Daegmund Swinsere

I had held my breath after Gimli had asked his question, because I already knew the answer: No, Legolas was not up for it. He had made that more than clear when he had spoken of his father's plans in the tavern. And the silence that stretched like a gaping void after the dwarf's question spoke volumes. Finally Gimli said, "We should wake Aspen. I hope you have had enough time to think about what to do next, it will be dark in two hours."

Instead of an answer, I felt a breath of air above me and a hand resting on my shoulder. I tried to wake up as authentically as possible, but I didn't know if I was convincing. Fortunately Legolas, who knelt beside me, didn't seem to pay much attention to that. As soon as I turned around he was standing up again. "Is it evening?", I asked, looking around. Gimli had leaned against one of the wine barrels; he seemed upset. But I couldn't let on, officially I hadn't heard any of their conversation.

"Yes," Legolas replied when the dwarf said nothing back. "Soon."

"And?" Slowly I stood up, shook some straw out of my hair that had been clinging to the jute sack, and patted out my clothes. I would smell of wet cat for days to come, for the sacks held an unpleasant odor that I hadn't cared about earlier because I was so tired. Now I regretted lying down on them. "Are you going to tell us what it's all about, or will it remain a secret?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the edges of Gimli's mouth twitching. Legolas gave me a look that was indefinable. But I didn't care. He was free to guess what he wanted. Gimli's words still echoed impressively in my head: Tell me, do you only appreciate her smooth skin, her long hair or her red lips? Legolas had hurried to deny this, but he had to do so in order to not lose his friend's respect. It had been clear where the dwarf stood on this matter. I didn't believe the elf for a second. Who wanted an aging human when they could live a life of eternal youth? Possibly with an elven woman by his side who enjoyed the same assets. I wouldn't even have resented him for that, if he hadn't constantly mirrored something else to me - only to change his mind over and over again. That made me angry. And I preferred to feel that anger rather than deal with the disappointment that burned in my chest like acid. Who was the leaf in the wind now?

"I couldn't think of any way we could get around him."

"I see." Slowly I lost my patience. "And who is he? The Ghost of Christmas Past?"

Legolas frowned, of course that meant nothing to him. I suppressed an eye roll. "I think you have kept us in the dark long enough. Who is he? And why should we confide in someone you so obviously distrust?" Someone had to say it. And if Gimli didn't do it out of loyalty, then I would. I was fed up. I wanted to know what next danger I was walking into before it came over us like a tsunami wave.

Taken aback by my harsh tone, Legolas was silent for a moment longer, then replied, "You are right. I have kept it to myself for so long because, in the end, it is only a guess." Pause. "A guess that I had long hoped would not come true. But after what the fisherman's son has revealed to us, I'm afraid it's becoming more and more likely."

I looked at him warily, my right hand on my hip. Ultimately, he had said nothing more than he had before. "So what?"

He narrowed his eyes, struggling with himself. Finally he said, "Do you know the history of the Silmaril?"

"Beyond what you have already told us? No."

"Then I must tell it first, otherwise you will not understand."

Why was everything in Middle Earth always tied to a goddamn story? A legend that affected the present? Why couldn't it just be simple for once? I felt anger bubbling inside me, but managed to swallow it down just barely. An outburst helped no one, least of all me. Besides, he didn't deserve to see my true feelings. It gave him even more power over me than he already had.

"The Silmaril aroused many desires from the moment they were created. Not only did evil crave them, but the Valar would have liked to use them for their own purposes after the destruction of the two trees, Laurelin and Telperion. But Fëanor was not willing to share them, with anyone. That was to be his downfall."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "Melkor, or Morgoth as Fëanor called him, not only destroyed the trees in his desire, but also murdered Fëanor's father, Finwë, who had kept the Silmaril in Fëanor's absence. With Finwë no longer in the way, Morgoth took the Silmaril and fled with them to Angband to place the stones in his iron crown as a sign of victory. Fëanor's anger when he learned of this was awful. It was so great, in fact, that he and his seven sons swore an oath: Anyone who kept a silmaril hidden from them was to be met with war and ruin. It led to many horrors that still have not let go of my people. So far I have already told of the story."

Again he interrupted himself, as if searching for the right words. "But what I am about to say now will be new to you: Fëanor did not get the Silmaril back. Not after the wars, not after the horrors. They remained in Morgoth's possession, except for the one recovered from Beren and Lúthien. Only after Fëanor's death and after the War of Wrath did his sons Maedhros and Maglor manage to recover the two remaining Silmaril - but not in an honest way. And so they were unable to place their hands upon the Silmaril, causing them unspeakable pain."

When Legolas fell silent, Gimli added: "Maedhros threw himself and his Silmaril into a fiery pit, Maglor cast his Silmaril into the sea. And so the Silmaril were in all three realms of Middle Earth: heaven, earth and in the ocean."

That had been a lot of information at once, but the essential question still hadn't been answered, "Now how does that relate to what we intend to do?"

The Elf nodded. "All of Fëanor's descendants and Fëanor himself have perished from the oath they swore. All but one: Maglor, who had many names: Kanafinwë, Makalaurë, Daegmund Swinsere. They say he wanders along the lakes and shores of this world, in eternal grief for the lost jewels."

I stared at Legolas. He couldn't be serious. "You want to seek help from one of the people who were partly responsible for bringing all this misery to your kin by the Silmaril? Not only that, you want to tell him about me carrying two pieces of one of his beloved Silmaril in my pockets - after he swore death on all those who dare touch one?" My voice had gone up an octave. "Please tell me that is not what you mean to do."

"That would be very ill-advised indeed, Legolas," Gimli now joined in. "Maglor is nothing more than a story, a myth. Even if he has survived all these ages, and has not after all come to Valinor by twisted paths, or faded away: No one has seen him since those days. What makes you so sure it's him we're looking for? The one who took the piece of stone from the fisherman's son? Isn't it more likely that it was one of Celeborn's men?"

The expression on Legolas' face was serious. "It certainly wasn't Celeborn's men: The fisherman's son said that the piece of stone must have been taken from him some days ago, or at least before yesterday. Celeborn would not have chased us personally into my father's realm like a greyhound if he had known where the third piece of stone was and where we were likely to be looking for it. He would have waited until they were all in one place, here in Esgaroth. Then he would have struck. Besides, he never would have entrusted anyone with this task. He knows the desire the Silmaril stir in us. Even if it's just a shard."

"But then why would it be... Maglor?", I asked. The strange name was heavy on my tongue. This man, or elf, rather, had fought wars for three damned stones. No matter how much light they contained from the sacred trees: Had it been worth it? Was anything that did not directly threaten the survival of his own kin worth leading them into wars from which many never returned? From my humble point of view, no. But what did I know? After all, even in my world, wars were fought over far less than the promising light of two trees.

"I have already said that I am uncertain. But the signs are becoming clearer. Maglor cannot have returned to Valinor. Not after his rift with the Valar. No, he must have remained in Middle Earth, forever banished to regret his actions. Further confirmation that it is no one from Celeborn's or the Woodland Realm is given by the fact that no messenger has yet reached us. My father would not have missed it if one of his vassals had found the piece, and - as already mentioned - it could not have been Celeborn."

"Why are you so convinced that an Elf who found the shard would go to his king with it first and foremost? If I knew of the history of the Silmaril and suspected I had found a piece of it, I would be hell-bent on risking losing it," I interjected. Gimli nodded in agreement.

"Well, that's what makes you different from us," Legolas replied. I couldn't help thinking that his answer referred to far more than the question we were discussing. So I shot back, "Into following my own goals and not grovelling to my master like a servant?"

Gimli sucked in a sharp breath. Then he pushed himself off the wine barrel and held up his hands. "We should consider the possibility that it is Maglor," he tried to soften the situation. "But we must not disregard Aspen's objection either. It is quite possible that another Elf has seized the shard, Legolas."

"I said no other."

I realised that Legolas must have guessed by now that I had heard him earlier. We measured each other with glances. "You still have not told us what you intend to do, if it is indeed Maglor. Do you think he will just let us have the third shard of stone? He has sworn an oath for which he has risked the future of your kin. He won't stop at a dwarf, a human and an elf," I said.

If this was the elaborate plan Legolas had had since our escape from Lothlorien, then we were screwed.

"I believe," the Elf replied with emphatic calm, which only made me all the more angry, "that Maglor has known about us for a long time."

"Oh yeah?" Now it was Gimli who sounded genuinely surprised. "What makes you think that?"

"If the ferryman is to be believed, Esgaroth has been plagued by orc raids for some time. Whether Maglor was already around here or only came after the orcs started attacking the town: I assume he figured out why they were doing it. He didn't have to show himself to the fisherman's son. But he must have guessed that Elmer would cross our path sooner or later."

"And you had already thought of him," I said. "Isn't that true? You mentioned, after our escape from Celeborn, that you knew someone who might be able to help us."

Legolas' eyes flashed, but he tilted his head. "Aye, that's right."

"Well." I looked at him firmly. "What makes you so sure that he will not lure us into a trap, take the other two pieces of stone for himself, and reassemble the Silmaril, guarding it and protecting it from further access - as his oath commands him to do?"

Legolas was silent. The silence stretched until it was almost agonising. Then he responded, "He cannot hold the Silmaril in its undamaged form, because he has lost his claim to it through the wrong he has done. I admit: he could take the three shards for himself and keep them until the end of the days of this world or his own, but my heart tells me he doesn't want that."

I ran my hand over my face. "Your heart, eh?"

The Elf seemed to stiffen for a moment before he added, "Before Maglor stole the Silmaril with his brother, he already wanted to put the oath to rest. It is not possible for him to reassemble the Silmaril. But I think that is his greatest wish. He knows he will never possess it and seeing it destroyed will not give him peace. He will not harm you, Aspen."

"He won't?" I hadn't realized how much thinking Legolas had already done. And I didn't understand why he hadn't let us in on it sooner. Had he feared that we - or I - would run away, given the sheer extent of the whole story?

"No, because it is your responsibility to restore the Silmaril to its original form."

With a shake of my head, I turned away. Yes, we had already talked about me putting the pieces back together to return home. But that had been before I knew that this was one of, no, the quintessential Elvish treasure. "I am only human. Did you not say that no mortal could touch the Silmaril? Not that you did not already know, but my time on this planet is limited."

Gimli, who had remained silent to this point, said, "But you were sent here, lass, weren't you?"

"I was lured here. Against my will," I replied. "That... old woman practically forced the stone on me and brought me through the door into this world."

"And that is precisely why it is your task to put it back together."

"I don't understand," I said. And that was true. "I'm not the only one who had one of the pieces, am I?"

"But the last one."

"Well?" I looked at Legolas, puzzled. For a brief moment, my anger towards him was forgotten.

"You said the woman from Rohan took the piece willingly, at her father's funeral."

"Yes…"

"What if the fisherman's son's grandmother held it the same way? If it was their duty to bring the pieces back to this world and yours is to end it all?"

"To end it?", I asked quietly.

"To return the Silmaril to where it originally was. If I could guess, it's the one that belongs in the sea. Another reason Maglor might be involved."

With a sigh, I now leaned against one of the wine barrels. "That's a nice theory, but with no proof." Besides, it scared me. After all, how the heck was I supposed to return a Silmaril to its original form? It didn't make sense, I wouldn't even be able to touch it when it was whole again. But then again, maybe I didn't have to...

No.

That was just too far-fetched.

"You are afraid," Legolas said.

I raised my head. If we weren't standing where we were with each other, I would have admitted it. Because it was obvious. But I wasn't willing to move even an inch closer to him. Not after what he had said earlier. "I think you are putting the cart before the horse," I therefore retorted. "You are looking for evidence of a result that is already certain for you and are blind to other ways."

He held my gaze and I met his. "Do you have a better idea?"

I didn't. And he knew it. Of course he did.

Before I could say anything back, Gimli hissed, "Sht."

Legolas and I turned to the dwarf who, unnoticed by us during our exchange of words, had stepped closer to the exit of the storehouse. Now he stood leaning forward listening, a finger placed to his lips.

And then I heard it too: footsteps.