Sing For Me Chapter 4, a silmarillion fanfic

AN: Thank you for the kind reviews!

Sing For Me.

Twenty-four years.

Had it really been twenty-four years?

The number 24 was possible to believe, but discerning the concept of years left her breathless and dizzy.

There were 365 days in a year. . . For twenty-four years.

That would be 8760 days, if you didn't count leap years; she didn't.

So many days.

So many days trickled by without her noticing, like the fading grains of sand in an hour-glass built specifically for her. Almost a quarter of her life spent in utopia, with a man she considered the other half of her soul.

Like all married couples they had their spats and petty arguments; it wasn't always an easy road to travel. There were bumps and pot-holes of all sizes - the occasional deer they knocked over as they journeyed along the tricky road of matrimony. . . But as the years went by, it became easier to manoeuvre themselves around the obstacles and in the end, it was all worth it. Their final destination: Bliss. Marital bliss, that is.

Only, when they reached it. . . He was gone. She turned to him with her palm stretched out, ready to move forward onto the next stage of their lives together, only to find that she had lost him along the way. He was no longer there to enjoy the hard-earned victory. Her palm was left empty, grasping at nothing but air.

He just wasn't there.

Tearing her eyes away from the photo of her husband nestled at the corner of the mantelpiece, she looked at the elf that her frail mind had somehow conjured.

There are a few things that remain unimaginable to the human eye.

A so-called elf, jiggling around on your sofa, is one of them.

Where do you even begin to accept the reality of such an illusion? Any sane person would dismiss the notion completely. . . But then again, she never considered herself normal. . . and since it happened, she didn't consider herself all that sane either. Filled to the brim with chemicals that cloud the mind, there was nothing overtly odd about the presence of the beautiful creature now in her midst.

Nothing that beautiful could exist. Could it? His beauty, his essence, was like the first breath of spring, or a tear falling from a cheek, trapped in a prism of light.

Everything about Maglor screamed butterflies and candy-floss on a warm sunny day, where childish innocence was nurtured before it was left behind and forgotten.

So. . . He was obviously something her visions had created to torture her. Not real. But then, that didn't explain why he was with her at that very moment.

Maglor's presence was nothing short of extraordinary.

But to her - at this very moment - it was something she simply had to deal with. Like an exam, or taxes. You just deal with it and move on to the next obstacle.

Numb from the pain of loss, that was all she could do.

"Here." She held out a fluffy cream towel.

He examined the towel with something akin to fascination. It dawned in his eyes like the sun rising behind age-old trees and snowy mountain-tops. "Thank you," he took the towel and gently dabbed his face with it - the gesture looked rather effeminate.

A sigh, and his muscles relaxed. He'd obviously come to the conclusion that she hadn't handed him a killer-towel. If it didn't move - have razor sharp claws, or fangs, then it was probably safe.

Joy.

Quietly, she took a seat on the chair adjacent to the sofa.

Not knowing the standard procedure in dealing with elves, she was left at an impasse.

Where to proceed from here? Once he was dry, what then? Hand him a cup of coffee – no, wait. An elf, let alone an hyperactive elf, would not be advisable given the current situation. He was large, tall and looked extremely powerful, which would certainly be damaging for her home if he induced caffeine; a product, she was sure, he had never ingested before. So, coffee was out of the question.

Tea? Yes, tea would be a good place to start. . . Do elves drink tea?

Water. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, she took the towel that was handed back to her with a small smile. "Would you. . . like something to drink, perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you! Water. . . if you would be so kind, my lady." It was clear that Maglor was delighted by her offer. The approval in his mien shone brightly and oddly enough, she was rather pleased to have his strangely placed approval. Of course, having the approval of a vision-come-to-life was considered very important. Wasn't it?

She shook her head.

Sarcasm had always been a failing with her. Her husband said it was one of her vices, but he loved her for it. At the thought of him, the dull ache in her chest became pronounced. Absently, she rubbed it away as she came back to the living room with a glass of tap water.

Maglor stared at the glass tumbler in his hand before cautiously taking a sip.

She watched with concern as he grimaced. "Are you all right?"

"It tastes of metal and. . . something evil," he put the full glass of water back on the table and continued to gaze at it from afar, as if he could change the contents by simply staring at it. Brow furrowed, biting his lip, he looked quite a picture of confusion.

She felt sorry for him. "I apologise. . . I have some freshly squeezed fruit juice; would you prefer that?"

"Please," he uttered quietly.

Restraining a sigh, she went back to the small kitchen and poured him some of her healthy, organic, fresh juice. She never liked the ones that came from packaged cartons as she didn't trust what manufacturers put into their products. After all, she had never been a very trusting individual when it came to things like that. Call it paranoia, call it obsessive. . . She called it being smart.

Returning to the living room, she offered Maglor the glass of fresh fruit juice – orange and grapefruit.

He took a dainty sip, and with much more satisfaction, downed the entire contents of the glass in one go.

It was a mystery how some people could allow liquid to slide down their throats without a pause for air. She'd always been jealous of those who possessed that certain party-trick. Her eye twitched at the thought.

With an air of nobility, Maglor wiped his mouth and placed the empty glass next to the water-filled one. Turning to her, he smiled almost shyly. "My thanks."

So polite.

Such manners were missing with the new generation. She smiled back. "You're very welcome. . . sir."

He laughed. "Please, Maglor will suffice."

"As you wish." She paused. "Was the juice to your taste?"

The elf all but beamed, "It was quite refreshing, my lady! Much better than," he gestured awkwardly at the glass of water. He hesitated before speaking again, "Pray tell me - for it seems that I have not been in the circles of the world for many a generation - what Age is this?"

Come again? She slowly sat down in her previous seat. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, Age?"

"The year," he supplied, almost as if he was talking to a child. But if he mentioned generations, then she could guess that he was older than he appeared. How that was possible, she had no idea. He barely looked 25. Damned elf-vision, with his charming manners and youthful appearance.

"The year is 2006, A.D."

"Ah. . . And you have no notion of the Age?"

"There is no such thing as an Age."

His eyes widened, almost comically. "Then many years must have passed for the Ages to have been forgotten by mortals."

He looked lost; she felt lost for him. She had no idea what he was mumbling to himself about. Feeling out of sorts, she leaned forward expectantly. "Are you telling me that you're not from another world?"

"I am from the Ages past."

"So, you're saying that you are from the past? As in, history, the past?" She asked dumbly.

"I have walked the shores for many millennia," Maglor began quietly, his voice and expression filled with deeply embedded sorrow. Oh, the sorrow poured from him in waves, threatening to engulf her.

He continued, "I walked until my body faded, but still I continued my song. My grief was not bound to my body, and so it lingered – as did my spirit. Ages would begin anew and end before the next time I could reappear and reforge my grief and body as one. It was my punishment, you see. And now. . . now, too many Ages have passed since my last return, and I am in a world that I no longer recognise." Deftly, he gestured wearily at the features of her house.

She listened to his words, rapt with attention. Punishment? Millennia? She almost scoffed.

It was official.

Alert the world media and put her on the evening news; hell, make a website and dedicate it solely to her, because she had just legally lost her marbles. Over a vision. She'd had these visions previously, but this was nothing like her past experiences. It was making her feel, it was a living, breathing person, almost frightening in it's reality.

And she would have to be blind, deaf, stupid and manic-depressive not to notice how greatly his grief and desolation were weighing down on him – this vision. This elf. Maglor. Poor, poor, Maglor.

Blinking, she slumped back into the wicker chair.

The day had taken an even more confusing turn.