A Songbird in a Cage of His Own Making by Elrond's Library

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Fanwork Notes

Fulfilling this silmkinkmeme prompt:
After the War of Wrath and the sinking of Beleriand, Maglor wonders the costs of Arda. He is pretty overwhelmed with guilt and grief so he stops taking care of himself.
At this point, Uinen, who had been watching him for a while, decides to adopt him as her new pet. She nurses him back to health. In gratitude, or maybe guilt, Maglor offers his body to her.
Cue Sub!Maglor and Dom!Uinen
Dont want hate sex. Besides that, have fun!

Makalaurë - Maglor
Uinen - Maia of calm seas, wife of Ossë
Ossë - Maia of rough seas, husband of Uinen
Eruhíni - children of Eru, aka Elves and Men

Fanwork Information

Summary:

Uinen and Ossë have lost track of the Noldor's Songbird, his laments gone silent. When they do, Uinen nurses him back to health, and then some.

Major Characters: Uinen, Maglor, Ossë

Major Relationships: Maglor/Uinen

Genre: Erotica

Challenges:

Rating: Adult

Warnings: Sexual Content (Graphic)

Chapters: 1 Word Count: 4, 836
Posted on 24 April 2025 Updated on 24 April 2025

This fanwork is complete.

A Songbird in a Cage of His Own Making

Read A Songbird in a Cage of His Own Making

Uinen, the Lady of the Seas, revered by the fledgling Numenoreans and the right hand of the Vala Ulmo, had been watching and listening to the songbird of the Noldor warble on the beaches for hundreds of years. And it was true, he did not just sing, though it seemed his favorite way of making noise. Sometimes he screamed. Or cried. Or whimpered. He laughed seldom, talked to strangers even less. 

Kanafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion, scion of Finwë, called Maglor, was rarely silent for long. 

So when Ossë, best-beloved husband and prowler of the shores of Middle-earth, could not hear the singer, could not find his spirit on the beaches, he came to Uinen to confer with her. 

“We will find him,” Uinen assured her husband, fanar blending into a concoction of seafoam as a storm began to form over their heads. “He is the only scion of Fëanáro Oathtaker. If he falls at last, Námo will lose all eight of them to the Void, and I cannot countenance such a permanent end to any of the Firstborn, foolish as the swearing may have been.”

“Agreed,” Ossë rumbled, thoughts swirling with a stream of bubbles. “I will take the north, and you the south?” 

Uinen nodded, separating her fana from that of her husband with a sigh. “Call to me if you find him. We promised Himring-sister to watch him; I hate breaking promises.” With that, she turned and headed towards the shoreline. 

Many cycles of Arien-sister and Tilion-brother passed before she found the Noldor’s songbird. 

Tol Falas was far enough to the south of Makalaurë’s normal haunts, and not even on the shore, being an island, that she was surprised to find him there. 

Or rather, traces of him. A half-note echo of a lament, a cairn of stones on the rocky beach, a ragged lean-to against an aged pine. 

Uinen left the sea, her fana solidifying into something distinctly Firstborn-alike, but she knew she’d never pass for anything other than what she was in the company of the Eldar. After all, she rarely had a need for this fana. The shell of her ears were ragged fins; her green and black hair coiled and writhed without conscious thought; her skin was studded in a rainbow collage of scales that shimmered under Arien’s gaze. No, certainly not an Elda, but good enough to walk, good enough to search. 

A cave was where she eventually found him, half-submerged and bleeding sluggishly from his thigh. He was barely breathing. 

“Oh, Makalaurë,” Uinen breathed, sorrow and pity welling inside her. “How did you even come to be here, little songbird?” 

Of course, he did not answer. 

She carried him easily out of the cave, his slight form betraying the centuries of hard living and lack of nutritious food. She talked to him as she held him, and continued to talk as she cleaned and bandaged his wounds. 

“What will you do, little songbird, if the Ban is lifted? If you are allowed to return home, return to Aman where you belong, do you think you will? Your cousins are beginning to return from the Halls, slowly. Findaráto and Turukáno and little Arakáno. A good portion of your people from the Gap, too. Do you remember the winds, little songbird, whipping through the grass? I visited the Gap, I visited all your brother’s and cousin’s holdings, when Ulmo began to sink the land. Nargothrond and Barad Eithel and Himring. Himring-sister got attached to you, did you know? If you managed to get out here, to this little island, surely you could grace what is left of Himring-sister’s tall peak with a visit–” 

“I cannot,” Makalaurë murmured, blinking against Arien-sister’s rays. “Himring holds nothing for me but memory.”

“You’re awake!” Uinen grinned. Her graceful fingers finished securing the bandage around his thigh. “I’ve been looking for you, Makalaurë. You’re never this quiet.” 

He sighed, sitting up on his elbows to inspect the bandage. “Didn’t see much point,” he muttered. “Didn’t think anyone was listening.” 

Uinen sat back, rubbing bloodied hands in the sand to scour them clean. “Of course we’re listening, my Songbird. Our fealty may be to the Valar, but our love is given to the First- and Secondborn. It is for you, the Eruhíni, that we Sang the world into being, shaped it for you.” She considered Makalaurë, a faint smile on her face. “Makalaurë. Why did you stop singing, truely?” 

He looked away, scowling. “Why do you care?”

Uinen shrugged. “In a cosmic sense, or in a personal sense?”

“Both?”

“Because I mourn Beleriand just as much as you, though such grief cannot last forever. I would hear you sing joyously, when you are ready, the way you did on those far shores under the light of the Trees.” She tapped his knee lightly, absentminded, and decided to lie. “And I have a wager with Ulmo and Ossë on how long you’ll last, and I take that seriously.”

Sometimes it is better to lie. He did not need to know the extent of his own past folly, nor the cosmic consequences. 

Makalaurë snorted. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

Uinen gave him a sly smile. “That would be skewing the results, would it not?”

“And this isn’t?” He gestured to his thigh. 

“Don’t tell?”

Makalaurë shook his head, huffing a strangled laugh. 


Uinen spent the next several weeks ensuring Makalaurë did not die. Ossë came and left, happy to leave the business of keeping her little Songbird alive to her. 

He recovered quickly, and gained weight and muscle mass again with the rich diet of fish and shorebirds and fruit she fed him. He started to sing again, grief-stricken laments casting a pall over the island, lullabies and rhyming lesson-songs giving occasional cheer. 

Makalaurë stayed on Tol Falas even as she disappeared at random, heeding the calls of her Lord and the prayers of the Faithful of Numenor. She would return to his side when her business allowed, and he would smile through whatever song he played as she dragged herself out of the waves. 

They had passed this particular evening quietly over a meal of fruit juice and grilled octopus. She was lounging beside the fire he had built, letting the sounds of his harp wash over her. It wasn’t unusual for his song to peter out, fingers missing a chord, then two, before slowing and stilling, hands poised to pluck the next. She twisted, watching him take a steadying breath as his hands fell to his sides. 

“Lady Uinen,” Makalaurë said into the silence. He stared into the darkness, and when he spoke it was a whisper. “Would you be willing to hold me?”

He sounded so tentative, so ashamed at wanting more from her, her heart nearly broke. “Of course, my Songbird.” She reached for him, and he packed his harp away, then knelt at her side. She watched him curiously, raised on one elbow. She was unsure of what exactly he wanted. 

He crawled into her space, pressing his back to her front, pillowing his head on one raised arm. He tugged on one of her arms, curling it around his torso, holding it close. She could feel how tense he was, and how slow he was to relax into her touch, but eventually he did, languor suffusing his limbs as she hummed a tune. He fit well under her chin, and they lay there together until the fire burned low. 

That was not the first time he fell asleep in her arms. She realized that not only had the needs of his hröa been neglected over the centuries, but his fëa as well. Isolation and fear and guilt do not a happy Eruhíni make. So she gladly continued to feed him, and as they watched the sunset together most nights, she would sit closer, sing with him, braid his hair. 

Uinen paid attention to the ways Makalaurë responded to her touch. He laughed when she touched his sides, he sighed when she lingered over his scars. He reciprocated, tentatively at first, then bolder, but he never initiated without her permission. Fear, or perhaps guilt, lingered in the corners of his eyes that no amount of food or gifts or cuddles could erase. 

They were relaxing at the end of a day of clam hunting, his head pillowed on her shoulder as Arien and the sun disappeared over the horizon. She carded through his loose hair leisurely, unbound and having regained a lustrous sheen. He pressed closer, slowly rolling his hip against her thigh. 

She huffed a tiny laugh, staring up at the sky, wondering what her existence had come to, that she would have a Kinslaying Eruhíni trying to subtly rut against her in response to her playing with his hair. Surely this was not part of Eru’s plan for her, was not foretold by the Music that ran through every aspect of her life. And yet, here he was, and here she was, and she could not deny that she was … fascinated. 

He moaned, low in his throat, as her hands twisted in his hair, holding it tight in her fist. “Yes, my Songbird? You want something from me?”

Makalaurë nodded slowly. “I think – I need you,” he whispered, his erection pressing harder into her thigh, his arm tightening around her. “I want you.”

Uinen pressed a kiss into his forehead. “Good. I want you too.” She kept her hand fisted in his hair as she raised herself over him on one elbow, free hand caressing the side of his face. “Will you submit to me, my Makalaurë?”

He nodded, lips parting prettily, eyes dilated with lust. “Anything.”

She grinned, letting go of his hair. “Then strip, and show me.” 

He obeyed quickly, clothes deposited in a messy heap on another blanket. The weather was still warm, summer heat dissipating in the night air but not cold. He knelt, naked, breathing even and consciously controlled, at the edge of her blanket. 

Uinen had always known he was pretty, and his talent with music and Song only served to enhance his beauty in her eyes. Dark hair fell in luxurious waves down his back, grey eyes framed by long lashes that swept over high cheekbones. He had been gaining muscle in the months they had spent together here, but all his body’s edges were softened by the rich diet she had been ensuring he ate. His thighs were soft, and his cock hard in his lap. He stared at her with undisguised desire. 

“Come here, little Songbird,” Uinen cooed, holding a hand out to invite him closer. She was still reclining, the parts of her fana that acted as clothes slowly melting into an approximation of a woman’s body. She knew it wasn’t exact, but she was not inclined to spend the time necessary to make every single little detail of her fana match that of a Eruhíni. This would be enough. She was Maia, and he knew it, and desired her anyway. 

He crawled towards her, laying on his side, an echo of all their previous nights spent holding him as he slept. His breath ghosted against her lips, heavy and uneven. Uinen smiled, unashamedly baring her shark-like teeth, sharp and jagged, then kissed him gently. She buried her hands in his hair, holding him firmly. Makalaurë gasped, rolling his hips against her belly. 

She twisted, laying on her back and pulling him half over her chest, still kissing him. He moaned into her mouth, a desperate whine. His hands fluttered against her sides, unsure if he could touch, if she would allow him to pleasure her in turn. 

Uinen broke the kiss, one hand still firmly in Makalaurë’s dark hair. He panted, breathless, eyes wide and hungry. “Please,” he begged. “Please let me serve you.”

Uinen smirked. “Of course, my Songbird,” she purred, all languid satisfaction. He started to dip back into another kiss, but she tightened her grip on his hair. She clicked her tongue, tsk tsk, in admonishment. “Only if you agree, that service in this way will not result in a Lúthien-like situation, yes?”

Makalaurë blinked, a frown beginning to form before he seemed to understand what she meant. Uinen was happy to play with her little Songbird, but she did not want his child. Uinen and Ossë were not interested in parenthood, not in the slightest, but this, pleasure for pleasure’s sake, was a different matter entirely.

“Of course, my Lady,” he nodded. “Elwë Þindicollo I am not.” 

She released him, and he kissed her again as her hands started to wander his form. She squeezed his thighs, urging him up to straddle her hips. He bit gently on her lower lip, sucking gently, then turned his attention and his kisses to her ears, her throat, her breasts. 

Was this what the singers and poets meant by a lover’s worship? Is this what the sailors of the Faithful were always so wistful of, alone but for her listening ear on the empty seas? Uinen could not blame them, for her Songbird was a skilled lover. He played her fana like a familiar instrument, coaxing moans and sighs from her that she was barely aware of, awash in the pleasure of his service to her. 

Her hands drifted to his leaking cock, flushed dark and needy. His breath hitched in her ear, and she huffed a soft laugh. 

“Let’s play a game, little Songbird,” Uinen said as Makalaurë’s hands drifted, caressing her thighs, squeezing gently at her hips. He met her eyes, wide and eager to please. His lips were plush from kissing, and a little bloody where they had been accidentally caught in her sharp teeth, not that he seemed to have noticed. 

“Oh? What sort?”

She smirked. “You may do whatever you like, but you must stop when I tell you to.” 

“Of course,” he murmured, laying a kiss in the space between her breasts. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

She laughed, low and dangerous in her throat. He had no idea. 

Uinen let him explore her fana: what touches made her melt, what caresses made her to arch into his hands, what kisses caused her moan appreciatively. She had never taken an Incarnate lover before, and so letting him lead was a natural consequence. But to cede control entirely? Not a chance. 

Makalaurë dropped between her thighs to suck and lick at her until she was gasping, the release of built-up tension akin to the thrust of a tsunami wave hitting the shore – sudden, all-consuming, and slow to dissipate. He watched her with a soft smile on his face as she came back to herself, fingers trailing over her thighs in circles idly. 

“Having fun?”

Uinen hummed agreement, feeling sated and relaxed. The grip she held on her fana loosened slightly, her hair dissipating into seafoam, then reforming into many long and thin octopus arms. She reached for him, and he knelt over her, kissing her gently. 

He rolled his hips into her belly, a not-so-subtle reminder of how this situation had started in the first place. Uinen smirked, kissed him with just a tad too much teeth, then reached between them to grasp his cock. He moaned at her touch, deep in his throat. She played with the end of it, watching his face twitch with arousal, before taking pity on him and allowing him entrance into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he sank deep inside her cunt. 

Makalaurë, ever courteous, let her adjust to the sensation before he started moving. She tightened her grip on his waist, pushing him deeper, and he took the hint. 

It was strange, the sticky hydraulics of it all, but certainly not unwelcome. She was having fun, more fun than she might have expected. She watched his face carefully as he thrust into her, looking for some indication that he was close to that same overwhelming wave of pleasure he had given her earlier. A moan, flush of his neck and chest, a stuttering of his rhythm, and … 

“Enough.”

He froze, eyes wide with shock and maybe a touch of panic. Uinen smirked. He started to pull out, but she kept him in place with her legs, trapping him. Makalaurë opened his mouth, starting to protest, perhaps, or apologize, but she put one finger to his lips, shushing him. 

“A game, little Songbird,” Uinen murmured as an octopus arm caressed his cheek lightly. “You’ll finish, but when I say so.”

Makalaurë blinked – one, two, three – then sighed. “I see.” He sagged onto his elbows, hiding his face in her breasts. His cock twitched where it was still inside her, but he made no effort to adjust his position. He was her good little Songbird, and he would take what she gave him. 

One of the logs on the fire collapsed; sparks flew into the air to join the stars, then dimmed and died. 

Makalaurë’s breathing evened out into deep breaths against her chest as she held him in place – legs around his hips, arms around his shoulders, hands carding through his dark hair. An octopus arm traced the shell of his ear, and he shuddered. 

“Would you like to continue?” she whispered after a long while. 

He nodded, pushing himself back up onto his hands. He smiled down at her with an almost rueful smile. “You’re a cruel mistress, Lady Uinen.”

She just smiled up at him. “I’m having fun with you, little Songbird. I hope you are too.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat as he picked up his pace. Her octopus hair curled around his wrists, tickling the sensitive skin of his forearms. She watched him work, fascinated by the changes in his breathing and how the little muscles in his face twitched. He flushed again, hips growing more erratic as he got closer and closer and closer to that precipice. His mouth twisted into a grimace even before she told him to stop again. 

“Good job, little Songbird,” she crooned in his ear as he collapsed onto her chest again. “You did so well for me.” He panted heavily, breaths tickling her neck. As he came down again, he kissed and sucked at her neck, biting red marks into her rainbow-scaled skin. Uinen moaned quietly, arching her neck to give him more access. 

His skin cooled as he lay there, the thin sheen of sweat dissipating with a cool sea breeze. He shivered slightly in her arms. It was dark out, properly dark, now, and she would have him by the light of Varda’s stars. Tilion-brother’s full moon would not rise for several hours more, and thank Eru for that, as she knew no bigger gossip than Tilion, and she did not need that sort of attention right now. 

“Pull out, little one,” she murmured softly. “Let’s switch.” 

Makalaurë nodded, grunting quietly. She pushed herself up onto her knees, and he lay now on his back. One knee cracked loudly as he straightened it, which alarmed Uinen, but he laughed at her expression. “I’m fine, my Lady,” he said as he reached for her again. “Come here, I want to finish this game of yours.” 

Uinen giggled. Their positions reversed, she sank onto his cock with a heart-felt sigh, reveling in the stretch as he filled her completely. She rocked in place, experimenting with different patterns of movements. Makalaurë tentatively led, his hands on her hips, coaxing her into a rhythm that satisfied him. She let him. One octopus-hair tendril curling around the shell of his ear again, which made him moan, high-pitched and wanton. 

It did not take him long to reach that precipice again. His chest and cheeks flushed prettily. His grey-eyes were almost black with lust, wide and hopeful. But, alas for poor Makalaurë, Uinen was not quite done with her Songbird yet. She leaned back and stopped moving, letting her weight pin his hips to the ground. He growled in frustration. 

“Cruel,” he bit out, breathing hard. “Just, so cruel.”

Uinen laughed, which only made him groan as she clenched around his length. “You can do it, my Songbird. Patience.”

“I will beg, I’m not above begging,” he pushed himself up on his elbows, peering up at her in the dark with a pleading expression. “Mercy, my Lady, please, mercy on your Songbird. Please–”

She cut him off, a finger to his lips. “Peace, Makalaurë. Patience.”

Makalaurë caught her wrist, holding it in place as he sucked gently on the offending finger, a hint of teeth just skimming the surface. She watched hungrily as his cheeks hollowed, and offered him a second finger gladly. He sucked, eager, eyes still wide and pleading. 

Uinen did not wait as long this time before starting to move again. She pulled her hand out of his mouth, cupping it behind his head as she set the pace. She marvelled still at the noises he made, and the noises she made in response, a harmony of breathy moans and staccato gasps. He tried to lead again, hands gripping her hips tight, but she took them and pinned his wrists above his head, holding them in place with one hand. He struggled, but gave up, his strength no match for hers. 

Uinen watched as, for the fourth time, that tell-tale flush rose, and she watched, again, as he strained hopefully towards his release. His voice keened, whimpering as he waited for an instruction to stop … that never came.

He shuddered, back arching, as he finally spilled inside her, a shout of ecstasy on his lips. 

Uinen let go of his wrists and pushed herself upright from her hunched position above him. She watched silently as he shook with the aftershocks of his orgasm, shivering as if chilled. Tears fell slowly from the corners of his eyes, and he made no move to wipe them away. 

“Would you be willing to hold me?” he whispered, another shiver wracking his body, question echoing that first night when he had fallen asleep in her arms. 

Uinen caressed his cheek, wiping a tear away gently. “Yes, my Songbird.” She moved, dislodging his softening cock from herself and lay at his side. He turned and buried his face in her neck, holding her close. 

She stroked his hair, humming a calming lullaby he had taught her centuries ago, when he had been younger and freer and the Trees still shone. She could feel his tears on her neck, a steady stream, but he was quiet as he cried. Uinen said nothing, made no demands of him, just held him and sang until all his tears were spent. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled, voice hoarse. 

“For what?”

“Crying like that.”

Uinen shrugged. “Is that normal for Eruhíni?”

Makalaurë shrugged, nudging her chin slightly. He rolled onto his back, then sat up, staring at the dwindling fire. “I can’t speak for us all. It’s … it’s normal enough for me.”

Uinen hummed, sitting up as well. She knelt behind him, bracketing him between her knees, and held him, her face resting gently on his shoulder. “Was that what you wanted?”

He nodded, and pressed his cheek into her temple. “Yes. Thank you.”

She hugged him tighter to her chest, then stood. She held out a hand to him. “Come. Let us wash, and sleep, and welcome Arien-sister in the morning.”

And so they did. Makalaurë slept deeply, cradled in the hollow of her shoulder. Uinen stared up at the stars and she watched Tilion-brother march across the firmament as she brooded over what to do with her pet Eruhíni.


Ossë joined them in the small hours of the morning. She watched him approach, sea otter-shaped fana bounding over the sand into their grassy campsite. He said nothing. He just licked her cheek in greeting, accepted a cursory scratch behind his ears, then curled up and watched over them as Arien-sister slowly turned the sky blue. 

Makalaurë woke slowly, hiding his sleepy eyes from the world by nestling closer into her shoulder. 

“Wake, little Songbird,” she whispered. “We have a guest.” 

“A … a guest?” he mumbled. 

“Ossë.”

Makalaurë shot up, wide awake and frantic. Ossë chittered in otter-laughter, catching Makalaurë’s attention. 

“My Lord.”

“Makalaurë. Have fun last night?”

“Relax, Songbird,” Uinen cut in, breaking whatever tension was starting to rise as Eldar and otter stared at each other across the firepit. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Should he be?” Ossë scratched at his head. 

Uinen shot her husband a deadly look and hissed, baring her teeth. He kept grooming himself, every line of his fana oozing satisfaction. She turned to Makalaurë, poking him in the ribs. “Go, get yourself ready for the day.”

Makalaurë frowned, biting his lip like he was holding himself back from saying something. She poked him again, and he went, gathering a clean shirt and trousers from his pack before disappearing into the woods behind them. 

Ossë shifted fana once Makalaurë was out of sight, into the one that he usually wore when interacting with Eruhíni: tall and broad and green-skinned, adorned with kilt and sandals and strings of pearls the size of plover eggs. They regarded each other, then he started laughing, and she couldn’t help but join in. 

“Do you think he’s afraid I would be jealous?” Ossë rumbled. 

Uinen shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters, best-beloved.”

Uinen grinned at her husband. She extended her mind to him, letting the memories of the previous night pass through their marriage-bond. He watched with rapt interest, chuckling at intervals, mostly when Makalaurë called her cruel. The memory faded, and a strange kind of melancholy fell between them. 

“He’s strong enough to move on,” she whispered. “He’s healed, he’s gained weight, and muscle, and he is less prone to laments than he was.”

Ossë nodded. “It’s time to come home.”

“You don’t need to sound insufferable just because you’re ri–” She cut herself off. She could hear Makalaurë humming a tune as he approached. 

He knelt at her side, hands folded in his lap, head bowed slightly so he did not meet either of their eyes. He had braided his hair, a simple braid down his back. “I–I apologize, my Lord Ossë, for being so disoriented when I awoke, and not greeting you properly.” 

Ossë laughed through his nose. “No harm done. You did not answer my question, though.”

Makalaurë flushed, ears turning bright red. “I did … I did enjoy myself, my Lord. Forgive me, but I did.”

Uinen reached out to caress his hair. He leaned into the touch unconsciously. “What is there to forgive, my Songbird?”

“Coming between you,” he mumbled after a moment. 

Ossë shook his head. “Nothing to forgive, Makalaurë. Uinen-wife can do what she wills, and neither you nor I can force her to do anything other than that which she wants.”

Makalaurë shot her husband a searching look, then nodded. “What now?”

Uinen tugged on the end of his braid, then sighed. “I can’t keep you here forever, my Songbird. I need to get back to my duties, and Ossë does as well, and you … you are well enough to travel again, I think.”

Makalaurë nodded. “I understand.” 

“Where will you roam?” Uinen asked gently.

He stared off into the distance for a long while, and they let him think. There was no rush, not really. 

“North,” he finally announced. “I’ll follow the coast north. Maybe Mithlond, or Himring.”

Uinen smiled. “If you follow the Gwathló, you might find your cousin and your nephew’s city.”

He blinked in surprise. “I would have thought Ost-in-Edhil too upstream for you to know of it.”

She shrugged. “Gwathló and I are friends, and she’s quite the gossip.”

“And a flirt,” Ossë grumbled. ‘Don’t forget that.”

Uinen rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. As if I could.”

Makalaurë laughed. “All right. North, and I have options when I get going.”

They helped him off of Tol Falas, and continued to watch over him from the shallows as the centuries passed. 

And, when he finally sailed west, she ensured his way was calm and swift and safe. She delivered him into the arms of all his brothers, for the Oath had been dissolved, and they were, all of them, eager to enjoy the years of peace. 


Chapter End Notes

Thank you to the SWG write-in crew, especially Elleth, IdleLeaves, StarSpray, and allthesinglerobots for writing with me pretty much every step of the way through this piece. You're the best.


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