Chapter 4

Maglor wandered along the long, graceful stretch of beach, digging his bare toes into the wet sand and revelling in the peace he felt as the wind tugged gently at his hair. He had pulled it down, letting the long dark strands fly free about his face. A little over an hour had passed and Finrod and Caranthir were far ahead, having continued on while he tarried quietly behind. Huan remained at his side, panting happily and sticking his nose into the foamy water every few paces. He'd come up spluttering and sneezing, only to shove his nose back into the water. Maglor could only guess he liked the feeling of the frothy bubbles—or else never learned. Perhaps he took after Tyelko in that manner.

He laughed softly and stooped down, scooping a pebble up from the wet sand. It was damp and cool against his hand—the edges having been smoothed and polished by years of tumbling helplessly in the surf. It was comforting, somehow, and Maglor found himself unable to toss it back into the waves.

He sighed, letting his gaze drift out over the calm ocean, touching each white capped wave and finally settling on the horizon.

"Follow the tide that calls to me, of silver foam on moonlit seas…" Maglor whispered, letting his eyes drift closed and breathing in the crisp, salty air. "From far—"

"Um, hello?" A voice broke through the silence. Maglor's eyes snapped open and he whirled around, firmly shutting his mouth as his startled gaze met a pair of warm brown eyes.

Before him stood a slim girl, barely an inch shorter than him with smooth skin tanned by the sun. She wore a simple blue dress and her long wavy brown hair fell loose down her shoulders and back. Around her neck was clasped a small abalone shell, held by a simple cord and catching the light in such a way that Maglor could not help but stare at it; unable to look away.

"Um," she said again, realising Maglor was not going to respond. "Is this your dog?" She was frowning at him in confusion and Maglor suddenly realised she had Huan's collar gripped in her right hand.

"Oh, umm…yes. He's my brother's. I mean, yes." He held out his hand, offering to take the dog.

She raised one dark eyebrow at him, but let go of Huan's collar. "I found him wandering up by the grass. He was trying to steal someone's ice-cream…"

"Oh," was all Maglor could think to say. He could feel his cheeks flushing with colour and was painfully aware of the daggy old grey T-shirt he was wearing and the fact that he had forgotten to brush his hair. "I'm sorry if he was bothering you. I'll keep a better eye on him." He ducked down, attaching the lead he had been carrying to Huan's collar as if to prove this point.

The girl shook her head, sending her hair tumbling over her shoulders in a way that set Maglor's heart racing. "No, I love dogs. I just don't like to see their owners ignoring them. It's really not good etiquette." With that she turned away, striding out across the sand and back up to the shaded area of grass that fringed the beach.

Maglor blinked, feeling the world tilt slightly as his mind came back into focus. What a fool he had made of himself. She must think him insane—first talking to himself and then fumbling over his words like a puppy yet to grow into his paws.

"Help me, Huan. I'm a total mess," he groaned, letting his head fall into his hands as he knelt down in the sand. Huan whined softly and licked his ear, swooshing his long tail against Maglor's legs.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's just go home." He stood up with a sigh, brushing the sand off his knees and shifting Huan's lead to his other hand.

He had gone further along the beach than he had realised, and it was a long walk back to their condo. By the time he finally got back, he was hot and thirsty and the beginnings of a headache were gnawing at his temples. He pushed open the screen door and dropped Huan's lead, leaving the large dog to gulp his way through his water dish while he flopped down on the couch. The house was empty and Maglor guessed Turgon had gone up to his room to read—or else gone out for a walk.

He lay on the couch for a good five minutes, letting the ceiling fan cool his baking skin before the pounding in his head forced him up. He sighed, shifting his legs over the edge of the couch and wandering into the kitchen. There was a small stash of first aid supplies in the lower cupboard above the sink and he searched around until he found a small bottle of Nurofen. Praising Maedhros' careful preplanning, he swallowed a pill and headed upstairs to his room.

His guitar lay propped against the far corner of the wall, and he hesitated for the briefest of moments before walking over and carrying it to the bed. He removed the case and curled his knees up beneath him, cradling the instrument in his lap. Glancing once at the closed door, Maglor strummed a few experimental cords—F…C…G…A minor… He closed his eyes, letting his fingers run over the strings as his voice carried the gentle melody. It felt good to sing, and his headache had almost completely melted away when a soft ring vibrated from his phone. He frowned, leaning over to scoop the device off the bedside table. A lone email sat innocently at the top of his unread messages and his heart leapt in terror as he saw the subject line. The Cirth ~ Audition Results.

He clicked on the email with trembling fingers, hardly daring to breathe as he waited for it to load.

Dear Maglor Kanafinwë,

Thank you for taking the time to prepare and audition for The Cirth. Unfortunately we do not feel your talents and abilities are the right fit for what we are looking for. Therefore we regret to inform you that we will not be able to offer you a place in the band.

All the best in your future career,

Daeron

Director

The Cirth

Maglor gulped, feeling his stomach twist as he stared at the steadily blurring letters on his phone. He wanted to look away—to forget them, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bright little screen. He blinked and bit down hard on his lip, trying to swallow around the heavy lump that gathered in his throat. "We do not feel your talents and abilities are the right fit," he whispered into the still room, his voice hollow and cold sounding; robbed of all emotion. That's just their way of saying I'm not good enough.

He looked down, squeezing his fingers around his phone as tears gathered in his eyes. He wouldn't cry, he told himself stubbornly. Not again. But there was little he could do against the fierce flood of despair and resentment that stormed his mind. He wasn't good enough. Never good enough. Not for Daeron.

He stared blankly down at the duvet cover, eyes wide and unseeing as tears welled up from their grey depths; large and heavy like fat raindrops on a humid summer's night.

How could he face anyone ever again? He couldn't hide it forever. His brothers would ask and then he would be forced to tell them how he had failed. A fresh wave of tears rose against him and he brushed at his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to wipe them away. Crying wouldn't help, it only proved Daeron right—he wasn't ready for the real world. But as he shifted on the bed, his eyes fell on the guitar lying against the dark covers and a wave of despair slammed over him. He angrily pushed the instrument aside, feeling a sob rise in his throat. Never before had he felt so utterly devoid of music. Usually that was where he turned when he felt lost or upset, but this was different. It was as if the spark in which his music burned had been drowned in the waves of reality—extinguished by one small, unimaginably important email.

Maglor curled up on the covers, facing away from the door and away from the empty bed where Maedhros slept. Even through his closed eyes he could still see the tiny black letters, so innocent in their shape and size, but spelling words that shattered his career in one merciless strike.

He lay motionless, oblivious to the world, and when the front door banged open and Fingon's cheerful voice filled the kitchen below, he closed his eyes and pretended not to hear.

"How about we add some olives," Finrod suggested, holding up a jar of pre-sliced black olives and waving it in front of Caranthir's face.

"No," Caranthir said, and went back to slicing broccoli.

Finrod sighed and dropped the jar back onto the counter, making Huan jolt up in surprise as the glass clanked against laminate.

"But it would be so good!" he complained, leaning over so his eyes met Caranthir's concentrated gaze.

His dark haired cousin just shook his head and scraped the chopped broccoli into the frying pan. "Olives do not go with this sort of stir fry, Finrod. It would ruin the flavour."

"Mmm…that is what you think, but all the best cooks learned from experimenting. You have to take some risks if you want to succeed in life. These olives are the perfect first step." Finrod grinned at him, head tilted slightly to the side in a way that thoroughly irritated Caranthir.

"Look, you can cook your own stir fry and put in as many olives as you like, but I am cooking tonight, and we do it my way. So no olives." Caranthir pulled a saucepan from the cupboard and measured out several cups of brown rice which he poured into the pot along with a generous amount of water.

"Fine," Finrod grumbled. "Then I'll make dessert."

He was searching absently through the fridge, one hand resting on the countertop, when the front door burst open and Fingon appeared, brandishing a large surfboard that was quite a bit taller than he was. Plastic wrap still covered the board, but Finrod could see a silvery grey shark painted across its surface; large mouth open wide to reveal rows of triangular teeth turned up in a rather familiar smile. Yep, he thought to himself. Trust Fingon to find a Finding Nemo surf board.

"Hey!" Fingon called excitedly, lugging the surfboard through the door and leaning it against the wall. "Like my board?"

"Umm..yeah. Its very…idiosyncratic. And just a little bit contravening…don't you think?"

Fingon stared blankly at him for a moment and Finrod could almost see him grasping for a good response. Finally he gave up and shook his head, sending loose strands of his black hair falling into his eyes. "Is it really necessary to use such big words? If you want anyone to understand your insults, you should at least make them comprehensible."

Finrod laughed and patted him gently on the head. "I'll consider that in the future. But for now, I need to concentrate on dessert so that I can outdo Caranthir's stubbornly olive-free stir fry."

Fingon looked like he was about to question him further, but before he could, Finrod spun away and returned to the kitchen to finish his dessert preparations.

As Finrod pulled open the refrigerator door, humming softly to himself, the front door gave another creak and Maedhros stepped through, several bags of groceries slung over his arms. He kicked the screen door shut with his foot and dumped the bags onto the counter. "There, that should keep us going for at least a day…" He sighed, dusting off his hands and added in an amused tone, "I got your yoghurt, Finrod."

"Yes! Thanks Mae, you're a legend," Finrod sang, poking his head around the fridge to grin at Maedhros.

"So, where is everyone?" Fingon interrupted. He pushed past Finrod to the fridge and poured himself a glass of apple juice.

"Well…Tyelko and Írissë went out surfing this morning. They've been out all day. I suspect they will return soon—starving a badly sunburned." Finrod chuckled to himself and slid a bowl of chocolate into the microwave to melt. "As for Turgon…he decided reading was more important than friendship." He huffed hauntingly, sticking his nose up as he assumed an air of mock-hurt.

Fingon laughed in amusement, accidentally sloshing juice on Maedhros' shoes as he ducked back into the living room. "Yep, that sounds like my brother."

Maedhros groaned, raising his foot off the ground slightly and waving it at Fingon. "Ah…Finno…really?"

"Sorry," Fingon said cheerfully. He flopped down on the couch and patted the seat next to him. "Get Huan to lick it."

"Um…I'm not even going to attempt to respond to that…" Maedhros said as he sank down next to Fingon. He sighed, leaning back against the couch. There was a rather long pause between them, and Maedhros found himself wishing Fingon would say something to break the silence. Usually it was hard to get him to stop talking, but he seemed uncharacteristically silent.

"That was…really fun today," he said at last, very aware of how strained his voice sounded. He cleared his throat, blaming it on dehydration, and continued. "Thanks for convincing me to come to the market."

Fingon turned to smile at him over his shoulder, nodding as he murmured his agreement. "Thanks for coming."

They fell silent again, and Maedhros found himself scavenging for something else to say. He didn't want Fingon to think him awkward and uninterested.

To his great relief, he was saved moments later by Celegorm and Aredhel's boisterous return. Both he and Fingon turned to see their siblings standing in the doorway—sopping wet and covered in sand.

"Tyelko…couldn't you have at least showered?" Maedhros groaned, awkwardness forgotten as his older brotherly sense took control.

Celegorm looked down at himself and shrugged, sending drops of sandy water spraying out across the floor.

"We're just so hungry! We couldn't stop for a shower," Aredhel said, backing Celegorm up. She was leaning up against the edge of the couch, letting water from her hair and swimmers soak into the fabric.

"It only takes two minutes to rinse off…" Fingon mumbled under his breath, but amusement sparked in his eyes.

Maedhros gave him a swift look that suggested he should keep away from chastising people on things he himself was prone to do, then returned his attention to his dripping sibling and cousin. "Okay, right, but you need to at least dry off and put on some clean clothes. Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes."

Celegorm's face lilted into a far too gleeful smile, but before he could open his mouth to shoot a comeback at Maedhros, Aredhel grabbed his arm and dragged him upstairs. "Come on, I'm starving! We can deal with them later."

To Maedhros' great surprise, Celegorm seemed to agree without protest and soon the groans of the hot water pipes could be heard throughout the house, mixing with a chorus of angry shouts that clearly told Aredhel had claimed the shower first and left Celegorm dripping in the hall.

It was almost an hour later that they all finally managed to convene around the large kitchen table downstairs; wild and rowdy as ever. All except one, Maedhros thought as he scanned the faces around the table. "Where's Maglor?" he asked, earning confused and puzzled expressions from everyone in the room. That only confirmed his fears—no one had seen Maglor all day.

"He went for a walk with us this morning," Finrod piped up, brows furrowed as he thought carefully. "He sort of wandered off on his own though…I haven't seen him since."

There were nods of assent from everyone else, and Maedhros felt a cold sliver of worry creep into his heart. He stood quietly from the table, slipping away as the others began to serve out the food. Fingon caught his eye and gave him a concerned look which Maedhros returned with a nod of reassurance. He would find Maglor, wherever he was.

The upstairs hall was dark and silent—seemingly empty, but for the knowledge Maedhros held over his brothers. Maglor was there, he was sure of it. His younger brother would hide whatever he supposed to be his weakness to the last possible moment and Maedhros knew that if he was upset he would make every effort not to let anyone else find out.

These thoughts were less than comforting as he pressed onwards towards the back of the hallway, flicking on the light so as not to stumble in the dim room. The door to his and Maglor's room was shut, but the faintest hint of light sprayed out from beyond the wooden frame. Maedhros stepped forward, knocking softly on the rough surface. When no response came from within, he gently turned the knob and pushed the door open; slipping inside and letting the door fall shut behind him.

Maglor lay curled on the far bed, still and silent with his back facing Maedhros. A cold icicle of worry sliced its way to his heart and he quickly crossed the room, lowering himself down on the edge of his brother's bed.

"Káno, is everything okay?" he asked softly.

Maglor didn't move and for a moment Maedhros wondered if he was asleep. He had been very tired after all. Perhaps he had just lost track of time and drifted off… But that didn't seem at all like something Maglor would do. Fingon maybe, but not him.

"Maglor?" he prompted again, moving so that his hand rested on his brother's shoulder.

The softest hint of a groan came from the curled lump and Maedhros moved back slightly as Maglor sat up.

Their eyes met for just a moment before Maglor quickly looked away, hiding his face from view. He wasn't quite fast enough though, and Maedhros caught the look of pain reflected in his dark eyes. Redness fringed their puffy edges, and he realised Maglor had almost certainly been crying.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, softer this time.

Maglor seemed to be deep in thought, his face still turned away, and Maedhros felt his worry deepen. It was all he could do not to press his brother—plead for him to tell him what was wrong so he could fix it all, but that tactic had never worked with Maglor. He would close up and then there was no hope. So Maedhros waited.

It was a long time before Maglor finally looked at him, expression calm and controlled despite the dried tear tracks that stained his cheeks. "Yes," he said quietly, letting his hands fall limply into his lap.

"Yes, what?" Maedhros prompted.

"Yes, I am okay." Maglor took a slow breath, sucking it in and then breathing out with a heavy sigh.

They both knew that wasn't true, but Maedhros didn't say anything. Silence fell and Maglor turned his head away again, staring listlessly at the far wall.

"You know…you can te—" Maedhros began, but froze as Maglor whirled at him. "I told you it was nothing, okay? I'm fine." He stood up, shoving the blanket aside and striding across the room to push open the door.

Maedhros sat up straight on the edge of the bed, stunned and shocked; the worry now eating away at his insides with it's acidic bite. He heard the bathroom door open and close across the hall and then the sound of running water.

Minutes passed, but Maglor didn't return. The silence in the dark room clawed at Maedhros' heart, reminding him of the desolate look in Maglor's red-rimmed eyes before he'd clamped down over his emotions. He wanted so much to go to him—make sure he was okay, but that would only make the whole situation worse.

After waiting another ten minutes, Maedhros was forced to admit defeat. He rose slowly from the bed, glancing once at Maglor's guitar where it lay awkwardly on the floor before trudging slowly downstairs. The others were already halfway through their meal, laughing and joking as they ate. Maedhros slid into his seat next to Fingon, trying not to look at the empty chair beside him as he spooned stir fry onto his plate.

"Did you find him?" Fingon asked, leaning over to whisper the question into Maedhros' ear. His voice held a note of concern and Maedhros was immediately glad he had kept the conversation between the two of them. He wanted to give Maglor some time alone without a bunch of siblings and cousins trying to help. All of them set forth with the very best intentions, but he knew at this point they would only make it worse. It was better in the end to keep it all quiet. But despite Fingon's efforts to keep the inquiry private, several eyes found their way to the two men and silence fell around the table.

Maedhros sighed, resisting the urge to rest his head in his hands and instead reaching for his water glass. He looked around at the others—all concerned and silenced with worry. "Maglor isn't feeling very well," he said at last, not meeting anyone's eyes and instead focussing his attention on the glass in his hand. "I don't think he'll be down for dinner." He hated lying to them. It didn't feel right— almost as if he were violated their trust in him. But protecting Maglor came first, and he refused to gossip about his brother's state without his consent. They would find out in time, when Maglor was ready, but for now the small lie was better than the limited truth he held.