "They what?!" Camilla nearly screamed while a horrified gasp left Faye. Maglor shook his head. "I'm really sorry. They took us by surprise. I tried to defend her, but they took her when I wasn’t looking," he said. 

"Oh no—" Faye uttered in horror. "Shit—" Camilla silently cursed before looking at him. "My lord... can we talk somewhere private?" she asked, walking away. Maglor followed her without a question. 

They walked behind the healer's tent, and after Camilla checked that no one was around to listen, she grabbed Maglor with her free hand and brought him to her eye level. 

"Tell me everything that happened?" she demanded. 

Maglor looked at Camilla with a startled look after being suddenly pulled down, but quickly collected himself. 

"We were talking, but then (Name) stood up, saying she was hearing more than four heartbeats, and then the orcs arrived and attacked us. I fought them off, but one of them sneaked upon (Name) and took her. I tried to interfere, but they jumped me before I could do anything," Maglor motioned at his bruises. Camilla hissed. "Shit, shit, shit! If (Name) doesn't get the medicine in time, she will end up turning and going wild," she explained. 

"Can her curse take over during daylight?" Maglor asked. "Not maybe during the day when it's hot, but when it's night and cooler..." she looked at him. "...The beast will be free to do anything it wants in a less warm environment," he finished. 

"Exactly, and since you have seen firsthand what her curse can do. You know what kind of things might happen, right?" she asked.

"Luckily, there are more orcs in these woods and further lands thanks to the Sudden flames, so I think any casualties might be spared," Maglor explained. "Maybe, but (Name) told me the beast does not like the taste of orcs, which should not be possible, so let us just hope no idiot will end up as her next meal," Camilla replied. 

"Fuck—!" she cursed. "Can this day get any worse?" 

The forest grew thicker. The trees above you nearly covered the whole forest, barely allowing any light to pass through. It was a lot cooler as well. It would have been nice if an orc was not dragging you. The bloody creature had also tied your hands tight enough to bruise your skin. You decided to play nice and follow the orc after getting tired of trying to struggle yourself free. 

The orc took you to a small cave with a camp set up on front. The trees covered the surroundings, so you doubted you would be easily found. You mentally whined when you saw more orcs and a big one who looked obviously mean. You had no doubts that this guy was the leader because if there was something you learned during your time as a prisoner in Maglor’s old fortress. It was that the big ones were usually in charge. You already disliked where this was going. 

"What is this?" the big orc motioned at you after you two stopped before him. "If this is supposed to be food — you brought a measly one. This one has barely any meat in its bones," he pointed at you. You frowned. "Well, fuck you too–" you said back, already disliking his use of the word 'it' like you were a thing and not a person. 

"Not food," the orc behind you answered. "As you can see, this is a healer. The elves value their healers, so if we trade this one for our safe pass back to Angband – we will be left unharmed and alive," he explained. You rolled your eyes at the plan. "A far-fetched plan, but it might work. Well done," the big orc said. "Thank you, boss," the orc behind you grinned at the praise. 

"Fat chance! The elves will kill you either way," you stated. 

"Shut it, wench! You should know better than run that little mouth of yours," the big orc barked at you. 

"And you! should know better than try to deal with pissed-off Noldor elves," you said. "They will most likely kill you on sight and then ask questions later," you added.

"We will see since we have your life in our hands. Don't you want to return safely home? I'm certain someone from one of those flesh bags will find value in you for you to be rescued," the big orc questioned. "Yes, but I can hardly see that. I'm just one healer, not a noble," you said. 

The big orc growled in annoyance, giving you a certain amount of satisfaction. In certain cases, you should never provoke your captors, but since you have gone through something like this before— you hardly gave a damn. 

"Tie her up!" the big orc ordered, and two of the smaller orcs grabbed you, pulling you down against a tree stump before starting to tie you against it with a rope. You didn't struggle but groaned when they tied the rope tightly, nearly crushing your ribs. The pain was so potent you had to scream. 

"Okay! I'm not going anywhere! Lose the rope a bit!" you screamed at the two orcs, who only loosened the rope to let you breathe. "Fuck!" you cursed as the pressure became lighter. 

They then left you against the tree stump, continuing their business and plans to escape to the north. They spoke in the black tongue, so you could hardly understand what they were saying. It was boring to watch them, so all you could do was anxiously watch as the sun began to hide behind the trees. You didn’t need to guess how long it would take for the night to arrive because the sky was already turning dark and the air cold, freezing even. The bloody orcs did not bother to tie you near the campfire, so you were shivering against the moist tree stump you were forced to sit against. 

You tried to keep some warmth by rubbing yourself with your hands and controlling your breath. You silently cursed your luck as you should have listened to your guts and stayed in Himring. 

A familiar pulse rushed through your body. You paled as your heart began its painful rhythmic dance, and you felt yourself become colder and struggle from groaning out loud. 

Panic settled in as you knew what was coming. 

Your throat felt dry, and you knew water could stall the beast's coming. Luckily, the orcs had not taken your remaining water flask away, so you could drink in secret before they noticed and took it away. 

You carefully moved your hand and fingers toward your waist. You were glad the ropes weren't tight enough to prevent you from moving your hands too much. 

While observing the orcs, you quietly opened the clasp that tied the flask to your waist and slowly brought the flask closer to your mouth. You then slurped in all the water you could get. 

One of the orcs noticed and roughly grabbed the water flask away from you, spilling some of the water on you. The orc sneered at you. 

"You think you so smart? You think you can drink this all yourself?" The orc mocked you as he held the flask in front of your face. "Well, I kinda drank half of it, so... yes," you replied.

"And I need it. Give it back!" you reached your hands toward it. The orc pulled it away from your reach. 

"And for what reason should I give it back to you?" he laughed at you. "Because If I don't get enough water in my system. It's gonna come out and kill you," you answered. It was silent for a moment before the whole orc group started laughing at you. 

"I'm serious. I'm not fucking around. You all are gonna die," you groaned as the pulsing in your heart became more painful. 

"Oh shut up!" the big orc marched up to you and hit you in the face with the bottom of his weapon, striking the light out of you. You lay against the tree stump, half-conscious. The orc's laughter echoes in your ears as the big orc leans down on your ear. "Let's see how you will kill us now," he said as you lost consciousness and fell into the darkness with something ringing inside your ears. 

The ringing in your ears was loud. You were not able to hear anything else till something else began calling out to you in the darkness, trying to talk to you. You could not understand it till it got louder and clearer, and then you heard someone calling your name. 

"(Name)"

You snapped back to reality, finding yourself sitting in a familiar cafe with someone very familiar. 

"Are you alright? You looked like you were daydreaming again," Jace asked, sipping his coffee. You smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah—sorry. A bad habit at this point," he smiled at your response. "It's fine. I would be more worried if you weren't such a daydreamer," he said, making you blush. 

"Hey (Name). I'm curious. Why had your foster parents not allowed you to go to prom before?" Jace asked. "Well... you know, they're protective of me. They fear I end up facing unnecessary drama and heartbreak, so they think it would be best for me to stay at home," you answered, taking a drink. "Can't say I don't blame them. This year had been filled with drama," Jace said. "Right?" you grinned, remembering the things that happened during your school year. 

"I think Camilla will be most happy to graduate and never to go there again. She was getting pretty done with all the Native American jokes," you said. "Well, she has miraculous patience. I mean, how does she do that?" Jace asked. You laughed and shook your head. "I have no clue," you answered. 

"If I can ask. What exactly happened to your biological family?" Jace started. "I heard they died in a fire accident," he added, making you remember the fire that consumed your home and the skinwalkers that stood before your ravaged family members. You thought about it silently. The haunting screams of those beasts echoing in your ears, the blood that dressed the snow, and the sight of your home falling apart. "Something really bad," you replied, and before Jace could ask anything else, you interfered. "I don't prefer to talk about it. Too many bad memories. Besides... it's been years now. I can't change it, and I had been taken in by a good family, better than most in this broken system," you said, making him smile. 

"I don't deny that— and I hope I would be able to charm them and gain their little blessing for our date night," Jace winked at you. You released a happy yet nervous chuckle since you had not exactly told them or Camilla that you had started dating behind their back. They will not be happy about it. 

You then noticed something over his shoulder— a shotgun barrel pointed right at you. Your eyes widened in fear. The shotgun fired, striking you down with its bullets. You slammed against the floor, blood flowing down from your now-open wounds and ears filled with screaming people. Your chest moved up and down as your lungs struggled to inhale air. Your vision darkened till it was nothing but darkness. 

Your eyes opened slowly, nearly blinded by the light from the bonfire as it burned brightly through the darkness of the night. Your ears caught the sounds of the owl in a nearby tree and the cricketing of the grasshoppers in the tall grass. 

The orcs were rounded up near the bonfire, trying to warm up from the night's chill and eat whatever they managed to catch during the day. Silently, you observed them. 

The orcs first sat in silence. One of them glances at the night and releases a restless sigh, "You know, the rumors say the Orc eater would appear at nights like this, preying upon you and attacking when you least expect it," the orc said. "The Orc eater? What are you rambling about?" the big orc questioned in annoyance. "The Orc eater! Haven't you heard about it?!" the orc asked. "The beast that laid waste upon the herald's forces?" he added. 

"I heard the beast appeared during the harshest winter storms, hunting orcs and devouring to its heart's content. A beast so gluttonous it could rival the hunger of the great spider," the orc described. "The herald stood no against it. The beast had eaten every orc in the herald's army and then settled its sight upon the herald himself. No one really knows why, but I heard the herald had done something to greatly upset the beast," he explained, like telling a ghost story. 

"The beast ripped into the herald's arm and made him run away with his tail between his legs," he finished with a grin. 

"That's a load of warg crap. There is no such a thing as an Orc eater," the big orc said. 

"How do you explain the attack on the Gap then? There were no bodies, and there was no way they could have just vanished into the air?" the orc asked. "An elven trick. There is no other explanation. They have always been slippery bastards," The big orc answered. "And everyone knows the former herald had been punished for his failure and sprouting such nonsense like an orc-eating beast," he took a drink from his flask. "Ha! Serves the likes of him right," he laughed in mockery. 

The big orc suddenly notices you staring. 

Your pupils gleamed blue in the dark yet were filled with nothing but focus and something feral. Drool had been flowing from the side of your mouth while you were staring at him out of everyone from his group. 

The big orc felt shivers run down his spine as you continued staring at him, and he couldn’t explain why. He pointed toward you. "Hey, what the hell is wrong with the prisoner?" he demanded, making the rest of his group turn to look at you. "Are her eyes supposed to look like that?" 

"I don't know... Are her eyes naturally blue?" One of the orcs asked while your fingers grew into claws, unnoticed. 

“Hey, you!” One of them yelled at you and threw a pebble at you to gain your attention. “Stop staring like that. It's creeping us out,” he said, but you paid no mind to him and continued staring at the big orc like you didn’t even hear anything. 

“Boss. I think you broke the thing. She looks half dead and is not responding at all,” the orc said. The big orc stood up furiously. 

"Hey, Skank! We’re talking to you!" he marched up to you. You stretched your claws against the ropes as he came closer. 

"Are you deaf, or did I knock you out so hard that you became stupid?" The big orc demanded. You stared at him, unfazed by his intimidation.

"Do I have to do it again, or do I —!" your eyes suddenly froze. You snapped the ropes open with your claws and bounced on him. You pushed him down against the ground and began ripping his neck open with your teeth. 

The big orc screamed in pain, trying to push you off. The other orcs stood back in fear and shock as they watched their leader struggle to get you off. 

The big orc managed to grab you by the neck and headbutted you so hard that you shrieked and pulled back, giving him the chance to kick you off and crawl toward the weapon that lay on the ground in front of him after dropping it. He reached out his hand, nearly grabbing it, but then you grabbed him by his feet and dragged him into the forest with incredible strength and speed. The big orc screamed in terror while the rest of his group watched in shock. 

They stood in silence, staring at the drag marks on the ground and spots of black blood that fell from their leader's open neck. The last things from their boss before their prisoner took him away. 

One of them finally broke the silence. 

"What the hell was that–!" An arrow suddenly struck him from behind. The group watched as their friend fell with a silent thud, and elven riders suddenly appeared from the dark, shooting them. They tried to run away, but the elves were fast and precise, barely giving them a chance to fight or run. They fell one by one till there was none left. 

Maglor rode into the camp, recognizing the orcs from before. His eyes looked around, restlessly looking for you. He found one of your water flasks and the broken ropes around a tree stump that had frost scattered on its moss. He had a bad feeling and found black blood on the ground before tracks that looked like something heavy had been dragged into the forest. He released a sigh as he knew – he was too late.

[eunoiaastralwings]

So excited about requests open! Can I get a Maglor x female reader? Just super cute he's singing to the reader to sleep while cuddling and eventually Elrond and Elros join in and it's snuggling for all. Sending lots of hugs and smiles your way! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this request!

Sing to me

characters maglor x reader

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion

a/n this request was cute - am smiling so much - thank you for sending it in - i really hope you like this1 :)

You twisted and turned — unable to sleep.

"What is it?"

Your husband— groaned from beside you.

You punched and groaned in return— in a very unlady like manner.

Maglor chuckled at your antics.

Your tried covering yourself with the blankets— straightening your pillow.

For the love of Eru— you even changed twice.

"I can't sleep!"

You screamed into your pillow.

You were tired— exhausted— but no matter what, you couldn't sleep.

You were frustrated.

"Come here, melda. . ."

Maglor opened his arms to you.

Begrudgingly— you pushed your body into his arms— your husband quickly wrapped his arms around your body —and you laid your head on his chest.

You sighed in content— he felt so warm and safe—despite everything he had done since taking his father's oath.

All you could do was rejoice in the little moments— the moments Maglor smiled and laughed.

Even educating the twins— it filled you with a fullness of heart, like even in the mist of danger— you can still have hope.

"Sing to me?"

You asked— you were so quiet.

You didn't think he heard you.

"You want me to sing?"

"Please?— I miss your voice Kano. . ."

You whispered— it was a long time since Maglor sang.

Between the oath and taking care of the twins— he didn't feel like he needed to.

Though sometimes— you heard him humming for himself.

Maglor couldn't keep away from music for too long— it was his singin soul.

When the silence continued— you sighed, maybe he won't sing.

But to your greatest surprise— your husband pulled you closer and opened his lips.

A voice as sweet as honey— and beautiful like the flowing river reached your ears.

A hand played with your hair— and you laid there listening to his enchanting voice and heartbeat.

It felt like home again— his voice held you tenderly and slowly you were able to close your eyes.

That was until your bedroom door creaked open a little.

Both of you frowned— and sat up a bit on the bed.

"Little ones?"

Maglor called out— the small shadows and supposed to be quiet whispers giving them away.

Elrond's head came peeking through— a little shy he tried to hide himself by the door frame.

His small arm was pushing the handle open.

"Eh. . . can we. . .—"

For his twin— it was taking too long and Elros quickly dashed into the room and climbed into the bed.

"Am sleeping here!"

He demanded and pushed himself in between yourself and Maglor.

"Elros!— That's rude!"

You laughed and Maglor shook his head— he wrapped his arm over the both of you and looked towards Elrond.

"We do not mind— come sleep. . ."

You coaxed— moving yourself out and patted the space beside Elros.

"OK-ay. . ."

Elrond said shyly and climbed on the bed— and you instantly pulled him in.

Elrond laid in between you and Elros.

You quickly wrapped your arms around them and held them close— you quickly loved them as quickly as Maglor brought them in — to Maedhros's displeasure at first.

"This is nice. . ."

Elrond said and snuggled closer— his twin followed.

"It is."

You agreed with a warm smile on your face as you closed your eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to continue the singing?"

Elros suddenly asked after a few minutes and you peeked your eyes open.

"He's not wrong."

You giggled.

Maglor chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Please sing!"

Elrond said— he was equally excited as his twin.

"If my audience insists— then I shall."

Maglor replied and cuddled the three of you closer.

You smiled as he started again — his voice was so sweet — you wanted to keep listening.

It was the voice that made you fall in love — with the owner of that voice.

To this day— you never stopped loving it— how can you when it brought you so many warm and lovable feelings.

The twins immediately fell asleep after a few minutes — they were fast asleep and dreaming snuggled in both your arms.

Maglor stroked their hair— and you laid gentle kisses on their forehead.

They smiled in their sleep and it filled your whole heart.

Soon you were asleep too — smiling at the feeling of soft familiar lips kissing your forehead.

form for taglist

tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams @spidergirla5 @aeonianarchives

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

@sorisooyaa because Maglor <3

[doodle-pops]

Soft Moments

Reaction: Silmarillion x Reader

Part 1

A/N: I had this thought for quite a while now and wanted to include as many elves as possible. This is just my thoughts on what favourite soft moments I think the elves would enjoy with their s/o. I've seen many elves have soft moments with s/o but in fics, so this is my way of including more of them. Enjoy!

Cooking – the countertop was filled with all the different ingredients you both could have found after raiding the cabinets. Your laughter filled the atmosphere while he made some ridiculous joke while stirring the pot. You were chopping the finishing vegetables for a salad after you were getting started on deserts. Him sneaking up on you to plant kisses all over your face, you reprimand him because you could have cut him, “Hey, be careful. I wield a knife in my hands” “you should be careful since you’re the clumsy one” that shuts you up. While the deserts were baking and the rest of the food was bubbling away on the stove, the both of you were dancing to an imaginary song. Swaying from side to side, waiting for the food to finish. When it was done, you both platted your food, sitting to eat at the mini table in your kitchen, near the window which overlooked your garden.

Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir, Fingon, Turgon, Finrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Galdor, Beleg

Reading – spending the day locked away in the library or your rooms surrounded by books. Wrapped up in each other’s embrace, citing poetry, quoting a love phrase or simply reading a story. It doesn’t matter. You both take turns reading to each other, listening intensively to the sound of your voices. Get caught not paying attention, all because their voice is alluring and soothing. Sometimes you spend the day sitting by the fireplace, curled up in a blanket, with a hot cup of tea, and him sitting next to you, listening to the story. Other times it's absolute silence. No one is speaking. Just reading. The soft, warm, radiant rays blessed the room with light. Illuminating every corner, making you appear angelic as you cite romantic poetry to them. This time, he's the one who gets caught not paying attention.

Feanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Curufin, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Turgon, Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Ecthelion

Dancing – whether it’s at a ball, festival, dinner, or just the both of you randomly dancing to a tuneless song, it’s a moment he cherishes. Swaying slowly, his hands on your waist, your arms around his neck, staring into each other’s eyes, sometimes your headrest on his chest. He feels as though he's falling in love with you all over again. Dipping their head, you lock lips for a sweet, yet delicate and gentle kiss. Your hands move upwards to run through his hair. It’s a touch of reassurance and a silent “I love you’ pulling away to rest your foreheads against each other, you’d both gaze lovingly into one another’s eyes. A moment where it’s just the both of you, safely wrapped and secured in each other’s arms. No one else matters. It’s just the two of you.

Feanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Galdor, Egalmoth, Ecthelion, Beleg

Cuddling - limbs intertwined, head pressed against his chest listening to the steady rise and fall of his heartbeat, the serene, calm wind flowing through the room. The soft breathing from you as he has fallen asleep. The gentle smile graced your face. Lifting your head properly to gaze at his features now that he was at rest. The crinkles that adorned his face, now disappeared, making him appear youthful as ever. Their lips were slightly apart as soft snores were emitted, his eyelids twitch as they dream. Raising your hand, you gently trace his features, smiling when he twitches at the light sensation. Shifting, his arms stay around you, taking you into the new position. You were able to now throw your legs around his waist properly, clinging to him like a child. All this time while you were at this, he was aware of your antics.

Maedhros, Celegorm, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Argon, Finrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Galdor, Egalmoth, Beleg

Taglist: @whenloveexists

Masterlist

[markedasinfernal]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @soilrockslove for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta 2020. This year has been just a series of unfortunate events, so what better than a tale of Fingon and Maglor taking on the dark valley of Nan Dungortheb to get us through it. No major topic warnings except for creepy forest shenanigans, and I really hope you enjoy! 

x

No star would pierce the cloak of night drawn thick upon the vale of Nan Dungortheb. Fog clotted heavy as cream amid those haunted gullies, and clung like spider's silk beneath the knotted branches of the woods. None would pass that dreadful valley save in the greatest of need; the Ered Gorgoroth to the north bled their malevolence into the soil, and in the marshes that hemmed the great forest of Doriath subtle enchantments were laid, spells of blinding, confusion, and terror.

For there in the vale between mountain and forest the potent magics of Sauron and Melian mingled, and the brood of ancient Ungoliant wove their snaring webs, and amid their confluence the earth itself was changed. The streams that flowed down from the mountains were thick with black sorcery, and within the blighted woods of that land the creatures that stalked there grew aberrant, and fey. What few paths that crossed the sinister vale were watched, and the travellers that dared them moved swiftly, for to linger there courted madness, and oft even those mighty in lore and strength of arms were led astray and vanished.

It was with due haste now that Maglor urged his horse forward, and behind him Fingon followed close.

Under a dreary dawn they had met, in a dell within the woods far to the west of the Nan Dungortheb where the valley's grasp was not yet strong, but still their meeting was cautious. In those treacherous lands, spied by jealous hearts, it was best not to draw attention. Indeed, Fingon had shed his courtly retinue some miles behind; the glittering robes of the High King of the Noldor were changed for simple, sturdy gear, and a worn grey cloak drew across the sharp knife at his belt, the quiver on his saddle, and the bow strung across his back.

Into the shade of the woods then he followed Maglor, most trusted emissary and skilful guide sent from distant Himring, and Fingon was glad of his company as the sun above them dimmed, and the grasping boughs of the trees grew close. At first they talked, in low voices discussing the comings and goings of their people, matters of courtly business and other importance, for long had been their years of separation, and to Fingon's delight their fondness was not forgotten. Meanwhile the forest chattered around them; brightly-coloured birds flitted above their heads in dashes of blue and yellow, singing out in voices sharp as steel. Dark-furred squirrels darted across tree-trunks whorled with green lichen, and upon occasion Fingon thought that he spied deer, strange pale stags like ghosts amid the shade, pale as snow with antlers crowned in blackened, budding flowers.

Further and further into the woods they delved; Maglor led them surely along trails scarcely wider than their horses' girth, and as the sun slipped away beyond the impassable peaks of the Ered Gorgoroth so their cheerfulness dimmed; the light faded slowly into dusk, and they grew quiet. Birds still called about them, but as they listened now their singing was no longer warm, nay, those cries were chilling; they chirped with voices of the slain, in grating, gurgling screeches that sent shivers crawling down Fingon's spine.

"How is Nelyo?" Fingon forced himself to ask; the words clung awkwardly in his throat, as if their very effort was an intrusion, a hostility. "Is he... well? It has been so long since last we met."

"He is well, yes," Maglor replied, his voice was hushed as warily he looked about, peering over his horse's neck as they wound through a dense thicket of wood, and the dreadful chorus of the birds ebbed away behind them. "The defence of our lands keeps him ever busy, else he would have come to greet you himself. He takes great pride in the bastions that we have built across the Gap, in the horses that we breed there, and our bright soldiers patrolling the plain."

"That is good," Fingon sighed, though a curl of unease brushed across his heart, and he looked out to the woods with clouded eyes. "Dark have been my dreams of late, and those whom I love are so far away in this perilous world. Tell me, please, is... is he happy?"

Suddenly a roar split through the sullen trees, a great bellow of anguish that chilled the blood in their veins. It was close, too close, quickly they looked about as the horses whickered and shied, skittering upon the narrow path. But their sharp eyes spied nothing; that dreadful noise hung in the air far longer than seemed natural, cloistered by the tight press of the woods about them. Finally the last echoes dissipated, and though the horses snorted and pranced at last they were calmed, and the forest grew quiet once more. As fast as they dared then they pressed onwards, but now they were watchful, and Fingon's right hand now rested upon the hilt of his knife more often than the reins.

"Is he happy? Maglor said abruptly, grimly; he urged his reluctant horse further down the track, and all too clearly Fingon could see the tension in his shoulders, the unmistakable press of a weapon held close under his cloak. "I do not know. At times I think so, but there is a coldness to him now that even the merriest of nights cannot thaw."

"Come," he breathed, and looking carefully about them glanced back to Fingon. "We should not speak of such things here. The hour is late; fell things walk by shade of night, and we have some distance yet to go."

Onwards they rode into the gathering gloom, the thick canopy overhead throttled the last straggling rays of daylight into a resentful twilight; the trees hunkered close above their heads, often forcing them to bend in the saddle, and their intrusion was met with glowering menace. The air swam thick with it, tense and clotted, and for how many miles they rode under those nightmarish boughs Fingon could not count.

The trail twisted amid the gullies of the hills, through sucking mud-marshes and reeking fens, and stoically he endured their dour passage. For about them now the woods grew silent, no eerie birdsong would pierce its dark gloaming, nor the chatter of small nocturnal creatures amid the underbrush; even the dull thud of their horses' hooves upon the trail was almost unbearable against that oppressive, consuming, unnerving quiet.

Now truly they went warily, and Fingon's hand never strayed far from his knife; now and then he thought that he heard the soft rustle of leaves behind them, a heartbeat too slow to have been caused by his horse's passage. A soft squelch into the mud behind them sent him twisting in the saddle; his heart leapt suddenly into his throat as wildly he turned, and his horse whickered nervously beneath him as hard he stared into the darkness behind. But there was nothing, nothing but night and shadowed tree-trunks, and reluctantly he settled himself again.

It must be a trick of the mind, he though, and fervently he hoped that he was right; some phantom of Melian's green sorcery sent to ward away unwary souls, or some formless shade of Sauron's malice that tempted reason into fantasy. Yet though he was no fretful child how he longed for the roaring fires of Himring, its solid stone walls under those rolling skies, a great fortress crowning the wide open hills; the suffocating malice of the forest crept into his bones, and violently he started as something snapped behind them.

Desperately he whirled about, his heart thudded in his chest as he stared out into the forest, his eyes straining against the gloom. For a moment, again, frustratingly again, there was nothing, only shadow and tree, but oh what nameless, instinctive horror turned cold in his gut as he peered beneath a thick tangle of brush, and a pair of cruel, shining eyes met his.

"Káno," he hissed; he dared not look away, he scarcely dared to breathe as those hungry eyes followed their passage. "Something's out there."

"I know." The certainty in Maglor's voice stabbed like ice through his stomach.

For a moment his gaze flickered, and when he looked back those eyes were gone.

For what seemed like a torturous eternity they travelled onwards in the dark, and beneath them the horses grew restless again, shying and champing at the bit, and it was only through great fortitude of will that the riders pushed them on.

Yet suddenly Maglor's horse halted and would go no further, it trembled and sweated upon the trail, and Fingon's mount came to a sharp stop behind, its ears pressed back against its skull and tail swishing. Before them the trail curved up a gentle slope, towards a hollow copse in the trees, and for a rare moment there the canopy thinned. Far above the sky could be glimpsed, the clouds rolling fretfully across a full and blurry moon. But against that dreary view something darker was silhouetted, a hunched shape stood upon the trail before them at the top of the hill, and in horror they watched as it rose.

Like a bear it seemed, but taller, misshapen; dark fur clung wet and stinking to its belly and thickly rounded shoulders, yet ape-like arms hung long before it, and hooked claws swung wide upon its paws as suddenly it reared up on its hind limbs. Those cruel eyes fixed upon them as its lips peeled back, its jaw hinged open wide, too wide, and saliva dripped from its yellowed fangs as it snapped its teeth. A growl thrummed through the air, and Fingon's heart beat painfully hard in his chest, for no manner of earthly creature was this, a foul mutant of warring sorcery. Its horrid jaws gnashed as it sniffed the air, and as its claws flexed and slashed Fingon reached for his bow.

Sensing his movement, suddenly the creature stamped, it bellowed out in such anger that the horses quailed, they spun and bucked and it was only for the love that they had for their masters that they did not bolt, they held their nerve and bravely they endured their terror. Again the creature stamped, with a hideous roar it took one lunging stride forward; fear and disgust blazed up in Fingons' heart and with elven speed he raised his bow, an arrow nocked and drawn.

"Wait!" Maglor hissed, and in surprise Fingon paused. "Don't shoot! In this place, it would not be wise."

At Maglor's command Fingon lowered his aim, his bow still drawn and ready, until slowly at his side Maglor straightened in the saddle, and cast back the hood of his cloak. And Fingon looked at him then in wonder, for suddenly the air grew charged; puissance hummed in soft, lapping susurration, and the clouds parted, and the moon shone bright and full, bathing them in evanescent light. For in that moment the power in Fëanor's mighty bloodline ran true; in his stirrups Maglor stood and raised a hand, limned in silver light he gleamed, and in a deep voice that was not entirely his own he said, "Great hunter, let us pass."

There was power in those words, command beyond the measure of clever speech, it pulled at him with such visceral strength that Fingon squirmed, and wide-eyed he marvelled. For he had heard that power once before, long ago in different lands, and to him now it seemed as if Fëanor himself stood beside him; the air about Maglor rippled with magic, silver and sharp, and with terrible command he spoke, "Let us pass! We mean no harm to you. We travel east, and will trouble you no more. Let us pass!"

Bright and fey as a lord of old Maglor stood against his foe, and before him the creature swayed; it snapped and growled, biting emptily at the air before shuffling upon its hind legs. For a few moments then it blinked, and grunted, before with a great huff of breath dropping down onto its forelimbs, and slowly moving off. For a long while they watched it depart, and as at last it slunk off into the shadows the moonlight dimmed, and failed, and with a sigh Maglor sat back into the saddle.

"Come, Finno," he breathed, and suddenly yawned, as if a great wave of weariness had come upon him. "My words may hold him at bay for a time, but I have not the magic of the Maiar, and I do not seek their challenge."

Quickly Fingon obliged, and swiftly stowed his bow, and without further word they moved off, cresting the haunted hill and crossing down into the gully below. With fresh admiration Fingon followed where Maglor led, and though the winding way was not easy, now the woods yielded to them, and hindered them no longer.

At last the forest began to thin, and the weary horses raised their heads in hope, with renewed vigour striding through the underbrush. With each step both rider and mount felt the oppression of the forest lessen, and their hearts were gladdened; unbidden the horses picked up into a brisk trot as the trees gradually fell away, and the rolling grasslands of the southern marches unfurled before them.

Fresh, cold air surged into Fingon's lungs as deeply he inhaled, and Maglor laughed beside of him in relief, and the horses flowed forward, into canter, into gallop; the wind flushed their faces red and wiped them clean of weariness. Away they sped across the grasslands, the pink rays of a clear dawn greeted them in gladness, the terror of the forest was sloughed away, and under a rising sun they thundered away to Himring and their journey's end.

[aregebidan]

Word Count: 1781 words

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth

Characters: Elrond Peredhel, Elros Tar-Minyatur, Maglor | Makalaure, Maedhros | Maitimo

Additional Tags: One-Shot Collection, Non-Linear Narrative, Elrond-centric, Maglor-centric, Character Study, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Needs a Hug, let Elrond not lose anyone 2k20

Summary: Scenes of the kidnap family through Elrond and Elros' childhood, featuring difficult questions, buried feelings, and the fragile hope of a happy ending.

Can also be read below the cut

“Is it true what they say?”

Maglor raises an eyebrow at the twin crouched in the corner of his tent- twin, singular, he notes. Whatever little Elrond is going to ask, his brother either does not approve of the question, or does not know he is here.

That is interesting; Elros was always Maedhros’ mirror, so careful with his words and protective of his family. It has been two weeks since they took the twins, and for all that time they had been inseparable, clutching each other’s hands and dressing in identical, oversized tunics that they’d somehow stolen off Maedhros’ guards (the twins having long established him as the less frightening one, the one who didn’t make mistakes.)

You don’t go anywhere without me, they had overheard Elros telling his brother. You don’t say anything to them. They are dangerous, every single one.

But this time, Elrond had deemed it safe to come to him alone…

Maglor bites down a smile as he sets his book aside. “What do they say, little one?”

He leans forward unconsciously in his chair, and the child fails miserably in hiding his flinch.

Maglor could hit himself if it wouldn’t scare him more. Two weeks in and he has already forgotten what they are, his young captives, to the point that he has seriously contemplated trying to teach Elrond about the Music. Certainly there is none of that happening on the twins’ side, no fondness in Elrond’s eyes as he shuffles awkwardly to his feet.

Instead, Maglor hears on him the familiar tune of curiosity overlaid with fear, each pulling him in opposite directions. It is a few moments before the child finally approaches the desk, only to freeze at the sight of the two swords leaning against its side.

This was a mistake.

In the night, the world is quiet, and such thoughts can be discerned through the empty wind as a real voice. There is rarely anything so specific as dates or faces, but he has so far tolerated the rumors that he can read minds; if anything, it is useful for frightening away Orcs. Tonight, he is quite sure he would throw it all away in a heartbeat if it meant he never had to listen to Elrond wonder which of the blades he’d use on him first again.

He has fantasized about it for centuries- of being brought to Mandos and demanding that they take his curse away, of ridding himself of both of them, of taking the Silmarils in hand and throwing them into the ocean, and never looking back once, finally free-

Stop wandering around in your head, he remembers Celegorm snapping at him, and takes a deep breath, leans back again.

“You can ask me anything, you know.” He gives Elrond a tired grin. “What reason would I have to hurt you now? You are valuable hostages, you and your brother.”

It’s cold, unfeeling logic, and the child seems to trust it more than he does any living thing. He is cleverer than you by far, Maglor scolds himself. Outside there is the sound of his soldiers and the wildlife alike drifting off to sleep, and the calls of the night-birds in the forest overlap with the quiet, high notes of panic coming from Maedhros’ quarters; Elros has noticed his brother’s absence. They must be quick, then.

As if sensing this, Elrond takes a few more dragging steps until, finally, there is triumph: the child even looks him in the eye as he asks in a trembling voice, “Do you mean that?”

“Anything,” he promises. Then, in a last-ditch attempt to lessen the guilt in those two pale, thin faces reflected in the glass of his lamp, “It’s the least I owe you, after all this.”

All this. It is the closest they have ever come to discussing what happened at the Havens of Sirion. Maedhros has so far been unusually tight-lipped about the occasion, and Maglor is reluctant to speak of the Ambarussa aloud. Two weeks have been spent dancing around the subject, not least because they had no idea how the twins would react.

Maglor briefly wonders what Maedhros would think if he ever heard that they have spoken of it, and how it could have come up so easily; true, he has never been able to restrain his words in the late hours, but that was before the Nirnaeth. That was Makalaurë.

He waits on Elrond’s reaction, his chest already tightening in regret- regret that increases tenfold when the child only looks at him blankly, and he can hear nothing from him.

“Elrond,” he says softly and, he thinks to himself, more than a little desperately.

The little one has shrunk into himself, shoulders curling. He shivers and clenches his teeth, as if the question is fighting him on its way out.

“It’s alright,” Elrond says thickly. “I was about to bring it up anyways…”

Wind whistles in through the entrance of the tent, and between that and the shivering Maglor finds it impossible to stay still. He takes care to stand up as quietly as possible, recalling that the loudest sound in the caverns in Sirion had been his own footsteps. Elrond seems to relax slightly at that, more so when the heavy red cloth comes down between him and the night. He swallows hard, licks his lips carefully.

“It is about the Oath, Maglor.”

Maglor pauses. Well. He wants to call it a pause, but what he does is more akin to a flinch, as if their positions have been reversed- as if he still has a right to be wounded by the words of his hostage. He stares down at him, belatedly notices that his expression may be frightening, tries to adjust his face, and then decides it shouldn't matter; shouldn't matter, because Elrond is crying and there are more important things to worry about than vanity, and why is it that he looks so much like Amras when he cries?

“Did you choose to listen to it? Did you try to fight it?” Elrond bites his cheek, sudden tears shining in the lamplight. “Could you have broken it, if you chose?”

Could you have chosen not to attack our home?

And there it is, out there in the open. Maglor fights the urge to go and put his arms around the child, comfort him the way he did his brothers. Elrond is not Amras or Amrod or Curufin- Elrond wants nothing from him besides answers.

"I do not wish to lie to you..." he says haltingly, then stops at the panic building up inside the room; panic, then anger, then an utterly morose kind of resignation. Elrond had not wanted to believe it was his choice to pursue them.

He wanted to believe the best of him and Maedhros, he realizes, and he must be very careful not to let this affect his next words.

Maglor takes a deep breath and begins again.

"The answer to your question is yes, Elrond, and yet no; and there is no way to know for certain. There has been very little research done on this matter, and all I have to go on is my... personal experience."

He purposely mimics the tone of a lecturing tutor, a familiar voice, assuming Elwing had time and people enough to educate her children as they did in Tirion. This indeed appears to calm Elrond, and Maglor makes a mental note to start on a list of what alarms and does not alarm the twins. If Maedhros objects, he will make the point on valuable hostages and hope for the best.

"Yes, I suppose we could have tried to resist it. Maedhros could have held out a little longer, this I know. But it would have ended in utter failure for the rest of us, and in time for Maedhros as well. An oath gone unfulfilled, Elrond," he explains, "near as I can tell, manifests in the mind of the oath-taker as a permanent pain, sight or sound or thought, whatever it would take to drive them to keep their word. Eventually it was inevitable that we would have to seek the Silmarilli once more. For me the effect was doubled because of my music, and the fact that the Oath was first brought into the world by the sound of Fëanáro's voice; it was all that I could hear."

(And, he adds in his mind, the worst part was that I can no longer be sure Atya would not have said those things to me.)

Elrond nods mutely, and Maglor is suddenly glad that he never used his more practical songs at the Havens.

"And there was the matter of..." He pauses, feeling a headache coming, the sound of dying stars echoing in his mind. Speaking of the Oath, it seems, has brought it down on him again.

This is nothing compared to what the twins have gone through, he reminds himself, and continues on. "To be truthful, little one, the Ambarussa wished to avenge their" -a catch in his breath, remember the way Maedhros does it, how he distances himself from his words- "fallen brothers. They were very close to the three."

Elrond's mouth opens slightly, his lips in the shape of a silent oh.

"I will not say that it had to be the Havens, for we are not blameless; far from it. We are the only ones to blame. But nor can I say that we had the full choice." Maglor moves his weary gaze to the lamp, and speaks to empty air. "Does that answer your question, Elrond?"

Elrond blinks up at him, and for a long while the silence thickens, like snow piling up outside the windows in Himring. Maglor absently wonders if this child has ever heard of Himring- was he born after its fall? Did he ever hear of the Gap, the grand tales they made of the flight of the Bragollach's survivors? What does he think of him now, this son of Elwing's? It does not matter; at least, it should not, but Maglor has never been good at doing what he should.

Both of them startle when Elros' voice and panicked feet pierce the silence: "Elrond! Elrond!"

Elros, Elrond starts to say, then glances quickly up at Maglor, as if asking permission to leave.

"Go," he says with a wave of his hand, and collapses as much as he can in his hard wooden seat as he watches the two small figures make their hasty way from the kinslayer's tent, one of whom now knows everything that matters.

Ai, Káno, what have you brought upon yourself now?

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Fic Writer Tag Game

@arofili tagged me. Thank you so much <3 I loved writing this and spent way too much time on it :D

AO3 name: HewerOfCaves

Fandoms: Silmarillion, but HewerOfCaves is actually my 4th reincarnation on Ao3, the other three were for other fandoms.

Number of fics: 27 under this username

Fic I spent the most time on: Has to be Sins of the Father, I spent months on it. Though when/if I post a couple of fics I’m working on, they will break the record :/

Fic I spent the least time on: Well, I have two triple drabble fics, so probably those. Light In Their Eyes, Blood On Their Lips (Russingon, sorry, I suck at titles) and Black Horse (tw: cannibalism). If drabbles don’t count, then it’s Your Name and Only a Fool Would Wear a Crown. I just was struck by the idea, quickly wrote it down and posted it. The best feeling until you start thinking that it’s rubbish.

Longest fic: For the World’s End (6055 words). It’s also the first fic I wrote for this fandom.

Shortest fic: Red and White (89 words). It’s a poem written for the Ambarussa day of last year’s Fëanorian week.

Most hits: For the World’s End again. 800 hits at this moment.

Most kudos: And again it’s For the World’s End. 111 kudos at this moment. I guess people like reembodied angsty Maedhros.

Most comment threads: It’s Light’s Out of Sight, part 2 of my Fingon stays alive canon divergence AU. 16 comment threads.

Most bookmarks: To no one’s surprise, it’s For the World’s End. 22 bookmarks.

Total word count: It’s just 41.400. If I counted my fics for other fandoms, it would probably be over 250.000, but I have no desire to go back and check, sorry.

Favourite fic I wrote: This is hard! Do I have to choose one? No, I don’t. I’ll choose three. I’m gonna say:

- Bricks, it’s a kid fic about Caranthir and Turgon, written for the Caranthir day of last year’s Fëanorian week. I started writing it as soon as I saw the announcement for the Fëanorian week in January 2019. I’m very fond of it.

- Bitter, it’s a surprisingly fluffy fic about three times Maedhros and Fingon had dinner together.

- Jester, written for the Maedhros day of last year’s Fëanorian week and B2MeM 2019. Maedhros talks with Maglor and Fingon after the deaths of their respective fathers. 

Special mention to Tale of Wanderer, which is a poem. I’m definitely not a poet, so I surprised myself by making it as long as it is. Written for the Maglor day of last year’s Fëanorian week and B2MeM 2019. That was a good week for me as a writer. A good month really. I wish I could say the same for this year.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Well, I do want to write more for my Fingon stays alive canon divergence AU series, which still doesn’t have a proper name. I have posted three parts and I have ideas for others. I just have to write them. Yeah. 

There’s also We Live a Lie, which is honestly more of an idea than a real fic about Arda Remade without Indis’s descendants. I probably won’t expand on it, but @venwe​ did. Check out her Lands Beyond, where Maedhros realizes that something’s wrong with their perfect world. 

I’d love to expand this snippet, a canon divergence AU, where Finwë stays in Tirion instead of going to Formenos with Fëanor, but I most likely won’t.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on: I have a few. First of all, the aforementioned canon divergence AU, which I have ideas for but not even a word written.

Something about Fingon and the children of Finarfin after the First Kinslaying. Not a word written.

I also want to write something about Finarfin. I have exactly two sentences written for it and it’s about Fingolfin :D

“Too much of a Noldo, that one,” Ingwion said after retreating Nolofinwë. Arafinwë never forgot that.    

A fic about Celebrimbor visiting his uncles pre-Sirion. It was supposed to be a Third Kinslaying fix-it, but it’s going to be canon-compliant. There’s no fixing the Third Kinslaying :/ Here’s a bit from it: 

“What about the King? Fingon. What about him? What would he think?”

“Tyelpë, that is enough,” Maglor said sharply.

Celebrimbor knew he was crossing a line, but he was ready for the consequences, he would bear them if it meant stopping the massacre. 

“Do you ever think about it, Lord Maedhros?” he asked. “Do you ever wonder what King Fingon would do? Do you ever think if he would regret saving you?” 

Maedhros looked at him. The flames were gone from his eyes. They were dark as a starless night. 

“The King is dead,” he said. The strength of his words broke over Celebrimbor, and he was almost knocked down by a wave of grief. “You cannot change anything, Tyelpë. It will be done.”

And a Maedhros on Thangorodrim fic, which I have been writing for almost a year? Maybe more? God, I’m slow. An excerpt from that fic (mention of injuries and hanging from a mountain):

Maedhros jolted and drew back. His legs folded, his feet trying and failing to find leverage. The rock behind him, sharp as broken glass, cut into wounds still unhealed.

“The elf saw a great rider on a silver steed, and he was afraid and yet drawn to him for he could perceive his immense power. But he needed not be afraid for the rider was not evil and his power was of light. Do you know who the rider was, Nelyo?”

Was he losing his mind? He looked around, searching for the speaker, as if it was possible that he could be here, somewhere on this mountain.

“Nelyo? Do you know who he was?” asked his grandfather Finwë’s voice.

“Oromë,” Maedhros croaked. His throat was parched. He wondered when it would rain again.

“Yes, it was Lord Oromë. Very good, Nelyo.”

A familiar gentle hand caressed his head. Maedhros leaned into it without thinking. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that he was in his grandfather’s arms, in his palace in Tirion. If he tried really hard, he could feel the golden warmth of the waning Laurelin on his hair, as he listened with rapture to the stories he knew by heart. He could hear his grandfather’s slow and steady heartbeat as clearly as he had ages ago, when he had been a child, Finwë’s only grandchild for a while. He used to put his ear over his grandfather’s chest and let the comforting thud lull him to sleep. He had been so content, basking in Finwë’s undivided attention.

If you’ve read up to here, thank you so much. I’m tagging @calendille, @amethysttribble​, @venwe​, @avantegarda​. I have more writer mutuals, but I’m too shy to tag them, so if any of you guys sees this, know that I thought about you and consider yourselves tagged. Seriously, I checked my Following list, but I’m just very socially awkward even online. 

[morifiinwe]

chanter

@doriathweek day 4 → daeron

daeron and maglor fall in love, just a little

———

“You can’t just do that,” Maglor repeated for the second time that night.

“Sure you can. I do it all the time,” Daeron was almost irritatingly casual, leaning back into a moonbeam that Maglor was convinced hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well why not? I know you know prophecy’s a thing.”

“I don’t believe you do it all the time. It’s not something you can do on command.”

Daeron grinned at him. Maglor stuck his tongue out at him, which made him laugh.

“No. There is no way you can do that.”

“Can too.”

“How? It’s not like you can just ask The Song what’s coming up next,” he shot a pointed look at Daeron, “And don’t you dare tell me that’s what you do.”

Daeron laughed again. His laugh was unnecessarily attractive, just like the rest of him. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose, though if that was the case, he was doing it effortlessly. Maglor was trying his best to not spend too much time staring at him, as tempting as it was.

“I don’t ask The Song, no. I just listen to it. If you listen for long enough you start to be able to work out where it’s going.”

“I’ve always wanted to listen to The Song. Just for a moment. Not to tell the future, not for any kind of greater understanding, just to hear what it sounds like.”

“It’s quite the experience.”

Maglor found Daeron’s eyes fixed directly on him. Under his gaze, Maglor felt like he was being deconstructed, opened up like a clock or a geode, his constituent parts checked and recorded. Daeron wasn’t inside his mind, Maglor realised. He was just picking at the edges of him and looking in, which felt like much the same thing. Evidently, he found what he had been looking for, because his pale green eyes refocused on Maglor’s face and he offered an open hand. Maglor didn’t even know what Daeron intended, but he took it.

“What were you looking for?”

“I was listening to how you sound.”

“Would’ve thought you’d know that.”

“I knew a lot of your sounds, yes, but not all of them. Not every sound comes from music. I need to know all of them.”

Maglor felt the tips of his ears heat up. He tried his best to ignore it.

“Curious?”

“Not as much as you. I can show you The Song, now I know your sounds.”

He smiled shyly, showing a set of slightly sharp teeth. Maglor didn’t remember seeing those before. He squeezed his hand and smiled back.

Then the world exploded.

Maglor could hear the sound of his heartbeat, and of his breath catching in his throat. The breeze ruffling the grass made a beautiful harmony with his own body. He wanted to cry. He wanted to sing or scream. The stars swirled above him in melodies too complex for him to ever understand, but he watched them turn (or did he listen?) and tried desperately to understand. There was sound everywhere, all amplified far beyond his reach or recognition, but the one thing he did know was that this was the whole world, the fabric of everything, and if he could understand it, he could look into the mind of Eru himself. He did not know how to feel about that. His breathing sped up as a phrase of The Song repeated at a different tempo. It was all too much. It was not quite enough. It might tear him apart.

Then, as Maglor found himself slipping slowly under the current, he heard a new part of The Song, a quiet whisper against his ear. There were words to this part. Beautiful, incomprehensible words that calmed him all the same. He turned his head, and saw Daeron, one eye star bright, the other moss green. His teeth were wolf sharp, and from his head grew antlers. He looked like one of the Ainur, like a strange spirit of the forest. But his smile, for all its teeth, was kind. Maglor held tightly to his hand.

Slowly the world pieced itself back together until Maglor was left breathing deeply in the relative quiet, Daeron running gentle fingers through his hair. Maglor rubbed his thumb in circles against Daeron’s skin and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“I’m sorry,” Daeron murmured, “I didn’t realise it would be so bad.”

“It’s alright.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. I’m fine. There’s no damage done.”

“But you weren’t fine. That’s why I had to stop.”

Daeron’s eyes were pale green again and very concerned. He didn’t stop Maglor when he tried to sit up, but his hands were all over him. Maglor was all too happy to lean into his careful touch.

The antlers were still peeking out through Daeron’s hair. Maglor reached up to touch them, running his fingers among the smooth surface. He had looked magnificent through the lense of The Song, ancient and unfathomable and, though Maglor would be hard pressed to admit it, incredibly attractive. He had always thought Daeron was good-looking, but he had transformed in front of Maglor’s eyes, and he could not look at him the same.

“Do you like them?” Daeron asked nervously.

“They are,” he found himself unable to properly articulate his thoughts, “You were—”

“Intimidating?” Daeron supplied.

“Beautiful.”

Daeron blinked at him in surprise.

“Fuck. I said that out loud, didn’t I.”

Instead of replying, Daeron reached out to take hold of Maglor’s hand, pressing a delicate kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“What did you think of The Song?”

“It was quite the experience,” he smiled at Daeron, “but it was incredible! I felt like I could know everything if I only learnt how it was all made up. That’s how you do prophecy, isn’t it? You learn the thing that is everything.”

“Oh so now you believe me,” he teased, intertwining their fingers.

“I don’t know about that. You’d have to prove it to me.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Well what’s in my future?”

Daeron raised his eyebrows and began to sweep his eyes over Maglor. The strange sense of deconstruction returned, but he ignored it in favour of watching Daeron slowly turn back to his magnificent self. They were so close, Maglor realised, that it would take no effort at all to kiss him. He remembered Daeron’s soothing whisper next to his ear, the kiss he could still feel on his skin, right above where his veins pressed close to his skin, and decided that kissing Daeron might cause him to shatter apart. He hoped they’d have enough time for him to work up the courage.

“Me.”

Maglor had absolutely no way of verifying if it was true or not, but he decided that he didn’t really care. He was more than willing to trust utterly in what Daeron said he saw, because a future with him was exactly what Maglor had hoped for.

“Is that good?” Daeron asked when he didn’t respond.

Maglor beamed at him.

“It’s good.”

It was much more than good.

[theelegantbookworm]

The Argument

Part 3 of 12 Days of Fanfic for @independence1776. In this installment, Elrond and Celebrian have their first big fight- I don’t always have the best of luck writing arguments, but let me know what you guys think :) Enjoy!

...

I am seething as I make my way to the library where I know Elrond will be pouring over his precious books. Elves scatter from my path as I approach the doors, some even whimpering their unease. I don’t care. The doors open with a bang. 

“Did you even mean to tell me about this alliance you’ve made with the dwarves?”

Elrond had set aside the book he was writing in the moment I burst through the doors; now he makes his way towards me. “How do you even know about it-?”

“A messenger from Círdan, though why the Shipwright knows that Imladris has made an alliance with the remnants of Khazad-Dum and not the Lady of Rivendell herself is beyond my understanding!”

His expression is incredulous. “Because this agreement is needed and I knew that the very mention of such an alliance would see you react like this!”

My temper sends blood rushing to my cheeks. “And do you not think there might be just cause for it?”

“What cause?” he shouts, “When has any of Durin’s folk ever done you harm?”

“Do you truly ask me that? Me? Look around here and I’m sure you will find some tome with the record of the Nauglamir and the murder of my father’s uncle.”

Elrond stiffens, the sign that his own temper is incensed. “I need no book for that Celebrían. Thingol was my forebear.”

I slam my hand on a nearby table. “Then why do you make an alliance with the people who killed him?”

“Because they aren’t! Have the centuries so blinded you and your father that neither of you realizes that none of those responsible for the fell deeds against your kin are all dead and dust?”

“Blood will tell!” I retort. Elrond opens his mouth to argue more, but then he shuts it and walks past me. “Where are you going?” I demand as he opens the door.

He turns back to me, his jaw set and angry. “For a walk, before one of  us says something we will regret.” The door slams shut and I let out a yell of frustration. I throw myself into the chair he left, glaring at the sheaves of papers and maps he has laid out. In the silence, I find myself considering the reasons why Elrond would overlook the ages of mistrust between our people to forge a binding alliance with the dwarves. True, they fought with us when Eregion fell, but where were their forces at Mordor? Of the seven rings Celebrimbor made for the dwarves, Sauron had reclaimed all but one. The dwarves did not dain to tell us this until the Last Alliance was already marching on the Black Gate. And while the Eldar freely share the wisdom that we have gathered across our long years, the dwarves hide away in the mountain halls, delving deeper and into darker places for more wealth. I do not trust them and I do not see why my husband is so willing to do so. What troubles me more though is his arranging this alliance without even telling me. He swore to me that we would rule Imladris together as equals, and yet at the first test, he acts alone. It is sometime before I leave the library; from the porch I made my way to, I see twilight has fallen across the valley and the first of the lamps are being lit along the paths. Erestor finds me there a little later.

“My lady, what should be done about supper?”

I frown, puzzled at why our usually astute steward would ask such a simple-minded question. “What do you mean Erestor? The same thing that is done every night.”

He bows, apologetic for annoying me. “But my lady, Lord Elrond has not returned yet, and I did not know whether you wished to dine in the Hall of Fire or to eat elsewhere.”

That catches me off guard. “Elrond isn’t back yet? Did anyone go with him or see where he went?”

“I did my lady, but he bade no one to follow him,” he cringes, “He did not seem in a mood to be disobeyed.”

Never before in the two decades of our marriage have we missed taking supper together. Worry begins to dig at me, but I push it back. “Ensure something is set aside for him when he returns,” I say cooly, hiding the hurt I feel behind my pride. “I will eat in my chambers tonight.”

Supper is brought, but I am too disheartened to eat and the food grows cold, untouched. As the night deepens and Elrond still hasn’t returned, my worry grows into fear. What if something has happened to him? Why an earth would he not take at least a guard with him? These questions roll over in my mind like stones tumbling in a river as I sit waiting. It is well after midnight when I hear our bedroom door open; I don’t bother to look back as he makes his way to the chair next to me and sits. Silence settles on us, an awkward heavy thing that neither of us is sure what to say to break it.

“You missed supper.” I can’t keep the accusation from my voice when I say it. I watch as Elrond grimaces and reconsiders what he was about to say.

“I am sorry my love. I think we both needed the time to think though.”

A frown begins to take form on my face. “We both needed to think?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes as stern and serious as ever I have seen them. “Yes. What you said about the dwarves… I will not lie to you Celebrían, but it angered me.”

My temper wants to rise again, but I cannot bring myself to let it. “Why? You know the histories as well as I do.”

“I do, but I also know that sometimes it is necessary to look beyond the past to ensure the success of the future.”

“And we will not have a future if we put faith in those that we cannot trust!”

“But you do not know that!” There is an edge in his voice, but it is not meant at me I think. “I have seen how mistrust and prejudice tear our people apart, how the enemy twists them against us for his benefit. You spoke to me of Thingol; had he put aside his hate for the Noldor and joined with Fingon and Maedhros, Morgoth would have been defeated at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad!”

For half a heartbeat I want to ask him whether it was Maedhros or Maglor who told him this, but I quickly dismiss this. His foster-fathers are not a subject Elrond is fond of discussing and it is a wound I will not inflict upon him. And he has the truth of it; even my father has told me something similar when he taught me of the Eldar days. “Do you not think that, had you shared your reasons for wanting to ally Rivendell with the dwarves, I would have listened to you?” It was something I came to realize myself sitting alone this afternoon. Elrond looks surprised at first and then his face turns sheepish. “Even without my feelings for the dwarves,” I begin,“you swore to me that we would rule together. You made a decision that effects every elf in this valley without telling or even consulting me.”

He turns away for just a moment. “I am sorry Celebrían. It was never my intent to offer you any slight; knowing that I upset you like this pains me greatly.”

As I see the regret written across his face, there is a pulling at my heart and I am overcome with the sudden need to apologize as well. “And I never want you to think I would be dismissive of your ideas my love. I am sorry for losing my temper.”

Elrond takes my hand in his and pulls me to my feet. “I think you would cow even a balrog with it.” he says with a nervous grin.

I set my hand against his chest. “Do not tease me. Not yet. Tell me why you we should ally ourselves with Durin’s Folk.”

The first of Arien’s rays have crept into the room by the time we finish discussing the new alliance and making plans for the future. We slip into bed for a few hours sleep and I drift off to the sound of Elrond’s gentle breathing and his arms wrapped around me.

[minstrelmaglor]

headcanon symbol thingies for stars and sorrow and music?

Send a symbol for a headcanon about…

Stars

((Ah, Elves and stars. XD  Tolkien has said so much more about how Elves in general feel about stars and why than I could ever say, so I’ll zero in specifically on how Maglor feels.  And that’s hard, because when the worst of his mental illness starts to set in after several Ages of relative solitude, his feelings about the lights of Varda are not consistent.  Sometimes he’ll lay down for a nap in the afternoon and wake up at night, and the stars will be the first things he sees when he opens his eyes, and he’ll feel a stab of the same wonder at their beauty that his grandfather felt when he first opened his eyes by the shores of Cuiviénen.  Sometimes, though, when Maglor is in one of his darker periods, feeling anxious and skittish and hunted, feeling hateful towards himself and that he can never be redeemed, the lights of the stars feel paler and colder, as if Varda is judging him for his sins.  He knows it’s not healthy to hide from lights, but sometimes his grief and self-hatred resonates so strongly that all he can do is hole away in a cave or under a tree somewhere, hold himself, and sob.))

Sorrow

((We already know that Elves can be killed by grief, but my headcanon is that it doesn’t have to be an immediate thing, like Thingol suddenly turning old and grey when he heard of his daughter’s death.  I headcanon that grief and Fading are a gradual process, a slow sort of soul-death, which is what I feel makes them all the more horrifying, and would explain why by the Third Age, Elves of the West were so obsessed with trying not to fade, and trying to keep the things around them from fading.  The way I see it, Maglor is Fading.  Slowly.  Bit by bit, hurt after hurt, Age after Age, he Fades a little more.  The simple fact that he’s still alive and retains his physical form all the way into the modern era after being alone in the wilderness, carved out slowly by his grief through the Ages, is nothing short of a miracle, and a testament to his will and that infamous Feanorian stubbornness.  He is, however, weak and sick and insane in ebbing/flowing cycles, and that can be seen as early as the Second Age, after the Silmaril burns him and he breaks down following the suicide of Maedhros.))

Music

((We already know that Maglor is an incredibly skilled composer and performer, but my headcanons take it rather further than that.  Music is woven inseparably into the fabric of existence in Tolkien’s vision of the world, and my headcanons for Maglor are a reflection of that at all times; whether I express that overtly or not, it’s always there in the back of my head, in the back of Maglor’s head.  You see, Maglor is on a mission.  He’s been on a mission since he was an Elfling back in Valinor, ever since his very first music tutor told him about the Music of the Ainur.  Even when Maglor was young, the idea that the Music that created the world still lived in the world’s waters was a legend, but Maglor never saw it as that.  He believed the truth of this with all his heart, and for his entire life, he’s been sitting by rivers and streams and springs and ocean shores, listening.  He’s searching for the Music, trying to hear it in a way that ears will understand, not just the soul.  He feels it in his soul; he’s certain of that, but despite his skill at words he’s unable to articulate how or why.  His search for the Music is, at many times in his life, the one thing that keeps him on the shores of Arda–and the only thing keeping him alive.  In a way (a very subconscious way), Maglor’s affinity with music and his search for the music that is the soul of the world makes him tapped into the heartbeat in the world in a different way than other Elves.  All Elves have a deep spiritual connection to the world, but the way Maglor will describe his understanding of that is always in musical terms.))