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Old 05-30-2022, 09:02 AM   #4
Mithadan
Spirit of Mist
 
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Tol Eressea
Posts: 3,310
Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.
Tales From Tol Eressëa
Conversations in Avallónë - Part II
Of Oaths and Ill-Fate
By Mithadan


Ælfwine started with surprise at Círdan’s introduction, for before him stood indeed the stuff of legends. Many had told him tales of mighty Fëanor and his seven sons and the evil done by them while driven by an unholy Oath. Some had recited the ancient lays with sadness while others spoke with ill-concealed anger. To Ælfwine, the tales awoke within him little sympathy and of the deeds they spoke it seemed as if it were better that many had never taken place. Nonetheless he stared with astonishment at the tall, silent Elf.

“I am honored to meet you Maglor, son of Fëanor,” he said. “Many are the tales told of your sire and your kin. Here indeed do the legends walk among the living for I had heard that you died ere the close of the First Age of the world.”

For the first time, Maglor spoke and his voice was of surpassing beauty as if the warbles of songbirds, the music of the waters and the whispers of the winds had been blended into a single theme. It was a joy to listen to him speak and a burden to hear his words.

“Died?” said Maglor with a bitter laugh. “Nay, fate did not provide me that mercy. And though I long for such a release I cannot follow the lead of my brother Maedhros and take my own life. But how could the halls of Mandos exact from me any penance greater than the knowledge not only that I held and of my own will relinquished a Silmaril but also of the deeds which resulted in that gem coming into my hands.”

As Maglor spoke a stiffness seemed to enter his shoulders and his proud face dropped a bit. “But of these things I will not willingly speak,” said the Elf. “I returned to the West seeking healing, not forgiveness, and though I have received neither my heart is eased if only I may but leave my past behind and unspoken.”

“Come!” said Círdan. “It is late and we are yet to hear your tale Ælfwine. Let us retire to my halls and ease our appetites ere our wagging tongues become overtired.”
_______________________________

Círdan’s halls stood just north of the quays of Avallónë and its windows on the east overlooked the harbor. Many craftsmen and wrights dwelt there, and the dining hall was crowded as they entered. Ælfwine noted that while many greeted Círdan, few spoke to Maglor who in turn answered briefly or not at all. The three proceeded to a table by a window from which they could watch the stars which emerged as they dined. Ælfwine retold the tale of his coming to Tol Eressëa and Círdan asked many questions. But Maglor remained silent and ate without looking from his plate. At length, Ælfwine turned to him and spoke.

“You say you longed for death. Yet it seems to me that were this so this isle would not be your home. Why would you depart from Middle Earth if in truth you sought such a fate?”

Maglor lifted his gaze until his eyes met those of Ælfwine and the Elf’s face seemed a mask of anger barely controlled. “The Atani should pause before demanding answers from their elders,” he growled. “In truth I would not have been sundered entirely from my people at the end. For while I have in the past been welcomed among the Afterborn, as the ages passed the names of my father and kin were held in scant esteem. Murderers and criminals they named us. Yet I have found little more sympathy here and the same names were given to us though to my face many feigned courtesy.”

Maglor stood abruptly, pushing the table and its contents back with a clatter. Through gritted teeth he addressed Ælfwine. “You will not draw me out so. My tale is mine for the telling and I choose not to speak it to you or any other. None would believe what I, a son of ‘Fëanor the traitor’ would say at any rate. I only wish to be left in such peace as I may find with myself.” And with those words his proud and mighty voice cracked, and the depths of his despair were revealed. He sank back into his chair and called for another flagon of wine.

“Peace!” cried Círdan. “We forget the duty we owe to our guest and wine has made our tongues over free beyond the bounds of courtesy. Ælfwine! Forgive Maglor of his words; you are not the target of his anger.”

“Aye,” responded Ælfwine. “And I in my turn should beg forgiveness for I imposed upon a host with insatiable curiosity when I should properly have yielded. Maglor! I meant no offense, and none should be taken. Now, with your leave, I shall retire to my rooms. As the little children of the Eldar have reminded me, I am in polite society and my beard should be shorn ere I am seen again on the streets of Avallónë.”

With that, Ælfwine lifted his pack and rummaged through its pockets until he came upon Celebrian’s gift. Lifting the tiny, sheathed blade from its place, he stood and made ready to go. But Maglor lifted his head and, seeing the knife, leapt to his feet with a cry, causing Ælfwine to step back in surprise. At the surrounding tables, Elves turned to stare as Maglor drew himself to his full height with blazing eyes.

“How have you come to possess that blade?” roared Maglor, as he advanced on the Man.

“It was a gift,” stammered Ælfwine as he moved sideways to bring the table between himself and Fëanor’s son.

Maglor again stepped forward and with catlike speed snatched the knife from Ælfwine’s hands. Ælfwine bristled with anger and made as if to seize it back, but Círdan silently stepped between the two and stared at Maglor with curiosity. Holding the blade in his shaking hands, Maglor slumped forward heavily to lean against the table. His eyes closed and he hung his head as if a heavy burden had come upon him.

“Where did you get this?” asked Maglor softly without raising his head.

“I say again, it was a gift!” cried Ælfwine. “Now return it to me!”

Maglor let the knife slide from his nerveless hands and returned to his chair. As he raised his head, Ælfwine was surprised to see tears slide slowly from the proud eyes of the Elf. “Who gave this to you?” he asked. “Do you know what this is?”

“It was given to me by Elrond and his lady Celebrian when I departed from their halls. A jest I deemed it; a sharp blade with which to shave my beard though they did not say this. They smiled as they gave it to me and Celebrian said ‘I suspect you may find a use for it.’ Only later did I realize my unshorn beard was amusing to the Elves.”

“A jest?” cried Maglor. “A jest? If so, it is a bitter one. Celebrian is the Daughter of Galadriel is she not? From her I might expect such a ‘jest’. Yet from Elrond? Has even he come to despise me? Nay, I cannot believe that! But to give such a gift!”

“I too recognize this blade and its sheath,” said Círdan. “You give Elrond short shrift if you believe he would do this with ill-will towards you Maglor. Elrond has far sight and is wise even among the Eldar, Such a gift was not made in jest.”

The Shipwright turned to Ælfwine with a slight smile on his lips. “Tell me Elf-Friend, did Elrond know you planned to journey to Avallónë?”

“Yes,” responded Ælfwine. “Seabirds came to frolic over his halls and hearing their cries awoke a longing to again breathe the salt air. Thus I resolved to visit this city and, with regret, took my leave of Elrond and his lady.”

Ælfwine frowned slightly. “I do not believe that Elrond and Celebrian bear ill-will to any who live on this isle. And as I traveled the road to this city with the gulls and kestrels following me as if to feed my desire and urge me on, I often puzzled over this tiny blade.”

Maglor wiped his sleeve over his eyes and looked at Ælfwine. “This blade,” he said, “was wrought in Gondolin of old and by the device on its sheath it was made for none other than Eärendil, son of Tuor and Idril, when he was but a child. From him it was passed on to his infant son Elrond. When the Havens at the mouth of Sirion were assaulted by my brothers, I brought Elrond and his brother Elros out of the ruin of that place and this blade and no other thing he carried with him.”

“You took Elrond hostage?” cried Ælfwine.

“No!” shouted Maglor with blazing eyes. Then the fires of his anger receded. “Have you not heard... perhaps you have not. What have you heard of the attack upon the Havens at the mouths of Sirion?”

“Only that you and your brothers assaulted that sad enclave and slew your own kin seeking the Silmaril that was held there by Eärendil and Elwing,” replied Ælfwine.

Again, Maglor’s face twisted with fury and he made as if to rise, but Círdan quietly placed a hand upon the shoulder of Fëanor’s son and gradually his anger grew cool. He looked down at the knife then, with a sigh, reached out and clasped Ælfwine’s hand. “I should not be surprised that you have heard this. The tale is told thus though I cannot bear to hear it. It seems my Oath must ever chase me and though I have not followed my brothers to Mandos I must nonetheless suffer under a burden of guilt and regret.”

He again looked down at the blade which lay upon the table. “Elrond,” he whispered so softly that his companions could only just hear the name and the love he possessed for he who bore it. After a moment he straightened with a decision. “For Elrond who I loved as a son, for he who I have not seen since the War of Wrath I will tell you some of my tale. I have wronged you with my words and my anger and so I will make amends so that you might find some forgiveness at least for this son of Fëanor.”

“You have not seen Elrond since the close of the First Age? Yet he dwells but a few days’ journey from here,” exclaimed Ælfwine.

“Nay,” answered Maglor. “Not in Middle earth since the end of the First Age, though I ever knew where he dwelt, nor here have I seen him. Even though he has sought for me, I have not met with him. I cannot! My shame is too great. Shame for the deeds of my father, my brothers and myself. Nor have I dwelt among the Noldor here or in Middle Earth, and only briefly and late visited Eregion. I cannot bear it!

“Yea! I will tell you some of my tale, but I will tell it aright as only I know it. It will not be as you have heard it. For though I was trapped in the webs of Morgoth’s malice, so too have his deceits crept into the lore recited by all who recall those times.

“My father was among the greatest of all the Elves who have lived. He was subtle of mind and skilled in hand and blessed with the gifts of Eru who made him mighty. Ever he sought knowledge and lore and skill for the benefit of all his people and to enhance the glory of Valinor. Fëanor was free with his knowledge and did not hoard the fruits of his skill but gave his works and his lore freely to all who asked, Elf or people of the Valar. And if he was ill-pleased when my grandsire was betrothed to Indis of the Vanyar and if no love was lost between him and his half-brothers for that reason, still he neither did nor counseled any evil -- at that time, the Noontide of Valinor.

“My brothers and I were friends of the many children of Finarfin and Fingolfin did you know this? Maedhros and Fingon especially but we all befriended our cousins. Fëanor did nought to prevent this and even to his half-brothers was civil, if cool, until Morgoth was released from Mandos.

“A great mistake that, for the Valar to release their greatest foe to live among us. Mayhap they share some fault in what later befell, for how could mere Elves evade the unseen shadows of Morgoth’s evil? Yet at first all had great profit from his assistance and his seeming friendship.

He sighed and looked out from Círdan’s halls at the glowing surf and the stars that shone above. Below the windows someone burst out in a song about Valinor and its glory. His eyes seemed to behold some far away vision of times long passed. Then he looked back at his companions.

“After Morgoth was released some foresight seemed to come to my father,” he said. “And he resolved to capture the blended light of the two Trees so that it could never perish or fade. Many years of the Valar it took and for the first time Fëanor knew failure.

“How many cracked and blackened crystals he produced I do not know; there were many. But one day he erected a tent with a window on one side beneath the Trees and, while a crowd assembled, he filled it with lenses and mirrors while the hours stretched into days. Then after a blending of the light of the Trees, he at last emerged, his face and hands blackened and scorched and his eyes red with weariness, and he carried a black casket back to his halls as we followed.

“At last, in his innermost chamber, he opened the casket to us and we beheld three great jewels which glowed within with the living light of the Trees. In darkness they gleamed with splendid luminescence of gold and intertwined silver, but in the light they sparkled and shimmered as if a rainbow were captured therein. Thus were wrought the Silmarils, the greatest of his works and the most beloved.”

“Some say that Morgoth had a hand in their making,” said Ælfwine. “I have also heard that Morgoth was high among his counselors and but for his aid Fëanor would not have reached the great stature which he attained.”

“Falsehoods,” spat Maglor. “The slander of Morgoth. Ever did Morgoth weave his webs of deception seeking to estrange the houses of the Noldor from one another and thus sow the seeds of dissension and confusion. Many ears hearkened to the whispers of the Black One and, as is often said, whispers beget whispers and thus were the lies perpetuated among the people of Tirion.

“But my father did not treat with Morgoth though his words found their way to the ears of Fëanor as rumors and libels published by others as fact and not until much later was the source of those words revealed. None distrusted Morgoth more than my father and the Blackheart was never welcomed in our halls. Indeed, never did Fëanor take counsel with Morgoth or accept his assistance in the making of the Silmarils or any of his works. My father worked alone or, if need be, was assisted by his sons or only those he trusted as stalwarts of his house.”

Maglor paused and smiled sadly before continuing. “The truth be told, if Fëanor received inspiration from anyone for the Silmarils, it was provided by one who grew to hate him beyond all others, save perhaps Morgoth himself. At a time of festival not long after Morgoth was released, a great feast was held in the house of my grandsire. As the light of the trees blended and the white pillars lit through the windows seemed to themselves glow, my father entered the great hall and beheld a tall lady clad in white whose hair seemed to have captured the very light of Telperion and Laurelin. When he approached her, he saw that she was none other than Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin. And setting aside his pride he greeted her with fair words and begged her for a tress of her hair, praising it as ‘wondrous and more fair than any work by the hands of the Noldor.’ But she refused him, saying ‘You ask for a part of me yet give no part of yourself to my father, his brother or their children. When the house of Fëanor can sit in peace and friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, then shall I give up a tress and not before then.’ Then she turned away leaving my father shamed and angry. Even so, twice more did he ask for a lock of her hair and twice more she declined. Then my father said ‘No more will I ask anything of my half-brothers or their houses.’ And then, perhaps moved to create a work beside which even the hair of Galadriel would pale in comparison, he considered the light of the Trees and how that light might be enmeshed in imperishable crystal.”

“It seems that your father grew to love the works of his hands overmuch,” said Ælfwine. “And you and your brothers besides. For the theft of those jewels led to the making of the dread Oath of which I have heard. Did not that Oath and lust for the Silmarils lead to the rebellion of the Noldor?”

“I doubt not that many tell the tale so,” replied Maglor. “Yet it was not so. Long did the lies of Morgoth wind their way secretly through the streets of Tirion ever to find those who would hearken to them. To Fëanor’s house it was said that his half-brothers plotted against him but to Finarfin and Fingolfin the tale was that Fëanor would have them expelled from Valinor. Others whispered that the Valar had imprisoned the Noldor to prevent them from attaining their greatest stature and ruling the lands over the seas.

“Finally, we heard of the coming of Men to whom it was said the Valar would give Middle Earth as vassals while denying the Noldor their rightful place. This last greatly angered Fëanor for it seemed there was some germ of truth in these words. For the Valar, of course, did not deny the coming of the Hildor yet did not understand the confusion and resentment of the Noldor. In those times, the councils of Finwë became as storms of anger with accusations and counterclaims filling the air as my grandsire sought to keep the peace. And the unlove between Fëanor and his half-brothers then became hatred and we were estranged from our cousins. The Silmarils did not cause the rebellion. It was the lies of Morgoth which wrought our doom.

“Then did the Noldor conceive of the making of weapons and armor and shields, no doubt following some suggestion of Morgoth. The streets of Tirion became uncivil and many took to carrying the sigils of their houses. In this did Caranthir, Celegorm and Curufin take great delight and they began taking their shields abroad and crying out to all who would listen that the Valar would seize the things which we had made and loved and keep us as slaves and servants like the Vanyar who dwelt with their masters.

“Many murmured at these words and then when at last Fingolfin sent messengers to Fëanor bidding him to restrain his sons lest the Valar grow angry, did Fëanor, rejecting the counsel of Maedhros and I, take up these words as his own. Soon thereafter did my father break the peace by drawing his blade on his half-brother and our house was banished from Tirion for a time, even while the Valar sought for Morgoth. That we had been caught by the plots of Morgoth did not ease my father’s mind for he had been shamed and the banishment made the lies seem true when Finwë set aside his kingship and joined us in exile.

“Thus Fëanor continued to take counsel concerning the wrongs which seemed to have been wrought upon his house and Caranthir, Curufin and Celegorm openly espoused rebellion and they held our father’s ear. If any counseled restraint, Caranthir decried them as disloyal and many bitter words were exchanged among my brothers, for Maedhros and I did not wish to leave Aman and Amrod and Amras, though less certain, were of like mind.”

“Yet all rebelled and all spoke the Oath to pursue the Silmarils,” said Ælfwine. “And these words were spoken willingly and without duress.”

Maglor laughed without humor and his face grew dark with regret. “Without duress you say? Willingly? You do not understand the pain and confusion of those times. Willingly? We had been ensnared in the deceits of Morgoth who of old was great as Manwë himself! Our fates had been determined, not by the Silmarils or by choice, but rather by the Black One. If the Silmarils only had been stolen the Noldor would not have rebelled and Finwë might have prevailed upon Fëanor to forego his jewels until the Valar resolved to overthrow Morgoth.

“But this was not the case. Consider. Morgoth slew the two Trees plunging Valinor into what seemed as a darkness everlasting. The joyous noontide of Aman had popped like a bubble and was replaced by fear and doubt. For most I deem that there might have seemed little to leave behind.”

“Then leave! Rebel if you must,” interrupted Ælfwine. “But why the Oath?”

With these words, tears again started from Maglor’s eyes and streamed down his noble face. “The Oath! Even now I can hear it; the words of my father then mine and my brothers’ as torches burned in Tirion Why, you ask?

“When the Trees were slain, my father had been in Valmar, summoned to festival by Manwë. Our household stayed behind only to be plunged into darkness and doubt. Then reports came of a ravening shadow, some power darker than night itself, approaching our stronghold and all fled in fear and anguish. But my grandsire waited, bidding my brothers and I to go and protect our people. ‘I will retrieve the Silmarils and follow!’ he said. But he did not follow. Alone he stood before the doors with sword in hand to face Morgoth and the dark power we later learned was Ungoliant. Alone he stood and alone he fell, burned foully by Morgoth and wounded with many wounds. And his hands were bound by webs! He had been slain while defenseless, his sword lying broken on the ground. And we had fled leaving him behind alone!

“Mayhap Caranthir, Celegorm and Curufin might have sworn the Oath due solely to the theft of the Silmarils. But Maedhros and I? Nay. We spoke the Oath crazed by grief and anger, wishing to pursue the murderer of Finwë and the destroyer of the light of Valinor. We did not consider our words and repeated our father’s Oath without thought seeking only to act, to chase down Morgoth the Accursed. We spoke without thought, our minds clouded by grief and guilt. For we did not stand beside our grandfather and he died doing what we feared to do!”

“Had you stayed to fight beside Finwë would aught have changed?” asked Círdan gently. “Save perhaps that you and your brothers would have perished then also.”

“And perhaps the world would have been better if we had! Often I have pondered the cruel fate which had me survive that day only to speak the Oath that led to so much evil.” Maglor poured himself a cup of wine and drained it in a gulp. Again he drew his sleeve across his eyes.

“So we rebelled,” he resumed. “And even in rebellion the houses of the Noldor could not agree, such was the confusion of those times. We departed from Tirion in three hosts with Fëanor ever at the fore. We left behind Tirion the Fair yet we knew not where and how to go. Thus after much debate we resolved to proceed to Alqualondë and persuade the Teleri there to join us or at least lend us the use of their ships so that we might cross the sea. But the Teleri had no desire to abandon Aman and denied us their vessels perhaps hoping that we would rethink our choices. But by our Oath we were banished, and we would not allow others among us to reconsider. So desperate were we that we determined to return to the docks in stealth and seize the vessels.

“My father gathered a portion of his van and, with my brothers, crept into the city and attempted to board the ships. But an alarm went up and many of the Teleri rushed to the docks to vie with us for control of their vessels. They were but lightly armed with knives and hooks and bows but there were many. We attempted to retreat but were blocked by the crowd and trapped on the quays. At first, we merely pushed or wrestled with the Teleri seeking to escape. Then one of the Teleri stood forth and with a cry drew his knife and rushed at my father. Celegorm stepped before him and, drawing his sword, slew the Teler. For a long moment all was quiet, then a melee erupted and many were slain on both sides as we retreated through the crowd.

For my part I wielded only my shield and the hilts of my sword seeking to stave off the Foamriders. Maedhros was of like mind and sought to restrain our fellows and avert bloodshed. But hearing the din and hue in the city, a large part of our host rushed in to succor their lord and seeing new strength in arms, Caranthir rallied his soldiery and bade Fëanor to attack the docks again. I begged my father to desist but he shoved me roughly aside and cried out that the Valar had suborned the Teleri and he egged on his warriors. Even so, the streets were narrow and we were again forced to retreat.”

Maglor again seemed on the verge of tears and his voice broke as he spoke. “At that moment the van of Fingolfin’s host arrived and, finding our host embroiled in battle, rushed forward with swords drawn. Maedhros and I ran among the Noldor urging them to put up their weapons but our cries were whelmed over in the clamor. I found myself again at the docks, sickened by the spilt blood of our kin, both Noldor and Teleri. And there I beheld a strange sight. For Galadriel was there and she fought on the part of the Teleri with her companions. In a clear voice she cried out to Fëanor, ‘What madness is this that you would assail your kin and slay them in cold blood? Cease, else ever will I and those who hearken to me be your enemy and death will be your reward for these deeds!’ But my father laughed for he had at last attained the ships. As if to release me from my agony, I was struck from behind and, as I fell, my last sight was of soldiers of the Noldor pushing Teleri to their deaths from the arch of living rock that spanned the mouth of the harbor.”

Through his tears, Maglor turned and said, “Forgive me Círdan, for the blood of your kin lies upon my shoulders.” And he buried his face in his hands, weeping bitterly.

Círdan leaned forward and grasping Maglor’s shaking hands in his own, kissed the tormented Elf’s brows. “I knew of the Kinslaying long ere we first met,” he said. “And though you have never told me your tale have I ever denied our friendship? By your name you are branded as a son of Fëanor and marked by the deeds of your kin, yet your name itself is not evil. By your eyes I deem your tale to be true, yet even if it were not so were you not forgiven and allowed to come into the West? Set aside your guilt Maglor, for you are not deserving of such a burden.”

“Not deserving? And what of the second Kinslaying?” cried Maglor. “When Beren recovered a Silmaril from the Iron Crown we did not celebrate that deed as an act worthy of the highest honor. Rather my brothers prevailed upon Maedhros to send a messenger to Thingol laying claim to the Jewel. And though he and I for a time restrained our brethren from rising up against Thingol and his queen, when later Thingol was slain and the Silmaril passed from mortal Lúthien to Dior the Fair we could no longer constrain Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin to follow our will. The house of Fëanor assailed Doriath and destroyed the remnant of that kingdom also in the name of our oath. Maedhros and I stood aside from that black deed with such of our households as would obey us, yet we did not attempt to stop our brothers from spilling Elven blood. Because we stood aside our brothers named us disloyal and lacking in honor and because the sons of Fëanor slew Dior and his people we were called brigands and worse.”

“Then you at least did not slay your own kin and foreswore your Oath,” replied Círdan. The ancient Elf looked closely at Maglor as if perceiving something as yet unsaid. “You could not have restrained your brothers in any event.”

“Could I not have?” whispered Maglor. His eyes reflected the red light of the fire burning in the hearth but seemed veiled as if by the smoke of battle. “The Silmaril escaped the ruin of Doriath in the hands of Elwing and retreated to the mouths of Sirion. Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin would have followed with the remnant of our army, but again Maedhros and I refused their demands.”

“But eventually you did attack the Havens, or so I have been told,” said Ælfwine. “Though it is said that some of your people at last rebelled and elected to fight on the part of the refugees who dwelt there.”

“A half-truth at least, and so it must have seemed to those who survived,” responded Maglor. “Long did we five remaining brothers debate but Maedhros and I held firm though Caranthir named us ‘cravens’. And as the years passed it seemed we had prevailed. Then once again the debate arose and bitter words were exchanged ere all returned to their encampments. But days later a messenger arrived from Caranthir who said in haughty words ‘We go to recover the Silmaril and fulfill our Oaths. If you be not oathbreakers then follow us and rejoice in our victory. But if you refuse, you dishonor our house and shall no longer be numbered as our kin. We remind you that you are sons of Fëanor, the greatest of the Noldor. If the memory of Fëanor and Finwë means aught to you then you will follow.’”

Maglor’s eyes blazed at the memory and in a voice strong and even he said, “We followed. We gathered all of our households and more besides and followed. When we reached the Havens battle had already been joined and the refugees were in dire straits. The rearguard of our brothers’ army espied us and sounded horns, crying out that we had come. I am told that upon hearing the horns and the cries Elwing, in final despair, threw herself into the sea bearing the Silmaril on her breast. For naught! For I stepped forward with the standard of Fëanor and in view of all dropped it into the mud and ichor of the field. And we trod upon it as our households charged into the rear of our brothers’ forces and, caught between the defenders of the Havens and our soldiery, Curufin, Celegorm and Caranthir were defeated utterly. Maedhros and I nonetheless grieved when we learned that our brothers had fallen in that battle for we recalled that they were not always evil though they had become marred by the deceits of Morgoth.

“Then it was that I took Elrond and his brother Elros as foster sons for none knew where Eärendil their father had gone and Elwing their mother had seemingly drowned in the waves. I loved them as my own sons and they in turn returned that love and grew tall and mighty in my care.”

“You rescued them and the remnant of their people!” cried Ælfwine. “But why then do you refuse to see Elrond or any other of the Noldor?”

Maglor fell silent for a moment but Círdan looked at his friend with a sad smile. Then raising another cup of wine, Maglor stirred. “Great was the War of Wrath,” he said. “And to my great joy, after many years of toil and battle, Morgoth was overthrown. But our Oath again awoke for the Silmarils had been recovered. As the host prepared to depart into the West, Maedhros and I debated for days. For he would attempt to seize the Silmarils while I wished to cross the sea and seek the judgment of Manwë for my actions even at the cost of breaching my Oath. Maedhros became fey with his desire and he resolved to do this deed whether I aided him or no. And I could not restrain him and would not assail him as I had my other brothers.

“Fearing for his life and expecting quick capture, I followed him as he approached the camp in stealth. But light was the guard and Maedhros crept even to the place where the Silmarils were kept. He leapt up and assailed the guards, quickly slaying two with the strength of madness. But two others vied with him and, in the end, I could not stand aside and watch him slain. Drawing my sword I hewed one down even as he dispatched the second and entered the tent to seize the casket in which the Silmarils lay. Thus my Oath had indeed come home at last and I had slain one of my kin undeservedly and in the conduct of an unlawful deed. I wept bitterly even as an alarm went up and I stood by Maedhros hoping for death. But Eönwë would not allow us to be slain and we fled with the two Silmarils.

“A distance from the camp and at the verge of the sea we stopped. The ground about us was broken and smoke arose from the cracks for Beleriand was dying and a large portion had already sunk beneath the waves. Maedhros opened the casket and the Jewels blazed forth with the light of the two Trees. And we each reached in and each lifted one Jewel in our hands.”

Maglor’s voice shook again and a mad light appeared in his eyes. “Wouldst thou behold a Silmaril Ælfwine?” he cried. And he opened his hands and held them palms forward. Graven on each palm as if seared by a brand was the impression of an oval jewel of the size of an egg. Maglor clenched his eyes shut as he resumed. “They burned! Like the flames of the sun they burned our flesh for they had been hallowed in Valinor and we by our deeds had forfeited any right to possess them! And as I screamed in anguish, Maedhros staggered forward to one of the great smoking cracks and, still clutching the Silmaril, threw himself in seeking the release of death. As fires roared up from the depths the Silmaril seared my hands and I turned and heaved the stone far out into the sea.

“Crazed with pain and sorrow I fled blindly and for a long time avoided the company of any living thing. To Elrond I could not return for my shame was and remains very great. The pain of the Silmaril awoke in my mind the memory of every deed I had done or declined to do in the name of the Oath or in despite of it. Although I eventually regained my senses and the need for company, I could not and cannot face him or any who knew me from those times.”

Círdan rose from his seat and placed his hands on Maglor’s bowed shoulders. “So now Maglor you have at long last told your tale in full and I have waited very long to hear it. Will you continue to hide in the past? You have dwelt in this city many ages and have never passed its gates. You who fear judgment have adjudged yourself and found yourself wanting. Well I do not agree. Ill deeds you have done yet also ill deeds have you prevented or done what you could to lessen their evil. For what you have done I deem you have atoned else you would not have been allowed to return into the West. Would you even now gainsay the authority of the Valar?”

TO BE CONTINUED
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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