This is, in certain aspects, quite a thought-out project, and as such it comes with not one but two lists of names. And so: Black Speech name by wreckitmaedhros, Sindarin names by me. (Okay, so I'm only using three. But we do have two lists. Marvel.)

XIII.

He glared at the elf, who stood unflinching.

When the word came out, it was as a growl.

'Disappear.'

'No.'

'Get lost before I lose patience.'

'Kill me, then. Have vengeance. Or have me taste your fate.'

'You know not what you speak of.'

'No, I do not.' Maglor's face creased, and for the briefest moment his composure seemed about to crack; and it would have felt right, vilely, sickly right to watch this elf fracture in pain-

-but the moment passed, fleeting, and only the elf's eyes betrayed the intensity of his anguish.

'I do not know. Tell me.'

XIV.

Hesitation.

Tell him. Make him suffer-

'I told you to disappear.'

'This happened when I left you. I am not leaving you again.'

'Yes you are. I do not want you underfoot.'

Maglor stepped forward. The blade slid along the side of his neck, leaving a shallow cut.

'Return with me, brother.'

The sheer unfeasibility of this request stalled his anger, albeit briefly.

'Fool,' he spat. 'Since you persist in this farce, I order you. Leave.'

This time it was Maglor who hesitated.

'Should you change your mind, find me,' he said at last. 'No matter what. Find me, Maitimo.'

XV.

Why?

Why had he let this elf go?

It was his fault, for abandoning me-

He had craved to see this elf suffer, and he had.

He had longed to witness the fear, and despair, and pain of this elf, and he had.

Yet there had been something-

-unsettling about this elf, about his poise, about his forlorn tenacity.

Something harrowing.

He suffers enough, knowing-

He is weak-

He has killed elves, too-

They are disruptive, thus useful-

-excuses.

The Oath connects us-

-an excuse.

There was something-

-something he yearned for, still, in the knowledge that they remained, somewhere.

XVI.

'Someone tried to cut your throat, Your Majesty?'

Maglor started and looked up, but his eyes were unseeing; he raised his fingers to his neck.

'You would be wise not to disappear like that, brother. We were concerned for your safety.'

Celegorm.

I would have left you all, without a word-

He shuddered.

Nolofinwë is right about me.

'Well? Where have you been?'

Maglor opened his mouth, and found himself choking on the words.

'Kano?'

'I s-saw him, Tyelko.'

'What?'

'I saw Maitimo.'

'Are you insane?'

'Probably.'

Pause.

'…And?'

Maglor shook his head, and buried his face in his hands.

XVII.

Maitimo.

This had been one of the last pieces lost: his name.

Taken away, or surrendered; it was unclear, now, and he told himself it mattered not.

No new name was needed for what he was now: dark flare among shadows, accursed; left with nothing but a mission, mindless of anything but his aim.

He heard the terrified whispers of elves, and they named him Eglaniar, blood-forsaking and by blood forsaken; and also Delunor, death-heralding flame.

The (other, fellow) creatures of Melkor would say Golugshakh, Noldor-lord, and flee from his scowl, sniggering.

Only this elf would now call him Maitimo.

XVIII.

'Because you think yourself unsuited to reign, you mean to crown Nolofinwë?'

'You mistake my motives.'

'You want to cede power and with it, responsibility!'

'Enough of it.'

'You would dismiss me too easily for one who dislikes ruling, Kano!'

Maglor narrowed his eyes at Celegorm's tone.

'Whether or not I am king, I am still head of this House.'

'You are, aye. Yet you would bow to Nolofinwë and run off to consult with the Enemy's servants!'

'When I ought to bow to you, is that it? No. You owe me allegiance. And I will have it of you.'