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“Did you hear about the elf?”
Maglor almost got cut by a string, a sharp one. In the middle of picking from his precious collections of finely oiled and preserved strings to repair the lap harp from a customer, he paid little attention to what Ester was constantly talking about. He heard the key word, and slipped his fingertips across the strings rather than along with them.
Himself being an elf, there was no one else in this town really cared about it. The isolated village had no business in fighting orcs, socializing with elves or establishing diplomacy with powerful human kingdoms, instead having everything mundane that another thousand villages would have at this time of the year: holiday markets filled with hand-sewn costumes and hand-crafted dolls, inns that sat too many people for anyone to enjoy their beers, and wondering bards selling cheap stories and gossips. It wasn’t a place where fancy creatures like an elf would appear, and no one seemed to ever notice his ears or eyes. He simply supposed as no one had seen an elf, they just took him for a man without different eye color, or something similar to that.
The only reason he stayed here for most time of the year, besides, well, staying unknown and earning his food, was the view. Not far away from the wall of this town, an abandoned lighthouse stood, which he found was the best spot whenever nostalgia hit him. Right in front of the lighthouse, in the middle of the sea was Tol-Himling.
“What about the elf?”
He asked, in genuine curiosity, while continuing his work to tune the new strings. At the end of the year, there would be some residents remembering their long unused instruments and making some unrealistic plan to replay a song or two, before finding the notes out of tune. He offered at a low price to fix whatever instruments he could get hands on, and even went as far as replacing strings himself without extra cost.
The owner of this harp, who probably could be counted the nearest person as his friend, lowered her voice as if she was telling a top military secret.
“He is here to be a priest. You know, listening to confessions, comforting people’s guilt, and never telling another soul about what you said, things like that.”
Maglor shrugged, hands sticking to the strings to test if they reached the correct elasticity. He was sure no one exceeded him in speaking of sin, though he didn’t have the intention to confess his past to anyone.
“Why do people trust him at all?”
“Why would anyone go, indeed?”
Ester echoed.
“But there were curious people. I mean, I almost went there, if not for I don’t have anything to confess! But my neighbor, the dear inn keeper you know, did go, and returned crying and all thankful to that elf, saying he solved his biggest problem and basically saved him!”
It sounded like a closed room, where it didn’t matter if there was someone to listen. He used to accept young soldiers whose blade was never tainted by orc’s blood. He listened, said little in or outside of the room, and listened to the next one. This closed room, however, likely didn’t involve wars, or blood, or destinies parted by death. He doubted if the elf ever listened to stories beside neighborhood quarrels.
Ester smiled knowingly.
“You should try as well! After all, Maglor, you are the more melancholy one of us.”
“So tell me more about him, and I might just consider it as well.”
Obviously, the elf came to nearby towns several times already, dropping by at a random time, and leaving a great reputation. He listened, sometimes spoke, and mostly consoled. He rarely suggested, but every time he did so it would be a suggestion so good that all those who received it were filled with gratitude. He was ever patient and silent, and there were no rumours, not even the slightest clue others would know about one’s confessions.
And Maglor’s curiosity stopped here.
Whether the elf knew about his name or not, the last thing Maglor needed was attention. If possible, he would hide in the woods to evade an Eldar, except it would break Ester’s heart.
The second day, Ester came to bring back her harp.
“Won’t you think about meeting this elf?”
Maglor gave back the newly functional instrument, asked for one more coin than what he usually charged and ignored the question.
Ester dropped her jaw dramatically.
“You finally raised your rate? Now maybe you don’t need the confession.”
“The one extra coin is for the question you asked.”
Ester obviously decided to stick with this topic and leaned forward to his counter, scrutinizing him as if it was the first time they met.
“You know you are probably the person who needs this the most.”
Maglor came with an innocent smile.
“I didn’t see that.”
Ester laid her palm to count it by fingers.
“Firstly, you don’t have one friend, or even an acquaintance here. I myself could be counted as a half, but no one else.”
She saw Maglor ready to refute, but before he had the chance she continued.
“Give me one name you can talk about anything besides music.”
She must be satisfied to see him shutting his mouth in defeat.
“And in all senses this is not where an elf should live, so I have legit reasons to suspect you have a complicated past, to say the least. Or you have something to hide, as you disappear every year - don’t look at me as if I need to be smart to discover that! Anyone paying attention would notice.”
If Maglor wanted to repair another harp this winter, he needed to yield to Ester’s reasoning, or she would harass him everyday.
“You win. I’ll go tomorrow.”
The risk was not his primary concern, though, as the few elves who knew him would not be visiting this place, and he hadn’t even decided what to confess. Staying with his people for an hour and leaving would be all he needed to do, if this would make Ester happy.
The elf rented his lodge just outside of the town hall. The two story building opened both sides with a two-centered arch door, with its carved pattern poorly mimicking Valinor motifs.
Surprisingly a younger boy, no more than ten years old, answered his knocking and led Maglor in. The hall was almost empty, and during his waiting, Maglor was too busy recalling his short encounter with the boy to notice anything else but a giant pedal harp at the corner. It served everyone in town on a few formal occasions, with cheap strings and a molded frame. This time, he couldn’t help but realize its strings were changed to proper materials, bronze outside, and he was eager to test them with his fingers to know what was inside. Likely guts.
Soon the boy came out again - he also saw features belonging only to noble men - telling him the elf was ready for his confession, and assuring him again that not a word of their conversation would be known by a third person. He walked in, not caring too much whether his words would leak, as he was quite sure finding another human town was not such a hard thing, and most likely the elf wouldn’t even recognize him by solely listening to his version of the story.
The inner chamber was darker, yet the air ran freely through. One tall divider cut the room in two, one part of which sat a chair for him, and Maglor supposed the other part was symmetric for the elf whose name he still knew not.
He closed the door softly, still not sure which part he truly wanted to confess, but took the seat anyway.
“What can I help you with today?”
A stable voice.
“My friend suggested I should try out your listening trick to cure my wound. Though I doubt how much you can provide, I come so her concerns for me don't go nowhere.”
A sharp sound of nails gliding on an embroidered fabric came as he spoke, and at the end of his sentence, Maglor was sure he heard sharp movements of a chair. An elf might be rare here, he admitted, and he thought of no other reasons for his listener to be so shocked merely by hearing his voice.
“Then I will also try my best to listen.”
Judging by his initial strong response, Maglor found it was quite fast how he calmed down.
The chair was padded with soft cushions, and the candles were just bright enough to inspect the whole room. Maglor indulged himself a bit to immerse in memory, before coming back to reality and spoke with a frivolous tone.
“I committed more than a few murders.”
To say he expected the elf to be shocked and reproach him would be an exaggeration, but he did expect something, not silence.
A few moments passed before the other elf realized it was his turn to say something.
“I’m listening.”
A soft, attentive, caring voice.
He could as well sit here wasting both of their time, while a strong impulse drove him to continue. Maglor knew better than revealing his identity just because the other one was one of his, but it was not entirely trust that pushed him to say a bit more.
“It was ages ago, of course. Calling it murders, though, would be an understatement. By human’s or any other race’s standard, I should be arrested and executed, as it was more than murders, but slaughters I committed. Three times for something that eventually proved not mine, elves died and cities burnt because of me.”
It was said without frivolousness this time, but also without a scent of regret. He drew the fact out, poured it and didn’t wait for a pale response.
“So what drove you to me now?”
Again he should be saying it’s only a friend’s request, again Maglor succumbed to the temptation of laying his past flat and mercilessly saying out loud what he had analysed for ages.
“You’ll be disappointed, as it is not regret. Not exactly. And certainly not for seeking any sympathy or admittance. More like the need to write it down and toss it to the sea. You’ve heard similar needs, I’m sure, but not nearly as brutal as what I did.”
His back was supported comfortably by the chair back, as his view blurred with the candle light blowing left and right by the wind.
“The world would be a different place without my doing. I will spare you the details, and to say none of us committed such crime entirely out of our freewill is enough. No remedies for the victims either, so this is not a defense for my crime.”
“And this is what bothers you the most?”
It wasn’t. Having replayed the memories of three kinslayings countless times, he could tell anyone without his heart burning or stomach churning. Going further down, there would be a spot he saved for himself, not mentioned to anyone else.
“You will be surprised, as it truly isn’t.”
The silence stretched again with only the candle oil dripping as they were. Maglor wasn’t waiting for anything, only enjoying the gap of void.
The quiet satisfaction lasted only shortly, before his arrogance took the better of him again. Seeing no response came from the other side, his words accelerated with provocation.
“Though what made me regret the most, what bothers me until today will shock you not, for it is too much a cliché. I kidnapped two children - a pair of twins, if that matters - during a slaughter, and took them hostages until they were nearly adults.
“Let me elaborate on how evil it was, in case you haven’t realized yet. We burnt their home, drove their parents to jump into the sea, and pretended we were here solely by accident to save them from the fire. It took no time for them to mistake me for their guardian.
“It was a success, in terms of converting them to what suited my needs. They knew not their language, remembered little of their childhood, and desired few besides what they had, though they should have known that very soon after leaving us.”
The sarcasm slipped away with him talking no longer to the elf he knew not, but to himself. His own memory pinning him on the seat, his tone became a gentle one, surrounded by warm memories.
“Instead of merciless killings, this is what you regret the most, taking hostages of children?”
If Maglor was paying any attention, he would notice the ache in the voice.
“You overestimate my consciousness. I can undo nothing. It bothers me, of course, everyday I am awake and alive. The dead could hunt me as much as they want, and as long as I struggle to live until now, it’s not like I’m not prepared for their revenge. It’s a different case for the children. They misplaced their affection, what I took advantage of. In turn, I will be tortured by what was left in my consciousness.”
He sobbed, finishing the last sentence. Admitting his crime in front of a stranger only burdened him more, with the strong reminder of what a coward he had become.
“What became of them?”
A strong wind dried his tears and blew the candle light to the other direction.
“The last time I heard, one of them was dead, and the other -”
Maglor hesitated. Pointing out titles would impose some risks he wouldn’t put on the twin he was referring to.
“- had become a wise lord.”
Just when he thought their conversation was over, and the elf would walk out from the curtain to catch him, it was only another question he received.
“Have you ever thought from their view? Were they - close to you?”
After a short pause, the stranger continued with no less hesitation.
“You must have seen the giant harp downstairs. I changed the strings recently, wrapping the core guts with a thin layer of metal. It occurs to me that no one can tell how soft it could be until they have the chance to play, as the sharp appearance scares most. I didn’t know, until I looked closer and played it myself. You described your deeds as atrocious, but I suspect it has a softer edge than you are willing to admit.”
His ribcage was drowned by fatigue.
“Maybe. They would rush toward me for a hug, or smile so sweetly because of my praise. I only hoped they would know better, so I could stop pretending we had left behind the consequences of my doings. But not when they were so young - I have no right to inflict them with history which they took no part in, yet I have no right enjoying this kind of joy they brought me.
“I thought of coming to the living one of them countless times. He could give a fair judgement, now that he would learn well about the history and despise me. There was a time his people passed a village I temporarily resided in, and his minstrel was asking him something. I froze at that moment hearing his name, yet my instinct was to turn around and flee, instead of coming forward for the end I long awaited.
“So I have found another place, settled in and ensured this place was too marginal for any elf to know. I live as any other man, and bury my evil past.”
His lips bled and dripped onto his chin. Licking it, Maglor didn’t taste anything he expected, for it wasn’t as strong as his bitterness. Through the light piercing through the high window pane, it was nearly dusk, with the breeze resting down to calm the candle, which was dim as ever, but brighter to illuminate a larger area around him. He was no longer pleased by having not gotten a response as the listener must be appalled by the brutality he revealed, which was his original intention; the pair of children he left behind, one of which memorized and honored after death, the other renowned and respected, all had nothing to do with him, was the only thing he cared now.
After the sunlight died out completely, the candle soon came to its end. With his view blinded, Maglor stood up abruptly, realizing having said too much had drawn his sanity to keep up his composure. Before he made the first step toward the exit in the direction he remembered, the response, fable and heart-breaking, dropped.
“Then why did you accept them as family in the first place?”
It wasn’t how he would frame it. Family was a word too heavy to describe his relationship with the twins. An oversimplification. There was always a distance between them, an unspoken agreement that nothing would last too long, and the end of this temporary arrangement was always near. He had no answer.
“If you have the chance to come to him now - the child who is still alive, the one you desired judgement from - will you come?”
His back stiffened in vigilance, but the listener had always been too gentle to touch on what he had been avoiding, and the trust he gave in without him knowing, was enough to go around his cynicism and reveal his true thoughts.
“But who would do me such a favor?”
He hadn’t turned back and didn’t see the curtain was lifted to allow a crack to see through.
“I will go to Rivendell, just by coincidence. If you still want to put an end to what bothers you, then come here at the same hour tomorrow.”
He smiled, almost immediately deciding to take the risk, even if it would be a trap.
“Since you must know my name now, I must ask - why are you so kind to offer this to me, a notorious criminal?”
Somehow Maglor had the feeling the listener was upset again, for he surely heard heavier breaths and tightened muscles.
“The same reason why you took the twins in the first place. I saw your sufferings, and cannot unseen them.”
It took Maglor no time to pack up the few necessary things. He hadn’t seen Elrond since their departure at the end of the War of Wrath, and had no idea what he had become, except what everyone else heard: gentle, generous, and his house welcomed whomever.
The same boy opened the door for him the next day. It was the last day before the first snow, with the temperature rising so that he could already picture a colorful sunset. The boy appeared to be delightful.
“He would be pleasantly surprised to see you.”
Maglor smiled bitterly, as startled as anyone else that he had the courage once.
Climbing up the stairs, the attic was much brighter than the room below where he made his confession. The door swirling open, the figure he still didn’t know the name of was standing in front of the window, back facing him.
What he didn’t expect was a messy bed, whose owner could not possibly leave very soon.
“I thought you would be ready to go.”
The figure froze.
“Aren’t you a little curious who you were talking to the whole time?”
The voice sounded different today, less monotonous, more tainted with reminiscence.
“I am more than curious, but you never let your curiosity take over, so the same is true with me.”
The strange pause again. Maglor never fully grasped what triggered the silence, and waited patiently.
“Then please come forward and see for yourself.”
He was…unsure. That the elf kept his guard up throughout the days, exposing no name or face, commenting on nothing. His sudden invitation made this whole thing look more like a trap.
He walked up anyway. It was improbable the elf was holding a knife, ready to stab him.
With him turning to face the elf, the glare through the window was almost blinding.
And it was just an excuse for why he took so long to recognize the face. The features were much more mature from what he remembered, much sadder and gentler, but all the same: same angle of his eyelashes, same clear eyes, same smoother tips of his ears.
Same Elrond.
Maglor was sliding to the floor if Elrond didn’t support him with both his arms. The air got thin all of a sudden, and his breaths were shortened in disbelief and incoming waves of shame. What horrible things he did to Elrond, again: vomiting a painful experience in front of the victim himself, even bragging about his cruelty. More than anytime before, he wished that his existence could be erased.
Leaning on the bed post, Maglor hardly realized he was sobbing again. For what he had little idea, but in sorrow. The tears dried soon, for the strong hatred for himself stirred his stomach and turned away any feelings beyond that.
Elrond waited until he calmed down, looking disappointed.
“Aren’t you even a little happy to see me again?”
He smiled weakly, tears wetting his cheeks again.
“Of course I was happy. For a short moment, it felt blissful to see you again, better than even I can imagine. The first few moments, I could even feel proud.”
His voice was croaked, no longer metallic.
“But I then realized I have no right to say that. Especially after having hurt you, yet again.”
A huge blanket wrapped him from head to toe. Elrond came closer, creating a shadow over him, but with warmth as well as weight.
“Please - sit down. I have so many things in mind.”
He wouldn’t fail to recognize the agony in Elrond’s voice. A few years before his adulthood, Elrond began to have swings between sudden depression and extreme excitement. Until they parted, Maglor had no cure but watched him in despair without cause, and had never dared to ask if Elrond would be willing to talk to him.
This was even more so now. Elrond was merely biting his lips to prevent crying out loud, but Maglor knew well there was a lump in his throat. Everytime he brought nothing but misfortune for the one person he owed the most.
“The only thing I want from you is you being proud of me.”
In total silence, Elrond wiped his swollen eyes and blurted. He drew in a breath deeply, eyeing on the floor to hide his red eyes with drops of tears wetting his lashes. It was childish, the contrary of what Maglor expected of the mysterious figure, the one who was never surprised and ready for whatever he said.
“Was there no affection between us? Did the years in Amon Ereb mean nothing to you? I don’t mean to accuse you of anything, Maglor, but you said it as if my childhood was a complete joke.
“You know I loved you, and love you still. It’s never about ‘knowing better’, if by that you mean cultivating hatred to whom that raised me. I have been the same person you made me, the same person that you hugged, fed, and played with.
“I speak the language that you taught me, I tell the stories you told me to my children, I used the skills of healing you taught to tend to the wounded, and I wield the sword you gifted me to fight against evil. Does this all result in a history that should not be?”
Maglor never realized what mark he left on Elrond. He never realized, until now, seeing Elrond in person again, that although time had the power to break kingdoms and sink continents, although he knew not of Elrond’s voice, heard not of his news, found not an item on him that he could recognize, there were traces of what he had left Elrond. So naturally they switched to Quenya, and he heard now clearly how the subtle accent resonated with his, grasped how discretely the ring Elrond inherited from him blended into his shirt, and how familiar Elrond now looked like with his younger self.
“I should’ve realized it sooner.”
He murmured, pushing down the blanket and hugging back with his mere arms. He should’ve had the courage to admit voluntarily or not, he was not someone Elrond could easily pretend that never existed in his life. Someone to reach a reconciliation with, maybe, but never a stranger again. He chose to treat the children in a different way long ago.
“I can give no judgement, you know. But if there is any, that would be to keep my companion ever since.”
Elrond gently pulled out Maglor’s hand harp and touched to feel the smooth frame and well-tuned strings carefully.
“It’s silk inside with silver wrapped outside?”
Maglor nodded.
“And it’s what I feel about you. It goes further than the ruthless sharp metal, and reaches the soft yet resilient core. I knew better than to arbitrarily decide what I feel only by recorded histories, or even what you said. I was the one going through what you describe, so I have the right to claim you have never done me any wrong.”