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Maglor stared blearily out at the sea after another sleepless night, the early light of the morning reflecting out on the water. Sometimes he thought, wished, hoped against all knowledge, that he could see Aman if he stared long enough, his brother and parents waving him over, laughing and calling for him to come home.
His heart hurt, as he began to sink into a sea mad dream, where this was all a dream, no a nightmare, and he was about to wake and go downstairs to eat some of Matimo’s, (Maedhros’ his mind hissed), wonderful food, to go and eat on the porch, since the table meant for eating was covered in an assortment of plans, admittedly even some of his own note filled plans for new music. He’d even take Huan chewing to ruin another of his instruments over the reality he lived.
A wave broke against his legs, crashing his dream apart. Maglor fell to his knees and wept. He watched as white-sailed ships sailed off into the distance. He strained and imagined he could hear joyous (mocking) laughter from the west-bound elves heading home.
His stomach rumbled, Maglor knew not when he last ate, for Valar’s sake he knew not what day it was, or how long he had been wandering these shores. With a last longing glance at the water, he turned towards his small camp, hoping he had some of that stale bread he had found thrown away. Half for him, half offered to the sea in hopes that Ulmo would take pity on him, and not drown him for his dark deeds.
Maglor stopped cold, too frozen to hyperventilate. There was someone at his camp. Who...? Why? What could they want? He hunched himself in, wrapping his arms around himself as he approached, gaze stuck at the ground as he inched closer.
Suddenly there was a cloak being thrown over his sunburnt shoulders, and he choked back a cry of pain.
“Ada...” a sorrowful voice choked out, tender and soft. A hand coxed his gaze up, and he was staring into the eyes of his old... foster son? No, he shouldn’t hedge around the truth even in his mind, his prisoner, captive. Those poor children, he, he...
“Ada, can you hear me?” Maglor blinked away the memory, not a child, not anymore. Elrond was now a proud elven lord in his own right. Had he come to avenge his childhood suffering?
A hand caressed his brow, Elrond stared worriedly at him, and he shuddered, how long had it since another had touched him, he did not deserve kindness. Not anymore.
“Ada, it’s time to go home.” Home? He has no home, (the dream from earlier flashes before his eyes, like a stab through the heart.)
“Elrond,” Maglor managed to weakly choke out, his voice hoarse from disuse, he wanted to ask why, why, why, he wanted to scream and shout and cry, beg, to be left alone, and the same he wanted to scream and shout and cry, to beg to not be alone anymore, that even if only to be chained and kept as a pet, a toy for torture, to be forced to kneel and be mocked for eternity evermore, anything would be better than to be alone for a moment longer. He was starved for touch, and his torn desires left him broken, he wanted to curl into a ball and weep.
“It’s alright, Ada. Everything will be alright.” Maglor shook his head, tears streaming down his face. Elrond took his hand in his, and stepped away, clearly intending to lead him away from his shore. It would be easy to stay here in his grief, it would be harder to face those he had wronged, harder still to attempt to right those wrongs, attempt because nothing he could do would make things right, but he, he could show his regret, to beg for forgiveness, to accept whatever penance was required. Maglor met Elrond’s pleading eyes and opened his mouth, choice made.