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He had tried everything to be back with his brothers. At first, at the end of the Third Age, he had thought that he would fade, like so many of the Elves, those that decided to stay in Middle-Earth. But as the years went by and the world around him changed, he realized this would not happen. Then, as the Men became more and more violent, he joined their battles, hoping for the end and the cold dark of the Halls of Mandos or, more likely, the Void.
But as it became evident that every weapon would slide on him like water, he gave up on the idea of joining his brother. Instead, he started to try everything that would annoy them. If they were annoyed enough, then, surely they would come and yell at him, just like they had done in their youth in Tree-lit Valinor.
He started slowly, using what he had learned long ago in the war against Morgoth. He started by sharing, with those of the men that he deemed the more under what remained of the Dark Lords’ influence, the worst of the strategies his brother had created. Maedhros would have hated for some of his failed strategies to be shared. Like the rest of his family, he had always prided himself for improving his ideas until they were working perfectly. Maedhros had finally found his Craft in the various strategy rooms during the long peace. He had been by far the best of them. He had loved the challenge of being able to anticipate his enemies’ movement, of saving as much of his men as was possible. That was, in part, why the Nirnaeth had been such a blow for him. It had been his Alliance, his strategy, and they had lost everything. Maedhros himself had lost more than the rest of his brothers. Not only had he lost Himring, the citadel he had proudly built in the early days as a way to show his former torturers that they had no more hold on him, but he had also lost his heart. He had borne the guilt until the end, convinced that he was the one responsible for Fingon’s death.
But no matter how many strategies he shared and how much they failed, his older brother never came to tell him off like he had done so many times in the First Age. Worse, the men were getting suspicious of the stranger sharing what was supposed to be their enemies' plans. So Maglor travelled East, on this continent he no longer recognised. When finally he reached humans that were far enough removed not to have heard of him, he settled for a time. It was some years into this new cooperation that he had a new idea to anger one of his brothers into coming back.
Curufinwe Atarinkë had had more than a few similarities with their father. Not only did they look alike from a young age, which might have been the reason behind his mother-name, but they were also very alike in their way of thinking. As such, he had always kept the secrets of his inventions close to his heart. The only one that had known of his invention had been his brothers, a promise Maedhros had extracted from him after his first prosthetic hand prototype. Only their newly rescued brother and the memory of what their father had become had managed this feat. As such, Curvo would have hated for Maglor to share what little he remembered of the forging of his special steel. The men had instantly loved the patterns that were created by the material and the technique and had used it to forge masterly decorated blades of all kinds. This metal quickly became well known in this new world. Its name evolved from Valinorean steel to Damascus steel, from the place where most of the smiths were selling it. The fact that the technique then got lost would not have been enough to prevent his brother from being mad at him. And yet, this proved not enough for his brother to come back to wake him upside the head.
While the Damascus steel was a well sold material and Maglor waited for his brother to yell at him, he went back West to the coast to wait for him. He never stayed in the same place for more than a decade, until the Edain around him started to question the fact that he was not ageing. In that time, no matter how much he tried to stay discrete, he ended up starting a few rumours. He would later laugh about those, especially as they became so well known. Throughout his long years wandering the shore at the end of what Men would later call Antiquity, he would often sing all types of songs to the sea. After so long using Songs of Power, those songs sometimes would contain enough power to lure some unsuspecting men. Only a few ever remembered what had happened to them, but it had been enough to start the legend of a malevolent spirit luring sailors to the depth of the ocean. In the meantime, his attempt of helping sinking ships had the sailors singing praises to benevolent mermaids.
The closer he got from having his true identity discovered happened in the 6th century as the Men now counted time. He had settled in a monastery where the monks had started to call him Magloire after they had stumbled upon him muttering to himself in sindarin. They had after that been convinced that he had received a message from their god. He never tried to change their mind about it or explain that he had merely stomped his toe against a wall. He had then convinced them even more by saving children from a storm. His last miracle had happened a couple of centuries after his “death”. The son of Fëanor had always made sure that no one could discover his immortality, and as such, he had protected with several songs the tomb the monks had built him. As the Vikings attacked the monastery he had lived in, they had tried to open this tomb and had triggered those songs. For centuries, songs would be made of the Saint blinding his enemies and making them fight each other.
After that, the bard went back to wandering for several centuries through the land. He helped Men where he could, always making sure he would not get attached anymore, not to feel the grief when he had to leave not to be found out. Given his reluctance to sail, he roamed the lands of what had been Middle-Earth, meeting all kinds of people, learning their ways. As a boon for a warm meal or a place to sleep, he would often end up telling them stories of times long past. Those stories quickly spread to become legends, some of them becoming so well known they would still be remembered centuries later. Oh, the names would evolve, change by generations upon generations transmitting them through oral tradition. Numenor took the name of Atlantis in some of those legends, then Ys in some others. His own name would become Merlin as more and more men told the story of a land of eternal youth known by some as Avalon, and by others as Tir na Nog in a retelling of Beren and Luthien’s story.
He saw the world evolved as it never had before as the Men discovered more and more. And yet, despite all they discovered, Maglor thought, they also forgot so much from where they came from. Sometimes, he would cross paths with a face that he used to know; elves that, just like him, refused the Sea Longing and yet, had not Faded. Through it all, he still tried, in some small ways, to reach for his brothers, without success.
The 17th century found him on an island. On this so-called Island of the rising sun, he tried a different strategy. If his brothers were indeed in the Void as they had sworn themselves, then it made sense that he would not be able to reach them. But their cousins had not sworn as they had. And if one of them would be good enough to be reborn, it was Finrod. So if his brothers would not answer, then maybe his favorite cousin would. So, in this country trying to find his place in the world literature, Maglor popularized the form of a poem he devised with Ingoldo. The Arafinwean had found it silly and had not liked how difficult the rhymes had been. So, Finrod had started to hate this way to make poetry. As such, he would not have liked haïkus to become known world-wide. And yet, as much as Maglor hoped to see his cousin come and yell at him for his stupid idea, it didn’t come to pass. So, as the country opened to outer influence, Maglor took the chance to travel back to Europe.
(Unbeknown to him, in Valinor where his cousin had long been reborn, Finrod got this feeling that all parents and older siblings know, that mischief was underway.)
Back in Europe, he found a remote location, a castle in the mountains, and stayed there for long years, hidden from most humans. Daeron joined him eventually. To pass time, they quickly got into the habit of discreetly helping the young women that were to be married to men far older than them that their parents had chosen for them. A few years in, they had discovered that the legend was spreading that in this castle lived a creature drinking the blood of their victims. Both of the old elves had laughed for a long time when their latest rescue had finally trusted them enough to explain why she had feared them so much.
Once their remote castle had become too well known and people started trying to find them to kill its inhabitants, Daeron and Maglor had to leave. And once again, they went their way, wandering the land. They saw the Men invent new ways to create, to exploit the land, to make war. They made sure to stay well out of those wars, not to take part in the history of the second Children.
That didn't prevent Maglor from nearly getting caught in one of the various civil wars happening in different countries. That is how he met the man. Just like Maglor, he had been visiting the country and the both of them ended up in the same hotel as they were waiting for the battle to cease on the road they were to take to their next destination. As they talked a bit to pass time, the man explained he had seen the soldiers coat chocolate with sugar and how he would try to replicate it when he went back home. In return, Maglor told him stories of his youth, when it had just been his older brother and him that would hide all types of sweets in their bedrooms. At first, he didn't think much of it when, in the next inescapable war he saw soldiers with that same kind of sweets. Even the name "M&M's" didn't ring a bell. It was not until he met the man again in a chance meeting that he realized.
"'Mae and I would hide those sweets and hope they would keep until we could eat them' you said. So when I had to find a name, I thought to myself 'Well now, that's a sweet Mae and Mike could have hidden in their rooms.' and so they became M&M's." That had been how the man explained the name. Maglor had cried to see someone who would never get to meet his brother do something so kind as thinking of the two of them. And that's how those sweets became the only ones he would buy. So he could remember of a long ago time in a far away place he would never see again.
Unbeknown to Maglor, some of the Valar had kept tabs on the few elves who had never reached Valinor. Some had retreated their influence and sight, as their help was no longer needed, but some still wanted to look after the Secondborn. Ulmo was one of those. Not only had he never agreed to forsaking a whole continent, even after Alqualondë, but now, one of those he considered his was still lingering on the wrong side of the ocean. As such, he kept a close eye on how his elf was doing.
When Aulë came to him to ask him some news about Maglor and the Smith explained how Lady Nerdanel was worried about the last of her children not having been restaured to her, he gladly went with him. What he thought would be a single occurrence quickly became a habit of them. They would meet every two weeks to trade stories about the bard. After a few times, they were joined by his brothers. Over time, they all together devised a plan to finally bring him home.
"Father and Curvo would have loved this time for his technology" was his first thought as Maglor started to upload the video. In less than two decades, hiding his identity had become both far easier and much harder than ever before. He had started two separate YouTube channels in the last couple of years to fight boredom. One he was taking more seriously was to teach people various instruments and music styles. The other, he had started more on a whim as a last attempt to annoy his brothers. In Beleriand, the Ambarussa had been the ones to teach the rest of them most of the survival techniques they had all used at some point. The horribly wrong survival techniques he showed in his videos were the exact opposite of those techniques. Just as he was watching it a last time before validating the upload, a hand stopped him.
“What in the Valar’s names is that?” asked a painfully familiar voice, one he had not heard in millennia.
When Maglor turned around, he had to pinch himself to make sure he was not dreaming. All his brothers were there, with him. Finally, he did it. He managed to bring them back. Or was it him who left to join them?
“Mum will have a word with you when you get back” said Caranthir in his usual flat tone.
“And so will we,” added a very annoyed Curufin.
And so, faced at long last with all of his family, Maglor did the only thing he could have been expected to do.
“Want one of Mae and I’s?” he asked as he handed them the sweets while looking strait at his older brother.
Russo’s cry of outrage as the rest of their brothers dissolved in laughter was more than worth it.