Maglor
The boys were both asleep, and in that private Maglor finally gave in to the thoughts that fluttered and thumped at the inside of his head. Where was Maedhros now? Somewhere off in the deep woods, riding away from Maglor again back to Amon Ereb. Next week Maedhros would stop by Losselire briefly, and then leave for good. Maglor stared at the ceiling of his study and blinked hard.
Maedhros as Maglor had known him before Sirion wouldn't have left Maglor alone like this, but that version of Maedhros was evidently falling away before Maglor's eyes, transformed by grief just how Feanor had descended into madness in those first few terrible weeks after the death of their grandfather. Maglor's hands strummed the strings of his harp quietly, frantically.
Maedhros, the fall of Feanor, the fall of the Noldor. Noldolante.
"Sing, poet, of the two trees
And the light that mingled in the West
Silver and gold
To rise unending into the sky.
Who is left to remember?
.
Sing of the wrath of Feanor
Most bright, most bold
Most beloved of Finwe
Cast down in his grief by Morgoth's wiles.
Who is left to remember?
.
Mighty was his hand
And cunning the craft of he who wrought the Silmarils
Hallowed by the Valar
In which the fates of Arda all entwine
Stolen away by Morgoth
The last light of the Trees
Imprisoned under mountains of stone.
Who is left to remember?
.
Under a fell wind did he arrive
The black foe, on a rising tide of shadow
An ancient hunger followed him.
On a mountaintop – "
Maglor, lulled by the consistent sound of Elrond's light snore and Elros' slow breathing, softly continued through the remaining verses. The memories felt easier to bear this way, wrapped up methodically behind each bar and neat stanza. If he focused hard enough on the singing, he could almost pretend it had all happened to someone else. Some unknown master, who had watched at a detached distance the fall of two trees, the turmoil in the city, and at last, the oath of some great lord and his many sons. Maglor let the notes lead him, like footsteps on a path, out of the crowded streets of Tirion and away under darkened skies to the coast by Alqualonde.
"– Thus swore their oath
Which none should take and none shall break
Amrod and Amras, Curufin the crafty
Dark Caranthir, Celgorm of flaxen hair
Maglor the mighty singer, and Maedhros
The eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt
than his father's flame;
Him who fate awaited with fell purpose.
.
Atop the crowd in Tirion stood they
Fair princes of the Noldor
First to follow behind Feanor
A father's faithful sons.
Dread words they spake;
Many quailed at the hearing of it.
Manwe they named in witness
And Varda star-kindler
And the all-father
In his mansions beyond the walls of this world."
._.
Tumult in the dark. Flames – embedded in wall sconces, behind the glass panes of the few treasured lamps, dancing across a slick of spilled oil – each providing their own little sphere of light, beyond which the sea stretched out into the unending night. A narrow dock of bleached wooden planks which swayed now under Maglor's feet from the thick press of – a new word – soldiers.
Something rumbled in the distance. A spout of flame shot up into the darkened sky, and for a moment the dock was illuminated. It was as if someone had drawn a line between the fish-scale chainmail of Olwe's forces and the overlapping bronze leaves of the Noldor. As the flame in the distance died down, leaving only flashes of color dancing across the inside of Maglor's eyelids, he strained to make out that boundary, which ebbed back and forth with each shouted command like waves on sand.
Somewhere high above him, he heard Maedhros' voice. "Take cover!" Maglor heard a thunk on the dock, and then another and another, until the wood pattered with a quick succession of thumps interspersed with the twang of bowstrings. The making of swords was a secret known only to the Noldor, but as Maglor raised his head to see the slender white bows of the Teleri in the distance it occurred to him that arrows fashioned to hunt deer could still be just as sharp on people.
The others realized this, too. Maglor struggled to stay upright in the stampede rushing back, away from the range of the bows. His helmet slipped over his eyes and he stumbled to his knees. In the middle of a crowd like this running past, no one seemed to notice as they jostled him. He tried to rise back up to his feet.
If you fall right now, you won't get up again.
Maglor tried to stand. A hand on his left pushed someone out of the way in their haste, and that soldier tumbled down on top of Maglor. Maglor fell down. He couldn't see anything, hemmed in like this on all sides, couldn't breath, and as he tried to shield his head with his hands it occurred to him that Maedhros couldn't see him, either.
Between the forest of legs that stomped around him and on top of him, Maglor spotted a flash of light off to his right. Firelight, reflected on ocean waters that swirled and crashed within the confines of Alqualonde's harbor. The edge of the dock was only a few feet away. Maglor tucked his arms over his head, braced his feet, and rolled.
As the cold enveloped him he fought the instinct to gasp in shock. The sounds of battle vanished above his head. Surrounded by a black void, Maglor floated.
Maglor gritted his teeth and forced his body upwards. His head broke the surface and he grappled wildly at the nearest pillar. Maglor held on tight, but the wood was slick with seaweed and the weight of his armor, engraved and shining with all the craft befitting a prince of the house of Feanor, weighed down on him like lead.
In addition, around Maglor the sea was raging. Outside the walls of the harbor Maglor could hear deep groans in the darkness and fell shrieks on the wind. Even here by the docks, the water sucked at his limbs.
Maglor pushed with his legs and propelled his shoulders into the air. He scrabbled at the side of the dock. Someone's boot stamped down on his fingertips. Maglor gasped, but kept his grip. He tried to pull himself up.
A wave, larger than the last ones, rose above the base of the dock and slammed into him. A few inches of water flowed over armored feet now pushing back against the Teleri, as Feanor's unmistakable boom off in the distance commanded them to hold the line.
The forces of the Noldor pressed forward towards land, one arduous inch at a time. Someone in the rear began a shout, and in a few moments the entire company had taken up the battle-cry. "Feanor. Feanor. Feanor. FEANOR."
Maglor managed to hold on with one hand. He sputtered. "Help," he called out between coughs, "Someone help me."
A hand reached down to grasp his forearm. Maglor clung on desperately. Someone grunted with effort, and Maglor clambered back onto the dock.
Maglor sprung to his feet before anyone could knock him down again. "Thank you," he panted. In the darkness, Maglor squinted to see who had saved him.
The soldier in his shiny fish-scale shirt widened his eyes in surprise as he took in the sight of Maglor now risen from the waters. As Maglor watched, his hand moved down to his waist to clutch the jagged fisherman's spear fastened there.
Maglor's hand moved faster. The Telerin fell back onto the dock with a thud. As Maglor stepped over him he saw the colors bloom across his chest, ruby on silver.
Maglor fought down the nausea in his throat. As the battle raged on in the surrounding dark, he clutched his sword with more certainty. In his hands, it now seemed to sing.
._.
Author's note:
As we know, Tolkien never wrote the full text of the Noldolante. I thought it would be necessary to have some lines from this poem, since Maglor wrote it and these memories are so impactful to him. Various lines from "The Flight of the Noldoli from Valinor" by Tolkien were inserted with paraphrasing as needed, as well as different phrases from the text of the Silmarillion. I tried to imitate Tolkien's use of alliteration. I also took inspiration from Beowulf, since Tolkien was so fond of it, and the opening lines of the Iliad, as another famous piece of epic poetry.
I've definitely never been a poetry person, so hopefully it turned out all right, and not pretentious.