Secret Santa Fic: Reunion, for JDE

[wdnsdyschld.livejournal.com]

Title: Reunion

Rating: PG at most

Author: wednesdayschild

Summary:The journey back is often a journey forward, and never what one expects.

Request: Fic, fanart or either?: Fic only thank you!

               Pairing(s): Maedhros/Maglor
               Scenario, prompt: Any!

Squicks: No BDSM, torture etc!

A/N: This is somewhat AU. When the assignment was made, unfortunately it included something that is one of my squicks. I did my best to work around it so hopefully the receiver will enjoy the story in spite of it not being exactly what was requested.

For: JDE

Disclaimer: Canon characters are the intellectual property of the Tolkien Estate. The plot and original characters are the intellectual property of the author. No profit is being made.

~

 

“He is being stubborn,” the fiery haired elf groused.

 

 

“He feels the same guilt we do without the benefits of a stay in Mandos' Halls to temper its sharpness,” his brother replied. “Give him time. He will come to us eventually.”

 

 

“I thought it was Adar's decision to remain in the Halls in penance rather than our stays there that brought us a measure of healing,” Maedhros stated, unwilling to concede completely to a younger sibling.

 

 

“I believe it was a bit of both, brother, and you are attempting to dodge the subject,” Amrod replied calmly, the corner of his mouth curling slightly upward.

 

 

“I cannot help it if I wish us all to be together again,” the elder of the brothers said with a deep sigh.

 

 

“I wish it as well, but we must be patient and allow the Valar to work as they will. You have been here long enough to know that there is no rushing them.”

 

 

“Unless it is Orome and there is hunting involved,” Maedhros said, rueful amusement coloring his tone. “Very well, I will cease brooding for now.”

 

 

“Wise decision, dearest elder brother,” Amrod draped an arm around his shoulders. “Speaking of the hunt, I wish to see if we can provide some venison for the table tonight. Come with me?”

 

 

“Aye, I shall,” Maedhros said with a slight, albeit sad, smile and the two headed for the armory to retrieve their bows and quivers.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

The roar of the waves filled his ears and he could taste the salt spray on his lips. Time had long ago ceased to be. He was dimly aware of the passing of the seasons, but that was all. He had notion of how many years he had wandered, had spoken to no one in so long that he was not certain he still could speak.

 

 

It was not enough, would never be enough. He could never atone for the things he had done. He often wished he could just end it as his eldest brother had, but every time he tried he was unable to follow through. No, this was his lot, his penance, to wander the shore endlessly in self imposed exile.

 

 

He could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had seen other elves, watching from a place of concealment, not wishing to make contact and have to give his name. Edain, he saw more often though he did not approach them either. It was easier to conceal himself and watch the Edain. Their senses were not so sharp as his kindred, and they tended not to see or hear anything beyond that which they expected to.

 

 

His belly rumbled and with a sigh he hefted the spear he had fashioned and waded into the tidal pool. After a short period of standing absolutely still, he speared a fish of adequate size for his supper and, using a knife he had stolen from a group of Edain, he cleaned it quickly, casting the discarded bits into the waves before spitting the carcass and setting it to roast over the small fire he had made. That done, he waded out into the little estuary beyond the pool in search of cress. He had found some tubers the day before and had buried them in the coals, wrapped in leaves, one for his supper, the rest for later as he walked.

 

 

The clothing he had worn when he first cut all ties and ventured out on his own had long since fallen apart and had been left by the wayside, fodder for birds' nests many generations back. He wore clothing of his own making, crudely fashioned from the pelts of animals he had hunted for sustenance, and odd bits and pieces he had stolen in desperation from both Edain and elves. His hair was braided into a long plait and hung past his narrow hips, unkempt and ragged. He was thinner than even an elf should be, feral looking and strange to any who might chance to see him before he could disappear from view. He knew he frightened the Edain and he suspected that fleeting glimpses of him had given rise to legends of specters and shades along the coasts. So much the better since specters and shades could not be harmed by swords and arrows and were best left alone.

 

 

He finished his meal, a rare full belly rendering him drowsy, and stirred himself long enough to erect a lean-to for shelter for his meager bedding. This close to the coast, orcs were less a worry than brigands and the latter would hardly trouble themselves with so ragged a creature except to slit his throat. Either set of creatures, he would hear coming and wake long before they could reach him, so he worried not at all and settled down for the night.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

A tall, blond figure jumped out of the small dingy into the waves that reached his waist and pulled the boat up onto the sand.

 

 

“Thank you, Glorfindel,” a slightly shorter, silver tressed male said to the first, leaping nimbly from the small craft and grinning through the neat beard that graced his chin at a dark haired male who exited the boat behind him. “It has been many ages since you set foot on this beach, Elrond. Do you find it much changed?”

 

 

“Yes and no, old friend,” the dark one replied, wading through the swells to drier land. “The landscape has changed somewhat, as one would expect given that I have not been here since my children were born, but the feel of the place is the same: peaceful.”

 

 

“Or, rather, as peaceful as one could find on this side of the sea,” Glorfindel countered, dropping the anchor in the sand several yards up the beach.

 

 

“I will have to take your word for that, as I have yet to experience Aman,” Elrond said mildly, setting the pack he carried on his shoulder onto the sand and stretching.

 

 

“You have not long to wait now, my friend,” Cirdan remarked, smiling. “And I have no doubt that your wife will be anxiously awaiting you on the shore when you arrive,” he continued, seeing the flash of longing in Elrond's eyes. “But for the moment, let us simply enjoy being. Come, there is a place at the tree line that I have used often as a camp.”

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

“The camp has not been vacant long,” Glorfindel commented, his hand splayed inches above the fire pit. “Though whoever was here has taken care to douse their fire. It is still warm.” His eyes scanned the trees around them warily, ever mindful of his pledge to guard Elrond. The peredhel was inspecting the lean-to, a slight frown creasing his brow.

 

 

“I have seen a shelter like this before,” he murmured one hand lightly resting on the frame of the shelter as he peered inside. The ground was disturbed, evidence that a bedroll of some sort had only recently been removed. His sharp eyes spied something tucked into the corner of the structure and he stooped, ducking inside to pluck the item from the ground. Stepping back out, he turned it over in his hands, examining it minutely, his frown deepening.

 

 

“What have you found?” Cirdan asked, approaching from the far side of the crude camp where he had been searching the perimeter.

 

 

“Something that should not be here,” Elrond answered, puzzlement warring with disquiet on his fine features. “This once belonged to me, yet I have not seen it in millenia. It should not be here,” he repeated, holding the item, a stone carving of a frog, up for their inspection.

 

 

“When did you last see it?” Cirdan asked, a suspicion forming in his mind.

 

 

“When I was a child, before Maglor left Elros and I at the falls. I have not seen it since he fled.” His eyes scanned the trees around them.

 

 

“Are you certain?” Glorfindel asked, his wariness markedly increased.

 

 

“Yes. Look, here is where he scratched my name on the bottom of it.” He turned the carving over and held it out for their inspection. “Elros had one as well. He was always misplacing it and claiming that this one was his. Maglor scratched our names on the undersides to prevent arguments over them.” He scanned the trees again. “He was here,” Elrond stated softly.

 

 

“Maglor? Elrond, I know you would like to speak with him again, but it is more likely that some Man has found this and carried it off with him.” Cirdan pointed out logically.

 

 

“No, Cirdan, he has been here.” Elrond met his eyes steadily. “It is not just the frog that makes me certain of it. The shelter is the same as the ones he used to make for Elros and I to sleep in when we were traveling. It is exactly the same, down to the pattern the branches are woven in. And, more than that, I sense his presence. He is watching us. No, Glorfindel,” he said quickly, grasping the blond elf's wrist. “He means us no harm, of that I am certain.”

 

 

“You may be, but I am not,” Glorfindel retorted tersely. “He has harmed many elves in his time.”

 

 

“I know well what he has done, dear friend, but he has never physically harmed me and he had the opportunity to do so when I was much more vulnerable than I am now. He will not hurt me.”

 

 

“He left you in the wilderness when you were far too young to survive on your own. I do not call that 'never harming you'.” Glorfindel's face was set in a stubborn scowl.

 

 

“He fled only moments before our rescuers arrived. He planned for them to find us when they did, Glorfindel. Elros and I were never in danger.” He placed both hands on the blond elf's shoulders. “My friend, I appreciate your care of me far more than you will ever know, but I tell you now that I am in no danger from Maglor, and never was. Maedhros, yes, but never Maglor.” He flexed his fingers, squeezing Glorfindel's shoulders slightly in emphasis. “I wish to try to speak to him, if he wishes it.”

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

“Pacing will accomplish nothing, Glorfindel,” Cirdan said. The silver-haired elf sat calmly on the sand, feeding the small fire he had made with driftwood and with which he was roasting several fish that he had cleaned and spitted. On a flat rock set close to the fire, shellfish steamed in their shells.

 

 

“I cannot help it if I do not share your optimism,” the blond growled, scowling.

 

 

“It is not optimism,” Cirdan replied, “Rather, it is a belief that if Maglor is still in close proximity that he will not reveal himself. He has been hiding for too long.”

 

 

“I hope you are correct.”

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Maglor clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pressing his forehead against the trunk of the tree he had concealed himself in and fighting the insane urge to reveal himself to Elrond as the peredhel was requesting. Over his years in exile, a day had not passed that he had not thought of Elwing's sons, regretting the actions that had led to their sundering from their mother, regretting many things where they were concerned. He had spent many restless nights wondering what had befallen them, if they were well and happy.

 

 

“Very well, Maglor, if you do not wish to speak face to face, then please at least listen to what I have to say: you are forgiven, at least by me.” Elrond stood in the center of the campsite, calmly, his eyes scanning the trees. “What happened was necessary, to shape the world and those of us in it for the events that were to come. Neither Elros nor I would have chosen as we did had you not done as you did, and Arda would even now be under the Shadow. You helped temper us, helped make us strong.” He sighed audibly. “I will be sailing to Valinor in a week. My tasks here are done, and my wife awaits me. I would be honored to have you sail with me, you would be most welcome should you choose to do so. Please consider it. I will be waiting in the Havens.”

 

 

Maglor watched, shocked immobile, as the peredhel turned and walked sedately towards the beach. He blinked, looking down at his hands gripping the tree tightly. Forgiven? Elrond had forgiven him, without being asked. A wave of emotion swept over him, and he sagged against the trunk, trembling.

 

 

“Oh, and Maglor?” The son of Feanor lifted his head with great effort, looking through blurred eyes at Elwing's son, who had stopped just inside the clearing. “You should forgive yourself, as well. It is far easier to see your mistakes looking back than it is to avoid making them. As I said, events came to pass as they were meant to.” Maglor could see the slight lift of the corner of his mouth. “I have had much experience on the subject, believe me.”

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

“Were you successful?” Cirdan asked, his attention ostensibly on the fish he had just turned on their spits rather than the dark-haired figure that approached from the trees.

 

 

“Only time will tell,” Elrond replied, settling opposite the bearded elf. “He heard me, I am certain of it. What I do not know is whether or not he listened.” He sighed. “I have done what I am able. The rest is up to him.” He looked up as Glorfindel dropped to sit next to him.

 

 

“Forgive me, old friend. I think I understand what you are attempting to do. It is just that old habits die hard.” The blond elf smiled ruefully.

 

 

“I know, “ Elrond said with a chuckle. “Think on it no more.”

 

 

“I assume that you still wish to stay here tonight, yes?” Cirdan asked. “We will be comfortable enough here on the beach.”

 

 

“Yes, a night under the stars is not something I wish to pass on. Besides, I wish to give Maglor a chance to approach if he wishes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

Glorfindel hummed softly to himself as he scanned the skies. Elrond and Cirdan had drifted into reverie a couple of hours since, but he remained alert. Even though the main evil had been vanquished, lesser ones remained and in truth, he was not weary enough to rest.

 

 

A slight movement at the periphery of the firelight caught his attention and his hand automatically dropped to his sword hilt. A thin, feral-looking elf dressed in mis-matched skins and ragged cloth stood just beyond the circle of the fire light. He did not appear to be armed, however, and looked more likely to flee than fight so Glorfindel eased his hand away from his weapon, but made certain that he would be able to reach it quickly should he need to. For a long moment, he and the wild looking one simply stared at each other.

 

 

“I will wake him if you wish to speak to him,” Glorfindel said quietly. The strange elf rocked on the balls of his feet, clearly fighting the urge to turn and run. Finally, he nodded his assent and Glorfindel nudged Elrond with his foot. “Elrond, wake now.”

 

 

The former lord of Imladris started, rolling onto his back and looking up at his former captain of the guard. Glorfindel merely nodded in the newcomer's direction. Elrond's gaze shifted, his eyes widening as he saw the visitor. Slowly he sat up, smiling at the wary elf.

 

 

“It is good to see you, Maglor,” he said, his voice as gentle as Glorfindel had ever heard it. “You are welcome to come sit by the fire if you wish.” Maglor moved forward, just inside the circle of light, and sank to his knees. “I have wondered often what had become of you,” Elrond continued, folding his hands in his lap.

 

 

“I wondered if I had made the right decision, leaving you and Elros,” Maglor replied, his voice rough from lack of use. “Never did a day pass that I did not think of you.”

 

 

“You could not have done otherwise and lived,” Elrond pointed out. “Neither my brother nor I wished to see you harmed.” A sigh passed the son of Feanor's lips and his shoulders sagged.

 

 

“I am glad of that.” He sighed again and straightened his shoulders. “You mentioned a wife earlier. Have you children as well?”

 

 

“Three, two sons and a daughter,” the peredhel replied with a slight grin.

 

 

“Twin sons?” Maglor asked, his eyebrow arching.

 

 

“Of course,” Elrond said with a laugh. “Poetic justice, I assure you.” Maglor snorted softly.

 

 

“And Elros?” A slight frown creased the strange one's forehead when Elrond hesitated.

 

 

“He wed and had children, as I did,” the peredhel began, speaking slowly. “Maglor, Elros chose to be counted among Men. He passed from the circles of the world millenia ago. His many times great-grandson now rules over the reunified remnants of the kingdom Elros founded with my daughter as his queen.”

 

 

“You have lost much, more than I ever did, and by the actions of others rather than your own. Unlike me,” the ragged elf said, a look of profound sadness on his face. “I am sorry, Elrond, for the pain my actions have caused you.”

 

 

“Life is pain, none of us escape that fate,” Elrond said, his expression once again serene. “The world would have lost far more had you not done as you did. Things came to pass as they were meant to, as I said before. You had to choose as you did, Elros and I had to choose as we did, and Arwen had to choose as she did. Had any of us not done so, the world would now be under Shadow far greater than any evil you or your brothers ever wrought.” He sighed. “Maglor, you have done much that was wrong but you have done nothing that you cannot be forgiven for. Please remember that, whatever you decide to do from here on.”

 

 

“I cannot sail with you, I am not ready.”

 

 

“I understand. Know that you are welcome, even though you decline the invitation. Perhaps by the time my sons sail, you will be ready.”

 

 

“Your sons have chosen as you did?”

 

 

“Yes, though they will linger on these shores a while longer. They wish to remain with Arwen, until her passing.” A flash of pain, quickly concealed, crossed his face. “If I might suggest a method of atonement, should you need one, there is a new elven realm being founded by a young cousin of my wife's in the realm that Elros' descendant now rules. They can use every pair of hands they can get.”

 

 

“They will not want one such as I,” Maglor protested faintly.

 

 

“They do not need to know your true name,” Elrond responded promptly, a slight, impish smile on his lips. “Although you might wish to be forthright with Legolas himself. He has his father's knack of seeing through subterfuge.”

 

 

“Though, thankfully not his father's tendency to hold a grudge,” Glorfindel muttered.

 

 

“Be fair, old friend,” Elrond reprimanded mildly. “Thranduil only brings that up every time he sees you because it discomfits you so.” The blond elf snorted but made no further comment. “In any case, Legolas is a fair-minded elf and he would at least hear you out.”

 

 

“I will consider it.”

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Many years later....

 

 

The tall elf, his dark hair bound back from his face for practicality's sake, turned his attention from the knot he had just tied to the two figures that approached the gangplank of the ship he was now aboard. Esgalian, as he was known in Ithilien, ran a critical eye over his lord as the elf in question boarded the ship with his shorter, and ever present, companion by his side. Legolas, always a bit leaner than he should have been, had lost weight in the preceding weeks. His face looked thin, pinched, and his eyes were shadowed with sorrow and haunted by the sea longing that had redoubled its hold on him. Esgalian met the gaze of the dwarf who was Legolas' constant companion and, as he was fond of gruffly stating, caretaker when the situation called for it, and both nodded slightly. Gimli would watch over Legolas, Esgalian would see to the ship.

 

 

He had come to like and trust the dwarf over the years. Gimli had been, as he found out later, his final test for admittance into the colony. The dwarf was an excellent judge of character, one whom Legolas trusted implicitly and one who had no issue with who Esgalian truly was to color his opinion. Gimli had accepted him, treating him with the same rough affection he afforded to Legolas, albeit not the same level of mother-henning that he subjected the younger elf to.

 

 

“How soon will we be ready to leave?” The dwarf asked.

 

 

“Not long, an hour or so at best,” Esgalian replied, glancing at Ithilien's erstwhile lord out of the corner of his eye.

 

 

“Good,” Gimli said with a firm nod of his white-tressed head. “Now, laddie,” he said to Legolas, “why don't you go and rest a bit until we're ready to set off. Wouldn't want to miss that and you'll be the better for a bit of an elf-nap.”

 

 

“I suspect that you are right, elvellon. Very well, you know where I will be should you need anything, Esgalian.” His mouth quirked in a ghost of his usual quicksilver grin. “I know not why we continue to call you that. It is not as if we all do not know your true name by now.”

 

 

“Habit,” Esgalian/Maglor said with a shrug. “Long habit of protecting me from the wrath of outsiders who would know no better.”

 

 

“You are not the same elf you once were, not even the same elf who presented himself to me asking for the chance to earn a place in Ithilien.” His face clouded. “But, then, that can be said of more than one of us.”

 

 

“Go rest, my lord. I will see to things here.” He felt as much as saw Gimli's approval as the dwarf drew Legolas toward his shipboard quarters, fussing at him all the while. A melancholy smile pulled Esgalian/Maglor's lips. The timing of this journey was crucial, Gimli was not getting any younger, as he put it, and the Valar knew how much longer he had. Legolas would need his family, most of whom had sailed a few years ago, around him when the time came for the old dwarf to pass to where ever dwarves went when they left Arda. The smile widened a bit as he remembered the conversation he had had with Gimli the evening after Legolas and the dwarf had returned from Minas Tirith where they had bid farewell to their friends, the king and queen of Gondor.

 

 

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

“Lad, I won't try to sweeten this: Legolas isn't well, hasn't been really since he heard those damned gulls during the War. I've always feared what Aragorn's death would do to him and I was right to. He's trying not to, bless him, but the lad's starting to fade. We've got to get him packed off to Valinor, sooner rather than later. I need your help for that.”

 

 

“Of course, you need not even have asked. What do you have in mind?” Esgalian sipped at the strong ale he had come to enjoy courtesy of the dwarf. When one sat and spoke with Gimli in the dwarf's rooms at Ithilien, one was always offered ale to drink.

 

 

“He doesn't want to make the trek across land to the Havens, and quite frankly, I'm not certain he'd survive it. Too many memories along the way. Plus, I'm too damned old to be bouncing along on a horse behind that crazy elf like I used to. No, he's got it in his head that we need to build the ship here and sail her down the river to the sea and go from there.”

 

 

“That might not be a bad idea, my friend. Particularly if he does some of the work himself. Labor is good for keeping one's mind off their troubles.” He frowned, chewing his lip. “We could use the trees that have agreed to sacrifice themselves to be thinned for the good of the forest, as well as the recently deceased ones. Also, Dol Amroth is close enough that we can invite their master ship builder to give us some advice.”

 

 

“Good!” The dwarf slapped his thighs with his hands. “Well, I'll broach the subject with the lad, and you take care of the rest of it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Salt spray on his lips, the sun glinting off the water, and the wind whipping strands of his hair that had escaped the braid he habitually wore down his back, Maglor perched high up in the rigging of the ship he had helped build as it sailed into the harbor it had crossed the sea to reach. In truth, he was terrified of what might await him, but determined to fulfill his obligation to the elf who had given him a chance to redeem himself, to the dwarf who had befriended him and asked for his help, to Elrond who had set him on this course, and to his brothers who had all gone on ahead. His stomach was in knots as he beheld the crowd that had gathered on the shore. Screwing up his courage once more, he began the climb down to face his fate.

 

 

As soon as his feet touched the deck, one of his companions, a former Galadhrim named Tathion, grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to the rail.

 

 

“Look, Esgalian! There is our Lady!”

 

 

Maglor's heart lurched. Artanis. Of course she would be there with so many of the elves she had lived among in Lothlorien on this ship. Galadriel, he corrected himself, her name was Galadriel now.

 

 

“Do not worry,” Legolas clasped his shoulder with a slight smile. “As I said before we sailed, there are many of us who are not the same as we once were.” Maglor nodded, taking a deep breath.

 

 

“She is the least of my worries, to be honest,” he murmured back, prompting the former prince of Eryn Lasgalen to squeeze his shoulder again.

 

 

“All will be well, you will see.” Suddenly, Legolas gasped, his hand tightening further. “Look, Gimli, there beside my father!”

 

 

“Blasted elf! Just how far do you think I can see?” The dwarf's grumpy replied prompted a wave of laughter among the elves thronging the deck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

Solid ground felt odd under his feet after weeks at sea, and he was glad to see that he was not the only one whose balance was affected. It provided the perfect excuse for the weakness in his knees that increased with each step he took towards the waiting crowd. He had yet to see any of the beloved faces he had hoped to and it made his heart clench.

 

 

He realized with a start that he had begun to hope again. 'When did that happen?' he wondered distractedly. 'Was it when I spoke with Elrond, or after, in Ithilien?' He gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain a serene expression. 'Stupid of me! There is no way I could ever be forgiven by those whose kin I slew! I do not deserve it!'

 

 

“Deserved or not, Maglor Feanorion, forgiveness is what you shall have,” a dulcet voice intoned from his left. His eye snapped up to see a figure shining with light and garbed in mithril. What little strength remained in his limbs drained out and he fell to his knees.

 

 

“Lady Elbereth!”

 

 

“Yes, and hear me now, all who have gathered here! The sons of Feanor are forgiven for their evil deeds. None shall offer injury or insult to them for anything they have done in the past. Their debt is paid, by their own actions and those of their Adar.” She slipped a hand under Maglor's chin, raising his eyes to hers. “Child, you have exceeded that which was required of you in atonement. You have humbled yourself, aided others without recompense, and served those born long after you to aid in healing Arda of the taint evil which plagued it for so long. Be at peace now, and join those who have been awaiting your arrival.” With that, she smiled at him and faded from sight. Shakily, he climbed to his feet and turned.

 

 

There, with wide grins on their faces, were his brothers. Amrod and Amras, flanked by Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir all moved at once, nearly knocking his off his feet in their haste to embrace him. He was overwhelmed, going from one embrace to another, hardly knowing who was hugging him from one moment to the next until his mind registered that there was one he had not yet seen. Craning his neck around the shoulder of....Celegorm, he tried to look for his eldest brother. Where was he?

 

 

Then, as suddenly as they had rushed him, his brothers stepped aside. Maglor reeled for a moment before gaining a shaky balance and looking around. It was as if a tunnel had opened, he at one end, and at the other...Maedhros! He took a lurching step, losing his precarious balance as the eldest of the sons of Feanor closed the distance between them and caught him as he started to fall. Arms made of wiry muscle and sinew wrapped around him tightly, squeezing him almost breathless. He felt the touch of lips on his forehead and cheeks, realizing only then that he had closed his eyes. With a sob, he buried his face into Maedhros' neck and held on for dear life.

 

 

“I have you, dearest brother, I have you,” Maedhros chanted over and over into his ear, holding him upright on legs that had gone too weak to support him. The rest of their brothers crowded around again, shielding him from view and adding their voices to Maedhros'.

 

“Easy, now! All is well!”

 

“Aye, you are here with us now.”

 

 

And in his ear: “You are home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ The End ~