dye me, nocturne by skywardstruck  

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4. Daeron

Daeron recalls the past, learns the truth about Glaerorn and Maglor, and makes his final decision.

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“Why... Daeron, why? I trusted you... How could you?”

Daeron was met with a look of hurt, betrayal, and anger from Lúthien, the moment he arrived with her afternoon meal as his king demanded.

“Surely you knew... that my father would have done this, the moment you told him.”

“I did, dear sister. And you will come to understand why, in time.”

“No, it is you who does not understand,” said Lúthien, looking Daeron directly in the eyes, her gaze powerful, even though she was trapped here. “All the times we spent dancing, singing, playing games among the trees, roaming free in the wide woods— those are some of my happiest memories with you. It seems you have forgotten them, in your efforts to cage me here, against my will.”

“You will not be here for long; you will be released, once you accept the truth,” Daeron clarified, hoping to ease Lúthien’s worries, for his heart ached for her, knowing he had to do this for her sake. “This path you have gone down, in pursuit of this mortal man, ends only in your death. And a world without you... it hurts to even imagine it. Have you not thought for even one moment, of those you love, those whom you would leave behind?”

“I have. But even if I were to accept my father’s terms, that would not change the will of my heart,” Lúthien explained. “While it is true that I would go on living... I would never be the same again. And I would live... with the guilt that Beren had died for my sake, because he loved me, and I had done nothing in my power to save him, even when I had the chance.”

“And if you were to die, trying to save him?”

“I do not fear death, Daeron. Love is stronger than all things, even death itself.”

“Perhaps I have never understood you at all, Lúthien.... why take this road?”

“It is worth the risk,” Lúthien declared. “And only one who has been transformed by love could truly understand.”

❧

Daeron awakes in frustration— of course Irmo would remind him of one of his worst memories. But why now? Why did Irmo want him to recall Lúthien’s words? Was it simply because Daeron had discussed it with Maglor the day before, or was it an omen of some sort?

It can’t be because I’m attached to— no. I don’t even wish to think about it.

Daeron then notices Maglor has moved very little from his spot on the rock. Daeron is hesitant to ask about Maglor’s current state, but it is clear that Maglor already expects the question. “No, I did not sleep,” Maglor answers. “For ever since I was left alone... I could no longer keep the nightmares away, and so I prefer to avoid them, when I can.”

“Then... how do you usually pass the time, when you force yourself to stay awake?”

“I sing,” Maglor explains, “for it is the only way I have to lose myself completely. Do you not feel this way too, when you play?”

“Sometimes. But I do not play for myself, for music is more meaningful when there is someone else to hear it; and for the longest time, I have had no one,” Daeron admits. “But perhaps if things could go back to the way they once were...”

“It is impossible. Our homes... we can never go back. And after all that we have suffered, we are forever changed; you did not even recognize me, when we crossed paths on the shore,” Maglor points out.

“That... that is true,” Daeron concedes, remembering the haunting notes of Maglor’s voice. “Your voice, it... sounded much deeper than I remember.”

“The Makalaurë of that time... he no longer exists. You know this.”

“Oh, I am aware,” Daeron agrees, narrowing his gaze, deep in thought. “To think of it another way, though... I only wish to recall those same feelings of joy again, from that blissful time. That is why I was desperately searching for my family, for Glaerorn, I thought that maybe...”

“I... I know nothing that I can say will bring Glaerorn back to this world,” says Maglor, after a bit of hesitation. “I know that my words are meaningless when I have wronged her, wronged you and so many others. But if my death in turn can bring you peace... I hope that one day, you will find purpose in this changed world. That you will be able to play again, with your whole heart, and find a reason to smile, like you did then.”

Daeron can only sigh, for he has very little to say in reply. Maglor is right; words can only do so much. But at the same time, he cannot let go of his memory; the Mereth Aderthad was the first time he heard Maglor sing, the first time he found someone who could match him in skill, someone whose song harmonized so perfectly with his own. It is a voice he cannot forget, but one he will never hear in the same way again, as Maglor twisted his being, becoming a monster in pursuit of the hopeless oath. Maglor is weary now, burdened by his past; it would be wrong of Daeron to ask Maglor to sing the same song again, the song that captured his heart back then.

But one thing has changed: Daeron is no longer alone. For the first time, he has someone to listen to his woes, his regrets, his desires. If only it could stay like this, Daeron tells himself, if only I didn’t have to deliver death, the song would be complete. He dares not voice it aloud, though, for he is dealing with a kinslayer. Daeron needs to remind himself of this; it is the only way he can give himself the strength to commit the act, he thinks. But even this may not be enough, for Daeron has never killed anyone in all his life. And he doesn’t wish to start now, even if he knows he cannot admit it to Maglor, if he has any pride left at all.

Silence falls. Day eventually gives way to night. Maglor still does not sleep. But for the first time, Daeron fears the nightmares that await him in the dark.

❧

Seaside homes were set ablaze. The cries of the refugees at Sirion rang out as many fell to the blades of the Fëanorians. Lady Elwing, who had brought hope to her people wearing the jewel her grandmother had fought for, was now lost among the waves, disappeared, never to be seen again. But her children were still alive, and Glaerorn, Elwing’s most loyal knight, would sacrifice everything to make sure they would live on to carry the light of Lúthien’s line— even if it meant her own death.

Elwing had chosen her knight wisely, for Glaerorn carried a large two-handed sword, used for attacking and defending. Though the sword strikes were slow, they were precise, and often deadly for whomever happened to be hit by them. Glaerorn wore shining silver armor decorated with pearls, so all would know of her rank, and that she was Elwing’s trusted companion.

This mission, Glaerorn knew, would be her final one.

“You must flee!” she called to the twins, protecting them with her large body as she fought off a few more of the Fëanorian invaders.

“But Mother...” cried Elrond, “what about Mother?”

“This is what Lady Elwing wished for me to tell you,” Glaerorn replied.

“But where do we go?” asked Elros. “The attackers are everywhere...”

“To the secret place,” Glaerorn instructed, lowering her voice. “The place she told you about.”

“Right,” said Elrond, nodding. The twins remembered an underground shelter their mother had shown them, but they hadn’t thought much of it at the time, not when Sirion was so peaceful. But for all they knew, their mother was gone forever. Glaerorn was right. They had to live.

“Then hurry,” Glaerorn pleaded, “the enemy is here!”

Elros took hold of his twin’s hand. There was no time left to waste; one of the enemy generals was charging right for them. Glaerorn knew it was Maglor, remembering him from the attack on Doriath, with his wavy black hair, red-plumed helmet, full armor and a blazing light in his eyes.

“Surrender the Silmaril, that is all we ask,” Maglor demanded, “and we will call off the attack.”

“How dare you, scourge of Doriath!” Glaerorn shouted, pushing back Maglor with a swing of her sword, though he was not willing to give up. “You destroy our home, and have the nerve to ask us to surrender to you? We do not make deals with kinslayers.”

“Do you not wish to walk away with your lives?”

“Do you?”

“Glaerorn!” Elrond called out. “Run away with us!”

“Please,” begged Elros, “I don’t want to lose you, too!”

As Maglor’s sword clashed with Glaerorn’s own, the twins were paralyzed with fear. Their mother was gone, surely, and now they feared Glaerorn would be next.

However, Glaerorn could not abandon the task she set out to complete. “I swore an oath to Lady Elwing that I would protect you both, even at the cost of my life,” said Glaerorn. “You must live on, sons of Elwing... you are our last hope!”

“But...!”

“Go! Now!”

The twins said nothing, only nodding as they ran in the other direction, holding back their tears. Soon enough, Maglor, seeing an opening, swung his sword aiming for Glaerorn’s head. But Glaerorn saw the attack coming, ducking backwards and jumping to Maglor’s side, throwing her mighty fist in Maglor’s face with all the power she could muster.

“Gah—!! You...!” Maglor cried, blown back by the strength of Glaerorn’s punch, which had put considerable distance between them. As Maglor was struggling to get up, a light flashed through the sky, and it was then that Glaerorn realized Elwing was in danger. Seizing the opportunity, Glaerorn fled the battle, for her place was always at her lady’s side.

It was a humiliation Glaerorn knew Maglor would not soon forget.

❧

Daeron wakes, and he knows he has seen yet another vision of the past. This past, however, is not his own, but Glaerorn’s. It was a fleeting glimpse of Glaerorn’s final moments, whatever Daeron could recall from the night before. One thing stands out to him above all else, though: the punch Glaerorn delivered to Maglor, right after she spoke those fateful words. Though Daeron still knows little of what befell Glaerorn after the attack on Sirion, he knows one thing for certain: Maglor had lied to him. Glaerorn had bested him then, and Maglor lied, to cover for that embarrassing defeat.

However, this new information does not change the facts, Daeron reminds himself. Maglor killed countless people on his warpath in pursuit of the Silmarils. He was responsible for the downfall of Doriath. And today, Daeron will make Maglor answer for his crimes, as he promised. Today, Daeron will have to become a different person.

Time passes, as Daeron contemplates what he will be forced to do. Day turns to night. The moon casts a glow through the opening in the cave. The stars shine in the night sky— one stands out among them with a powerful radiance, and surely, Daeron thinks, Elbereth must be judging him right now.

Daeron quietly takes out his dagger, sharpening it against a stone. With this dagger, he will take the life of another, for the first time, and hopefully the last. If he backs down now, what would be said about him? Surely, the survivors of Sirion would think him a coward, for refusing to kill the worst of the kinslayers when he had the chance. What would Glaerorn say about him? What would Maglor say—

...Since when does Maglor’s opinion matter?

Daeron sighs— Maglor is staring at him now, with those tired eyes, waiting for him to give him what he deserves. There is a wistful quality to his gaze, and Daeron wishes it didn’t have to end this way. He thinks back to the feast, how that beautiful song swept over him and brought him to another world. And now, Daeron is the one tasked with killing him...

Why do I suddenly care this much about him? He deserves to die, doesn’t he?

As Daeron walks over to the rock where Maglor rests, he shoves his emotions away, just as Maglor had to do when he killed others so heartlessly, and his expression becomes grave, looking down at him in condemnation. “Today, you will answer for everything you have done,” Daeron declares, though the words feel scripted, as if they are not his own. “You, who have slain my kin in Alqualondë... in Doriath... in Sirion. I will send you to the Halls beyond, so that you may be judged for your crimes.”

Maglor lays down, preparing himself for Daeron’s dagger. “The regret I feel for my actions cannot even begin to match your pain and anger. Do what you must, Daeron of Doriath.”

Daeron kneels before Maglor, dagger face down, hovering over his chest. He takes in a deep breath, trying as best as he can to calm himself. All he needs to do is drive that dagger into his heart, and it will all be over.

“Any last words, kinslayer, before I finish this?”

Maglor nods, his wistful gaze pointed towards the opening in the cave ceiling, light shining through the dome, drops of water on the walls reflecting the light and glimmering like stars. “If you see Elrond in Lindon, tell him I am sorry... I am sorry for everything.” Tears begin to form in Maglor’s eyes as the familiar name falls from his lips, and Daeron notices a sad smile on Maglor’s face for a split second. “Tell him... I never stopped thinking about him. Though he never deserved me. I took everything from him. I was the worst thing that happened to him. But...”

“Maglor...?”

“Please... tell Elrond I still love him.”

Daeron gasps, his hand shaking. Love, between Maglor and the son of Elwing? How is that possible? And yet... Maglor sounded sincere, just now. It was a different tone of voice, compared to when he was spinning falsehoods. The words seemed to flow naturally and freely.

“You truly mean this?” Daeron asks, hoping for some sign that Maglor is telling the truth.

“Yes. I know what he would say, if he heard of my fate. But he will be happier, in a world without me.”

“I... I see...”

Daeron can’t find the words to say; he can’t even begin to imagine Maglor’s history with Elrond and what could have led to this. But two things are certain. One, Maglor’s feelings are true. And two, Maglor still has family. There is someone in the world, alive right now, who loves him.

Daeron never wanted to kill Maglor. Only his pride could keep him from dropping the act, but there is something much greater on the line than his pride. His morals, his honor— he cannot bear to tear someone from their family. And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s grown fond of Maglor’s company, a star, fallen from grace just like him. For the first time in his life, he is not alone.

Daeron lowers the dagger. Maglor may be a kinslayer, but Daeron cannot take a life. All of his will to commit the irrevocable act is gone.

But Maglor refuses to accept this, his face falling as Daeron refuses to deliver death to him.

“Daeron... why? Will you not make me answer for my crimes?”

Daeron says nothing, for he knows the truth now. All of those lies, they were just to get Daeron to do what Maglor wanted, to kill him and put him out of his misery. Disgust wells up in his chest, his expression full of indignation, for Maglor was dangerously close to manipulating him into doing the unthinkable.

“Daeron...!” Maglor protests. “Did you not promise—”

“You should know better,” Daeron reminds Maglor. “I am a traitor. I am not known for keeping my promises.”