Chapter Text
Maglor bit back tears as he tried not to remember his brother’s plunge into the chasm. Matimo, Matimo! His own desperate words came back to haunt him. He remembered a time, sitting and watching his Peredhel play, when he had vowed to return his brother to his right mind. I said my Matimo was not Maedhros the Kinslayer, and I was correct. And I succeeded; the twins and I. We woke up Matimo, but he could not live with himself. I never imagined that in waking him I would lose him.
His jumbled thoughts distracted him from the burning in his hand. He barely felt it anymore, just a numb tingling. I shall have no flesh left if I do not do something.
He stared over the sea, back toward the one home he had ever wanted. He clenched the Silmaril tightly, then drew back his arm. With all the fury he had in himself he flung the jewel into the sea. As the light slipped beneath the waves he grabbed his burnt hand. Curse you; curse you who took my family and my home from me. Curse you who turned Macalaure into this, this shell of a man. All I have anymore is my regret and pain.
And my harp.
He stood, grasping the silver harp. I shall play. I shall play and tell this world of our folly, and I shall play on an instrument crafted by Feanor. Let them see the beauty my father can create, if any shall hear my song.
His feet stumbled as he fled toward the ocean and the thrum of the waves. The sand slipped beneath his feet and he never once turned back. Once he had lived for his brothers, then for this wife, then for his Oath, then for two children.
He threw back his head and let his voice sweep across the waves. Now he lived for his song.
Elrond Peredhel, an orphan all over again, watched as the soldiers celebrated their victory. It was no victory to him. Selfishly he reminded himself that a week ago he had two fathers, his brother, and no future. Now he had no father, a mortal brother, and a future he was not certain he wanted.
They made their choice, and I have made mine.
He did not look at up the sound of footsteps, assuming it to be Elros wanting to talk again. “Elrond?” He did not know the voice, it was not Elros, but a woman. “The king told me I would find you here.”
Briefly he wondered which king; Gil Galad, King of the Exiled Noldor, or Finarfin, King of the Noldor in Aman. He decided that it did not matter. “You found me.”
He heard her kneel next to him. “Do you remember me, child?”
Elrond looked up, and into a face he thought he would never see again. He hardly trusted his eyes and whispered, “Elanor?”
She smiled and embraced him.
“You died,” he choked. “In the kennel, you, you saved me and-“
She stopped him. “I lived. I went out the back exit and could not find you. Tell me child, were you happy?”
Elrond thought for a moment, then he nodded.
“Are you still happy?”
He now had his old friend, a brother who was happy with his choices, a father who was free from the world, a father who would be as happy as he could be, and a future that maybe wasn’t so bad after all. And he reminded himself not to forget the mother and father who were a Star. Even though he did not know he possed the gift of foresight yet, he knew he would see them again.
“I could be. I will be.”
It shall be said that they all found their peace, in the end.
Maedhros was reborn, and once again found himself the eldest of several brothers. Only five little brothers this time. He also found himself to be the not entirely unwilling godfather (and claimed great-grandfather) of Elladan and Elrohir’s children.
Elanor dwelled in Imladris. Even after Elrond had children of his own she called him her ‘child’ and would hear no argument on the matter. She eventually faded into the West, sailing with Celebrian after her vicious attack. In Valinor both Finarfin and Nerandel tried to take them in, for their own ties to Celebrian.
Elrond finally crossed over the sea in the Fourth Age with the ringbearers. He was met with joyous celebration and his beloved family. Shortly after the death of their sister Elladan and Elrohir also sailed into the eternal paradise of the elves.
Late into the years of this world, when his body began to fail, Maglor Feanorian saw a shining light before him. A hand helped him to board a star-ship, and he found himself looking up at an elf-man with a Silmaril on his forehead. “They have decided that it is time for you to come home,” Earendil said. Maglor was joyfully welcomed by his brothers and his foster son’s family.
The sons of Nerandel were Seven once again, and the House of Elrond complete.