“Now even I can hear his voice,” Elros said as he stowed his bow case on the horse. His dreams had been empty of Maglor’s lament, for men could not hear the minds of elves. “Never have I heard a fairer song or more sorrowful.”

The brothers led the horses between the grassy dunes; then they mounted and rode slowly along the shore. The sand flats were bared, the sea a far-off line of silver. A lone seal, stranded when the tide turned, wandered among the sun-warmed kelp. Bewildered by the loss of her kindred, she called in answer to Maglor’s voice. His singing grew louder, until they could hear the words.

The waters now keep what I could not hold
A treasure more dear than coral or gold
Searching, I wade in the shallows by night
But weed and dark water veil its fair light...

A barefoot elf, his leggings rolled up to his knees, sang as he dragged a rake through the sand. Every so often, he reached down and tossed a white shell into a low basket. His long arms and legs were well-muscled, but he held the rake awkwardly, clearly favoring his right hand. A wide-brimmed hat, woven from seagrass, shaded his face.

A treasure more dear than coral or gold--

When the elf saw the horses, the song suddenly stopped. Rake in hand, he watched unmoving until he could see the riders’ faces. Then with a glad cry, he threw down the rake and ran across the sand to greet them.

“How can this be after all these years? I had not thought to see you again.” The Eldar changed little with age, but grief and exile had left their mark and Maglor’s black hair was heavily streaked with grey. He no longer wore the braids of a warrior; instead, the locks were shorn about his shoulders, after the manner of the fisherfolk.

“We should have come sooner, Uncle,” Elrond said as he swung down from the saddle and hurried to their foster father. Elros had already flung his arms around him.

“What happened to my twin bear cubs? You stand at least a foot taller than I do.” Maglor laughed even as tears coursed down his face. He stood back an arm’s length and gazed at the two brothers. The smile faded, and his face seemed to settle in old lines of grief. “Is it true then, Elros? That you have chosen the fate of the Edain?”

“It was no easy choice, Uncle, and it grieved me to leave my kindred.”

Maglor shook his head. “Always you had to find your own way. In that, at least, you have not changed.”

“Remember when he flew from the roof of the chicken coop?” Elrond asked. The brothers glanced at each other and laughed.

“I still think those wings would have worked if I had had the right sort of feathers,” Elros replied. Since their mother had taken the form of a seabird, Elros had fashioned makeshift wings in hope of flying after her. The journey had been swift and short, ending in a broken arm. No doubt the arrival of two young elflings had wreaked unforeseen havoc on Maglor’s household. Looking back, Elrond deemed that their guardian had shown remarkable patience.

“You wished to be a seagull,” Maglor murmured. “By my hand did you lose your kindred and home, yet you gave me only joy in return. So many wrongs. I sink beneath their weight.”

“Do not speak so, Uncle!” Elrond cried. “You have suffered too long. We bear a message from the Valar. They offer forgiveness, and they bid you return to Valinor.”

Maglor looked away from the brothers, staring across the hard-gleaming water. After a long moment, he spoke. “Let us get out of this wind.” The son of the High King tucked the rake under his arm and picked up the basket of clams. Elrond caught a glimpse of his right hand, burned and maimed by the touch of the Silmaril.

Leading their mounts, the brothers followed across the wet sand, then past an overturned skiff that had been dragged above the reach of the tide. The rocks were veiled with fishing nets, spread to dry in the sun, and herrings dangled from wooden racks. This seemed a fair place in the bright summer weather, but Elrond could well imagine the gloomy cold of a winter day. 

The hut crouched in the shelter of the dunes. Villages of fisherfolk, lordless and poor, were scattered along the coast, but Maglor’s dwelling stood alone. The ceiling was so low that the brothers had to walk with their heads bowed. Mats of seagrass covered the floor, and the simple but sturdy furnishings had been fashioned from salvaged wood. A sword hung on the wall, its well-polished fittings gleaming in the shadows.

“At times, this coast has been troubled by raiders, and so I keep the sword in readiness,” Maglor told them with a wry laugh. “Though a one-armed swordsman is about as much use as a leaky bucket.”

“Yet your brother Maedhros learned to fight one-handed,” Elros pointed out.

“He was a skilled warrior; I was never his equal in feats of arms.”

Elros started to speak then fell silent.

The small table was soon set with cups and plates of pearly shell. Maglor stirred up the fire, a halo of sparks darting around his head. At their foster father’s bidding, the brothers sat on the driftwood benches while he cooked their supper. He asked many questions as he worked, always using his left hand to wield the knife or stir the pot. How did they fare on their journey? What route did they take to Eglarest? No, he saw few travelers here. What news from Imladris? And what were the tidings from over the sea in Numenor? Soon, dried fish and chopped root vegetables went in the battered pot. Prized from their shells, the tender clams would be added later.

Elrond could scarcely bear to watch the slow movements of his maimed hand. “May I see your hand, Uncle? I have studied with the healers of Lindon and have some skill in their art.”

“The wound is old and long-since healed,” Maglor replied, but he held out the hand.

The palm was thick with scars and the fingers fused together by clumps of tissue. Elrond had never seen such scarring on one of their people, for their hurts were wont to heal quickly and cleanly. But Maglor had been burned by the living fire of the heavens. Elrond strove to hide his grief and horror as he spoke. “Perhaps the Valar can help you.”

Maglor shook his head. “For years, I longed to cast myself after the Silmaril, to find forgetfulness under the waves, except that death would lead me to Valinor. What welcome would I find among the elves I have slain?”

“The Valar have forgiven you, and that should be enough for the others,” Elrond said firmly.

“Do you not remember how I cut down the household servants as they tried to shield you with their bodies?”

Elrond remembered how, dagger in hand, their nursemaid Olwen had faced the mailed warriors. His feet had slipped in her blood as Maglor led him away with his brother. “Yet at the last, you stayed your hand.”

Maglor stared into the fire. “I am unfit to dwell among our people.”

Shoving aside the bench, Elros rose to his feet. “So you squander the years in endless remorse? Hiding among the dunes as you sing laments to the wind? You who were a prince of the Noldor, learned in both handcraft and lore? You who defended your lands against the armies of Morgoth?”

“Ever were you wont to speak your mind; and that, I see, has not changed,” their foster father replied. His voice was quiet, but his eyes gleamed in the firelight.

“If you are unworthy of Valinor and must remain in exile, then at least make amends to the people around you, the fisherfolk of Eglarest. You should be their teacher and leader.” Elros crossed the room and then lifted the sword from its place on the wall. Kneeling like a squire before Maglor, he offered the weapon on outstretched hands. “Take up your sword and learn to fight one-handed. Show the courage that befits a son of Feanor.”

“Elros, I would sooner you strike off my head than ask me to take any oath on that sword. I have found that little good ever comes of such solemn vows. And do not speak to me of duty for that is a bitter word to one who has murdered for its sake.”

“Then you have turned away from all that you once were?”

“I surrendered that burden full willingly. It was not so great a loss. You and your brother will need to bring your horses into the shed before nightfall. There is no proper straw for their bedding, but we can cut some sea grass to spread on the floor.”

Elros rose to his feet without a word, but his face had flushed dark red. He cast the sword upon the table then strode out the door.

His silver head bowed, their foster father began to clear the table. Now that their talk had ended, Elrond heard again the distant waves, the rumble and hiss as endless sheets of foam wore the rocks to sand.

“He was grieved by the news of your exile,” Elrond said quietly. “As was I, Uncle. Whether elf or man, none of us is meant to dwell in solitude. And even in these times of peace, it is unwise to live alone. You said that this coast is troubled by raiders.”

“Yes, they come after the spring fishing season, in search of dried herring and slaves. Though of late, their visits have happened less often.” Balancing a stack of dishes on one arm, he nodded toward the wall. “The sword goes on those pegs, if you would do me a favor.”

The sword had slid in the scabbard when Elros had flung it away, baring part of the blade. Even in the dim firelight, Elrond could see where deep nicks had been carefully polished from the steel. Repeated sharpening had worn the blade thin, and he deemed it would last for only a few more battles. Though the weapon had seen hard use, the fittings and blade had been kept with great care. He quickly sheathed the sword and set it in its place.

Sleeves rolled up, Maglor was washing the dishes. Elrond found a linen cloth, and his foster father handed him a plate. A long scar, still pink and tender, creased the skin of Maglor’s right forearm. “How did you gain such a mark on your arm?” Elrond asked sharply.

His foster father held out another plate to dry. “I was gutting a sand shark, and my hand slipped on the blood.”

Elrond peered more closely at the injury. “I studied too long with the healers to believe such a tale. The angle of the cut is wrong. Is this the work of the raiders?”

“Never try to fool a healer.” Maglor laughed then shook his head. “Grey-haired and crippled, I had not planned to take up the sword again. I possessed neither land nor honor to defend, and after Maedhros was silenced by the mountain's fire, I counted myself an exile among the living.”

“Would that we had been there to aid you.”

“I doubt I would have let you, for pain and long grief had darkened my mind. When first I came to this place, the villagers begged me to lead their defense, deeming a one-armed swordsman better than none. I did not refuse, thinking it a fitting jest for the last son of Feanor to die on the swords of brigands.”

“So you became their lord?”

“Though some would call me so, I am not worthy of such a high estate. Once the dishes are dry, we had best help your brother with the horses.”

The horses looked up and whickered when they entered the shed. The floor had been spread with a thick layer of dry grass, and Elros was braiding the mane of the grey mare. Combs still in his hands, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Uncle. I have no right to judge you, and it is an ungrateful son who speaks so harshly to his father.”

Shaking his head, their foster father raised him to his feet then drew him close. “No elf—or Man--could hope for better sons.” He reached out with his maimed hand and drew Elrond into the circle of his embrace. How long had it been since they had huddled in the shelter of his arms? A hundred years, two hundred? Yet their bond was so strong that even death would not sunder it.

Saying he needed to bank the fire for the night, Maglor returned to the hut, leaving the two brothers to finish grooming the horses. Elrond spoke of what he had learned, of how Maglor had taken the fisherfolk under his care, and the brothers were agreed that they would speak no more of Valinor. 

They departed in the morning, leading the horses along the rocky shore. Their foster father walked alongside them for he had an errand in one of the villages. An empty sword sheath was tied under Elros’ bedroll behind the saddle; his fine sword was left behind, buried in the flour barrel in Maglor’s hut. The twins would be far away before the ruse was uncovered. As they walked, men hailed them from the boats near the shore. Three children threw down their clam rakes and ran across the wet sand, calling “Lord Bard! Lord Bard!”

“’The mighty singer’,” Elros said with a laugh. “The name is not unfitting.”

The older children hung back, staring wide-eyed at the tall lords and their horses, but the youngest one ran forward, arms outstretched to Maglor. Laughing, he scooped her up with one arm and settled her weight against his shoulder.

“You need not be afraid,” he told the others. “These are my foster sons, Elrond and Elros.” The barefooted maids made a shy courtesy, still watching them from a wary distance. “Their horses are from the elven lands and are most gentle. Come closer so you can meet them.”

The grey mare whickered softly and lowered her head as the children came forward to stroke her silken mane. Despite the bare feet and faded garments, their eyes were bright and their faces smooth and well-rounded. Maglor told them the horses’ names and showed them how to offer a handful of oats in an open palm. The maids laughed as the horses licked their hands.

“Ever you had a kind manner with children,” Elros murmured.

“I have found that these little ones are not so different from elflings,” Maglor replied with a smile.

They set out again, still following the shore. A few leagues away, they struck through the dunes until they reached the stone highway that led to Lindon. They made their farewells on the desolate road.

“Fair journey and safe return.” Their foster father gave Elrond a quick embrace. “Take care of yourself and look after your brother. The girth on that grey is too loose; be sure to tighten it ere you mount.”

“I will come again to Eglarest as soon as I can, Uncle.”

Maglor turned to Elros. “You and I will not meet again, unless there is a place for Men beyond the circles of this world, and that I cannot say. Yet to see you once more has brought me great comfort.”

“Never will I forget you, Uncle,” Elros said as they embraced.

“I will think of you often, my bear cub,” Maglor replied. Tears coursed down his weathered face. “Now fasten the front of your cloak before you take ill. You men are prey to all manner of sickness.”

The road sloped gently up a hill, and when the two riders reached the crest, they turned to wave one last time, and then the grey-haired figure was lost to their sight.

**************************************

Elrond fell silent. Beyond the circles of this world. How was it that after so many years he could feel these ancient griefs anew?

After a time, young Estel asked quietly, “What became of Maglor, Adar? Did you ever see him again?”

“Two times more I journeyed to his hut among the dunes, but after a fierce winter storm, the coast was changed and I could find no sign of either him or the villagers. I pray that he led them to some place of safety well above the reach of the tides. Years later, there were tales of a wanderer who sang as he walked where the sea met the land, but my searches for him have been to no avail.”

“Then he did not return to Valinor. What did you tell the Valar?”

“I did not journey to Numenor with my brother, but later he told me of his meeting with the Exalted Ones. As darkness fell on eve of the coronation day, he sat under the White Tree, his head bowed in thought. It seemed to him that his quest had failed, for Maglor still dwelt in mortal lands, and Elros deemed that his crown was forfeit. As he pondered his fate, the wind rose and stirred the branches above him, rushing stronger and stronger, until he heard again the sound of the waves at Elgarost and when he lifted his head, Manwe and Varda stood before him. 

“’What said Maglor when you told him of our summons?’ the Lord of the Winds asked.

“Turning aside his gaze from their splendor, my brother replied, ‘Still he refuses to journey to the Undying Lands, deeming himself unworthy of grace.’

“’And did you try to sway him, as we commanded?’

“’Such was my intent,’ Elros said. Try as he might, he could not keep his voice from trembling. ‘Yet in the end, I did not press him to leave, for I would not rob the people of Eglarest of their lord and protector, not though it cost me the throne of Numenor.’

“’What care you for these lesser Men who dwell on the shores of MiddleEarth?’ This was the voice of a woman, the words as cool and sweet as the swaying of silver bells.

“’I pity them for their days are short and burdened with toil, and though they are lesser Men, through many generations they are akin to my people.’

“A gleaming, snow-white hand reached down to touch his face. ‘So for their sake you must fail in the quest?’

“’Not for their sake alone, Lady of the Stars.’ Elros looked up, into those eyes as deep as the well of the night. ‘Among these poor folk, Maglor has found some measure of peace. I beg you to let him abide there for now.’

“The leaves of the White Tree rustled as Manwe spoke. ‘Not for the first time is Feanor’s son redeemed by his pity for the weak. Let him stay in Eglarest to lead his chosen people.’ Then the Lord of the Winds smiled upon my brother. ‘And with our blessing will you don the crown of Numenor, for you have shown the manner of your lordship. We would not see your people bereft of such a merciful lord.’

“Elros bowed his head, and when he looked up, they were gone, but in the branches above him, white flowers had opened like so many stars lighting the darkness.

“He would rule for four hundred years, the longest of any king of the Dunedain. Like him may you choose to lead with kindness, with regard for even the least of Men.” Elrond leaned down to kiss his son on the brow, for Estel had yet to reach his full stature.

--The End--