Work Text:
Many millennia had passed. They had all followed a steady rhythm. The only variety Maglor had experienced was the changing landscape: sometimes mountains, sometimes forests, sometimes flat grasslands, but always the sea. Day in, day out, as if he had become one with the ebb and flow of the tide. From his place on the beach, he had been able to observe the wars that were fought and the healing times of peace, like a spectator who could not intervene in the events on stage and could only sit there wondering what would be shown next.
The world had changed even more than usual in recent years. It had become emptier. The Elves were missing from it. He used to see them from time to time on their wanderings, even though he had always avoided them. But now, not for the first time, he wondered if he was the only Elf left in Middle-earth. The thought of being the only Elf still wandering this part of the world was strange. For even though he had always avoided the other Elves, the knowledge that he could join them if he wished had been comforting in a way that was now missing.
And yet he could not change that. The Elves had followed the call to the West, and he could not go. So he wandered further along the beaches, singing his lament. This time, his path had taken him far to the north. From there, he could see his brother’s fortress, Himring. He had not often ventured so far north, for the sight of Himring had always triggered a strong aversion in him, prompting him to retreat quickly to more southern lands. For Himring meant Maedhros. And all Maglor desired was to be by his side, as always. But he was not here, and every memory of him pained Maglor too much.
But this time it was different. This time, he did not find it difficult to breathe at the sight of the fortress looming menacingly out of the water. He still felt a cold shiver run down his spine, telling him he should run away. No, this time he was drawn there, like into a maelstrom, as if Himring were the moon and he were the water pulled by it. He himself did not know how to explain this change of heart. Perhaps it was a sign that his time was coming to an end and that he would follow Maedhros into the Halls of Mandos, banished forever with no prospect of ever feeling sand beneath his feet or wind on his face again. The Valar must have slowly lost patience with him, as he had repeatedly evaded them.
The days dragged on. The nights grew shorter. And he sang, as always, of the fate of the Noldor, while Himring rose out of the sea like a memorial. But the path to the fortress was too far away to swim. As much as he wished to reach Himring, he did not want to surrender himself to the sea, which had been calm and tame for the last few days. So he continued along the beach, and the farther he moved from Himring, the heavier his heart became. Many times he stopped, searching for Himring on the horizon, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he could still see the fortress. Reluctantly, he continued his journey farther and farther north, and the sea remained calm, as if watching his every step.
With each passing day, his steps grew heavier, and he had to use all his strength to keep going. It almost felt as if his legs were chained to an unyielding stone that he had to drag behind him. He almost gave in to the urge to return to where he had a better view of Himring and to throw himself into the water there, just as Maedhros had thrown himself into the fire. But then he saw something lying on the beach that aroused his curiosity. He was not sure why he was drawn to it, for from a distance the object looked like a large stone that the sea had washed ashore. But soon it took shape, and he felt a tingle of elation rise within him.
It was a boat. A very old boat, covered in brown seaweed, with moss growing in places on the rotten-looking wood that had seen better days. The oars lay right next to it and did not look much better. The condition of the boat left much to be desired, but he did not let that deter him. He had to reach Himring, whatever it took. So he removed the seaweed and pushed the boat into the water, where it rocked in the waves. His eyes scanned the interior of the boat, worried that the wood was so damaged it would begin to take on water. But it remained steadfast against the waves.
“Well, that’ll do.”
Satisfied, he climbed in, took the oars in his hands, and rowed toward Himring.
The journey across the water was easier than expected. The boat glided like a feather in the wind, completely weightless. Himring drew closer with every stroke of the oars, and the gentle breeze brushed his face as the water rushed in rhythm with his rowing. Seagulls sailed in the wind above the towers of Himring.
Just a little farther and I will be there.
The thick walls of Himring towered before him. Just like in the old days, when he had ridden up the mountainside on horseback, the fortress still looked imposing, even though he had already seen the destruction caused by the breaking of Beleriand from afar. He landed on the island, which was covered in green grass, and pulled the boat ashore. Only then did he take a proper look at Himring, and his heart grew heavy.
I am back, Nelyo. I have come home.
He took a deep breath to steady the burning in his throat, then stepped through the gate on slightly unsteady legs and entered the courtyard. He was not sure what he had expected to see, but it looked just as it had on the day they had left Himring for battle. His path led him farther into the fortress. Here, the destruction could no longer be denied. The chandelier had fallen from the ceiling, leaving only the iron hinges and chain behind. The banners that had once hung there were gone; moths must have eaten them away over time. The sound of the sea echoed through the entrance hall.
He climbed the stone spiral staircase and paused for a moment to look out through a narrow window. It was strange to see the sea instead of grass. Frowning, he continued on; he could ponder the view later. The rooms on the first floor offered little. They had no doors, were dusty and covered in cobwebs. And they were all empty. Even the window frames had lost their glass.
Like dungeons.
He was shivering. Nevertheless, he went on to the next floor, where Maedhros’ private chambers had been. Here, too, no doors remained in their frames. Maglor turned into the first room: Maedhros’ study. He stood bewildered in the doorway at the sight that met his eyes. The desk was still there, and even the massive chair stood behind it, as if time had never passed. Maglor’s gaze wandered around the room as he entered. The bookcase remained as well, though some of its shelves were missing and a thick layer of dust lay upon the rest. The two armchairs by the fireplace had also been preserved. But the furs were gone, as were the heavy curtains, the picture frames, and the tapestries.
In the middle of the room, he slowly turned in place to take it all in.
And then he saw it, leaning against the wall by the fireplace behind one of the armchairs.
My harp.
The one Maedhros had given him in Valinor. The only harp he had brought with him from Valinor, for it was smaller than the others and therefore the perfect companion for traveling. The night before they had set out for battle, he had played it for Maedhros, as he always had. Only his music had been able to draw a smile from his brother’s grim features. They had believed they would return. That was why Maglor had left it behind in the safety of the fortress. It had been too precious to take with them to the battlefield.
When he reached it, he picked it up and held it close, closed his eyes for a moment, and rested his forehead against its frame. He had truly missed it. Though he missed Maedhros more than anything else. Still, it was better than nothing. It was something his brother had given him.
He opened his eyes again. The urge to play awakened within him.
The sound will not be what it once was. But at least I can make music again.
He had lost his last harp several centuries ago. It had fallen victim to time, wind, and salt water. He went to the desk, pushed the chair back with one hand, causing it to creak, and sat down. Once again, he felt that burning sensation in his throat, which he tried to swallow. He placed the harp on his lap and plucked its strings. They sounded shrill, but he had expected nothing else. Instead, he imagined Maedhros sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, listening to him. His eyes half closed, his chin resting on his left palm, while a fire crackled and cast shadows across Maedhros’ face.
He played for a while, still thinking of Maedhros: his smile, his full lips; his eyes, which had softened at the sight of Maglor; his hair, which only Maglor had been allowed to braid.
I wish you were here, Nelyo. I wish I could run my fingers through your hair again and caress your lips.
The sound of the sea mingled with the melody of the harp, and it was almost as if a new melody were being born. Quietly and secretly.
But you are not here.
With a sigh, he set the harp upon the desk. His fingers were no longer used to plucking the strings and had grown tired of playing. The calluses on his fingertips were long gone. The final note of the melody slowly faded within the room. His gaze fell upon a drawer, and he opened it. To his surprise, the leather binding was still inside. But when he touched it, the leather was no longer smooth and soft, but rough like sandpaper. When he opened it, the old documents containing the battle plans were still there. The paper had yellowed, and Maedhros’ sharp handwriting had faded. Still, Maglor could make out the words. He traced them with his index finger.
If only we had not been so arrogant.
Tears rolled down his cheek and fell onto the fragile paper, which began to curl. He wiped them away with his thumb over the damp spots so as not to damage the document further, then closed the leather cover.
He felt exhausted from the journey and from exploring the fortress, even though he had only seen a small part of it. The waves crashed against the rocks again and again. The sound of the sea was soothing, like a lullaby. His eyelids grew heavy, and soon the world around him turned black as he fell into a deep sleep.
The sound of the sea followed him into his dreams. He could feel the water lapping against him and curling around his legs. It did not trouble him, nor did the deep darkness that surrounded him. The waves whispered, though he could not understand their words. Still, he wandered onward. The water rose. He had nothing to fear.
The whispering grew more agitated. The waves reared like wild horses, rising high enough to crash against his shoulders. He did not resist; whatever stirred the water so violently could not harm him. He only had to keep walking through the landless sea until it swallowed him and he woke.
He did not know how long he wandered through the dark waters. The waves raged around him. Then one seized him and dragged him down into the depths.
Káno.
Káno.
Wake up. Wake up, Káno.
He awoke with a start. His heart pounded in his chest, and he gasped for air. Slowly, the room took shape again. Night had fallen while he slept. The sea murmured contentedly.
Had that been Nelyo’s voice?
He looked around, but there was no one in the room but himself.
What a strange dream.
Usually, he dreamed only of the sea. He could not remember ever hearing Maedhros’ voice after the waters swallowed him in his dreams. His heart grew heavy once more. It was the first time in many millennia that he had heard his brother’s voice. Tears rolled down his cheeks again.
He wiped them away with the back of his hand and rose suddenly to his feet. A thought circled in his mind, and he wished to follow it.
Am I truly the only one in this fortress?
Himring lay far from the mainland, out in the sea, but it was not isolated. Anyone who wished could come and wreak havoc here. With his harp in hand, he left the study and went to the room opposite, which had once been his own. Little remained of its former furnishings. His bed had collapsed, and only fragments were visible. Everything else had long since turned to dust. The next room fared no better. Maedhros had once used it as an archive. Scattered across the floor lay broken boards from the shelves that had lined the walls, along with leather bindings. Maglor did not bother to examine them closely. There was only one room left: Maedhros’ chamber.
He turned toward it. Only then did he notice that this room still had a door.
Unease crept over him.
Nevertheless, he walked to it, though he hesitated.
Should I knock?
He shook his head at the absurd thought and opened the door with a trembling hand. It yielded without resistance. Not even a creak sounded, only the murmur of the sea.
Moonlight spilled through the window without glass and fell upon the runner before the four-poster bed. The thick curtains framing the window stirred gently in the sea wind. The sight stole Maglor’s breath away. The room lay as though hardly any time had passed at all.
He closed the door again with care. The sight of Maedhros’ chamber made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
This is not possible. All of this is wrong. It cannot be true. My eyes must be deceiving me.
Instead, he hurried down the spiral staircase. His footsteps echoed through the corridors, chased by the sound of the sea. He skipped the last few steps, crossed the entrance hall in long strides, and emerged into the cool night air beneath the stars. His breathing had quickened, but he did not pause. He went straight to where he had moored his boat. There, he sat upon one of the great stones and began to pluck his harp. It was his habit to play when something troubled him, and Maedhros’ chamber troubled him deeply.
The sea sang softly, and his harp answered. Their melodies wove together into a new song, sweeter than before. Maglor’s eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was the harp slipping from his hand and striking the ground.
This time, he did not drift into the landless sea in his dream. Instead, he remained where he had fallen asleep: sitting on the rock, playing the harp, while the sea splashed merrily around him. In one place it roared and hissed. A great wave rose up, from which Maedhros emerged. Maglor nearly dropped the harp again, but this time out of sheer wonder. Maedhros looked exactly as he had on the day he had thrown himself into the flames: his face grim, his clothes torn, his hair wild as the fire itself. Yet it was Maglor’s Nelyo who now came to him through the water. Their eyes met, and as so often before, Maglor lost himself in them. A smile touched Maedhros’ face as he went ashore, but before he could reach Maglor, he crumbled into sea foam.
Like the sea foam, the dream shattered into a thousand pieces. He squinted as he opened his eyes, for the sun had already risen in the east. Seagulls circled in wide arcs above the sea, which lapped peacefully before him. He groaned as he slowly sat up, his back aching from the forward-leaning posture he had held while sleeping. He let his gaze wander to the spot where Maedhros had burst into foam, rubbing his lower back with both hands.
First Maedhros’ voice, and now he appears to me in my dreams as well. How is that possible? The last time I dreamed of Maedhros was when the flames took him from me.
His throat tightened again, and to distract himself he went to inspect the place. The ground was neither damp, nor could he see any footprints.
Absolutely nothing unusual.
Somehow, he felt disappointed.
So it truly had only been a dream.
He lowered his head, his hair falling into his face.
What should I do now? I could take the boat and row back to the mainland.
He took a few hesitant steps toward the boat, which still lay on the shore. Then he stopped.
I could also take a closer look at the island.
He turned toward the fortress, toward the empty windows from which no one watched. Despite their emptiness, Maglor felt strangely drawn to them, as though someone might look out if he stared long enough.
You are a hopeless fool, Maglor.
He trudged back to his harp, picked it up, and went inside the fortress.
The sound of the sea roared through the corridors of Himring more loudly than the day before, even though the water outside seemed calm. Maglor took the same spiral staircase back to the second floor, for he wished to examine Maedhros’ chambers again.
It did not take long to reach the closed door. Nothing had changed in the other rooms; he glanced into them as he passed, and everything was exactly as he had left it. Still, a strange tension spread through him. He drew a deep breath and opened the door. Morning sunlight streamed in, and the red but faded curtains fluttered in the sea breeze. Looking more closely, he saw that the bed curtains and the pattern of the runner were faded as well. He stepped gently inside. Everything remained as before. Even the painting still hung upon the wall. It, too, had begun to lose its color, but what it showed was still clear: Maedhros hunting with him. Maglor had commissioned it himself. He remembered how Maedhros’ face had flushed as he protested that Maglor should not give him such a gift. Yet his eyes had sparkled, and he could never look at it enough.
Maglor sat down upon the made bed and set his harp beside him. The coverlet was still soft, and he ran his fingers over the fine fabric, though his gaze remained fixed on the painting. The sea murmured faintly in the distance.
I wish I could go hunting with him again.
His heart grew heavy. Then a dull, steady sound of footsteps mingled with the sound of the sea. Maglor did not turn. His breathing grew shallow as he continued to stare at the painting. The footsteps stopped. For a moment, he felt a gaze upon him, but before he could fully turn toward the door, it was gone. He hurried to the doorway, but nothing was there. Not even the sound of retreating steps.
He leaned against the doorframe to steady himself, dizzy from rising too quickly. His eyes remained fixed on the corridor.
What was that? Is someone here? How can footsteps simply vanish? Was it only the wind, or water dripping somewhere?
No explanation satisfied him. He pushed himself away from the wall and resolved to explore Himring more thoroughly. His harp he left behind, resting safely on the bed.
And the water rushed.
Over the next days, Maglor wandered through the buildings, or what remained of them. The roof of the stables had collapsed, yet swallows still nested there. The swords in the armory lay rusted and scattered upon the floor. The dwellings of Himring’s former inhabitants had either fallen entirely or stood as empty as the main keep. What he could not find was any hearth or camp. There was no sign of life at all, save for the birds that had claimed Himring as their own. From time to time, he felt watched. Footsteps seemed to approach and fade. At moments, he thought he glimpsed red hair out of the corner of his eye. But whenever he turned, there was nothing: no face, no steps, no hair.
On the fourth day, storm clouds rolled in from the east, and waves crashed against the cliffs. Soon rain poured from the sky. Maglor took shelter within the fortress. In Maedhros’ study, he lit a fire and sat in one of the armchairs. Though wind blew through the open windows, the fire burned steadily and spread warmth through the room. The sea raged, its voice growing louder. The flames blurred before his eyes, and Maglor drifted into sleep.
Maedhros sat in the armchair beside him, speaking of how the Orcs were growing more numerous and that their patrols must be strengthened. He stared into the fire, then turned to Maglor as if seeking his approval. Maglor nodded absently, too occupied with gazing at him. Without thinking, he reached out to touch him, but before his hand could make contact, the dream ended.
He awoke with a smile upon his lips.
Nelyo. My Nelyo was there.
And this time he had not dissolved into sea foam.
He stretched, content. A new day had dawned. The storm had passed, the fire had died to embers, and only the sea remained. He resumed his wandering. Again he felt watched; again he heard footsteps. Now and then, a shadow with red hair darted through the ruins. But Maglor was in such high spirits that it did not frighten him.
The following days passed much the same. Seagulls circled the sky. The sea sang softly and reflected the sun. Once, he even speared a fish. In the evenings he returned to the study, where he read from Maedhros’ book of poems by the fire, which he had found in his chamber and which was still legible.
On the third morning after that, he awoke from dreamless sleep with the feeling that something, or someone, was calling him from within the fortress. Gooseflesh prickled across his skin. He descended the spiral staircase slowly, glancing back again and again. The calls grew louder and echoed from the stone walls. Yet now he could not hear the sea inside the fortress, and that unsettled him more than anything. His heart pounded; cold crept into his limbs.
Káno.
Káno.
Where are you?
It was Maedhros’ voice, but something was wrong with it. It sounded muffled and distorted, unlike Maedhros’ true voice, deep and warm. He reached the ground floor and searched the entrance hall, the great hall, the kitchen, every room, but found no one.
Káno.
He flinched. Only one place remained unexplored, a place he had always disliked, even when Himring had been full of life, for it was bitterly cold even in summer. He turned toward the cellar entrance.
Káno.
The call grew more urgent. He followed it, though every instinct resisted. After a few steps, darkness swallowed him.
I should have brought a torch.
The cellar was carved into the rock and had no windows. It had once served only as a wine cellar and storehouse, never as a prison, and yet his knees trembled.
His eyes adjusted slowly. It grew colder. The sound of dripping water mingled with his footsteps. The stairs were worn smooth by age and damp. He clutched the cold stone wall to keep his balance.
Káno.
Maedhros’ voice now sounded almost pleading. Maglor felt sick with cold and fear. The dripping grew louder.
I will be there soon.
But he was no longer certain he wished to go farther. The stairs curved rightward. He followed them, and stepped into water. Only then did he realize that the lower vault was flooded.
“Nelyo?” His voice was thin and shaking. He stared into the dark surface.
This cannot be. Nelyo cannot be here.
Káno.
The call weakened, as though Maedhros himself were searching for him but could not reach him. Maglor wanted to cry out that he was here, that he missed him, but a cold drop struck his neck, making him gasp. Something flickered in the water. Maedhros’ face appeared.
“Nelyo!” he cried, and their eyes met.
Káno?
Then the sound of the sea surged through the corridors, and Maedhros vanished. Maglor stood frozen, staring into the water, seeing only his own reflection.
Had I imagined it? But he was there… or was he?
Cold emptiness spread through him, and his shoulders sagged.
Am I losing my mind? Have I gone so mad that I see him in the water? Nelyo is in Mandos, with no hope of returning to Aman.
He turned and climbed back up. The dripping continued behind him, but he no longer cared. He wanted only to escape from the cold and from the crushing corridors.
When he reached the ground floor, he fled through the kitchen and out beneath the sun. Light touched his face, but he felt no warmth. He wandered aimlessly across the island. The sea murmured. Seagulls cried. Shadows and glances followed him; footsteps came and went. He did not look at them. Slowly, the sun shifted in the sky. At last his feet carried him to the fortress wall, which he climbed by the steps.
Maglor stood at the parapet and gazed out over the sea. The sun hung low in the west, its reflection glistening silver upon the water. He must have spent the whole day wandering across the island. He sighed. In the past, Maedhros and he had often walked along the fortress wall, especially along the northern stretch. Maedhros’ worried gaze had always been fixed upon the Iron Mountains and the fortress buried within them.
The sun sank lower and turned red, its rays breathing a delicate pink into the clouds. The sea sang beneath him, foam forming at the tips of the waves whenever they crashed against the rocks.
But Nelyo was not always worried when he walked here with me.
Maglor remembered how Maedhros had drawn him close with his right arm while his left hand cupped Maglor’s cheek. Then he had kissed him. Maedhros had stolen many kisses from Maglor, and Maglor from him.
His heart grew heavy.
What I would give to feel Nelyo’s lips on mine once more.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Maedhros kissing him. But it was not the same as truly feeling his lips.
Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The setting sun now bathed everything in red. Disillusionment washed over him, and he turned to leave the wall. As his gaze drifted along the parapet, he froze for the second time that day.
There stood Maedhros.
But when Maglor blinked to be certain he was not imagining it, Maedhros had already vanished.
His knees gave way, and he sank to the stone.
Why? Why?
His body began to shake, and his eyes burned. He leaned against the parapet and wrapped his arms around his legs.
What did I do to deserve this? All I want is my Nelyo back. Is that too much to ask?
Tears welled in his eyes. He had held them back long enough.
“All I want is to be with Nelyo,” he choked out between sobs.
He crouched there for some time, shaken by his grief. Only when the sun had long since vanished and the stars glittered above did he find the strength to rise. A cold breeze swept across the sea, making him shiver. He left the parapet and returned to the fortress. The sound of the sea roared through the corridors as always. When he reached the second floor, he paused before the study, but this time he turned away and went to Maedhros’ chamber instead.
Inside, he removed his boots and went to the bed. Before drawing back the coverlet, he picked up the harp he had left there and then lay down with it in his arms. A quiet sigh escaped him as he settled beneath the blanket.
This bed is far more comfortable than the armchair in the study.
He set the harp on a pillow beside him and pulled the blanket up to the tip of his nose.
It smelled of fresh air, and of Maedhros.
How is that possible?
He inhaled again, just to be certain he was not imagining it. But the scent was unmistakable.
What is happening here? For three Ages I neither dreamed of Maedhros, nor heard his voice, nor thought I saw him.
The sea murmured softly.
What changed when I came to Himring? When I first arrived, I did not feel watched, nor did I hear footsteps. Himring was only a ruin that drew me because I believed I would spend my last days here, not lose my mind here.
Waves crashed against the rocks. Maglor turned onto his side. Absentmindedly, he traced the wood of the harp with the tip of his left index finger as he continued to ponder.
Himring would not wish me harm. And the Valar cannot be so cruel as to torment me with hallucinations.
The E string of the harp gave a sharp, shrill sound when his fingernail brushed it. The sea answered with a hiss. Maglor froze.
That has happened twice before.
He sat up so suddenly that the blanket slipped from his chest into his lap. He seized the harp and held it before him.
When I played the harp Nelyo gave me in Valinor, its melody mingled with the song of the sea. Only then did I hear his voice, and only then did he appear to me in a dream and crumble into sea foam. Is that the answer to this riddle?
He frowned, still not entirely satisfied. He tried to recall his first day in Himring.
Did I not wish for Nelyo to be with me while I played?
His breath caught.
Does that mean I summoned him?
Warmth spread through his body at the thought. The murmur of the sea sounded as if it agreed with him.
Wait for me, Nelyo. I will come for you soon.
With that final thought, the exhaustion of the day caught up with him. He felt his arm sink down and the harp plop softly onto the pillow beside him, and then he fell into a deep sleep, shrouded in darkness. For only a moment, Maedhros’ red hair flickered like a beacon in the night.
Maglor awoke with the first rays of sunlight in the sky. With renewed vigor, he threw aside the blanket, rose, pulled on his boots, and seized his harp. Full of energy, he hurried into the hallway, down the spiral staircase, and only stopped when he reached the entrance hall.
Slightly out of breath, he paused to steady himself before straightening his shoulders and back.
I will see you again soon.
His heart swelled with happiness. Maglor turned toward the Great Hall, where the roar of the sea was loudest. The Great Hall had once welcomed guests and served as the heart of the fortress. It was where their few celebrations had been held, where the army had been gathered before battle, and where they met daily to eat together and discuss their plans for the hours ahead. It was also the place where Maglor had played the harp for all, until night fell and Maedhros alone remained to listen from his study above.
The iron hinges of the fallen chandeliers lay scattered across the floor, as they did in the entrance hall, along with a few abandoned candleholders. Everything else, like so much of Himring, had long since fallen victim to time. Light streamed through the two great windows and fell upon the low dais where Maedhros’ throne had once stood, seldom used.
Maglor stepped onto the raised stone and stood bathed in light. It felt as though it poured over him like water from a waterfall. With slightly trembling hands, he struck a melody on his harp. At once, the sea answered, as if it had been waiting for this very moment. The two melodies intertwined until they became one.
Nelyo, come to me.
The music flowed through him. The sound of the sea grew louder, and it felt as though it were gently rocking him back and forth. His body suddenly felt heavy, while his thoughts became light as a feather in the wind. It was as if he were drifting into a dream, though he still stood in the Great Hall, harp in hand.
Then he heard the rhythmic wash of water drawing closer. A crest of foam appeared first. The sea had come to him. It roared and whispered as more and more water poured into the hall until it filled the space completely. Then it hissed and reared upward, and a column of water taller than Maglor rose before bursting apart, cold spray splashing over him.
But Maglor saw only Maedhros, whom the water released.
Maedhros strode toward him, his eyes shining. His long red hair streamed down his back like a storm of fire. Maglor stopped playing; his heart thundered in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. Maedhros reached him and drew him close with his right arm, making Maglor’s own arm fall limp at his side with the harp. Maedhros’ body felt solid. Maglor could feel the strength beneath the fabric of his tunic, yet there was no heartbeat, no warmth.
Maedhros traced the curve of Maglor’s lips with a fingertip. The touch was cold, and yet Maglor’s lips burned beneath it. Maedhros closed his eyes and pulled him closer, sealing their mouths together. Maglor sighed, the kiss gentle at first, then deepening. Maedhros tasted of salt water, and yet it was the sweetest salt Maglor had ever known.
Even before the kiss could end, Maedhros dissolved into sea foam. A sudden pull wrenched Maglor back, and in an instant he was standing once more in the Great Hall. The water was gone. Maedhros was gone. Only the steady voice of the sea remained.
Maglor’s knees buckled and he sank to the floor, the harp clattering beside him. His shoulders shook as laughter burst from him.
“I did it. I truly did it!” he laughed, wrapping his arms around himself.
He came to me.
For days afterward, Maglor called Maedhros forth. He played his harp without ceasing, and Maedhros answered. The kisses were brief, but they filled Maglor with a warmth he had not known in ages. Soon, however, he wanted more. He needed more. Yet Maedhros always returned to sea foam, no matter where Maglor played by the shore, along the fortress wall, even in the cellar vault, only to feel Maedhros’ lips upon his own.
At last, frustrated, he returned to the bedchamber. Once again, he had managed to summon Maedhros only for a fleeting moment.
Why can he not stay with me longer?
He pulled off his boots and let them fall carelessly to the floor, then lay back upon the bed. The setting sun drenched the room in gold and crimson. He took up his harp again and played but this time he did not play only with his hands. Too much longing and frustration had built within him, and now it demanded release. He began to sing, softly at first, then louder, giving full voice to his grief and desire. Once more, the sea wove its song with his own.
The light in the chamber grew brighter, while the shadows along the walls stretched wider and darker. Exhausted and hoarse, Maglor let himself fall back against the headboard. The harp slipped from his weary hands and landed beside him. His body grew heavy, his thoughts drifting like sand in the wind. He felt weightless, as though he might rise into the air, yet he remained where he lay.
The sound of the sea swelled. Water spilled into the room, wave upon wave reflecting across the ceiling. It rose halfway up the bedframe. Maglor dipped his hand into it; it felt cool, and when he lifted it again, droplets slid back into the pool. Yet his skin remained dry.
The water began to hiss and roar once more. It gathered into a towering column and then burst apart.
Maedhros stood before him.
Maglor's heart pounded as Maedhros approached. His eyes fixed on Maglor, stirring a rush of anticipation that tightened Maglor's chest. The harp slipped from his hand, forgotten.
He is here.
The mattress shifted under Maedhros' weight as he settled close. He leaned in until their lips met in a tender kiss. Maglor exhaled raggedly into it. Still, no warmth spread where their lips met. Yet it was all Maglor had longed for. The kiss deepened as Maedhros’ tongue gently probed the line of Maglor's lips, pushing them apart. Maglor yielded eagerly, his hoarse breath mingling with the gentle motion of their tongues. Maedhros tasted of seawater again, but Maglor did not mind. The weariness in his limbs melted away under the unwavering pull of desire.
Maedhros' body aligned with his. His left hand gripped Maglor's neck, and his thumb caressed his skin. The sensation sent a shiver down Maglor's spine while the water continued to softly lap beneath them..
Maglor let out a sharp breath as Maedhros pulled away from his lips and began kissing his jawline, then moving down to his throat. Each touch sent shivers across Maglor's skin; his pulse thundered beneath the path of those lips. "Nelyo," Maglor murmured. But Maedhros remained quiet. Like he always did these days.
I wish I could feel your warm breath on my skin again. It always excited me.
Maedhros' hand turned to the ties of Maglor's tunic, loosening them carefully.
The cloth parted, exposing Maglor's chest to the cool air of the room. His breathing quickened and became uneven. He sensed Maedhros' hungry gaze upon him before cold lips touched the hollow of his collarbone. Maglor surrendered to the sensation, falling back against the wooden frame with his head and delving his fingers into Maedhros' hair.
Your hair is still so soft under my fingertips.
The water rippled. Out of the corner of his eye, Maglor could see the water shimmering silver.
Maglor's fingers tightened in Maedhros' hair as the kiss on his collarbone lingered. Maedhros' teeth grazed his skin with a gentle nip that sent a jolt straight to Maglor's core. Maglor gasped softly into the darkness, but the sound was swallowed by the soft rustle of the water. His body arched, craving more of the sensation.
Maedhros lifted his head, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light coming through the window. He captured Maglor's mouth again, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. Their tongues entwined once more. Before Maedhros started nibbling at Maglor's lower lip and pulling it between his teeth, which made Maglor moan softly.
Maedhros' fingers began untying the remaining laces of Maglor's tunic. The fabric fell open completely and slid off his shoulders with a soft rustle. Maglor shivered faintly as the cool air brushed his bare chest. But desire burned stronger within him; he had waited too long to care about the cold. In return, Maglor's hands fumbled with Maedhros' tunic, tugging at the strings with trembling urgency. His knuckles bumped against Maedhros' hard chest as he exposed inch by inch of cold skin.
Their mouths separated only so that Maglor could breathe. Maedhros seized the moment, teasing Maglor once more with small bites along his chin. Each bite was sharp enough to sting before Maedhros' lips closed over the spot. Maglor tilted his head back and offered Maedhros his neck. Maedhros accepted the offer, scratching the sensitive skin with his teeth and nibbling the throbbing vein beneath. "Nelyo," Maglor whispered once more, the name a fractured plea, his voice drowned out by the sounds of the water.
Maedhros shrugged out of his tunic as Maglor pushed it down his arms. The garment fell forgotten onto the bed amid the tangled sheets. They were now both bare from the waist up, their chests pressed together. Their skin glistened slightly with sweat, and their nipples hardened in the dull cold. Maglor's hands explored the curves of Maedhros' shoulders, tracing the scars from past battles, before moving lower to undo the belt of his breeches. Maedhros mirrored the motion, his nimble fingers undoing the laces of Maglor's breeches. While his mouth found Maglor's shoulder, nipping at the spot where his neck and arm met, his teeth sank just deep enough to draw a moan of pleasure and pain.
“Gentle, Nelyo.”
Maglor pulled Maedhros in for another bout of kisses, interrupting the undressing process as belts were undone, fabrics shifted and breeches slid over hips with a strong pull. Maglor kicked off his breeches first, the cloth snagging briefly on his ankles before he freed himself, revealing his hard arousal between his legs. Maedhros followed suit, his own hardness brushing against Maglor's thigh as they manoeuvred in the confined space of the bed.
Maglor was certain that his body must have been flushed with heat; he was burning with desire. Maedhros nipped at Maglor's upper lip during a stolen kiss, then moved to his shoulder, biting down softly to mark him as his own once more.
Maglor's breath caught in his throat as Maedhros' mouth left his shoulder, the faint sting of the last bite fading into a warm throb. Their bodies were pressed close together, their cocks brushing against each other amid the tangle of limbs that sent sparks up Maglor's spine. Maedhros' hand slid down Maglor's side, his fingers tracing the dip of his hip before gripping his thigh and spreading his legs wider with a firm nudge. Maglor yielded without resistance, his heart pounding as Maedhros moved down his body, kissing his chest and flicking his tongue over a nipple to make it harden. He sucked it briefly, his teeth grazing Maglor's skin just enough to make his hips buck upwards.
"Nelyo, please," Maglor moaned, his voice thick with desire. His fingers loosened in Maedhros’ hair, only to thread through it again and guide him downwards.
Oh, how I wish you would be able to respond to my gasps and moans.
Maedhros’ lips continued their journey over his ribs and along the tense plane of his abdomen. They nipped at the soft flesh there, prompting a sharp intake of breath. The faint light caught the red glint of Maedhros' hair as he settled between Maglor's thighs. His hand pushed them apart further and his thumb pressed into the sensitive inner skin.
Maglor watched through half-lidded eyes, as Maedhros' face moved closer to his aching cock, making his pulse race. Maedhros looked up once, his eyes gleaming with lust, before leaning in. Maglor imagined Maedhros’ warm breath brushing over his cock. Despite its absence, Maglor's cock twitched with anticipation.
Then Maedhros’ tongue darted out and licked a slow stripe from the base to the tip. When reaching the tip, Maedhros closed his eyes in pleasure, as if savouring the salty bead of precum at the head. Maglor groaned, arching his back off the mattress; the sensation was exhilarating on his overheated skin.
Maedhros took his time. He wrapped his hand around the base and squeezed gently to steady himself while his mouth descended and his lips parted to take the head inside. He sucked lightly at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive underside and drawing a ragged moan from Maglor's throat. The wet, cold sensation slowly enveloped him as Maedhros took more in, sucking and increasing the pressure by hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head at a measured pace. At first, the cold sensation felt strange.
But what did it matter whether it is hot or cold? I want Nelyo.
Maglor's hands clenched the sheets, then reached down to grip Maedhros' shoulders, nails digging in as waves of pleasure built and coiled tightly in his gut.
Maedhros' focus was unwavering. He sucked deeper, relaxing his throat to take in more. Drool dripped from his mouth, falling over Maglor's balls and further down. His hand slipped lower, his fingers circling Maglor's entrance with feather-light touches. Maglor trembled at the double stimulation; his body relaxed under the gentle exploration while his opening became slick with trickled-down spit. Maedhros pulled off briefly to press kisses along the shaft, before diving back in. He sucked harder and faster, preparing Maglor with every slide of his tongue and press of his finger.
Maglor lost himself in it, the earlier exhaustion melting away under the intensity of sensation. His hips rocked, and his cock was slick and throbbing against his abdomen. His entrance twitched in response to the teasing press of fingers. Maedhros lifted his head, his lips swollen and glistening. A strand of spit connected him briefly to Maglor's skin before breaking. He shifted upwards and knelt between Maglor's spread thighs. His own erection was heavy and leaking and brushed against Maglor's inner thigh as he positioned himself, prompting Maglor to shiver.
Maedhros spat into his palm, stroking himself firmly and coating his cock from base to tip. The slickness gleamed faintly in the dim light. Maglor's gaze followed the motion. His breath was shallow as he licked his dry lips. His hands reached out to trace the lines of Maedhros' arms. His fingers dug into the firm muscles before sliding up to his shoulders.
"Come here," Maglor whispered hoarsely, guiding Maedhros closer with a gentle pull. His palms roamed lower, mapping the scars on Maedhros' chest. Maglor’s thumbs circled Maedhros' hardened nipples before drifting down to grip his hips and urge him forward. Maedhros obliged, bracing his stump beside Maglor's head. The other aligned his spit-slick cock at Maglor's entrance.
The pressure came slowly and was fainter than he remembered. The blunt head nudged against the relaxed opening, pushing in with steady insistence. Maglor exhaled deeply, his body yielding as Maedhros sank in slwoly. Though he could feel the stretch, it didn't burn as sweetly as before, nor did he feel completely filled up. He almost whined in need.
This is not enough. I need more.
Maedhros' cold length slid deeper until their hips met, burying himself to the hilt. Maglor clutched at Maedhros' back with his hands, his nails scraping lightly over his sweat-damp skin as he pulled him down for another messy kiss.
Maedhros paused there, buried deep inside Maglor, letting him adjust. Their foreheads rested together. Then, he began to move, pulling out halfway before thrusting back in with restrained force. He set a rhythm that quickly became feverish. Maglor met each thrust with a roll of his hips, his legs wrapping around Maedhros' waist to pull him in deeper. The slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with Maglor's gasps. Their bodies were slick with sweat while the nearby water whispered softly.
Maglor's fingers began to explore again, one hand finding its way to Maedhros' hair. He clenched his fist in it, angling Maedhros' head for bites along his jaw.
Your sweat tastes so sweet on my tongue.
The other hand traced the flex of his ass as he thrust. The pace quickened even more. Maedhros pounded into him, his cock hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind Maglor's eyes. Another moan escaped Maglor's lips. Pleasure coiled tightly in his core, but he held back, savoring the buildup. His own erection was trapped between them and slid against Maedhros' abdomen with each forceful push. Precum smeared sticky trails across their skin.
Maedhros' thrusts became erratic. With a final, deep thrust, he stiffened. But no groan followed as he came inside, cold pulses flooding Maglor's depths. Maedhros' cock twitched with each release. He collapsed forward slightly, still sheathed deep within him. Maglor's heart pounded wildly in his chest. He felt the coldness spread, but was too distracted by his own aching need, his cock pulsing desperately against the slick embrace of their bodies.
I need more, Nelyo.
This time a whine escaped him.
Maedhros pulled out slowly, a trickle of cum following him and mixing with the sweat on Maglor's thighs. Without a word, Maedhros slid down Maglor's body, trailing wet kisses over his chest and stomach before reaching his straining length. Maglor's hand was still tangled in Maedhros' hair, moving with Maedhros' head as he parted his lips to take Maglor's cock in.
Why does it feel so good when it is so cold on my cock?
Maedhros' tongue swirled around the head before sucking down the shaft with firm pulls.
The sensation hit like lightning, causing Maglor's hips to buck up without warning. His hand cupped Maglor's balls and rolled them lightly while his mouth worked faster with wet, slurping sounds.
Too good.
Maglor's control shattered in seconds. His back arched as he came hard and loud, spurting thick ropes into Maedhros' throat. Maedhros consumed each drop, draining him completely with gentle sucks until Maglor sagged, exhausted and quivering with satisfaction.
Maedhros released him with a soft pop and licked his lips clean before crawling back up. His body was cold and heavy against Maglor's. He leaned forward as if to capture Maglor's mouth in a deep kiss. But before Maglor could taste the faint salt and cum on Maedhros’ lips, he dissolved into seafoam once again. Maglor woke up with a loud gasp, his heart racing so wildly that he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. His damp hair was glued to the nape of his neck. He looked down at himself; he was still fully clothed. Though his tunic had ridden up to his chest, leaving his stomach bare.
Maglor's cock throbbed painfully in his tight breeches. His hands fumbled with the laces at his waist. The breeches finally gave way, and he shoved them down his hips. His hardened cock sprang free. It stood rigid, the tip leaking clear fluid that dripped onto his stomach. Maglor smeared some of the pre-cum around its shaft to ease the friction before starting to stroke himself from base to tip. He groaned at the relief of exposure.
It didn’t take long before a guttural groan tore from his throat as he came. Ropes of thick cum erupted from his cock and painted his stomach in hot bursts. His vision whited out and waves of pleasure crashed through him as his hips jerked erratically.
Not as good as with Nelyo.
He collapsed onto the pillow, panting. He felt exhausted and unsatisfied. Reaching for the blanket, he wiped the cum from his stomach and hand. From outside, he could hear the whispers of the sea, which seemed amused. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep to the sound of the sea.
The next few days followed the same rhythm: he played his harp, its song blending with that of the sea. Now, however, he strengthened the melody with his own voice. And the waves released Maedhros, but never for long enough to satisfy Maglor’s longing and desire. Maedhros remained cold and silent, no matter what Maglor tried. He sang higher, deeper, longer. He gave free rein to his yearning. Yet it was all in vain. Each time, Maedhros dissolved into sea foam.
On the fourth day, frustrated and exhausted after yet another unsatisfying encounter, Maglor threw himself onto the bed with a groan.
Why can’t you just stay with me?
He turned onto his side, facing away from the window from which the sound of the sea drifted in. His throat ached, as did his fingertips. He had strained both over the past days, and now they burned with pain.
Footsteps echoed through the stone corridors and drew nearer. Maglor rolled his eyes in irritation.
Can’t those footsteps just leave me alone?
They did not. They approached until they stopped before the door. Maglor felt someone’s gaze upon him.
“Káno.” The voice trembled.
Maglor flinched, his heart beginning to race. It sounded like Maedhros.
That can’t be. What new illusion is this now?
“Leave me alone. Go bother someone else,” Maglor said roughly.
“Certainly not, now that I’ve finally found you.” Relief and faint amusement colored the voice.
How could that be?
Maglor slowly turned over.
And there he stood.
Maedhros leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on Maglor. A relieved smile curved his lips, and his eyes sparkled, just as Maglor had always imagined.
But Nelyo appeared to me only minutes ago and dissolved into sea foam. And after that, I didn’t play the harp again. I left it in Nelyo’s study.
“You’re not real,” Maglor said. It was the only thing he could manage.
“What are you talking about?” Maedhros frowned and came closer.
Maglor studied him. He looked rested and at ease, not as Maglor remembered him: always tense and grim, or with the hollow eyes he had borne before he leapt into the fire. This Maedhros looked as he had once in Valinor: young and radiant.
Maedhros sat down beside him on the bed so that he could look him directly in the eyes.
“I searched for you everywhere along the shores of Endor, but I could not find you. I called for you for days, and you did not answer. Until more than a week ago, when I heard your voice from the sea and saw your face reflected in the water.”
I did call out to Nelyo once…
He now remembered clearly the day he had heard Maedhros’ voice in the cellar: the cold, the despair, the wandering across the island. But he said nothing. The situation overwhelmed him; he no longer knew what to believe.
Maedhros reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from his face. His fingertips tickled Maglor’s skin, and they were warm. Maglor remained frozen, as though his breath had been stolen from him.
“Come home, Káno. Everyone is waiting for you.” Maedhros cupped his face with his right hand, the realization and the warmth of it brought tears to Maglor’s eyes. He closed them to keep them from falling.
Then Maedhros’ lips met his.
They were warm and sweet.
And Maglor wanted to believe this was real.
The sea sighed in relief beneath the fortress.