MAGLOR gasped as the water slapped him with such force, he was stunned for a moment. It was colder and swifter than he had expected. Growling like a beast, the water snatched him up and hurled him into pitch darkness.
Maglor held onto Thranduil despite the turbulent force of the dark waters that shook and shoved, even when he didn't know which way was up or down. Using all his senses now, Maglor fought against the current and dragged Thranduil toward the edge of the river where the current weakened.
Suddenly, the gorge lit up with a boom. Immense power throbbed over Maglor's head. Fire burst and the very rocks and the floor of the river trembled. Then came the flying stones and rocks which hissed as they entered the water and pelted the two elves. Maglor immediately turned over, covering Thranduil's body with his as he dove back into the stream of the strong current, taking Thranduil with him.
The river roared and swallowed them, flinging them into pitch darkness once again. Maglor did not slack his hold on Thranduil until his mind screamed for the want of air in his lungs.
Ai, Eru. Save this lad, if nothing else. Do with me as you will, but please don't let him die here in this darkness.
The lack of air weakened him, but Maglor held on until he saw light coming from far ahead. The current pushed them headlong toward the light. And as sudden as the darkness had been, they were thrown into shimmering brightness. Thranduil kicked, breaking free of Maglor's grasp, and moved toward the light above.
Watching him go, the Noldorin lord relaxed.
There was no more strength in him. And his lungs screamed for air, but Maglor closed his eyes and allowed his body to sink. The Sinda would live. That was all that mattered.
When his lungs would collapse for want of air, Maglor breathed in, letting the water enter his nose and mouth.
Now he could go where his brothers and father were and make penance for all those who had lost their lives following his orders, all the innocent people who were lost because of him, because of what he had done or not done. A multitude of regrets flashed before his eyes. And the people he could not see again for a great long time if he were ever allowed to see them.
Mother. Vorime. Elrond and Elros… I am sorry.
Maglor breathed out when, at that moment, the most beautiful of all the music that he had heard came to his ears. A mix of strings, winds, and the tinkling of water all mingled into perfect harmony. Tinged with greens and blues, heart-rending and all at once sad and joyful, it rose from the depth of the water and swirled around him. The Noldorin prince felt his eyes prickle. Were the Valar showing him mercy at his last moment? Could he hope? Was there hope? For the first time since he and his brothers left the Blessed Lands, a feeling of peace and tranquility washed over his chest. Maglor would have wept if he could.
As sudden as the music came, ripples surrounded him, disturbing the music of the water when someone snatched his good hand and yanked. Maglor opened his eyes to see a figure tugging him upward. Too soon, he was pulled out of the water and dragged onto a large boulder, worn smooth by the waves. Maglor coughed out the water as it burned through the lining of his throat. When the coughs calmed, he looked around.
It was a cave and yet not a cave. Bright sunlight poured in from a wide hole in the stone ceiling several feet above them. And waves rushed in from a gaping opening that faced the shallow beach.
Thranduil sat crouched by the edge of the water, a thick scowl on his forehead. He took out a dagger from his boots and held it out.
"I will bleed to death all on my own." Maglor held up his severed wrist which bled steadily. "Or do you want to give me a quicker death? I will consider it mercy and absolve you of any taint."
"Do not expect mercy from me," he hissed, but his words lacked the previous poison.
"You should have just let me drown, then. There was no need to soil your hands."
"I want to know why." Thranduil pointed with his chin.
"You mean this?" Maglor lifted the stump, then dropped it. It weighed tons as if his body had suddenly become made of iron. Maglor looked down and saw that his tunic was turning red from the blood. He clasped his other hand around the severed wrist. The pain came alive as if the seawater scalded his open wound. Soon enough, he would bleed out on the rocks.
Maglor turned to the sea. Somehow, it did not matter. He felt at ease now. He looked up at the sunlight falling on the water lapping at his feet and watched the light shimmer golden over the water's glossy surface.
"I always wondered how my brother felt when he lost his hand. Did you know Fingon had to cut off his hand to rescue my brother?" Maglor chuckled. "In the end, it was not the thirty years of Angband, but the hand of our kin who maimed my brother." Why did it seem so funny now? He could not help himself from chuckling again.
"It was a warning, and we should have heeded it back then. All the destruction we wrought, all the betrayal we faced, they were our doing, wrought with our own hands. We had destroyed ourselves, and all for what would amount to nothing in the end. We were warned again and again, but we did not heed."
Maglor groaned when the pain throbbed. He squeezed the severed wrist, trying to push out the pain. His end was coming. He was sure of it.
"You know, my brother made it seem so easy when he learned to use his other hand. It was as if he never lost his."
"It always seems easy when it is not you who had to do it."
"I suppose. Just like how he made it seem so easy being the leader." Maglor closed his eyes. "Did you know? I never sent anyone to rescue him after Morgoth captured him. I did not think there was a chance we could rescue him. I thought I would only send more to their death. So, I gave up on my brother. I took his place, and I went on." It was hard to breathe, but Maglor kept on talking. If he didn't say all these things that he kept inside, he felt there would never be another chance to say them. "As if I could ever replace him. But I was never my brother. I was only the second born. My brother was groomed to be the first, trained to lead. I was only a follower, taught to follow, stay quiet, support, and encourage. I thought that was all I was meant to do. I didn't think there was ever a choice." Maglor dropped his head. "I did not realize there was always a choice." Why hadn't he known this earlier? Maglor swallowed the tears that rose inside. "I thought we could escape the everlasting darkness, that the oath must be kept, that without it, none of us would escape the doom. So, we kept going, even when we knew we had fallen. But I was wrong. At each junction, we had a choice, a chance to turn back. The doom was not about keeping the oath, it was about making the right choice. And we kept on choosing the wrong path. Each time. We made the wrong choice and walked toward the doom of our own choosing."
Now everything seemed clear. Everything became focused and sharp.
"Actually, it was not the matter of if there was a choice, but whether we had the courage to choose otherwise and accept the consequences." Maglor dropped the hand holding the wrist. He was so tired.
"Can you? Accept the consequences? You are a minstrel. You do not only sing but play instruments. You could never play another musical instrument again. No lyre, no flute, no harp."
"Do you have to torment me so? You are hard, but I never thought you cruel."
"I am just stating the fact," said Thranduil coolly, but not unkindly. "I shall ask again. Why did you do it? Why did you choose to save me when it would have been easier for you to choose otherwise?"
"Because I know what standing on the sidelines and letting others choose for you do. I am already broken. I didn't want to shatter. The shattered pieces hurt not only me but also hurt the people I care about. I realize that now."
"Even when you knew that I would have killed you, given the chance?" Thranduil fingered the blade of the dagger in his hand. "Or did you think I would not be able to kill you?"
"Oh, I knew you could, and I would let you. Not that it matters now." Maglor smiled, lifting his bleeding wrist. He slumped where he sat. It took an effort to sit there. He knew the Song of Mending could stop the bleeding, but he had no desire to sing it. He did not feel the pain anymore, anyway. He licked his lips which were crusted and dry.
"And of course, there was Elrond," Maglor admitted.
Thranduil's head snapped up at the name.
"What about him?"
"I didn't want him to lose any more of the people he cares about."
"What has that got to do with me?"
Maglor smiled widely. "You said he was just a distant kin, someone you trained with at Lindon. But I know he is more than that. At least Elrond thinks of you as a family, more a beloved brother than some distant relation."
Thranduil frowned but said nothing.
"He was with me only a short while, but I know Elrond. He is warm and friendly with everyone, but he is more fastidious with people than he lets on. He does not give his heart easily to just anyone. But you are important to him, enough so that he opened his whole heart to you. He shares a link with you. He may share a tear for all who are lost, but your loss would have broken his heart."
Thranduil shot up from where he sat, then turned away. He stood like that for a while, watching the waves lap at the rocks.
"I have one more question. Please answer without adding any confessions."
"Simple answer then." Maglor chuckled. He was feeling dizzy and beginning to feel nauseous.
"Why were you with Sauron? You were defending him."
"I could not do otherwise." Maglor sighed. "As I told you before, he had men capture me. And while I was unconscious, he had a gold band around my wrist. It gave him a connection to me. That was why I had to cut my wrist, as it was the only way for me to ensure that he could not control me. He wanted me to kill you."
Thranduil sucked in a quick breath and sat down on the rock.
"Gold band?"
"Intricate and beautifully made. When I woke up, I tried to get it off, but I could not."
"It allowed him access to your mind?"
"I tried to keep it closed, but he used sanwe-latya and as long as that gold band was on my wrist, I could not stop him."
"Yet you succeeded in eluding him."
"Barely. As you can see, not without a loss on my part."
"You mean, sacrifice." Thranduil's eyes grazed Maglor's bleeding wrist.
"Sacrifice? I never saw it as such. Do you think Fingon thought it was a sacrifice when he cut off my brother's wrist? At the time, I thought so, but I realize now that it was a choice. He made the choice to save my brother. And making a choice is like that, is it not? Each choice comes at a price. I have made my choice and paid my price. I have no regrets."
Thranduil's face crumpled as he groaned. He raked his head with his free hand.
"I hate you." Thranduil growled through his clenched teeth.
Maglor's chest tightened. He nodded slowly. "I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do about that. That choice belongs to you, and not to me. For my part, just as Elrond loves you, I would as well. And that is my choice."
Thranduil growled, then took up his dagger again as he moved closer.
"I will never forgive you. Never. Do you hear me?"
Maglor's heart clenched. His eyes pricked, but he blinked away the tears. He nodded again. He knew that. And knew in his heart that he could not ask it to be otherwise.
With one swift motion, Thranduil slashed. Maglor stopped breathing so he would not move a muscle. He would accept whatever came, no matter what the lad wanted to do to him.
Thranduil grabbed the bleeding wrist and squeezed the blood from the cut he had made in his hand. Maglor watched in surprise as the gaping wound on his wrist scabbed, then scarred into a stump where Thranduil's blood touched.
"I have a blood of a dragon. Of one good thing it can do, it can heal wounds."
"I thought you will never forgive me." Maglor sought Thranduil's eyes. His heart thumped loudly as fear mixed with hope.
The blond Sinda looked away. "I am not forgiving you. But just as blood demands blood, a payment for life demands life. I can't say for my father, but for my part, there shall be no more blood feud between us."
"I don't understand." Hope was blooming in his heart, but Maglor kept his foot on it. He didn't want false hope.
"You need not. This is my choice and my payment. But there are conditions."
"Of course, there is."
"I don't want to see you again. Ever."
"Done. What else?" Maglor waited. There was more than one condition.
"Stay away from Elrond."
He never had an intention to seek Elrond, but when put into words, it hurt, even more than his severed wrist. Maglor found he could not utter a word.
"He has acclimated to Lindon. Gil-galad is fond of him and holds him in high regard. But you are not welcome in Lindon. And your presence next to Elrond would not aid him in any endeavors. Do you understand my meaning?"
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Maglor nodded. "I do."
"Then we understand each other?"
"Yes." Difficult as it was, he acknowledged, swallowing the painful throb in his throat. He knew prices must be paid for choices made, but some were difficult to bear.
"Will you do me a favor? Not for me, but for Elrond?" Maglor asked. Thranduil turned to him. "Remember the cave where you woke up? I left my harp there. Will you give it to him? I will take my things but will leave the harp whenever you are willing to take it."
With a terse nod, Thranduil got up. He swerved when the walls of the cave shook. They both looked up through the opening in the ceiling.
"I think we should move," Maglor said when the stone walls trembled, and the debris started falling from above into the water. "Sauron may try to bring the temple down on us."
"Can he do that?"
"If you are asking whether he is capable, I believe so."
They hurried out of the cave through the side opening. Outside was a shallow cove surrounded by smooth rose-colored granite boulders. Maglor looked up once they cleared the cave. The temple should have stood above the cliff, but there was no sight of it. A pile of granite boulders blocked their way. Thranduil climbed to the top, then looked out.
"Father!"
Maglor, who would have climbed after Thranduil, stopped when the Sinda shouted out.
Soon, Maglor heard several feet run over the sand, but only one flew over to the top of the boulder to stand next to Thranduil. He was a Sinda, very tall and silver-haired. He held a long sword, sheathed, in his hand. Maglor did not need anyone to tell him who it was. The relief and the love in the eyes of the older elf said it all. The silver-haired elf grabbed the young Sinda and held him for a long time before letting him go.
Watching them, longing for his family pricked Maglor's heart. Doomed to eternal darkness they may be, but his brothers and his father loved him. And he loved them back, regardless of what the world may say.
The two Sindar stood together, their heads touching. When they fell apart, Thranduil was saying something under his breath. The older elf turned. When his eyes found Maglor, the eyes of the elder elf flamed.
"You!" the elder elf shouted, then jumped down in front of Maglor.
Only when he stepped closer did Maglor realize how familiar the older elf was. It was the one who arrived late that winter evening at Menegroth and ruined the plan Maedhros and Maglor had so carefully put together. He was the one whose arrival took the lives of two of his brothers.
With hardly a flick of a hand, a sword sprouted in the silver-haired elf's hand. Thranduil jumped down next to his father.
"He saved me, father. Without him, I would not have been able to escape Sauron. He paid a dear price in exchange for my life." Thranduil pointed to Maglor's stumped arm.
"Do you even know who he is?" Thranduil's father asked, his hand holding the sword shaking. "Do you not know what he and his brothers had done?"
"I do. And I have made my choice, father. Mother always said I must let go of the past to move on. And I am making my choice to live today rather than hold onto the past. Back there, at that temple with Sauron, I almost submitted to my anger and would have spilled the blood of kin. Is that what you would have me do? You said it yourself. It should never be about revenge, but about protection. He is no threat to me or our people. And I do not want our new beginning to be marred with the blood of our kin. Was I wrong, father, to choose thus?"
The elder elf looked at his son for a long while. Only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the space.
Maglor held his breath. He had never once challenged his father. His father may have loved him and his brothers fiercely, but he had never allowed anyone to gainsay him. The only one who had even come close was Maedhros, and only once at that-when his father burned down the ships upon reaching Middle-earth.
At that point, there was a noise and a drawing of steel above them. Maglor looked up to see that there were four more Sindarin warriors. They had climbed up to the top and had drawn their weapons. One of them held a bow with an arrow aimed at Maglor's heart.
Thranduil glanced at the warriors but turned to his father. He stayed silent, waiting for his father's judgment.
The elder elf let out a long sigh as if he was letting out a breath he had kept for a long time. Then, he held out a hand to stop the warriors before he sheathed his sword.
"You are not wrong, son," the elder elf said, his voice subdued and grave. He turned to Maglor, then surprised him by handing him the bow behind his back with a quiver full of arrows.
"My father made this bow for me out of the finest yew to be found in the Forest of Neldoreth. Besides my sword and the armor, it is the most valuable item I own. I give it to you now in return for my son's life. There will be no more debt between us."
Maglor knew he could not refuse. He took the bow, but Oropher kept his hand on the other end and leaned closer.
"If I ever see you again, there will be nothing between us to stop me from killing you," he whispered. The Sinda's light gray eyes were red as they bore into Maglor's. Oropher let go, then he took the bag from his waist and dropped it on top of the quiver before turning away.
The warriors on the top of the boulder glared at him, but when the silver-haired elf jumped down along with Thranduil, they turned and disappeared after them.
Maglor stood there alone for a long while, then out of curiosity, he opened the bag Oropher had dropped on the quiver. The bag held a leather pouch containing a cordial, a coimas (lembas), and some dried fruits and strips of meat.
Dropping down on the sand, Maglor ate and drank, quenching his thirst and hunger. How it was that not that long ago he had wanted to die, but now he wanted to live. Despite the threats the father and the son had made, Maglor felt hope bloom in his heart. He looked up at the sky where the sun had tilted to the west. The cliff where the temple should have been looked strange and silent. How quickly things could change in the world.
Maglor picked up the bow. It was made with skill and decorated with silver threads. It surprised him how similar these people from Doriath were to his people. Had circumstances been different, he could see that they could have gotten along well. They were certainly more refined than the Mithrim the Noldor had encountered at Hithlum. But then, all Elves had been one people once.
He wondered what he should do now. For the first time in centuries, he felt lighter as if all the weight of the grief had lifted. He knew that past was not erased, but something had changed.
As he sat contemplating what to do, he saw two figures in the water. One was dragging the other in a black cape.
Leaving the bow and the quiver, Maglor ran to them.
"What happened?" he asked Grimshod as he helped the Northman drag the man in the dark cape and propped him up against one of the boulders. When he found the severed wrist, Maglor bound the wound and stopped the bleeding.
Maglor was surprised to see the dark-skinned man was Kemik. He was not what he once was. His eyes were hollow as if in shock. Maglor looked up at Grimshod. "What happened to you both?"
"That demon, that murdering troll is what happened!" Grimshod paced where he stood as if he could not stay still. "I am going to kill him."
"What happened to Kemik?"
"That thing cut off his hand and took back the gold band, that's what. But whatever it is, he is rambling, and I can't make out what he is saying."
Kemik groaned as Maglor finished the Song of Mending. "Keep your hand still, Kemik. It will heal, but you must give it time."
"Home. Must go warn. My family…my people." Kemik's words were broken. Not the smooth speech he used and somewhat different from the tongue of the Easterlings he had used before. Maglor understood, but Kemik suddenly had a heavy accent and pronounced words differently than before.
"What the hell is he talking about? I can't understand a word he is saying," Grimwine pounded the rock next to him.
"I thought you understood Easterling's tongue?"
"What? No. Kemik spoke my language before, but now he is blabbing gibberish. He can't understand me, and I can't understand him."
"Perhaps, that was the power of his bracelet," Maglor said.
"Whatever," said Grimshod. "I need to go find my men, then I will find that thing and revenge my brother."
"Something happened to Grimwine?"
"That thing killed him." The words were hissed through clenched teeth.
Maglor sat down on the sand. He had held out hope that Sauron was changed, that even if he and the Maia did not work out, Sauron really meant what he had said.
"If you will care for Kemik, I will go find my men." Grimwine who had scoped the small cove looked toward the pile of boulders.
"I suggest you wait a while. There are Elven warriors over that pile of boulders. They wouldn't take kindly to humans after what you have been doing in their forest."
They waited until the Elven warriors were gone. Maglor divided the remaining food in the bag among the three of them, keeping the waybread for himself. It was not meant to be given to the mortals. And each went their separate ways.
Grimshod vowed vengeance against Sauron before he left to seek out his men, and Kemik said he would go warn his people that Sauron was not who he represented himself to be.
After the two men left, Maglor sat alone by the sea thinking about what to do. He looked toward the west. There was no hope of going back to Valinor, but he could find his way to Vorimë and the people who waited for him there.
He could not undo the past. No amount of regret would bring back the ones who were lost, and he could not fix the past hurts. But he could stop hurting the people who loved him and still waited for him. He looked toward Lindon. He felt he needed to warn Elrond about Sauron at the least but decided to leave that to the Sindarin lad. It would not do to go back on his word. With a heavy sigh, Maglor got up and started to walk. He had a long way to Himring or what remained of it.
Lembas (Sindarin. Journey bread). It is known as coimas in Quenya. It is a special bread made using corn that Yavanna grew in Aman. When Orome was leading the Elves to the west, Yavanna gave it to Orome to be given to the Elves as nourishment. The corn could be grown any season with only very little sunlight. Melian had the recipe from Yavanna and taught it to the Sindar and to Galadriel. Only the Elven women called Yavannildi knew the recipe and could make the bread.
Himring (Sindarin. Ever cold)—Tallest hill in the northeast of Beleriand. Maedhros built his fortress on the top of the hill and guarded the northeastern border known as the March of Maedhros. Maglor was near, east of the fortress at Maglor's Gap until the Battle of Sudden Flames when Maglor joined Maedhros at the fortress. The fortress stood for centuries until the Battle of Unnumbered Tears when unable to defend against Morgoth, they moved further south to Amon Ereb. After the War of Wrath, Beleriand sank under the water, but the top of the hill remained as an island known as Tol Himring.