Chapter Text
Ten miles south of Rivendell
Shortly before Gandalf pays an eventful visit to a colleague
The person sitting on the stump, wrapped in a tattered gray cloak and holding a tattered satchel, hardly cut an impressive figure. They could have been anyone, really; male or female, elf or human (though they were considerably too tall to be a hobbit or dwarf, and a bit too clean to be an orc). Gandalf, however, had a hunch, and so he took a cautious step forward and cleared his throat.
The figure jumped slightly and turned to face him, surprise and caution on his face. Gandalf took in his appearance: high cheekbones, curly dark hair, silvery eyes that looked as though they had seen entirely too much. And, revealed when he lifted a hand to push back his hood, one dark scar across his palm.
This was the one, all right.
“Maglor Feanorion. How nice to finally find you. It certainly was a difficult task.”
“Yes, well. That’s rather the point.” Maglor frowned at him, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “Now, wait a moment. I know you. Olorin, isn’t it? Or, no. What are they calling you these days?”
“Mithrandir will do.”
“Mithrandir, then. What exactly do you want from me?”
Gandalf smirked. “Would you believe me if I said I was looking for someone to share in an adventure I was arranging?”
“I would not. Doesn’t quite seem like my kind of thing, you know.”
“Well, you are not the first person I’ve heard that from. All right, then, perhaps not. The arranging is not exactly mine to do, this time. But perhaps you’ll believe me if I say that I think Elrond may be requiring your help soon.”
“Elrond?” Maglor shook his head. “I haven’t seen him in centuries. Why would he need me for anything? Why would anyone, for that matter?”
“Because I believe we may soon be facing extraordinary evil,” Gandalf said. “And when fighting against extraordinary evil, it does help to have an extraordinary person or two helping out.”
“Usually, you know,” Maglor said thoughtfully, “I’m the extraordinary evil people are fighting against.”
“Nonsense, no one with any sense could ever have called you extraordinarily evil. But that’s besides the point. Will you go to Imladris, and talk to Elrond?”
Maglor tilted his head to the side. “And what’s in it for me, Mithrandir? If I end three ages of well-deserved isolation to help you fight this extraordinary evil, what do I get?”
“Redemption,” said Gandalf. “Redemption in the eyes of your son, the free peoples of Middle-Earth, and quite possibly the Valar themselves. I think that might be worth something to you, is it not?”
“Hmm.” Maglor contemplated this for a moment, then decisively stood, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Call it redemption and a hot meal and I’ll consider it. I’m bloody starving out here.”