Silmarillion Writers' Guild You do not wish to live my life by Silver Trails

It was an unearthly scene, and yet Maglor could not really say that he was surprised. He knew of this, Immortals, living forever and cutting off each other’s heads as they struggled for survival. How ironic that immortality had to be regained at every moment by killing their people. Maglor had not really believed that this twisted mimic of the kinslayings could exist when Eoghan told him about it centuries ago. Now he could see it was true. Maglor had met Eoghan in Ireland, while trying to find a way to cross the ocean and reach the land they called America. He had stayed with the Man for a few months, but never saw a fight, never tried to follow his friend when he was on duty. Eoghan had called himself a Watcher.

So this was what Eoghan used to watch, Maglor mused as the fight went on. The dark-haired man was fighting fiercely, while the red-haired youth was starting to tire. It was too much a reminder of his brothers, and Maglor turned around, pressing his forehead to the cold wall of the warehouse. He should have been more careful, but the sounds of sword fighting, so absurdly familiar, had been too much for him to resist.

It was over moments later, and the lightning-like power that illuminated the starless night broke the remaining windows of the abandoned warehouse. It was as if fire had fallen on Earth… almost like it happened when the Siege on Angband was broken. The dark-haired man screamed as his body was wracked by the power released by his kill. It was a primal sound that spoke of a pain too raw for words. Maglor stood there, mesmerized, and only when the whirlwind of lightning passed, did the man notice him.

Tall, hazel eyes, a lanky figure with a sword in one hand and a trench coat in the other… The man looked strangely familiar.

“I mean you no harm,” Maglor said when the man was at earshot. There were others close, Watchers probably; the man seemed to have noticed too. Still he looked at Maglor warily.

“You don’t seem to be a Watcher.”

Maglor shook his head. “Not in the way you mean Watcher, no. I was simply watching you fight.”

“But you don’t look surprised.”

“I knew of your kind. I’ve heard tales of your eternal fight before.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “You’ve heard…”

Maglor nodded, almost certain now. He had seen this man in a sketch made by Eoghan’s father, a Watcher too according to his friend.

“I have, and I’ve seen your face before…”

The man tensed visibly. “Mine is an ordinary face.”

“I have seen old sketches while I was in Ireland…”

“Where are those sketches now? Damn it! I told him to throw them away…”

This was unexpected. “Did you know Eoghan?”

“I met Eoghan when he was a child. Did he tell you my name?”

“He did, but your secret is safe with me,” Maglor said quietly. He made a move to leave the place, but the man blocked his path, sword still in hand.

“I no longer carry a sword. I used to, long ago, but I walk in peace now. Let me go.”

The man seemed to consider it. “Who are you?”

“I was born before your kind… before Men opened their eyes to the Sun. I am bound to Earth for as long as it lasts. I am old, older than you, Methos.”

The slight change on the man’s expression confirmed Maglor’s suspicions. The man, Methos, smiled shrewdly. “So you are indeed a Watcher.”

“I am not. Why would I lie to you?”

“Why would you not? After all, I would hide among the enemy if it was a convenient cover…”

“I walk alone most of the time. I have no ties to the world of Men.”

Methos looked at him for a moment, and finally relaxed. “What else do you know about us?”

“That you fight to stay alive, hoping to gain a prize you don’t know what it is. I have never spoken to an Immortal before, and I never saw such a fight until now. All I know is what Eoghan told me, and what I have seen tonight.”

“You said you are not of the world of Men.” Methos finally put his sword away in the folds of his trench coat. “What are you then, if not an Immortal?”

“I am an Elf.”

There was the ghost of a smile on Methos’ lips. “I thought you lived in the woods, and had pointy ears… Weren’t you half a man’s height?”

Maglor frowned. “We were never that small.”

Methos sobered. “So you are serious. You already know my name. What is yours? And just how old are you?”

“Older than you,” Maglor said. “I was born before the world was broken to be remade. You might have heard the legends.”

“There are always legends, and I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall, but I never heard of the world being broken. The stories about the flood and the destruction of Earth come to my mind, but I never really believed in most of Abraham’s tales…”

They started to make their way away from the wreckage, and though Maglor felt it wrong to leave the beheaded man there, he knew that the Watchers would take care of it.

“Your name is…?” Methos asked casually.

“I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë in the old language and Maglor in the one my kind spoke when we returned to Ennorath… to Earth. You can call me by either name, or you could simply call me Edlenn.”

“I’ve had many names too,” Methos said thoughtfully. “Maglor suits you. You said you used to carry a sword. May I ask what did you need it for?”

Maglor looked away. “I used to fight for a prize too, something precious that the Dark One stole from us. I believed it was my grandfather’s life, or the jewels my father made, but I know now that what Morgoth stole was our peace.”

“Then you killed for revenge, to recover what was yours.”

“I swore an Oath…”

“I see.”

“We had no choice.”

Methos regarded him calmly. “I have killed unnecessarily, Maglor. I was Death on a horse. I killed men and women, young and old, and I didn’t have a reason. I simply did it. I’m not about to judge you for trying to fulfill an Oath.”

Maglor relaxed marginally. “I should be going… I don’t know why I have said so much.”

They had reached Methos’ car.

“You could leave, but you still know more about me than I know about you and that is not fair. Come with me, and tell me about your people, Maglor, if only because I might meet one of you again.”

Maglor closed his eyes briefly. “I am alone.”

“Then you should come with me,” Methos said quietly. “I have no wish to be alone tonight, and neither do you, I think. I am the oldest among my kind; I think I understand loneliness. Come and have a beer with me, Maglor. Life could end tomorrow, Time could end tomorrow, but tonight we can rest and have some peace.”

Author's Notes

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien, or Rysher: Panzer & Davis. No profit is made and no harm is intended.

This story takes place in 1983, a year before Methos is recruited as a Watcher by Don Salzer. Maglor is simply passing by, and he is weary after a long period of solitude.

Thank you very much to Ithilwen for beta reading this fic. =)

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