Alone he wandered. This much he told me. Of all my people, only I spoke with him. I never told anyone about our conversations for surely they would only say: "he is out of his mind for talking to someone like that!" Maybe I was. But he told me that my company made his burden easier to bear and for that I would gladly be called insane. For isn't it our duty to lighten each other's burdens? He told me much and yet; so little. No matter how much or how little he told me, it wouldn't matter. He told me what he felt ready to share and that was enough. I did not regret anything; not losing what few friends I had or even my secret crush looking down on me. I was able to lighten the load of a suffering brother. I also had a true friend. That was always enough.
I wished for him to be able to return home, even though it would mean losing the only person I had ever called friend of my own free will. Every night, we would meet on the beach, sometimes talking late into the night and sometimes just sitting there - still and silent - taking comfort from the mere presence of the other.
One night, we had been sitting in silence for a while when his eyes followed something I could not see and his head turned to watch whatever it was go. For a few minutes, nothing changed and then - out of the blue - he began another story. He told me of his father, of the Silmarilli, of Morgoth, of the slaying of Finwë and the darkening of Valinor, of the kinslaying and their oath - sworn in hate and hurt - he told me everything that night. When I asked what had encouraged him to tell me, he did not saying anything, but merely sighed; "A sign." That was all he would say. Nothing more passed from his lips that night and the next night when we saw each other, the conversation seemed to have been forgotten.
Years passed and neither of us spoke of that one conversation again. I meet a girl and fell madly in love. Time after time again, I passed off meeting him for her company. On the night two weeks after my wedding to Bethany Brandonson - formally Tanner - I remembered my old friend in the middle of the night and drove the 259 miles to my childhood town. When I got to the beach where we had met so many times and where he had lived, no one was there. The beach was completely empty. Mindlessly, I stumbled over to the rock where we had always met up. Hidden under the sand, there was a piece of paper folded five times. I picked it up and unfolded it. His familiar script covered the page. It was a letter ... To me. My eyes flew over the page, hungrily eating up his words.
Dear Robert,
I hope the reason I haven't seen you in years is because you're making a life for yourself ... Never mind, scratch that. I know that's the reason. If you didn't leave me in your childhood because of taunts, then you wouldn't randomly ignore me as a young adult. If you're reading this, I'm glad you came back. I'm just sorry I won't be here to greet you. Ever.
I never got to truly thank you for everything that you did for me. No, don't say that! And don't look so shocked Robert Brandonson! I know you better then you might think. Don't tell me that you didn't do anything but listen. Yes, you listened. And it for that I wish to thank you. You helped to lighten my load and lessen my feelings of guilt with your kind and thoughtful words.
I have been offered a chance to return to my true home across the sea and I have taken it. My only regret in accepting the Valar's offer is that I will never be able to truly say goodbye to you face to face.
I just want you to know something that I should have told you long ago. I guess the only reason I didn't was because I didn't completely believe it myself. I saw something that night all those years ago that seemed to almost tell me that my days at your side were numbered (at least in elven - my - reckoning) I do not blame you for growing up ... falling in love. I hope that you are happy wherever you are and happy with whoever it is who finally captured your heart. Give her my regards.
-Macalaurë
(Maglor Fëanorian)
The tattered paper fell from my hands and landed on the sand. My eyes slid to the now-dark horizon. If I squinted, I could just about make out my old friend's form, speaking to a woman whom I did not recognize. She seemed upset with him, but finally threw back her head and laughed. Maglor smiled, almost unsure of himself - something I had never seen in him since we had met. The unfamiliar woman stopped laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. The image faded then - almost as if it had never been there and surely it hadn't, for you can not see the happenings of places far away in the sky - but not before I saw the woman (who I was now sure was his wife whom he'd spoken of so fondly) throw her arms around him. I smiled as the wind whipped around me and raised a hand to the horizon in farewell. "Goodbye my friend," I whispered, "Goodbye."
I picked the paper up from the sand where I had dropped it and re-folded it before placing it in my pants pocket. I returned to the car, started it up and drove out of Denport without looking back.
I never went back to that beach, unwilling to see it without Maglor. It just didn't feel right. Yes, I was happy he had been allowed to return home, but deep down in my heart; I missed him. He was, after all, my first real friend, and I owed him my happiness.
The letter went into my box of precious things along with the harp he had crafted for me and used to teach me. I painted long into the day and into the next night; memories. One of my paintings went for $500,000.00 in an auction. It was a simple painting of the beach and a ghostly figure that had a swan flying toward it; about to land and I knew - even if no one else did - that it was about to transform and take him home. The work of art was entitled simply: "Goodbye, Swan Prince."
