The sleigh hurtled over the rapidly melting snow, the reindeer far too afraid of the Witch's retribution to slow down. A fog was slowly developing about them, and the sleigh ran worse with every passing minute. Maglor knew they would not have long before they would need to abandon the vehicle, but he was resolved to use it as long as he could.
He blinked eyes grown heavy with fatigue. For a night without sleep will hamper even the Eldar. He could manage for now, but he would not be able to sustain an extended flight. This could not be allowed to become a days or weeks long elfhunt.
His mind conjured an image of his eldest brother scolding him. 'Why do you never think these things through! Running into situations without thinking about the consequences of our actions is how we got into this mess in the first place!'
Whatever the goal of such thoughts was, all it succeeded in doing was sending a lance of longing through Maglor's heart. He wished Maedhros was here, or any of his brothers.
The bard was suddenly pulled from his brewing cycle of grief and self-recrimination by a sniffle.
The elf turned to the boy huddled by his side. The boy was rubbing at his face, likely trying to conceal the tears that trailed down his face.
"Child, what is the matter?" Maglor asked gently. "Why do you weep?"
The boy shook his head. "I'm not blubbing. I'm fine, you don't need to worry about me.
Maglor looked at the boy. "Child… no, Edmund, there is much good to be said for the courage to withstand sorrow, but now is not the time for such things. Tears are not themselves evil, and they have their place. Now, I ask again: why do you weep?"
Edmund looked up at the tall stranger. His emotions had been in a whirl ever since he had met the Witch a second time. All the time he had been with her he had been recriminating himself, but strangely it was only now that the tears ran. It was as if, now that they were no longer being increased, his self-pity, remorse, fear and anger were all at war for dominance.
Edmund wanted to answer the tall being, but he struggled to say anything. The young boy opened his mouth to answer, but his throat constricts as though too many words were all fighting to be the first ones said.
The man in the sled did not say anything, did not push or demands, he simply waited. The young boy met his eyes and saw within their dark depths a well of compassion. It was as though Edmund was the only thing in his world that was important at that moment, and all his thoughts were bent towards him.
"She was going to turn them to stone." He eventually gasped out. "I begged her not to, but she didn't listen."
Maglor knelt down on the sleigh, giving up all pretence of steering, and pulled the boy into an embrace. The youth's tears come faster now.
"I thought she'd make me a king, but she was horrible and cruel!" He cried. "I should never have listened to her! I should have stayed with Lucy and Susan, even Peter would be better than that horrid Witch!"
Maglor rubbed the sobbing child's back. "The words of the wicked are sweet, but it is all smoke and shadow, mere illusions. Do not be ashamed, those far wiser than you have been deceived."
"And, and." The boy sniffed. "I told her where they were, and she sent those wolves after them! They might be de… I might never see them again! And it's all my fault."
Ice cold dread flooded Maglor, the wargs he had seen, they were after the other children. No matter how much he tried to focus on the present, his mind did the calculations without his input. At the average speed of a warg, they would have reached the divergence point hours ago. From there he placed the time they overtook the children as around about now.
"We must cling to hope that they have escaped pursuit." Maglor replied. "If they found a sufficiently wide and fast river, they might have been able to hide their trail."
Even to his own ears, his reassurance sounded empty. Given the necessary speed of a river to prevent freezing, it would have been a hazardous crossing, and that assumed they found one.
Edmund clearly understood the extent of the danger, even if he lacked the experience to know the exact details. The boy's tears flow faster, soaking Maglor's shirt.
"I was such a beast to them." He whispered. "I thought, I want to say I'm sorry. I'd never be mean to Lucy again, I'll even listen to Peter. I just want to see them."
Maglor stroked Edmund's head soothingly. He had no words to comfort the child, so he simply held him.
The sleigh shuddered and came to a stop, its skids sunk deep into the mud that had formed from the melting snow. A quick glance revealed that freeing the vehicle would be impractical, it seemed the sleigh was no longer useful.
Maglor extricated himself from Edmund slowly and moved to the reindeer. The creatures' eyes were wild and their flanks soaked in sweat. They had run as fast as they could, fearing the Witch's inevitable retributions. With soft, calming words, Magolor released them from their harnesses, half expecting them to flee further. They did not, instead the animals stared at him as he walked back to the sleigh.
Bending down, Maglor said, "Climb on my back Edmund. We cannot afford to rest yet."
Shakily, Edmund wrapped both his arms and legs around the elf, hanging from his back like a monkey. Maglor stood up, adjusted himself, and began to steadily jog west. The reindeer trotted after him.
The air was filled with the scent of flowers, the ground covered in a blooming carpet of greens, yellows, blues, and the elf walked across mud as though it were solid ground. The reindeer proved as adept at traversing the mud as they were at crossing snow. The air was filled with birdsong and the buzzing of bees.
The party travelled in silence. Edmund sniffled occasionally, but his tears had slowed now. The walkers had more important things to occupy their attention than idle conversation, and so they walked.
Maglor strained his ears for any sounds of pursuit. Running wolves were most likely, but he was mindful of other possibilities, up to and including a dragon from the sky. So far he had heard nothing, but every second of seeming safety that passed he only became more tense.
The voice of Mandos echoed in his head. 'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well'
It was after some time, perhaps half an hour, that the silence was broken.
"If, if I see them again, do you think they'll hate me?" Edmund asked suddenly.
It was only Eldarin grace that kept Maglor from tumbling to the ground comically. His start came at an inopportune time, and his foot snagged in a root. As it was, he was forced to run a few paces before returning to a more sedate stride.
"I apologise Edmund, but I do not follow." The elf said, once his startlement calmed. "Who are we speaking of?"
"Lucy, and Susan, and Peter I guess." Edmund muttered. "My brother and sisters. I just, if I see them again, won't they hate me? I mean…"
As the boy trails off Maaglor tries to respond. He knows what to say, it is what he would have said if anyone asked him the same question of his own brothers. No matter what may come, they are family, and they will always love each other.
Even if they are smug, self-satisfied buffoons who would not know good music if they were strangled with it.
Yet the words do not come, even the jest does not cause his lips to curl up. A weight lies upon his right hand, one that saps his ability to say the words. Would these strangers, to him at least, be forgiving of their brother? Would it be right if they were? Could his own brothers' fates have been avoided if they were just slightly quicker to condemn each other's actions?
Such thoughts were, in many ways, distractions from the core question the boy was actually asking. Maglor knew that, yet he could not utter the words of comfort, of unwavering belief in familial love, while they remained unanswered.
"I am sure they will be just as happy to see that you live as you will be for them." He replied.
Even to his own ears they sounded limp and unhelpful. Edmund slumped against his back, and the bard cursed himself. Would a lie have hurt?
The two continued in silence for another half hour. Maglor had no idea where they were going. He continued west, as that led away from the fortress of the Witch and because of his own half forgotten plans, but he knew not where they might be headed.
"Pssst" A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Over here."
From a burrow dug under a large beech, a fox was looking out at them. The fox wore a bonnet and a pair of spectacles were perched on the end of her nose. The fur around her face had once been a bright orange, but it was now faded with age.
"Let's see here, six reindeer, a Son of Adam and another who I do not recognise." The fox said. "Would you perhaps be the messenger who tweaked the nose of the Witch and made off with her prize prisoner?"
"I carry no message, but yes it was I who faced the Witch not two hour past." Maglor said. "I am surprised the news travelled so fast."
"Oh, beeches are terrible gossips." The old fox said conspiratorially. "It's why I live here."
The way the tree's branches swayed in the breeze carried an air of reprimand.
"Oh hush." The fox huffed. "I'm old, I need a hobby."
"Forgive me for interrupting." Maglor said. "But why have you stopped me? The Witch will be on our heels as we speak, we cannot afford to delay."
"She's with the Witch!" Edmund cried. "She's trying to stall us."
The fox wilted under the sudden weight of the gaze of the Elda before her.
"That's not it." She says quickly. "I figured you might be a bit lost, and thought you'd want a guide."
Maglor prepares to refute her words but pauses after a moment's thought.
"Where do you think we are headed?" He asked instead.
"The Stone Table of course." The fox says. "You are going to meet back up with Aslan, aren't you?"
"Aslan?" Maglor repeated.
"He's the Witch's enemy." Edmund supplied from behind. "When she heard he was back, she panicked. He could be our best chance."
The bard nodded slowly. "Where is this Stone Table?"
The fox ducked back into her hole. "Let me just get my scarf, and I'll show you."
Before Maglor could protest, the fox returned, her bonnet swapped out for a scarf. "Come along then, this way."
"Hold." The elf's tone caused all who heard his words, even the trees, to freeze in place momentarily. "What guarantee do we have that you are not an agent of the Witch, sent to lead us into a trap."
"You're rather suspicious, can't say I expected that." The fox commented.
"Trust none whose movements you have not marked. For the Enemy's words are sweet, and many have fallen to his empty promises." Maglor recited. "Yet more have bent before his seemingly inescapable might."
The fox smiled. "Oh, I like you. How about this, I'll hop up in your arms. If I steer you wrong, you can snap my neck before I can so much as twitch. I'd not lead you into a trap if I knew it would kill me now, would I?"
Elven eyes met vulpine orbs. The prince searched for deceit, or for the fanaticism some of Morgoth's servants displayed. He found neither, and he nodded.
"Jump up then." He said.
The old fox leapt up into his arms, and once she was secure within them, she said, "You're going to want to turn that way, and keep going till you see the dead tree, don't worry I'll point it out when I see it."
The group set out once more, the old fox guiding them. When there was a break in the instructions, for even as swift as he was Maglor was now weighed down significantly, Edmund spoke.
"Why are you helping us Mrs Fox?" He asked. "It's dangerous, the Witch might turn you to stone."
"Call me Beatrice." The fox replied. "As for helping you? Well, word on the branch is that you saved young William from that Witch. Never knew when to shut his mouth did that one."
"A relative of yours I assume." Maglor contributed.
"Grandson." Beatrice confirmed. "Always loved stories of Christmas he did. Wasn't surprised that he went and blabbed the moment the Witch showed up. There it is, you're going to want to follow that trail there."
The elf followed her directions. Edmund asked after the fox's children and grandchildren. After the exhausting experience of the previous night, he seemed to take some comfort from the old animal's attitude.
"My gran always said, that just because we don't remember the days of summer is no call to be behaving like monsters." Beatrice explained to the boy. "If we don't bring a little warmth into winter, Lion knows nothing will."
"I am often amazed by the ability of those who dwell in the very shadow of evil to cling to the good within." Maglor said, more to himself than the others.
The fox sniffed. "The Witch may own the kingdom, but she doesn't own our hearts. And we foxes never forgot who it was that was starving us."
"Starving you?" Edmund asked.
Beatrice twisted to look at him. "Oh yes, frogs don't like the cold, so they don't come out much. There's hardly a berry or fruit in sight, which is bad for us and the rabbits. More of us have died to the winter than the Witch's wolves, and we don't forget."
That comment puts an end to the nascently pleasant atmosphere that had been developing. The group travelled in silence once more.
It took several more hours of walking to reach the Stone Table. It was early afternoon when the steep hill came into view. Maglor's eyes could already see the stone formation that likely gave the place its name. A great river ran past at the base of the hill.
"A formidable position." Maglor observed reflexively. "I would not choose to assault it had I any option at all."
"Probably why Aslan chose it." Edmund agreed.
"And it's where the Witch does her executions." Beatrice added. "Not the ones that she turns to stone. Those who betray her, they get killed on the table."
"A place dedicated to her power and authority, a place of great symbolic value." Maglor said tiredly. "She will be willing to spend a great deal of blood to reclaim it."
"Aslan will see her off." Beatrice said with unwavering faith.
Their conversation was ended by the sound of a horn ringing through forest. The note was mighty and Maglor would wager it had been heard all throughout the forest, perhaps as far as the fox's burrow.
"What was that?" Edmund asked.
"A signal horn." Maglor replied, face grim. "Someone calls for aid."
Edmund's face went pale. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Doubtful, it will take the better part of an hour for us to arrive, and we are but three with not a weapon amongst us." Maglor explained gently.
"So you're going to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs?" Beatrice asked sharply.
"No." The elf prince said, walking forward once more. "What comes will come. Besides, one does not blow a signal horn if there is no one to signal. I suspect we will arrive to the aftermath of a battle, if fortune is with us it shall be this Aslan who is victorious."
"Luck has nothing to do with it." Beatrice sniffed disdainfully.
Fording the river and climbing the hill did not take as long as Maglor had feared. There were shallows close by, and the hill itself was covered in springy moss that made the ascent surprisingly present.
When he crested the hill, he saw the rock formation in more detail. He noted the markings upon it and wondered at their meaning. He also saw the pavilion and the camp. The red lion rampant stood proudly on the golden flags.
There was some commotion by the pavilion. A great lion, larger than any specimen Maglor had ever seen in Aman, was standing, surrounded by three human children. Two girls and a boy. Unlike Edmund, they were dressed far more normally, dresses, tunic, hose, all things Maglor had seen before.
Further, these children were armed. The boy carried a small metal shield, emblazoned with the same lion as the flag, and a sword. The taller girl carried a bow and a horn of fine make, while the youngest carried only a dagger.
The three children were arguing with the lion.
"Couldn't we have followed the wolf back to the Witch? Or maybe tracked him or something?" The boy asked. "I know it's dangerous, but we have to try don't we."
"The wolf would not lead us to your brother, there would be no point in pursuing him." The lion's voice was deep and powerful, thrumming with something just beyond Maglor's comprehension.
"Oh, we have to do something Aslan." The youngest begged, tears in her eyes. "Please, can't we at least try."
"There is no need. If you wish to see your brother, turn your heads." The lion, Aslan presumably, commanded.
Almost as one the heads of the three children turned to Maglor, or more accurately to the face peering over his shoulder.
"It seems your worries were unfounded child." Maglor said, sinking to a knee to let the boy off his back. "Go, your siblings are waiting."
Edmund clambered off the elf's back and walked towards his family. He wrung his hands as he walked and paused nervously halfway between the bard and the children.
"Hello, Lucy, Susan, Peter." He said. "I. I'm sorry, I didn't…"
Edmund never got to finish his apology, for Peter sprinted across the remaining distance, his sisters hot on his heels. The three wrapped Edmund up in a great embrace, quickly falling to the ground from their eagerness to clasp their brother.
"Edmund you dunce, how could you go off on your own like that!" Peter yelled.
"We were so worried." Susan scolded. "What on earth were you thinking."
"I'm so glad you're back." Lucy wept. "I thought that Witch might do something horrid to you."
The children all spoke over each other, to relieved to make themselves understood. Even Maglor's keen ears and long experience with a large group of siblings yelling over each other did not enable him to discern their further words.
"Kanafinwë Makaluarë Maglor, son of Fëanor." Aslan's voice carried across the noise without interrupting it. "I am most pleased to see you."
The elf drew himself up to his full height. "Do I know you? I have the strangest sense that we have met before, yet I cannot recall your face. Yet, it seems you know me."
"We met once." Aslan said calmly. "You would not recall; you were far too young to form memories."
"That might do it." Maglor agreed, cautiously. "Then I suppose you might be able to direct me to the sea?"
Aslan chuckled. "So eager to return to your isolation? Such things can wait until tomorrow when you have rested and eaten."
The bard's hands tightened briefly into fists, but he nodded, reluctant to turn down the chance for food and a bed after so long without either.
The lion turned to Beatrice and said, "Thank you Beatrice, for guiding these two here."
The fox's body language suggested that, but for her fur, she would be blushing. "Oh, it wasn't anything special. They helped out my little William, so it was the least I could do. You don't need to thank me."
Aslan chuckles once more. "Whether you think it deserved or not, you have my gratitude. It is far rarer than it should be to see help offered to those who need it."
At this point the lion turned to the group on the ground. "Children. I must speak with Edmund. Susan, Lucy, would you take Beatrice to your tent? I am certain she could use a brush after a hard journey. Peter, could you find a horse for Edmund, he will need one before long."
While the children disentangled themselves and whined about being assigned chores, Maglor took the chance to speak to Beatrice himself.
"I too would offer my thanks." He said. "Without you, I would surely have wandered lost until both I and Edmund were recaptured. Please, forgive my suspicion when we first met."
"Nonsense." The fox huffed. "You were being quite sensible. Never can tell who's on whose side these days. Well, in those days I suppose, now Aslan's back. As I said, you helped my William, so it was the least I could do."
Maglor reached out a hand. "I am humbled to meet a fox of such character."
Beatrice grinned and placed a paw in his hand. "It was a pleasure being carried by you. Any interest in carrying me home again?"
Maglor shook his head with a quiet laugh. "I fear I must depart elsewhere, perhaps if it is not too far out of my way."
"Oh relax, I was only kidding." The old fox batted the elf's nose with a paw. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. Think of how jealous Marjorie will be when I tell her Aslan thanked me in person!"
The fox cackled as one of the children scooped her up and carried her away. For Maglor's part, a strange half man, half goat led him to a tent with a bed. It was too small for the Elda's tall frame, but he was so tired he collapsed into it without complaint and was asleep before the 'faun' creature had even left.
The smell of food woke him. He emerged from the tent to find that he had slept through the night. Maglor felt light in a way he had not in a very long time. Something in the air had granted him rest such as he had not found since he departed Aman.
The scent led him to a vast set of tables, where all the animals and strange half human, half animal creatures were eating. There were piles of fresh fruit, and stews and roasts and all manner of wonderful food. Maglor's stomach did growl so much as it roared.
When the elf was seen, he was immediately intercepted by some kind of beaver. She led him, chattering about how good it was to see Edmund again and how thin Maglor looked all the while, to the high table where Aslan and the children sat.
The time he had been asleep had clearly been kind to Edmund. He beamed brightly about him, the shadow of his time with the Witch seemingly lifted. The bard felt hope, though it was hope tempered by long experience with such matters. The shadows of the mind can be easily hidden for short periods, should those who suffer from them wish to.
"Welcome, son of Fëanor." Aslan spoke. "Sit. Eat. It has been a long time since last you had a full meal."
More awake now, Maglor was taken aback by how much Aslan seemed to know of him. He took his seat, and would have interrogated the lion, but was interrupted before he could even speak.
A pair of small arms encircled his waist, for even sitting he towered over the tallest child. The elf started, reflexively returning the embrace, while seeking the person who had grasped him.
"Thank you for saving Edmund." The youngest girl, Lucy he believed, said into him.
"Think nothing of it." Maglor replied quietly. "It could have done nothing else."
Beatrice laughed sharply from her own seat further down. It was a gesture quickly picked up by the rest of the table, save Aslan.
"Seriously though." Peter said. "Lu's right, thanks for saving him. You don't know how much it means to us."
"Well do I know the joy of having a brother you believed dead returned to you unlooked for." The elf said. "It gladdens my heart that I could bring to you what was brought to me."
"Still, you have our utmost thanks." Susan said, clearly imitating his manner of speech.
"Indeed." Aslan spoke. "A good deed, well performed. Now, I believe a reward is due. So we should all allow Kanafinwë to partake of this meal, rather than cruelly taunting him with hunger."
This comment brought another laugh from the table. One beaver, the husband of the one who had brought him here, slapped the top so hard that Maglor reflexively reached out to prevent the drinks from spilling. This only brought about more laughter.
The food itself was as good as any the prince had eaten in Beleriand, perhaps even a match for that in Aman. He avoided meat, both out of respect for the animals about him and habit. When it came to drinks, there seemed to be nothing save water. He did not feel he could complain though, the water was cool and sweet, more than good enough.
"You seem displeased, is something the matter." Aslan asked.
"Nothing." Maglor hurried to say. "The food is excellent."
Aslan shook his head. "Ah, then it is the water that meets with your displeasure. Tell me, what is the matter with it?"
"Nothing." The elf reassured his host. "It is good clean water. I have no complaints with it."
"Then why are you displeased?" Aslan asked again, more insistently.
Maglor swallowed and tried to structure his words as diplomatically as possible. "I am simply more accustomed to wine with meals. It is hardly displeasing not to have it, merely a surprise."
Aslan shook his mane. "Is that all? The jug to your left has wine in it, drink as much as you want."
Sure enough, when Maglor reached for the jug, it had wine in it. A pale wine, almost silver in colour. Which was strange, for the bard was certain he had checked that jug already. It was, in fact, a water jug not a wine bottle. Suspicions growing, he took a sip.
The wine was the finest he had ever drunk, a wine that no elf had ever been able to recreate, and how they had tried. It was, in fact, the finest wine from the orchards of Yavana herself, that could only be found in the Blessed Realm.
Suspicion became certainty, and Maglor looked at Aslan. "You…"
"Announcing Jadis, the Queen of Narnia, Empress of the Lone Islands!" A dwarf bellowed.
The bard's head whipped sideways to behold the Witch's arrival. The burn still marred her face, its bright red contrasting harshly with her pale skin. Upon seeing him, her lips curled into a sneer, and her eyes gleamed with hatred.
Maglor's hand curled around a knife, and he readied himself for battle. His eye never left the Witch's, even as his ears strained for any sound of an ambush. The reactions of those about him implied that this was expected, making this a parley. But he knew all too well how the Enemy respected parleys.
"Peace son of Fëanor." The lion said. "The Witch will not break the peace."
The elf said nothing, nor did he relax. The Witch's smile became mocking, and she turned away.
"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan" She all but purred.
"His offence was not against you." Aslan replied.
"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?" The Witch asked.
"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me Witch!" Aslan growled. "I was there when it was written."
"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me." The Witch proclaimed. "His blood is my property."
"Try and take him then." A minotaur roared, followed by cries of approval from the assembled crowd.
"Do you think mere force can deny me my rights? Your master knows that unless I have blood, Narnia shall be overturned and perish in fire and water!" The Witch cried.
A great clamour overtook the gathering. Some gasped in horror, others roared defiance. It rose in volume until a single voice cut through the noise, quieting all.
"And yet, you still live, and Narnia has not perished." Maglor spoke.
The Witch turned her icy glare upon the bard. "Silence slave! I address your master."
"I am no one's slave." The elf prince snarled. "Nor do I have a master, save for the one who taught me my craft in elder days. I will not be silenced by you, servant of the Enemy!"
"Enough!" Aslan roared. "I tell you once more son of Fëanor, peace. Witch, come into my pavilion, I will speak with you alone."
The Witch smirked once more at Maglor as she passed, and the elf met her gaze with a snarl. When the flap fell behind her, he turned on his heel and stormed away.
Maglor's temper cooled swiftly these days, but the break reminded him of his purpose. Shortly after departing, he set about gathering provisions for his journey and asking after the sea. It seemed that he had been correct in his guess that it lay west. He had secured a pack with some supplies and a skin for water when Aslan found him.
"Where are you going, son of Fëanor?" The lion asked.
"The sea." The elf replied.
"Do you have no concern for the boy you went to such lengths to rescue?" Aslan said.
"You would not give up the boy. You cannot." Said Maglor.
"Ah. I see." Aslan said thoughtfully. "Well, you are correct, even if your thoughts on the matter are wrong. Edmund is far too important to lose."
Maglor glared at what he was reasonably certain was an Ainur. "Cease your attempts to tempt my curiosity. I am returning to the sea, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
"Why are you so eager to return to wandering by the sea." Aslan asked. "What purpose does it serve exactly?"
"You know why." Maglor hissed.
"I do, but I wish to hear why you believe it is necessary." Aslan said, unbothered by Maglor's tone.
"It is my penance." Maglor said. "My doom, to wander forever seeking that I can never possess, singing the tale of my own fall."
"A rather strange way of showing remorse is it not?" Aslan asked. "To cut yourself off from all contact, to leave the skill and might of the sons of Fëanor forever out of reach of those who might need them."
The second of Fëanor's sons laughed bitterly. "What good has our skill and might done the world? Far more have died to our blades than been saved by them, and I doubt I need to remind you whose fault it was we were in Beleriand in the first place."
"Be that as it may, one does not respond to burning their hand on a lamp by hiding it under a bush." Aslan said.
"Spare me the proverbs." Maglor said tiredly.
The lion was silent a time, then said, "The children will need you."
"They will be fine." Maglor replied, closing his pack. "They have you, do they not?"
"Come tomorrow I will be gone." Aslan said. "I have tasks elsewhere that must be completed."
The elf gave him a look, it was not a look of betrayal, but rather the look of one who was not expecting bad news but knew that he should have.
"Of course you do." He muttered. "That does not matter, they will still be fine. They are together and surrounded by those who oppose the Witch."
Aslan looked at Maglor. "They will miss you."
At this, the bard paused. "They barely know me."
The lion sighed. "If it is your choice to leave, I will not stop you."
As he padded away, Maglor stood facing the west. Hesitation gripped him. He believed that Aslan's words were manipulation, yet it was successful to an extent. Abandoning the children without a word would feel… cruel.
'I will say farewell.' He compromised with himself. 'Then I shall leave.'
His search was interrupted by the fact that the entire camp was picking up and leaving. He was caught up in the flow of people moving and it would not be until they settled once more, on an entirely different hill that he managed to find any of the children.
He found the two boys first, as they were the easiest to find. They were sparring in a field, among the various creatures that had arms to wield weapons. Maglor watched from the sideline, waiting for them to finish, lest they hurt themselves when he interrupted.
He saw the blow coming at Edmund, noted the lack of response and reflexively commented. "Mind your guard."
Edmund yelped as Peter's practice blade hit him clean in the side. The two turned to face the elf, Edmund rubbing his ribs.
"What was that?" Peter asked.
"I was talking to Edmund. I was reminding him to keep his guard through the attack. The reason you could not parry was that you had broken your guard to attack." Maglor explained.
The two brothers shared a look, then turned back to Maglor.
"Can you show us?" Edmund asked.
With a shrug the elf prince bent down and picked up a practice sword of his own.
"When you attack, you have to maintain your form, it is an easy thing to conceptualise an attack as distinct from your guard, but if you maintain proper form." He said, demonstrating slowly. "You can clearly see that one flows into the other naturally. Much like archery, the secret to speed is not haste but rather grace."
After a few more demonstrations, Maglor let the two boys try their hand at the task. They adapted admirably fast, soon taking the, admittedly simple, lesson to heart.
"Rather swell of you to show us this." Peter said. "Are you a swordsman?"
"I have some skill with a blade." Maglor demurred. "It is not something I like to think too much about."
"Can you show us something else?" Edmund asked. "It's our first time using these things, and nobody else has legs like ours."
Peter nodded. "It's rather strange how well we're doing actually. I know that footwork is important, but I can't tell you where I found that out."
Maglor looked at their hopeful faces and sighed. "I suppose I have some time."
The rest of the day was consumed with lessons. The elf spent some time sparring with the two boys and quickly concluded that they had, somehow, gained the reflexes and instincts of a trained swordsman, but lacked the conscious knowledge of how to use them to the best effect.
It was on that topic that Maglor focused. He taught them about faints, how to spot them and how best to use that knowledge. He spent hours drilling them in frequent situations they might encounter in battle. Finally he sparred with them until the sun began to sink below the horizon.
Panting, the two boys looked up at the elf they had yet to hit even once in their practice spar.
"You're really something." Edmund laughed. "You must be the best warrior in Narnia."
"I could not possibly say." Maglor said absently, staring at the setting sun. "I have not fought many people in Narnia."
"Well, we'd better get to dinner before the girls come and scold us." Peter chuckled. "Maybe you can tell us a story about your adventures."
Maglor winced. "My tale is not one I am proud of, if it is all the same to you I would rather not share it."
Peter looked surprised and perhaps a bit cautious, his hand coming to rest against his sword subconsciously. Edmund on the other hand looked thoughtful, as though seeing Maglor for the first time.
"Are you sure I can't convince you to give us the bones of the matter?" He asked.
Maglor met his eyes and said firmly. "All I will say is that you should not swear oaths, they are far more trouble than they are worth."
If the elf had hoped that his words would distract the boys, he hoped in vain. The two dragged him to dinner, despite his protests. Once he was there the two girls found out about his plans to leave in the night.
"Absolutely not." Susan declared. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is travelling at night? You could fall and hurt yourself or get bitten by a snake or who even knows what."
"You wouldn't abandon us, would you?" Lucy asked, with the heart melting look that comes naturally to the young. "We're going to need everyone to face the Witch. She can't be left in charge; you must see that."
"I am certain that you and your companions will be more than capable of handling her without me, and I have travelled a thousand miles with nothing but starlight, the moon is more than I need to pass safely." Maglor attempted to assure them.
"We could use an experienced warrior to guide us though." Peter mused. "Aslan said we're in charge of the battle, that he'd be leaving it to us. Just between you and I, I don't think I've any idea how to do that."
"You knew what a signal horn was and what it meant without even seeing what was happening." Edmund contributed. "The least you could do is explain that to us."
"Pleeease." Lucy said, with wide eyes staring into Maglor's.
With a heavy sigh, the elf conceded. "I will aid you in the coming battle."
Aslan's laugh sounded entirely too self-satisfied for the bard's taste.
The rest of the evening was spent hammering out a simple system of horn signals for the battle to come. Susan in particular was very interested in the concept of what she called 'a language of horn calls'. She did not manage to get through the entire library of Noldorin signalling in one night, but she gave it her best attempt.
Maglor would sleep through Aslan's departure late into the night. He would instead be the calming voice of reason when the girls were discovered to be missing.
"If the Witch could come into our camp and take two of our number, she could just have easily slit the throats of us all. I would guess they are with Aslan on his mysterious mission." He said to the panicking brothers.
While he expected the brothers to accept his logic, he was surprised to find the weight his words were given by the others. Still, he chose not to think too much about it, it aided him in the moment.
He found himself with relatively little to say when it came to the planning of the battle. The two boys had good ideas, though he did have a great deal to say about their implementation. The idea of creating a wall of flames to separate the army for example was good in concept, but nobody thought that the Witch might be able to dispel them.
Sadly, they did not have all day to plan, the scouts soon reported the Witch's forces arriving and they raced to take up the defensive positions they prepared.
"Here, big guy." Some dwarf said. "If you'd given us more warning we'd have some armour for you, but no just let us know last night that you needed full kit. And of course you're so bleeding big that there's nothing that fits you."
The dwarf offered the elf a sword. It was of dwarven make and clearly meant to be a two handed weapon, yet the size difference meant that it functioned as a hand a half to the Elda.
"I cannot accept this." Maglor said. "I have put such things behind me."
"Look, you're goin' into battle, and I will not have it said that any army supplied by the Redcap clan went with anything less than the best." The dwarf said. "So take the bleeding sword before I tie it to you!"
Reluctantly the elf grasped the handle. "In the name of our people's old friendship, I will accept this in the spirit it is meant."
"Bloody weird way to say thank you, you ungrateful sod." The dwarf muttered as he rushed off to bring arrows to the archers.
Of the battle itself, there is little to say. Maglor stood amongst the archers with Edmund, watching the action from afar. The minute details of who attacked when and how did not interest him, his only focus was on Edmund, Peter and the Witch.
When the front line broke and the Witch's forces overran the rear lines, he fought beside the boy he rescued. Their position alone held before the onslaught as everyone else gave ground. Red stained both of their swords, and the Kinslayer had to swallow back bile at the memories.
Suddenly, Edmund ran off, and Maglor followed close behind. Using his small size to his advantage, the boy slipped past and even under the various combatants. Maglor did not know where he was going, and he was slowed by the need to fight those the boy could avoid.
So it came to be that when Edmund reached the Witch, Maglor was still a short way off. He was close enough to feel the wand shatter, but too far to stop the Witch's knife.
The elf did not scream, he did not yell. As Edmund hit the ground, lifeblood flowing red, Maglor's face became grim and terrible. The ethereal light that flooded the battlefield, driving back the hag that had tried to stall him, cast him as a tower of fury, the wrath of Fëanor unleashed.
It was strange, being taken by the battle madness again. The world seemed to cease to exist outside of the Witch. He was dimly aware of something sliding off his blade, but he did not care. The Witch spoke, but he did not hear her.
His sword lashed out at the extreme edge of his range. The Witch parried, jolting his hand. Idly he noted that his hand should ache somewhat, but he felt nothing. He drove in, pressing the Witch, but staying at a distance. The length of his arm and the shortness of her knife meant he had the range advantage.
Just when he felt he had her, that she could do nothing to escape, she grabbed his sword by the blade. The sharp edges cut her hand, but she seemed heedless of the damage. With unnatural strength she ripped the blade from his hand and stabbed at him.
The speed of the Eldar carried him safely away from her blade, though he could not escape a shallow cut, that he also did not feel. Some quick footwork saw him to his blade, and he kicked it up into his hand once more.
So the pattern was set. Maglor had the advantage of reach, weaponry and skill but the Witch had her strength and the desperation of the cornered. Every time the elf drove her into a corner, she would attempt something desperate that would gain her the advantage temporarily. Then the elf would adjust, and the pattern would begin again.
Maglor knew that he needed to do something. The Witch's forces were winning, slowly, but they were winning. As long as the Witch lived, Edmund's chances at survival dimmed even further. Desperation fuelled the Witch, and now it fuelled the elf.
Maglor allowed a gap to appear in his defences. Not a false gap, for the Witch was too experienced to gamble on something so narrow, but a true flaw. The Witch's eyes widened in glee, and she closed the distance.
The stone knife slid between his ribs and cut into his lungs. His breath came short as they began to flood with blood. Any human would have been incapacitated. Yet Maglor was not human, and the Eldar are able to push their bodies beyond what a human could stand.
The son of Fëanor twisted his torso, trapping the knife between his ribs. The Witch had the strength to rip it out anyway but doing so cost her time. With the Witch in easy reach, his sword came down on her arm, cutting it off at the elbow.
The Witch screamed and fell back, raising her hand and speaking again. Maglor did not hear her. With the last of his strength the bard impaled the Witch through the heart. The last thing he heard before he collapsed into unconsciousness was the roar of a lion.
Maglor awoke to the feeling of liquid sliding down his throat. His wound itched and closed rapidly. His lungs cleared and he returned slowly to consciousness. He only had time to glimpse Lucy lifting some kind of bottle away from his lips before she ran off.
As it turned out, Aslan's 'other task' had been the retrieval of those the Witch had turned to stone. After the Witch's death, he and these reinforcements had appeared behind the Witch's army and crushed them against the remnants of the original force.
Needless to say, there was an enormous party after the battle. Families reunited with those who had been turned to stone. Many had died to be free of the Witch but that did not damper the joy at being free of her at last.
Maglor did not join the celebrations. He felt terrible. With the rage faded, he felt nothing but guilt. The Witch had not been a good person, but the red blood she had shed had been all the proof that she could have been. The bard felt no joy at this victory, rather he was sick, tired and lost in memory.
Suddenly Aslan came up behind him. "Son of Fëanor. Why do you draw away from the festivities?"
"I am not in much of a mood for feasting." The elf replied.
The lion came up and sat beside him, staring out at the battlefield. "What troubles you?"
"Do you not have a celebration to attend? Are you not the hero of the hour?" Maglor asked.
"That is not so important as this." Aslan said.
Maglor rested his head on his knees and thought for a time. He was not sure he trusted the lion, the distrust sown by Melkor and his own actions had left a wide rift between him and the Ainur. Eventually it was his own words to Maedhros, so long ago now, that swayed him.
"I feel, ashamed." He confessed. "After all I had done I cast aside my sword. I thought to be done with fighting and with killing. Yet now, the moment it was convenient I took up the blade once more. Perhaps there was no other option, but I had no wish to be the Witch's executioner."
"You show your wisdom, son of Fëanor." Aslan said. "Blood cannot be washed away with more blood. If you wish to be free of your guilt, then more killing cannot be your answer."
"Then what am I to do?" Maglor asked. "You seem set upon not allowing me to return to the sea, yet what else am I to do?"
"Tell me Makalaurë, what is your profession?" Aslan asked. "Are you a warrior?"
"Not by choice." The elf scoffed. "I am a bard by trade."
"Perhaps your hands would remember their old strength better, if they grasped a harp" The lion said, inclining his head towards a faun playing said instrument.
The bard grimaced. "I have no joy in my heart, I fear I would be unable to play songs appropriate to the atmosphere."
Aslan gave him an innocent look. "I was told you are the greatest bard of the Noldor. Surely you can manage a happy song, even if you yourself do not feel such an emotion. Even the lowest of bards can do so, after all."
The proud elf clenched his fists. "I know what you are trying to do."
"Do you?" Aslan asked. "If it is too difficult, then by all means stay here. I would not push you to do something beyond your abilities."
Knowing what the lion was doing did not help Maglor. His pride thoroughly challenged, he sprang to his feet and strode to the faun and all but demanded the harp. The creature was all too happy to hand it over, eager to rush off and dance.
Maglor could not simply start playing whatever he wished, as there was still a song ongoing. Still, it was all too easy for a bard of his skill to match the plying of the others. As he played, something tightly wound in him for longer than he could recall relaxed slightly.
Maglor played and people danced. Though he considered his playing soulless, born out of rote memorisation and bare skill rather than coming from the heart, it was still better than even the greatest mortal player.
The song ended and people clapped and cheered. To the elf's surprise, the tightly wound grief relaxed ever so slightly more, and he found it within him to play a second song. This one he led himself, the others following his lead. It was a song of Elder Days, a merry tune celebrating the coming of spring.
The more Maglor played, the more people smiled and laughed. The more joy he brought to others the looser the grip of his sorrow. It did not fade entirely; it was far too potent for that. Yet, it was something.
His last song came from the heart. It was bittersweet, slow and sweeping. It mourned what had passed but looked to the future with hope. Many people teared up, and he heard more than a few toasts to the fallen. It seemed a fitting end to the celebration.
By the time the sun set his fingers ached from playing, but a smile stretched across his face.
Maglor was convinced by the children to attend their coronation, though he remained in the back. He did not wish to steal their glory on the first day of their new reign. He did not, however, remain for the celebration after. Instead, he went beyond the castle to stare at the sea.
"Intending to return to your wanderings, son of Fëanor?" Aslan asked.
Maglor thought for a time. He still grieved his family, but that was not so potent as before. The time away, the celebration and the singing had left him feeling, more balanced was the best way to describe it. Yet, still the sea called to him.
"I do not know." He admitted. "A part of me still calls to me, but another part wishes to play something new. Is it truly fair to abandon my penance?"
"I would not say that singing a song of grief by the sea is an appropriate penance for what you have done." Aslan said.
The elf's face twitched in irritation. "Then what would you say is?"
Aslan turned to look at the balcony of Cair Paravel, where Maglor could see the newly crowned kings and queens watching from afar. "If the opposite of death is life, then it would make sense that nurturing life, bringing it to its full potential would be the opposite of killing."
"I am hardly in the position to have children." Maglor retorted. "Nor does that sound like a penance."
"It is not the act of having children that I speak of." Aslan spoke. "Some who have children do as much evil as others do good. It is the raising of a child, and raising them well, that I speak of."
"Well I think I already missed my chance with that." The bard said. "Elrond and Elros are full grown now."
Aslan nodded. "There are other children in need of a teacher."
Maglor looked at the four children staring out at the lion. "Are you not going to be handling that?"
Aslan shook his head. "My task is complete, now it is the task of the Children to make the most of it."
Maglor opened his mouth to curse the lion for trapping him once more, but a paw on his mouth silenced him.
"If you choose to do nothing, they will succeed even so." The lion proclaimed. "I would not have chosen them if I did not believe they could manage. It is not a matter of them needing you, but rather a matter of you needing them."
"Hardly seems a penance then." Maglor said mulishly.
"They will still benefit, many mistakes they would learn the hard way could be avoided, a great deal of heartache eased." Aslan answered. "And it will be difficult. Remember son of Fëanor, you will outlive them by millennia. Are you willing to undertake that task? To raise children one after the other, only to watch them die before your eyes?"
Maglor felt the weight of the future with such clarity it may well have been prescience. "That certainly sounds more like a penance."
"What is your decision, son of Fëanor?" The lion asked.
The elf stared at the children for a long time, his heart torn. Eventually, with great reluctance, he made his decision.
"It would be cruel to abandon them at this point." He sighed.
Aslan chuckled. "For what it is worth, you made the right choice, and I would not leave you to undertake this path unaided."
Aslan placed his muzzle by Maglor's ear, which startled the elf, for surely a lion could not reach so high.
Quietly the lion whispered. "Kanafinwë Makalaurë, in the name of my father, I release you from your oath."
The elf whirled around, a question on his lips. Yet, even to his elven eyes, the beach was empty. Aslan was gone.
The elf returned to the coronation party, where he was greeted by the kings and queens themselves.
"Hello Maglor. What were you and Aslan talking about?" Queen Lucy asked.
Maglor thought for a moment, then said. "We were discussing what I was to do next. I do not suppose the four of you were interested in a tutor, I have some experience in ruling. I was my brother's regent for a few decades."
From the expressions on their faces, they had not thought of the need for a tutor before, and they were immensely grateful someone else had already arranged one.
Announcing Maglor son of Fëanor, Royal Tutor and Father's Christmas' official assistant.