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Part I: Anguish
Maglor wandered the lonely shore like a ghost, the burning jewel in his burning hand. It shone brighter than all the stars in the sky, save one. But it seared his flesh like a brand.
Some days, he thought of casting himself into the waves, a final oblivion. But he saw his six brothers in the face of the waters, beseeching him to protect the jewel, no matter the cost. They had died for its sake, for him to be the last survivor, the one to possess the prize in the end.
He had sung that epic story once. He had no more words. He had no more songs. Voiceless, in silent agony, he walked along the shore, and each step felt like knives.
A long time later, he found footsteps on the sand, that were not his own. He followed them, and they followed his. The two sets of tracks circled in closer, until he saw the silhouette of the man approaching. Maglor would know him anywhere.
Not Man, nor Elf, but both. Elrond.
The jewel whispered, He means to take me for his own. Kill him.
The child grown into a man. Maglor. Tell me a story.
Maglor hurled the jewel into the sea. It blazed like a fallen star. It twinkled like a will-o'-the-wisp. And then it vanished beneath the waves, its light swallowed by the deep. His last hope of salvation, in saving his oath. He had thought the oath was the only thing he had left to lose. He had thought wrong.
He sank to his knees, unbalanced by the lifting of the weight of years.
Elrond opened his arms and embraced Maglor.
Maglor glanced to the left of Elrond. They both knew what he meant. Where is your brother?
Elrond looked grave, the shadow of grief crossing his face. "He took the path of Men. He chose a human soul."
So. Elros had gone beyond the circles of the world. To the unknown destiny of Men, where none of the Eldar could follow. Maglor cast Elrond a questioning look.
"I made my choice too," Elrond said. "I will stay here, until the end of the world. Its fate and mine are one."
He lifted Maglor to his feet. "It's time for us to go home."
Maglor looked to the east, where he knew Rivendell lay.
Elrond shook his head. "No, not there. Not anymore. Into the West, to Valinor."
*
Part II: Atonement
Six swans stranded on the shore.
The last remnant of a great fleet, once upon a time the most beautiful ships in the world. The arching curves of their graceful prows, the elegant lines of their sleek hulls, proclaimed the pride of their craftsmen.
The timbers were blackened and burnt.
Maglor was silent in the face of this destruction. Not his hand alone that had set the ships aflame, and yet his hand was among them. He looked on the shipwrecks in dismay. To make them seaworthy again would require great reserves of magic and great amounts of labour. How to salvage something out of this haunted fleet? How to recover from the ruin he had brought down on himself and so many others?
Elrond seemed to share his assessment, keen eyes scanning the scene. "It's too great a task for one person to take on alone."
Maybe not, if Maglor had eternity to do it in. Maybe this was his penance. He could not ask Elrond to take on the same burden.
"I have an idea," Elrond said. "I must leave you for now, but I promise I will return." He said that every time they parted ways. Maglor wondered if he meant it as a spell for himself too--that if he made that promise, Maglor would be waiting. Not vanished, like all the others he had loved and lost.
Maglor nodded, placing a fist over his heart. I promise I will be here.
These swans had no wings to bear them home. Their sails were burned to ash. Maglor had no silk or flax. He wove new cloth from the nettles that grew on the shore, sharp and stinging but strong. His scarred hand absorbed the pain. At first he was stubborn and relentless, but all he made was a snarled tangle. He got better as he went along, as he learned to be patient and careful. He was the son of the son of the Broideress, who wove the tapestry of fate.
As he worked and wove, he saw the images of his brothers in the cloth, as though they were embroidered there by his own memory. One by one, he saw them as they were in life. His tears fell upon the cloth, but it was a cleansing grief, and he felt like he had been washed in the rain. Maedhros was the last of his brothers to appear, as he had been the last to leave him. One arm was flesh, the other was not. A swan with one wing.
Elrond came back, leading a lively and laughing company. "I brought help. Friends and fellow travellers."
Elves there were, of his own house and many other houses. There were shipwrights and carpenters and blacksmiths, bringing their tools and their skills. They set to work at once, to repair the ships that would bear all of them across the sea.
There was his cousin Galadriel, once queen of her own realm, and now simply herself. "I thought you might need these." She had brought lamps for each ship to guide their way, made from translucent crystal, with the light of stars held in the shimmer of water. They shone with their own inner radiance, like the souls of the swans.
Among all the Elves, there was a Dwarf, his deft hands shaping jet and gold for the eyes and beaks of the swans. "You won't find anything finer than the gifts of the Glittering Caves." His friend, who was an Elf of the Greenwood, said, "He's right. They are a wonder of the world. And we seek out new wonders now."
There were even Halflings, out of their own secluded lands. "Many hands make light work," said a stout old fellow, trundling past him with a hammer and saw. "There are burdens no one can bear alone," said his companion, a faint smile on his pale features.
One of the Halflings was older and frailer than any living being Maglor had ever seen, but his eyes were bright and curious. "Master Elrond tells me you are the famed author of the Noldolantë. I have some questions I would like to ask you, if you're agreeable to a chat."
"Yes," Maglor said, his voice hoarse from long disuse. He remembered he had once made songs. "I would like to hear your stories too."
They sang together, as the sails billowed out, as the ships sailed onto the sea. And then the ships lifted above the waves, ascending into a higher realm.
All of them, sailing into the sky, following the Straight Road home.
*
Part III: Ascension
They came to call Maglor the Star Gazer, for he spent his nights watching the stars rise over the hill beyond the woods of Valinor. The way was barred to him, for he could not set foot in the woods, where the others went to dance and feast.
One evening, Yavanna came to him, bearing a silver bucket, a golden rake, and a silken towel. "I have a task for you." She led him to a green mound, where two saplings stood: one as yellow as the mallorn, and the other as white as the White Tree out of Nimloth and Galathilion and Telperion.
"I thought nothing grew here anymore," Maglor said.
"Some hurts take a long time to heal," Yavanna said. "Tend to these, for as long as it takes."
Every morning, Maglor watered the saplings with the silver bucket, and he pulled the weeds with the golden rake, and he wiped the leaves with the silken towel. Every evening, he sang to them, every song of hope and healing he knew, and his tears fell upon them like rain.
The saplings grew into trees taller than himself. One day, the yellow sapling blossomed a flower as gold as elanor, and the white sapling blossomed a flower as pale as niphredil. He knew it for a sign.
He plucked the flowers, and pinned them to his cloak, and they let him pass freely into the woods. Dancers and feasters flickered between the trees, calling to him in welcome. But he meant to follow the path up the hill closest to the stars.
He passed through the silver woods, where the trees were hung with pearly moons. He remembered the first moonrise, when his kindred across the sea had come to battle against the Great Enemy.
He passed through the golden woods, where the trees were hung with fiery suns. He remembered the first sunset, when the Great Enemy had retreated into his fortress against that onslaught.
Finally, he passed through the crystal woods, where the trees were hung with shining stars. He remembered his first glimpse of the brilliant jewels his father had wrought, but these were brighter by far.
Maglor reached the top of the hill, and all around him was the vast dark, lit by glowing lights. His father stood there, his hands cupping each little star, igniting it with the inner flame of his own spirit. Maglor stared in amazement and disbelief.
"How are you here?" he whispered. "I thought you were in the Halls of Mandos, until the end of the world."
Fëanor smiled at him. "We are beyond the end of the world now."
Hardly daring to hope, Maglor said, "What comes after the end of the world?"
"A new beginning." Fëanor opened his hands and let the little star float up into the darkness. It joined all its companions, and made the night a little less dark.
Elrond climbed the hill after Maglor, and he nodded to Fëanor, ancestral kindred meeting for the first time. Maglor said anyway, "My father."
Elrond looked up at the night sky. "And mine."
Not all the lights were stars, Maglor realised. One of them was a ship, and it was leading a great fleet of ships, from beyond the confines of the world. All the ships of the heavens, as countless as all the stars in all the galaxies. All the human souls that ever lived, returning at last from their great voyage into the unknown. Eärendil, pilot and navigator, was guiding them home. And deep in his heart, Maglor felt the stirring of the Second Music.