dye me, nocturne by skywardstruck  

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5. Maglor

Daeron is reluctant to kill Maglor, but the two of them discover something else instead.

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Just when Maglor believes he has Daeron right where he wants him, all of his careful plans collapse into nothing. Of course Daeron would refuse to kill him— he was a flutist, not a fighter. Maglor could see how much it pained Daeron to even think of killing someone, and in those moments, he surely had his doubts on whether his executioner had truly come. But Maglor cannot stand to be in the world of the living any longer, and he knows, it is now or never; Daeron... just needs a little extra help, it seems.

So Maglor places his hand around Daeron’s own, guiding the dagger back above his chest.

“What are you doing—”

“Helping you,” Maglor states plainly, pulling on Daeron’s hand even as he resists. “I understand it is difficult to do, but it is the right thing—”

“What would a kinslayer like you know of that?!”

“Please... kill me,” Maglor begs, desperately, as he grips harder around Daeron’s wrist. “Deliver me to the Halls of Mandos, so that I may be judged, as you promised. You have suffered so much because of me. It is only right that I should pay the price for the wrongs I have committed.”

“No, this... this is ridiculous,” Daeron spats back. “Someone as merciless as you, begging for death... I’m supposed to hate you, but all I can feel is pity,” he admits. “Is this what you wanted from me? Why are you doing this to me? How dare you?!” Daeron uses all of his strength to pull his hand away, tossing the dagger into the waters of the cave, and Maglor’s last hope for release is gone.

Daeron, however, is giving Maglor entirely too much credit. “I am not lying to you; I cannot bear to go on living much longer, Daeron. This is how I truly feel. I just wanted... I wanted to make things right—”

“If I were to go through with it, I’d be a kinslayer too. I would be no better than you.”

“Excuse me?!” Maglor is in shock, offended, even. Killing one kinslayer, the worst of them all, would undoubtedly be a heroic act in comparison to everything Maglor has done; how is this not obvious? “What are you saying? I’ve killed so many... I destroyed your home, slaughtered your people!”

“I do not kill if I have the choice, Maglor, even if it is supposedly for the ‘right’ reasons,” Daeron explains, his serious expression unwavering, not reacting at all to Maglor’s outbursts. “More importantly... it would not be right of me to let you die, when you still have family alive. People who love you.”

Maglor knows Daeron is speaking of Elrond, and his heart sinks. “Did I not tell you Elrond would be happier without me?”

“How would you know that? You are not Elrond, and Elrond is not here with us right now,” Daeron points out, raising an eyebrow, and Maglor has nothing to say to that. For he knows Elrond would rather have him alive, above all else, a bond that should never have been formed, one Maglor pursued out of selfishness. “Can you perhaps tell me about him?” asks Daeron. “Do you consider him family?”

“He is... a very distant cousin of mine,” Maglor eventually answers, getting up and resting his back against the rock after a bit of silence. He knows the only way out of this is to give Daeron the information he’s looking for. “During the attack on Sirion, Elwing was forced to jump off the cliff with the Silmaril. The Lord of Waters saved her, transformed her into a bird... but she could never return to her sons, who couldn’t have been more than six years of age. I took Elrond and his twin brother Elros as hostages, and led them to a cave, much like this one. I at first planned to abandon them there, but I... took pity on them. I decided to raise them as my own.”

“Ah... I can see why you would be attached to Elrond, then,” says Daeron, sitting beside Maglor. “But surely, he wouldn’t have taken well to this arrangement?”

“He hated me at first. Both of them did. They were constantly plotting ways to escape from me.” Maglor smiles a little at the fond memory. A genuine smile this time, one he hardly notices.

“Well, you did kidnap them.”

Maglor nods; he knows Elrond and Elros deserved better. “It took a long time before I was able to earn their trust. To show them I was sincere, that I wanted the best for them... It was the only thing I could do, to make up for what I had done.”

“Nothing can truly make up for the massacre you led, Maglor.”

“I know. But... it did do something good, at least,” Maglor tries to explain. “I was reminded... of the warm feelings that come with being part of a family. What it means to love, and be loved in return. I had forgotten about that. For the longest time, all I knew was loyalty to the cause, nothing more. But even if it was formed under horrible circumstances... it felt like a real family, at least for a little while. I felt it the first time Elrond told me he loved me.”

“Then... why would you want to die like this? Clearly, you still had a conscience, a heart, even after everything you had done,” Daeron observes, growing a bit more suspicious. “What is it that you’re hiding from me?” And Maglor knows now, that he must tell the truth about everything, no matter how much it hurts. About Elrond and Glaerorn... about Maedhros, for whom he grieves most. He has nothing to lose anymore, and Daeron will never give him what he wants.

Maglor was never good at lying, anyway.

“I... it was my older brother. Maedhros,” Maglor finally confesses with a sigh. “I sacrificed everything for him. Even as we descended more and more into madness, I could be strong, I could have a reason to live, as long as he was by my side. But at the end of it all...” Maglor trails off, looking down again at his burnt left hand, still swelling in pain, the only thing he has left as a reminder of his deeds, his family that he loved and lost.

“His hand was burned, as well?” asks Daeron. 

“Yes. He could not withstand the pain, so he found his way to one of the cracks of the earth, and he—” Maglor pauses again, letting the tears flow. The memory is still too near, but he has to recall it now, for it is the only way he can explain himself.

“What... what happened...?” Daeron asks with a worried expression.

“He jumped. He jumped into the flames, and took the Silmaril with him,” Maglor says weakly; he can hear Daeron quietly gasp in shock. “I was there. I was powerless to stop him, I couldn’t do anything... I wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t good enough; he took his own life, Daeron! The one person I loved most in all the world, consumed by the flames, right before my eyes...”

“Oh Maglor...”

“And I was... so angry,” Maglor admits, laying his feelings bare. “I was determined, to not die the same way he did. But without him, I felt like I was nothing, I needed him, I didn’t want to live in a world without him. What I told you about Glaerorn, about how I killed her— I lied to you. I just... I wanted the right person to be the one to kill me, and... I used you. I’m so sorry...”

“I... appreciate the apology, and... I think I understand now,” says Daeron, not entirely sure how to respond, as it’s certainly much to take in. “But if you remember correctly, Maglor, I had accused you of lying, from the very beginning. I just wish you had been honest with me.”

“You’re right, Daeron, oh, I’ve done such a horrible thing...!”

“Be thankful I stopped your scheme in its tracks,” Daeron replies. “Though your explanation makes sense, at least.”

Maglor nods in agreement, feeling the weight of Daeron’s words; he knows how much he’s hurt Daeron through his lies, his manipulative words. “I— I truly felt like I had to lie...” he explains, his voice trembling. “Just being alive without Maedhros was agony; every day I wished more and more for death. I can still see that moment, repeating endlessly in my memory. I sometimes try to imagine, how it would go differently. But the flames, my screams, the Silmaril in his hand— it always ends the same,” he cries, his hand forming a fist, the anger and grief overpowering him. “And I can never have him back. I’m just going to be left to waste away here, forever, and I... I’m never going to see him again...!”

Maglor breaks down into sobs, crying into the worn-out rags of his robes, wracked by guilt— for not being able to save Maedhros, or his other brothers; for every life he took in pursuit of the dreadful Oath when breaking it would have meant less violence; for pouring out all of these horrible memories and negative emotions and forcing Daeron to carry the burden. Daeron doesn’t deserve this, Maglor thinks to himself. He wishes he could disappear so badly right now, but his hröa still keeps him here. Daeron lifts a hand, about to comfort him, but Maglor pulls away; Daeron has already given him too much. “Hmm— I thought you didn’t want to take pity on me,” says Maglor, refusing to meet Daeron’s gaze. “A shame, because if you did, you would have put me out of my misery by now.”

“No, enough, it’s not about that,” Daeron retorts, hoping to stop Maglor’s destructive train of thought. “I only wished to say that I felt the same way. Anger, melded with grief... I felt that about Lúthien,” Daeron tries to explain, and suddenly, everything begins to make sense between them.

We’ve.... been through the same things, Maglor realizes. He takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts in the silence, wiping his tears.

“It wasn’t... entirely the same,” Daeron makes sure to add, “but... I mistakenly allowed her to choose death, and I lost her forever. She is nothing more than a memory to me now; I have nothing else left to remind me of her.”

“I suppose I... never thought about it like that,” Maglor admits, pondering Daeron's words. Lúthien's choice of mortality was always framed as a gift from Námo, a sign of her love for Beren, of love conquering all. But she still chose death, and left her brother behind to wander alone.

Love can so often be selfish.

“But— I try not to think about her at all, in truth,” Maglor adds. “The legacy she left behind is a painful reminder of my failures.”

“You mean your failure to obtain the Silmaril.”

“Yes, in part. The Silmarils were my father’s greatest creations; family was all that mattered to me,” says Maglor, still finding it strange that Daeron is relating to him in this way. “But... look up. To the stars.”

Daeron casts his gaze upwards, as Maglor requests. “Where are you going with this?”

“Can you see, Daeron, how one star shines brighter than all the others?”

Daeron nods. “I... have always wondered about that.”

“You may find it hard to believe, but it is indeed the very Silmaril that Elwing took with her, when she fell,” Maglor explains. “I know not how it came to be lifted into the sky. But what I do know, is it sails with Vingilot, the ship of Elwing’s husband Eärendil, who slew the great dragon of Morgoth in the Great Battle. The Silmaril is a star now, the most beautiful of them all, shining in the heavens away from evil hands.”

“Hands such as yours.”

“And I am grateful for it, despite the painful memories, the truth of the impossible Oath,” Maglor asserts. “The gems have wrought so much pain, but this one brings hope to all. I grieve, though I am relieved, at the same time.”

“And that Silmaril... it is the same one that Lúthien earned,” Daeron observes, and a painful realization comes to him. “The one she died for, and so many others...”

“The very same,” says Maglor, and he offers a sad smile, not even noticing as Daeron holds his hand. “We have both... lost so much.”

“Indeed we have,” Daeron replies, and the two sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the waves, contemplating their fates. Maglor is tired, so very tired, as he eventually gives in to Daeron’s earlier promises of comfort. Maglor rests his head on Daeron’s shoulder; Daeron does not object, even leaning into Maglor’s touch. Maglor knows it’s strange, how he feels comfortable enough with Daeron to do this, but no one outside of the peredhil twins, or Maedhros, cared this much about him. He thinks back to the few days they’ve been in each other’s company, the lies he told, the secrets he kept, and how everything seemed to fall into place the moment he started telling the truth.

Maglor knows he has much to answer for, but yet, Daeron isn’t repelled by any of this. So Maglor eventually breaks the silence, wondering if Daeron has anything to say for himself.

“Why do you... not hate me?”

“I do hate you,” Daeron insists, though he doesn’t seem confident at all. “Or at least... I should hate you. Perhaps it is that I don’t hate you in the right way—”

“But you should hate me, no questions asked,” Maglor points out. “I lied to you. I used you. I almost made you do something horrible.”

“That’s the least of it,” Daeron remarks. “Do not forget, I am still very angry and hurt with what you have done, and there is no forgiving the atrocities you’ve committed,” he reminds Maglor. “But... there’s something still eluding me. Somehow, you are the only person I have met in all my years of wandering, who truly understands my feelings. It’s baffling.”

“If you really don’t hate me, you don’t have to force yourself to...”

“I... I don’t know anymore,” says Daeron, gripping his forehead in frustration, conflicted, overcome by emotions he can’t describe. “I don’t understand...”

“Maybe you don’t have to understand,” Maglor suggests. “I actually know what it’s like. Even though I hated Maedhros sometimes, cursing his name, even hurting him physically... at the end of it all, he was the only one I could rely on, the only one who could give me strength when I had none. Where else is there to turn, when you have no one else left?”

Daeron sighs, conceding to Maglor’s point. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve just been alone for so long, I’ve never been one to rely on others,” he explains, speaking slowly as he tries to find the right words for his thoughts. “I haven’t even thought about my own emotions this deeply before. When you lied to me before, that anger you awakened in me, threatening death— that was the first time I felt something that strongly in a long time.”

Maglor nods in understanding. “I’m feeling a little better now, actually. About you not killing me. Even though it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I cannot sunder you from your family. I cannot bring myself to kill anyone willingly. But more than anything, I...” All of a sudden, Daeron stops himself.

“What is it? Is there... something you need to say to me?”

“I... do not wish to be parted from you. I have grown... attached to you.”

“Attached? Do you mean—”

“No, it isn’t that. It shouldn’t be,” Daeron replies. Realizing what he’s just said, his face starts to turn red. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way about you. Despite everything you’ve done—”

“...you are still... attached to me,” Maglor replies with a sigh. This wasn’t the effect he intended to have, at all, and it’s affecting him, too. He hopes that these feelings Daeron speaks of are just misplaced, though deep down, he knows they are real. “Glaerorn is still out there, I’m sure. You would probably be better off searching for her, rather than staying here, wasting your time...” he suggests. “How unfortunate for you, that you should feel this way for me. You know I am undeserving.”

“Do not say you are undeserving of love, Maglor,” Daeron argues, a sudden confidence in his voice, “when there is clearly love in your heart for those you have lost... for those who still live.”

“The only love that I do not deserve is yours, Daeron.”

“My love—? What do you mean?”

“Before... I, too, thought, there was no one left in all the world who could understand the pain I had endured. But you listened to me. You trusted me, enough to comfort me. To tell me I had a future, when I thought it was lost.”

“I was only doing what I thought was right.”

“I am a kinslayer. I took everything from you.”

“I know. But I... I don’t want to leave you, I can’t. I just... don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore,” Daeron admits. “I finally found something, someone, and— I’m not going to let this go, I don’t want to be alone again, I don’t want you to be alone—” He stops himself, catching his breath, overwhelmed by his feelings as the words keep spilling out, without thinking. “I still don’t understand it, but— this is how I feel.”

“Like I said before... you don’t have to understand it,” says Maglor, smiling wistfully, placing his burnt hand gently on Daeron’s arm. He thinks of Maedhros, he thinks of Elrond, and Elros, of everyone who loved him despite it all. And in his smile, in his touch, is a hint of acceptance. Whether he is deserving or not, he knows Daeron isn’t leaving. And Maglor doesn’t mind it, either— he loves Daeron’s cold personality, reminding him so much of Maedhros. It’s fascinating, and charming, in a way; Maglor wants to know more about him. He wants more of this.

“I can’t believe you,” Daeron huffs. “I can’t believe... that you did this to me, somehow.”

“I can’t believe you did this to me, either.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Love never makes sense. It transforms us,” Maglor explains. “Love can make us do the unthinkable, and we don’t even realize it’s happening.”

Daeron lets out a quiet gasp, a sudden realization. “Lúthien... she said something very similar to me, once. I think... I understand now, what she meant by that.”

“Perhaps now, you can stop saying you’re simply attached to me?” Maglor teases, leaning in, their faces close to touching. “It’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?”

“This is ridiculous,” Daeron retorts, but his usual serious expression relaxes into a smile, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“I know,” Maglor agrees, as he wraps his arms around Daeron, pulling him in. Though Daeron is a bit hesitant, he returns Maglor’s embrace, touching his forehead to Maglor’s own. Maglor knows what is to come next, and he knows Daeron wants it too; for their hearts, their fëar, are pulling at each other, stronger than ever before. Daeron exhales, shuddered breaths landing on Maglor’s lips, and Maglor comforts him, holds him tighter, closer, placing his right hand gently on Daeron’s cheek.

It isn’t long before their lips meet, closing the space between them. It is a silent kiss, knowing, understanding, but wanting, for the first time their lips part, they meet again for more. It was a feeling Maglor had not experienced since the blissful days of Valinor, and a feeling Daeron was getting to know for the first time. Daeron too wants more of it, pulling Maglor deeper into the kiss, drowning each other’s colors, blending together into one.

And the moment the kiss ends, they both pause. For they can hear a special Theme, one made just for the both of them, that only they can hear.

“I love you,” says Maglor, smiling, a weight lifted off his shoulders, as Daeron gently runs a finger through Maglor’s hair. “I love you too,” Daeron replies, and the Music builds, a crescendo, beckoning to them.

Maglor knows what he must do. He begins to hum, in his deep voice, the same theme that called Daeron to the shores, and his notes echo back to him like bells. Then Daeron joins in, his gentle voice harmonizing perfectly with Maglor’s own.

But it is no longer a song of emptiness, or loneliness, as Daeron and Maglor had sung before. It is a song of hope, belief in a future for both of them. They are wanderers, but they will wander the world together. A song completed, but one perhaps without end.

It is a promise, they know, as their fingers intertwine. Not an Oath, binding them or betraying them, but a silent vow, loving and true. A promise that needs no words.

And a new Music can begin.