---Of Maglor and Arwen - Of Comfort---
They stood for a while in silence, beholding one another but unable to believe their meeting. (For meeting one another was a great joy for them both, who had spent a long while believing that they were truly alone, and to discover that you were not, but to find someone who understands shares your pain as well is nothing short of a blessing.)
"And you..." Arwen said, stepping forth to stand closer to her kinsman, "You would be Maglor, the second son of Feanor and the only one still living. Who forsook the Silmaril stolen from the herald of the Valar, who was said to be the only sane member of the line of Feanor, who...who..." she trailed off, then gingerly raised a hand to touch him, as if not believing he was real.
"...You know of me." Maglor said after a moment of silence, shorter than the last, tensing as Arwen's fingers trailed over his body, not in any way used to physical contact after dwelling in solitude for so long; however, her skin only grazed his for a brief moment, and it seemed that as soon as the touch began, it was over.
"Does this come as a shock, son of Feanor?" She smiled again, and it was not like the other; this one had a certain grief to it, and seemed rather pitying. "Nay, the deeds of your kin are legendary, and not easily forgotten. But concerning your fate - it is widely believed that both you and your brother perished, by throwing yourself into the earth and sea. However.however, my father always spoke differently."
"Your father." Maglor replied, a sad note in his voice. "...Elrond, son of Earendil." He had loved his foster sons; Elrond, and his brother Elros, the nearest thing he had to a family ever since the death of his father, when his own had fallen apart. He had clung to Maedhros after they began to rage war upon Morgoth, but had rarely interacted with his other brothers; or, if he had, it was not without the oldest of Feanor's sons by his side. Still, the bond that he and Maedhros shared was unspoken; while they cared for one another, affection was rarely expressed aloud. With the Half-elven, it had been different; they shared and expressed emotions easily and readily, and soon forged a deep bond after meeting. (Ironic, learning to love the one who tore you from your home and your mother's arms. Then again, neither Elrond nor Elros had ever been very fond of their mother.) He had missed them, Elrond and Elros - almost more than the light, but not quite. (Which was a bitter and ironic fact, seeing as how in the end, he forsook them for the light.)
"He spoke fondly of you." Arwen said after a while, leaving Maglor to his thoughts. "Not often, for Feanor and his sons were not looked kindly upon in Imladris - or any other elven kingdom, for that matter - but whenever he could, or whenever I or my brothers would ask, he would tell us of the one who fostered him and his brother when no one else would."
"If he spoke fondly of me, I did not deserve it," Maglor muttered in reply. "Did he not tell you of how the tale ended; how I abandoned him and his brother to embark on a fool's quest; to claim something that could never be mine?"
"...He saw only the best in you, I suppose." Arwen said, after considering his words. "For he never told us the ending of the tale, but only the beginning."
"...For his praise, I am glad." He still assumed that Elrond and Elros were still bitter at his betrayal; for he was held to his oath, and recovering the Silmarils would come before all else.
"He still misses you - or, I suppose he misses you, for I have not spoken to him in quite a while." Arwen's words were laced with bitterness, and Maglor felt a surge of anger at that. For a moment, he wondered who Arwen sacrificed herself for, and why her love allowed that - for surely, so beautiful and delicate a creature could not be allowed to waste away like mortal men.
"I am afraid we share the same plight, Arwen Undomiel - for I am not seen any of my kin in thousands upon thousands of years."
"...I suppose I am being selfish." Arwen now looked guilty, avoiding Maglor's gaze. "For surely, I have been without my family for time that is but a blink of the eye for one of the Eldar, and have been without by beloved for time that is but a breath."
"You need not feel guilt. For now that you have sundered yourself from the Eldar, I would imagine that the flow and passage of time feels much different to you now."
"...In a way, it does." Arwen said, after pondering his words. "However, the sundering of fates nothing more than what it implies; for elves perish with Arda, while men are independent of it and die alone. However, after choosing to live as a mortal, it is only natural that some aspects of an Elda should change." She paused again, and then looked at Maglor thoughtfully. "Even if it had, however, you have still spent far, far longer in isolation than I ever will."
"...You also need not pity me, Arwen Undomiel. This is my punishment for the deeds I have committed - for tell me, surely only a monster would slay his own kin?" He had sounded angrier than he had intended, and Arwen looked taken aback.
"I...I am sorry if I offended you, Maglor son of Feanor. I...I did not know that..."
"Do not be sorry," Maglor said. "I was quick to offend, and you were not aware." He could almost hear his father cursing him from the Halls of Mandos; for being too gentle with the maiden, for being bewitched by her beauty, for ruing his fate when he was the last of the Sons of Feanor still alive. "In fact, if you asked me, I would not know why I was so offended in the first place."
Arwen smiled again at that, but it was a wavering and meek thing, and it held not the beauty of the other. And, he wondered; for whom did you smile, Arwen Undomiel?
Perhaps his father was right. He was too taken with his maiden, beautiful as she was; while she was a stunning sight, she was only a sight that he had beheld for no more than a few minutes. Furthermore, she was not a trophy to be possessed, and she had already had a love, a love that she cherished more than life itself. Any feelings he would develop for her would be wasted, and would only result in more pain to bear.
He could not bring himself to take his leave of her, however; she was enchanting and fair beyond all belief, but there was a frailty about her, and Maglor has a sudden desire to care for her, to protect her from any further sorrow that might come to plague her.
(Surely, no harm could come from that.)
"...And tell me," he spoke, after the awkward moment had passed. "What has become of your father now? Surely, he has gone - long ago, I suppose?" At Arwen's confused expression, he said, "News does not come to me here, Arwen Undomiel, but I watch; elven-ships are a rare sight to see upon the waters, but as of late they have been launched in great numbers. And now, they sail no longer. And then, after the last ship had set sail, my heart began to ache all the harder, and I perceived that the time of the elves upon Middle- earth was over."
"...You do not belong here." Arwen said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were full of sorrow, but not her own; sorrow and pity, directed towards him, who in her mind, suffered a fate far worse than hers. "Tell me - why...why have you not..."
"Why I have not wasted away from grief - why I have not yet passed to Mandos?" Maglor smiled - however, it was a warped gesture, beautiful but marred by many years of grief and pain. "I am plagued with too much guilt to live among other children of Illuvator, but filled with too much cowardice to take my own life, or to die willingly."
"So you would suffer a fate worse than my own," she said - Maglor imagined her as a healer in her youth, a gentle maid, one who longed to heal the wounds of any and all. However, the hands of a healer were no longer hers, he supposed - for one that had no hope for themselves had no hope to give others. However, perhaps this healing instinct had not passed her by yet, for the compassion in her eyes, the desire to comfort and protect, was not unlike his own.
"It would seem that we both suffer the curse of a Strange Fate, Undomiel. However...however, perhaps we can find comfort in one another." Once the words had came out of his mouth, Maglor could not believe that he had spoken them aloud - how could he be such a fool, to express his desire to grow close to this beautiful creature? For surely, she saw him as nothing more but a reminder of days of old, of her childhood and what she had left behind.
Then he was forced to stop his train of thought, for Arwen was smiling; a smile almost devoid of any sadness. A smile for that was for him. Maglor felt his knees grow weak, and he found himself without words once again; but he needed not to say anything, for Arwen stepped forward and gently taking his hand in hers.
"...Comfort," she said slowly. "Comfort. I...I think I would like that, Maglor son of Feanor."
Far too taken, far too taken; but it did not matter. For the hearts of elves were not as the hearts of men, and beauty alone would not enchant him to the point of love everlasting. And while being with her might bring him pain, surely the pain of having companionship taken away would be much, much greater?
Yes, Maglor decided, yes; he would spend as much time with her as he could; until she grew weary of the shore, or until she passed away - whichever event would come to pass first.
(For there was no harm in seeking companionship, after it had been denied for so long.)
They stood for a while in silence, beholding one another but unable to believe their meeting. (For meeting one another was a great joy for them both, who had spent a long while believing that they were truly alone, and to discover that you were not, but to find someone who understands shares your pain as well is nothing short of a blessing.)
"And you..." Arwen said, stepping forth to stand closer to her kinsman, "You would be Maglor, the second son of Feanor and the only one still living. Who forsook the Silmaril stolen from the herald of the Valar, who was said to be the only sane member of the line of Feanor, who...who..." she trailed off, then gingerly raised a hand to touch him, as if not believing he was real.
"...You know of me." Maglor said after a moment of silence, shorter than the last, tensing as Arwen's fingers trailed over his body, not in any way used to physical contact after dwelling in solitude for so long; however, her skin only grazed his for a brief moment, and it seemed that as soon as the touch began, it was over.
"Does this come as a shock, son of Feanor?" She smiled again, and it was not like the other; this one had a certain grief to it, and seemed rather pitying. "Nay, the deeds of your kin are legendary, and not easily forgotten. But concerning your fate - it is widely believed that both you and your brother perished, by throwing yourself into the earth and sea. However.however, my father always spoke differently."
"Your father." Maglor replied, a sad note in his voice. "...Elrond, son of Earendil." He had loved his foster sons; Elrond, and his brother Elros, the nearest thing he had to a family ever since the death of his father, when his own had fallen apart. He had clung to Maedhros after they began to rage war upon Morgoth, but had rarely interacted with his other brothers; or, if he had, it was not without the oldest of Feanor's sons by his side. Still, the bond that he and Maedhros shared was unspoken; while they cared for one another, affection was rarely expressed aloud. With the Half-elven, it had been different; they shared and expressed emotions easily and readily, and soon forged a deep bond after meeting. (Ironic, learning to love the one who tore you from your home and your mother's arms. Then again, neither Elrond nor Elros had ever been very fond of their mother.) He had missed them, Elrond and Elros - almost more than the light, but not quite. (Which was a bitter and ironic fact, seeing as how in the end, he forsook them for the light.)
"He spoke fondly of you." Arwen said after a while, leaving Maglor to his thoughts. "Not often, for Feanor and his sons were not looked kindly upon in Imladris - or any other elven kingdom, for that matter - but whenever he could, or whenever I or my brothers would ask, he would tell us of the one who fostered him and his brother when no one else would."
"If he spoke fondly of me, I did not deserve it," Maglor muttered in reply. "Did he not tell you of how the tale ended; how I abandoned him and his brother to embark on a fool's quest; to claim something that could never be mine?"
"...He saw only the best in you, I suppose." Arwen said, after considering his words. "For he never told us the ending of the tale, but only the beginning."
"...For his praise, I am glad." He still assumed that Elrond and Elros were still bitter at his betrayal; for he was held to his oath, and recovering the Silmarils would come before all else.
"He still misses you - or, I suppose he misses you, for I have not spoken to him in quite a while." Arwen's words were laced with bitterness, and Maglor felt a surge of anger at that. For a moment, he wondered who Arwen sacrificed herself for, and why her love allowed that - for surely, so beautiful and delicate a creature could not be allowed to waste away like mortal men.
"I am afraid we share the same plight, Arwen Undomiel - for I am not seen any of my kin in thousands upon thousands of years."
"...I suppose I am being selfish." Arwen now looked guilty, avoiding Maglor's gaze. "For surely, I have been without my family for time that is but a blink of the eye for one of the Eldar, and have been without by beloved for time that is but a breath."
"You need not feel guilt. For now that you have sundered yourself from the Eldar, I would imagine that the flow and passage of time feels much different to you now."
"...In a way, it does." Arwen said, after pondering his words. "However, the sundering of fates nothing more than what it implies; for elves perish with Arda, while men are independent of it and die alone. However, after choosing to live as a mortal, it is only natural that some aspects of an Elda should change." She paused again, and then looked at Maglor thoughtfully. "Even if it had, however, you have still spent far, far longer in isolation than I ever will."
"...You also need not pity me, Arwen Undomiel. This is my punishment for the deeds I have committed - for tell me, surely only a monster would slay his own kin?" He had sounded angrier than he had intended, and Arwen looked taken aback.
"I...I am sorry if I offended you, Maglor son of Feanor. I...I did not know that..."
"Do not be sorry," Maglor said. "I was quick to offend, and you were not aware." He could almost hear his father cursing him from the Halls of Mandos; for being too gentle with the maiden, for being bewitched by her beauty, for ruing his fate when he was the last of the Sons of Feanor still alive. "In fact, if you asked me, I would not know why I was so offended in the first place."
Arwen smiled again at that, but it was a wavering and meek thing, and it held not the beauty of the other. And, he wondered; for whom did you smile, Arwen Undomiel?
Perhaps his father was right. He was too taken with his maiden, beautiful as she was; while she was a stunning sight, she was only a sight that he had beheld for no more than a few minutes. Furthermore, she was not a trophy to be possessed, and she had already had a love, a love that she cherished more than life itself. Any feelings he would develop for her would be wasted, and would only result in more pain to bear.
He could not bring himself to take his leave of her, however; she was enchanting and fair beyond all belief, but there was a frailty about her, and Maglor has a sudden desire to care for her, to protect her from any further sorrow that might come to plague her.
(Surely, no harm could come from that.)
"...And tell me," he spoke, after the awkward moment had passed. "What has become of your father now? Surely, he has gone - long ago, I suppose?" At Arwen's confused expression, he said, "News does not come to me here, Arwen Undomiel, but I watch; elven-ships are a rare sight to see upon the waters, but as of late they have been launched in great numbers. And now, they sail no longer. And then, after the last ship had set sail, my heart began to ache all the harder, and I perceived that the time of the elves upon Middle- earth was over."
"...You do not belong here." Arwen said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were full of sorrow, but not her own; sorrow and pity, directed towards him, who in her mind, suffered a fate far worse than hers. "Tell me - why...why have you not..."
"Why I have not wasted away from grief - why I have not yet passed to Mandos?" Maglor smiled - however, it was a warped gesture, beautiful but marred by many years of grief and pain. "I am plagued with too much guilt to live among other children of Illuvator, but filled with too much cowardice to take my own life, or to die willingly."
"So you would suffer a fate worse than my own," she said - Maglor imagined her as a healer in her youth, a gentle maid, one who longed to heal the wounds of any and all. However, the hands of a healer were no longer hers, he supposed - for one that had no hope for themselves had no hope to give others. However, perhaps this healing instinct had not passed her by yet, for the compassion in her eyes, the desire to comfort and protect, was not unlike his own.
"It would seem that we both suffer the curse of a Strange Fate, Undomiel. However...however, perhaps we can find comfort in one another." Once the words had came out of his mouth, Maglor could not believe that he had spoken them aloud - how could he be such a fool, to express his desire to grow close to this beautiful creature? For surely, she saw him as nothing more but a reminder of days of old, of her childhood and what she had left behind.
Then he was forced to stop his train of thought, for Arwen was smiling; a smile almost devoid of any sadness. A smile for that was for him. Maglor felt his knees grow weak, and he found himself without words once again; but he needed not to say anything, for Arwen stepped forward and gently taking his hand in hers.
"...Comfort," she said slowly. "Comfort. I...I think I would like that, Maglor son of Feanor."
Far too taken, far too taken; but it did not matter. For the hearts of elves were not as the hearts of men, and beauty alone would not enchant him to the point of love everlasting. And while being with her might bring him pain, surely the pain of having companionship taken away would be much, much greater?
Yes, Maglor decided, yes; he would spend as much time with her as he could; until she grew weary of the shore, or until she passed away - whichever event would come to pass first.
(For there was no harm in seeking companionship, after it had been denied for so long.)
