#in case your wondering: Celebrimbor is the son of Curufin and Maglor; Gil-Galad is the son of Maedhros and Maglor

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Maglor/Daeron mpreg

Maglor was honestly enjoying the festival. All the planning details were Fingolfin’s responsibility. Maglor’s younger brothers were back East, guarding the border that hadn’t had a serious battle in years, and unable to cause political drama. Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad were both in attendance, with Celebrimbor looking out for his “younger cousin” before Gil-Galad went to Ethel Sirion to learn about court.

For the first time since Valinor, Maglor could sing without any other concerns. After a few songs, he had acquired a crowd. Some of them were Silvan and Falmari, and Maglor always took extra pride when he was recognized purely for his voice, not his family name. 

One stranger in the crowd seemed very intent though. He stared directly at Maglor, though he did not move when someone blocked his view. Instead the stranger remained still. 

Three  songs after the stranger appeared though, Maglor noticed a strange vibration. This elf was humming under his breath - but in perfect rhythm with the songs Maglor had never before played in front of audience, and notes that only departed from Maglor’s own to go on on trilling runs of harmonies. 

Maglor stopped singing to take a drink of the excellent wine. He had not been on any sort of stage, so it was easy enough to approach the stranger. 

“You have a good sense of melody,” Maglor said. “Do you play an instrument yourself?”

“I play the lyre, and the twin pipes, and sing as well. Your voice is very well trained.”

“Thank you. Talent without practice is wasted, after all.”

“Is it?”

“It’s a saying from Tirion, or perhaps just from my kin folk. But that’s not important.”

“What is, then?”

“I would love to hear you actually sing or play, rather than just muffled accompaniments.”

__

They create a melody, a harmony, a song that takes on a life of its own. Their voices twine into something that is made of both of them, but a thing unto itself. Daeron realizes that he has invoked his maternal inheritance too late. He pulls back from the song, to tell Maglor what they have done, but Maglor sees only that their creation is about to falter.

Maglor sings louder, and claims the tune as his own. It needs a vessel, and Maglor offers his. Daeron initially panics, but communicates to Maglor that co-creation with a maia is approximately similar to having a baby, and Maglor as male is totally unequipped for that.

“Oh, is that the only problem! It’s not pleasant, but I can do so again.”

Maglor goes to Doriath their son a year later, begging for safety for the grandson of the king and queen. Maglor pushes through branches, carefully protecting the bundle in his arms. But at one wild rose bush, the edge of the blanket is caught. When Maglor untangles it, the baby has disappeared from the blanket, and the rose bush grown brambles so thick Maglor could not reach even a finger in. “I named him for the strength of his grip and the weight of his actions!” Maglor shrieks at the trees. “Lungum, if you ever let him speak his mother-tongue!” The forest is silent, though the bush next to him now has buds amidst the thorns.

They say after that Mablung of the heavy hand was at the Mereth Aderthad, and it is true, the way elves count the beginning of a life.