1. Past Deeds
Maglor looked out the palace window, entranced by the sight: ships burning; the whole harbor alight. He swallowed hard against the bile in his throat.
He closed his eyes, as if doing so would take away the ships that burned now, and the ones that had burned at Alqualondë. The harbor had not simply burned at Alqualondë; he and his brothers had turned it red with blood. And for what? Some pretty bauble, his father's pride, oaths sworn at Túna when mist and grief clouded his heart? And why was he still so willing to spill blood for that curséd promise uttered so long before?
He had heard screams since then, seen elven-blood on his sword, but the flames.... It was the flames that pulled him back to that bloody night. Maglor remembered a Telerin youth who'd stood on a berth, blocking his way. Had the boat been his father's? Had they used it to pull fish from the sea, or perhaps explore up the coast? Had it really been worth dying for?
In the end, none of that mattered. In the end, Maglor had sunk his dagger into the youth's gut. He'd frozen in horror, then, and the lad's blood had run through Maglor's fingers and over his hands. The Telerin had died, and Maglor – he'd been cursed to live.
Maglor grasped his sword more tightly, to steady his hands. 'Twas too late to save that boy, he knew that, or even to turn aside from this latest battle. His hands were bound by that ancient oath, and he could no more change his course now than a twig could alter a river's path.
His only hope lay forward, he knew: to find Elwing, to reclaim his father's cursed jewel. Then, perhaps, the oath would rest for a while.
He closed his eyes, as if doing so would take away the ships that burned now, and the ones that had burned at Alqualondë. The harbor had not simply burned at Alqualondë; he and his brothers had turned it red with blood. And for what? Some pretty bauble, his father's pride, oaths sworn at Túna when mist and grief clouded his heart? And why was he still so willing to spill blood for that curséd promise uttered so long before?
He had heard screams since then, seen elven-blood on his sword, but the flames.... It was the flames that pulled him back to that bloody night. Maglor remembered a Telerin youth who'd stood on a berth, blocking his way. Had the boat been his father's? Had they used it to pull fish from the sea, or perhaps explore up the coast? Had it really been worth dying for?
In the end, none of that mattered. In the end, Maglor had sunk his dagger into the youth's gut. He'd frozen in horror, then, and the lad's blood had run through Maglor's fingers and over his hands. The Telerin had died, and Maglor – he'd been cursed to live.
Maglor grasped his sword more tightly, to steady his hands. 'Twas too late to save that boy, he knew that, or even to turn aside from this latest battle. His hands were bound by that ancient oath, and he could no more change his course now than a twig could alter a river's path.
His only hope lay forward, he knew: to find Elwing, to reclaim his father's cursed jewel. Then, perhaps, the oath would rest for a while.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
