a place where both our hearts may rest by ohboromir

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Epilogue

The road to Mithlond was long and winding, but a more peaceful land Beleg had never seen, and it made his heart uneasy. In the first days he had burnt through his share of the extra snacks they had brought from Pincup, for fear of saying something foolish. Mablung had laughed at his appetite and offered to share his; Beleg had told him to save them for later.

 

Why should peace make him uneasy? It was all he should be hoping for, wasn’t it? A life of peace and quiet where they did not have to watch over their shoulders.

 

He knew why; the sea. They had not seen it since they had left the Havens of Sirion. Beleg feared what it would awaken in Mablung’s heart - a desire for Aman, a desire to leave. Mablung had always loved the sea; he was far more Telerin than Beleg had ever been. The sea was in his blood - and given how troubled he had been by the sight they had seen in Eregion; it was certain that he would want to sail.

 

Could Beleg leave? The idea was not as horrible as it had once been; Eriador was beautiful and wild but it was not Beleriand, nor would it ever be, and it did not hold the same place in his memories as Beleriand had. If he had been asked to leave Beleriand, he would have refused outright. Mablung had not asked him to leave Eriador, but Beleg knew that he would. Would it be as hard as he had always assumed, when the moment came? Or would it be easy; stepping into the promise of a future?

 

He thought of Mablung, working in the small farms of the village. How blissful he had been, at home in the domesticity of it all.

 

Perhaps they could have a home like in Valinor; there would be forests there, he hoped, for them to range and hunt in, and they could come home to their own little house and garden - the sudden image of them hosting dinner parties and making tea made him smile. Perhaps their friends would be there, re-embodied and waiting, and they would never be short of guests. It might not be so terrible.

 

But still the fear of boredom lurked in the back of his mind. It would not release him.

 

As Mithlond’s silver roofs appeared ahead of them, Beleg resolved to have an answer the next time Mablung asked. He hoped it would be soon; the wondering and questioning was worse than having to give an answer - he trusted his instinct. He would know in the moment what his choice would be. Forethought had never been his strength.

 

The cries of the gulls welcomed them, echoing the clattering of hammers and the chattering voices of shipwrights and sailors, fishers and divers. The streets were bustling with life, elflings running through the alleys, market-stalls overflowing. It was like Falas, how it had been when Beleg had visited it in the days of old; he should not be surprised, given Círdan was still the lord here. In the distance he could hear an elvish voice singing. He half expected to turn a corner and see Elwë by the sea, or Nimloth dancing, or Daeron playing on his pipes.

But they were gone. Nothing but bones under the water in crumbling ruins.

A wave of grief threatened to swallow him; how could a life this normal continue when those they had loved were not here to live it? Did these people not know? Did they not feel the loss of that world as keenly as Beleg?

Ah, but some of them would never have seen it - most of them, perhaps. They did not know what had been lost. Did they remember it at all - or was it but history to them, something confined to the pages of books and the tales of scholars?

He thought of the Eregion elves and how they had spoken of their lives: as history, as legend, to be discussed and quarrelled over - as if it had not been real. As if they had not lived it, glorious and painful as it was.

You cannot argue with history.

Was that all they were, now? Stories, told and retold so many times they did not recognise themselves?

In silence, they wandered down to the soft sands. It was still warm, though daylight was fading.

“It is strange, isn’t it?” Mablung gazed out over the water. Grief made his voice heavy. “Círdan has made Falas come again. I thought I might find it comforting - but it does not comfort, Beleg.”

 

Beleg took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Does it not?”

 

“No. I feel… old. Worn. In Evendim, in the Greenwood, in Fangorn - I felt young there, young and joyful. It felt like a new beginning. This… this is not that feeling. And we cannot go back. Even as we stand here, war is coming. Has come, for Eregion. I do not have the strength in me for another war.”

 

Beleg was silent. He leaned his head on Mablung’s shoulder and they watched the sun set, slowly sinking behind the sea. In its golden glow, Beleg made his decision.

 

“I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy.”

 

For all the love he bore Middle Earth, Mablung was dearer to him than anything else.

 

“You wish to go to Valinor - if you asked, Círdan would have a ship for you as soon as you desired.”

 

“For me…” Mablung repeated softly, “For me alone? I do not want to be apart from you. But yes, I wish to go; my time in Middle-Earth is spent, I think, and I do not think all the forests of the world could replenish it.

 

Beleg reached and cupped his face, turning Mablung’s head to look at him. He held his face in his hands, admiring him for a long moment. Then he kissed him, with all the sweet tenderness of the evening.

 

“I promised you once that I was not going anywhere without you again. I have never gone back on my word before, and I do not intend to start now. I will come with you. I love these lands; but I am ready for a new adventure.”

 

Mablung pressed his forehead to Beleg’s, and as the moon rose over Beleriand, their hearts were at peace.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed this :)

It was incredibly fun to write and the longest fic I've ever written solo, to date, and who better for that honour to go than everyone's favourite Sindar boys.

Thanks again to @lycheesodas for their art, ideas and encouragement <3 - find her on tumblr here!

And my tumblr is here

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