So this is it! Thank you so much to all of you who took this journey with me. It was a challenging one, and it gave me a chance to play with a bit of a different writing style and learn a lot along the way. I hope you all enjoy the conclusion of Maglor's path back to the light! :)
"But why now? Why so sudden?"
"There is nothing sudden about it, child. You have been preparing for this moment since you stepped into Elostirion, and now you are ready."
Shortly after his last session with the ghost, Maglor woke from a rejuvenating sleep to find himself clad in simple, beautiful robes of pale blue and silver. He has seen enough ships set sail for Valinor to know that these are the colors of exiles returning home, and of the reborn. He is only too aware what this means for him: the time has come for him to part ways with his guide.
They are on the mountaintop still, and the sun is setting, as always. The rich colors no longer torment Maglor with visions of fire and treachery as they once did, but he has not yet decided how he feels about them now. Instead, he simply looks upon the sky with the artist's appreciation for beauty he inherited from his parents.
Fëanor's ghost stands before him, benevolent as ever, the golden streams of energy beneath his skin mirroring the light of sunset. The aesthetic suits him, Maglor thinks, for all that he is certain now that his guide is not truly his father. How appropriate it would be for the Spirit of Fire to bear liquid flame in his veins rather than blood.
Suddenly, Maglor cannot imagine carrying on without him, whoever he might be.
"Am I ready?" Maglor asks doubtfully. He certainly does not feel so. He still does not know what on earth he will say to his soldiers, much less his mother and brothers, when he sees them again. And what of the Teleri in Alqualondë? Surely he owes them some sort of reparation, or at the very least a heartfelt expression of regret. Just the thought of reuniting with the folk he once knew causes his heart to beat wildly against his ribs.
"You are, dearest one," says the ghost, tenderly stroking one of Maglor's hands with his thumb. "That is not to say that your journey is over, for you will have much to do when you reach Valinor, but you are ready to take that next step. Now, had you passed through Mandos, you would first be required to hear the names of all who have died either by your hand or by your choices. Well, dear Námo may think that necessary, but I do not. You are more than aware of your wrongs, I believe. There is no need for me to reiterate them. No, once you have received my judgment, I shall send you home."
Maglor is so startled by this last statement that it is all he can do not to tumble backwards off the mountaintop. "Your – your judgment?" he stutters. "But that would mean that you are… You cannot be!"
"Cannot be what, child?" says the ghost, smiling vaguely.
"You are not Fëanor son of Finwë!"
"I never claimed to be."
"But you told me that you are my father!"
"And so I am. I did not lie to you. I am your father, as I am the father of all."
This confirms Maglor's suspicions, and he feels his heart begin to beat faster still. "Father of all…" he breathes in little more than a whisper. "Allfather. You are Eru Allfather."
The ghost's smile broadens affectionately. "I was, am, and ever shall be. You were so very broken in spirit when you came here, child, and you needed a gentler touch than what Námo could provide. I simply took the form of one whom I knew you would trust to make you more comfortable."
This explains everything: the ghost's objectivity, his intimate knowledge of Maglor's mind and heart, his ability to change forms and manipulate the surrounding lands, the golden energy in his veins – the Flame of Anor, Maglor realizes, the sacred fire that burns at the center of the world and sustains all living things. It all makes sense now.
This realization does not alleviate Maglor's fears. He has a strange and powerful urge to prostrate himself at the ghost's feet and beg for mercy.
"Am I…truly so important that you would come to me personally?" he asks. His voice is very small, smaller than it has been since he was a child.
The Allfather reaches out and caresses Maglor's cheek so gently and with such love that it makes his heart ache. "You are my creation and my son," he says. It is still Fëanor's voice, but Maglor can hear an undercurrent of something deeper and more ageless in it now. "You are infinitely precious to me."
Maglor knows that he could never formulate a reply to this, not even if he had an eternity.
"Now, will you hear my judgment?"
"Wait," Maglor says in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable. "If…if it is not forbidden to ask…what of my father? How is he?"
For a brief moment, something pained flickers into the Allfather's bright eyes. "My dear Fëanáro," and it is very strange to hear this, seemingly, from Fëanor himself, "has been released from the Void, but he is still in the keeping of Námo. His body has been restored to him, but he is not yet ready to return to the living world. Still, he is much better now than when he first came to us. He has done beautifully, truly. Námo will never admit to it, but he is quite proud of the progress your father has made. It will not be too terribly long now before we may return him to you."
Maglor feels his heart leap within him at this news. He takes the Allfather's hands in his and kisses them reverently. "Thank you," he murmurs without knowing what it is he says. "Thank you for saving him. Thank you for…for everything you have done to save me."
"You saved yourself, dearest one. I merely helped you along." With these words, the Allfather brushes a finger gently over Maglor's burned palms. To his very great astonishment, he finds that all the stiffness has vanished from his hands, and he can move them as freely as if they had never been wounded at all.
His heart too full for words, his cheeks damp with tears, Maglor kneels and prepares to receive judgment.
When it comes, it is not at all what he expected.
"Kanafinwë Macalaurë Fëanárion," says the Allfather in a voice that is and is not Fëanor's, "it is my will that thy long exile be ended. Thy sins I forgive; return home now and sin no more, but turn thy heart to love of thy kinfolk, whomever they may be. From the darkness I have called thee back to the light. From this moment forth, thy spirit shall be healed and made new, and thou shalt be reborn as surely as if thee had passed through death. Arise and go with my blessing, child of my heart."
The Allfather kisses Maglor's brow, and a feeling he can only describe as love, pure and infinite, breaks over him. It fills him from the depths of his soul and upwards, fills him to the brim, so that it seems as though his spirit will break under the strain. It is too much, far too much, and yet he needs it so, so very badly. It has been so long since he has felt anything like this, any such unconditional forgiveness and acceptance and healing…
Overcome, Maglor looks to the sky, to the sunset…but no, it is not the sunset, but the sunrise. It has been the sunrise all along, the symbol of new hopes and new chances and of dark nights left in the past. Maglor finds himself laughing, wondering how he could possibly have been so blind to it.
And then his world goes black, surrounding him in a warm, comforting darkness of the sort that one sinks into after a very satisfying day.
When he comes back to himself, he is sitting on the steps of Elostirion some ways up the tower. The little lamp he hurled at the floor in frustration so long ago is sitting in his lap, quite whole and undamaged.
The light within it is the very same which flowed through every one of the Allfather's earthly forms.
888
By Maglor's reckoning, his journey with the Allfather seems to have taken several months. By the reckoning of Rhavloth Cullasseth, who has been waiting for him on the beach, he cannot have been gone much more than a day. This is not surprising to her, for she knows that time passes differently in the realms of the spirit, but even so, she is utterly taken aback by the change that has come over Maglor. Were she of a more sentimental bent of mind, she would have wept for joy.
When Maglor greets her at the base of Elostirion, he is no longer pale and drawn and bowed with the weight of the past. He no longer shivers with every light sea breeze, and the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes are all but gone. If Cullasseth looks carefully enough, she can still see a lingering shadow of regret in his face, but even that is greatly diminished. He seems younger and happier than he has in ages, a spirit reborn as surely as if he had passed through Mandos. This impression strikes Cullasseth so strongly that she is tempted to ask Maglor if he did indeed die, but she holds her tongue.
Maglor sweeps Cullasseth into his arms before she can say a word, and she is astonished at the love she feels radiating from his spirit. Relieved beyond words, she rests her head on his shoulder and her hand on his heart, reveling in the strong vibrations of his pulse.
"My goodness, what happened to you?" she laughs as he lifts her off the ground and kisses her tenderly. "You are quite changed, Maglor Fëanorian! Why, I daresay your heart is lighter even than when I first met you!"
"I daresay it is," Maglor replies, his voice richer than Cullasseth has heard in ages. "I would not claim to be entirely at peace with myself and my past, but I do believe I am well on my way."
He sets her down and looks intently into her eyes, suddenly grave. "May Eru forgive me for forgetting how much I love you, Rhavloth Cullasseth," he says. "I pray I have not wasted too much time."
Cullasseth feels her heart begin to race as it does in battle, and when next she speaks, she is nearly breathless. "No," she says. "No, you certainly have not."
For ages Cullasseth has struggled with her feelings for the secondborn of Fëanor, wondering whether it is the love of friendship or the love of romance she harbors in her heart. She knows the answer now. Maglor's courage in facing the trial of his soul in spite of all his fears has cleared her mind. She is so very proud of him. She wants to be there for him now and forever, for all the trials he will face in the future. She would very much like to be his wife, she thinks, but suddenly, she is afraid to say so. This frustrates her to no end. She has faced dragons and trolls and legions of orcs; why should she fear to say a few simple words? But she is afraid, and that is that.
She will tell him, she decides. But not tonight. She will tell him when her heart bids her.
"It will never be too late for you to return to me," she says instead, and prays it is enough. "I will always be at your side."
I always have been, she adds to herself, thinking of all the lonely years she spent watching over Maglor as a houseless spirit, as the unidentifiable voice of counsel in his mind. She does not say this either.
"Thank you," Maglor murmurs, his breath stirring Cullasseth's hair as he holds her close. Her heart squeezes painfully, and again the words she knows she must say to him dance on her lips. "Thank you ever so much. Where would I be without you?"
Cullasseth has never liked to consider this; it makes her feel all too guilty for dying in the Bragollach when she could have fled at Maglor's side. She does not reply, for she and Maglor have never needed words. Instead, she contents herself with running her hands up and down his shoulders, trying to remember if he has always felt so strong and steady, or if that is a new development as well.
"Well," she says after a long moment, "all that's left now is to go to the Grey Havens and take a ship to Valinor, but…we can do that in the morning, if you haven't any objections. Besides, you have yet to tell me what happened to cause such a change in you."
Maglor looks out at the sea, where the sun is once again turning the water to fire. To Cullasseth's surprise, there is neither sorrow nor pain in his face, but only a strange new peace. She watches as he draws a little golden lamp from a pouch at his waist, a lamp burning with something entirely apart from fire. He turns it over in his hands, almost unconsciously. "Well," he says, and his voice seems to come from somewhere far away, "it was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. There were times when I wanted to give up, when I did not think I could stand to face my past once more, but…but I did it. And I saw my father, Rhavloth Cullasseth. I saw my father, and he brought me back to the light."
Cullasseth's heart leaps. "Your father? Do you mean –"
"No," says Maglor, "not the father you have in mind."
Cullasseth is silent, wondering whom Maglor could be speaking of, if not Fëanor himself. She recalls hearing some of the dead refer to the Lord of Mandos as their father, for in spite of his cold exterior, he could be quite gentle and paternal when he wished to be. But Maglor is not dead, and even if it were so, Cullasseth doubts that any follower of Fëanor would see the Lord of Mandos in such a kindly light.
"Who, then?" she asks.
"My father," says Maglor agin, and Cullasseth knows that this is all she will get out of him. Maglor may not have Fëanor's temper, but he certainly has his stubbornness.
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Maglor and Cullasseth spend that night on the beach just as they did every night before Maglor entered Elostirion, and yet the feeling in the air could not be more different. Cullasseth detects only faint traces of sorrow surrounding Maglor, which tells her that his wounds are buried deep and no longer bleeding. Curious as she is, she does not press him for details of his journey in the tower. What happened to him there is between him and whatever power he interacted with.
Cullasseth has forgotten how good affection can feel. Her comrades in the Vanguard are dearer to her than sisters, but the ties that bind her to Maglor are of an entirely different sort. She has missed him more sorely than even she realized, she thinks as she rests bedside him, her head on his chest and his arm curled over her shoulders. She would not trade this feeling for all the battlefield victories in the world.
The stars seem brighter tonight than ever before, and though Cullasseth knows they cannot be, she is content to indulge in the fantasy.
"Maedhros was born under the sign of the Sickle of the Valar," Maglor muses as he raises one finger to trace the constellation of seven stars. "That signifies a person of great courage and loyalty, a person who guides and guards all those around him. Now, Adar never put much store by the writing in the stars, but…even he seemed to believe that particular message was true in my brother's case. Maedhros looked after us all, even Adar, with never a thought to spare for himself. I wish you had known him better."
"Perhaps I shall," says Cullasseth, the tip of her index finger brushing the whorls in the glass lamp Maglor brought down from Elostirion. "I am coming to Valinor with you, you know. Many of my comrades live in Formenos, and I believe I could better serve the Vanguard if I was there as well. Besides, I…I want to be there when…"
Cullasseth falters, suddenly terrified that what she hopes for will never be granted.
Sensing her fear, Maglor draws her closer. "When Adar returns?" he finishes for her. "Well, I have a bit of good news for you, then. When I was in Elostirion, I was told that my father has been healing well of late, and that it will not be too long now before he can come back to us."
Cullasseth sits bolt upright, all the joy she felt upon seeing Maglor emerge from the tower returning to her. "Are you certain?" she asks, scarcely daring to breathe.
"I am," says Maglor with a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Cullasseth's ear, "and I suspect Adar will be delighted to see you again. He often spoke of you, you know, in those days before he…before the Balrogs came. He trusted you, and trust was all but a stranger to him by then. You were a light to him in those last months of his life, Rhavloth Cullasseth. I hope you know that."
Cullasseth finds herself at once overjoyed and terribly sad. "I only wish I could have done more for him," she says, shaking her head at her own inadequacy. "I let him die."
"It was his time," says Maglor firmly, and Cullasseth suspects that he knows that to be true now, that this was among the things revealed to him in Elostirion. "You did far more than you know. You were young and bright-eyed and adventurous in those days, and your presence was a great comfort to Adar. Never forget that."
"I wish I could have saved him," says Cullasseth mournfully. I caught a glimpse of the gates of the Void on my way into Mandos, and I…I do not like to think what he must have suffered in that place."
"Nor do I," Maglor admits, biting his lip, "but if what I was told in the tower is true, then that is all behind him, and there is naught but healing for him now. That is a comforting thought, no?"
Cullasseth sighs deeply, closes her eyes, and banishes her doubts from her mind. "It is," she says, smiling now. "You know, I have been building a new repeating crossbow, and I would very much like to show it to him when he returns…that is, if I ever get the silly thing working."
"Oh, you will. If you could convince me to walk into that tower and face my fate, you can do anything."
With that, Cullasseth kisses Maglor once more, lays her head back down on his chest, and sleeps the sleep of the deeply contented, his heartbeat mingling with hers.
The next morning, they set sail for Valinor. It is a long journey, and it tests Maglor's nerves to the breaking point. More than once, Cullasseth wonders whether it would not have been kinder to let him remain in Middle-earth. She is certain he wonders the same thing.
But when they arrive, and Maglor finds himself swept into his mother's arms and listening to her words of love and forgiveness, it is more than worth it for all of them.
The sunset has passed. The long, dark night is over.
The sunrise is come.
Author's Notes
The Sickle of the Valar, or Valacirca, corresponds to the constellation we know as Ursa Major, the Great Bear (more commonly called the Big Dipper).
Those of you who've been following my novel-length work, "One Star in the Sky," will recognize the reference to Cullasseth's repeating crossbow. She completes and shows off that particular weapon during the "Formenos" arc of "One Star."
Now, I know a lot of you are probably wondering why I chose not to write Maglor's reunion with his family in this particular story. First of all, fear not, because I do plan to write that scenario in the future, but as part of the Arda Vignettes, where I can do it the full justice it deserves. Adding it onto this story would have seemed out of place, in my opinion. The other more important reason is that this story wasn't meant to be focused on Maglor's return home, but on the journey he took to get to that point. This was his story, and Cullasseth's, and the Allfather's, and it wasn't meant to be so much about his family. So you can look forward to Maglor's homecoming in full as part of my "Arda Vignettes," but for now, I hope you enjoyed this journey! To those of you who are reading "One Star in the Sky," thank you so much for all your praise and support! I couldn't do it without you! :)