#maglor has been lurking around the valley

[sweetteaanddragons]

B2MEM - "I will not bid the stars farewell, nor say the day is done."

@spring-into-arda (397 words)

There was a point where hoping that things might yet get better - or that at the very least they might endure as they currently were - was not, perhaps, sensible.

With the protections of the Valley breached and the enemy even now pounding at the last barricaded door to his halls, Elrond had to admit that this point might have been reached.

It was an almost unimportant thought, however. For one thing, it changed nothing; this was not an enemy they could surrender to. They would defeat it, or they would be destroyed; there was no other path to seek.

For another, he had spent an uncomfortable amount of his life at this point. Most of his childhood, certainly. And yet, time and again, the light had endured.

The light, he was certain, would again. If he himself would - Well, that mattered far less than those of his people gathered here with grim purpose behind the shuddering door. This hall had been meant for songs and feasting, but he was a child of the First Age and had built accordingly; it would hold a siege a while yet.

Most of those who had won to this redoubt were armed and ready, but there were injured among them, and he moved among those quickly now, giving what chance he could that they might stand ready when the time came.

His ring weighed heavily on his hand.

He had not leaned on it much. He had not dared. And now -

Now he must make his choice. Throw his will and his might into its blatant use - reveal beyond all doubts its presence, throw his will against Sauron’s - or take one last desperate measure to hide it, that at least those others who might still be fighting might have a better chance.

Both measures were likely doomed unless help came.

There was no help that might yet come.

And yet -

And yet.

How many times had he thought those words before?

The door shuddered.

Cracked.

He squeezed the hand of his last patient and stood, drawing his sword at long last.

“We stand!” he cried, the full power of his will weaving through the words.

“We stand!” his people echoed in a response that shook the timbers of the roof.

Splinters flew from the door.

Above the thunderous roars that followed, he could just hear one more impossibly powerful, impossibly familiar voice, ringing out in distant answer.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

maglor doesn’t permanently reside in rivendell, a fact which tends to relieve new residents until they realise the last fëanorian spends most of his time wandering middle-earth completely unsupervised. that’s what he’s been doing for most of the past two ages; travelling the world, collecting songs, telling the old stories, skirting around the edges of history, stealing children. there are elves from the grey havens to what used to be cuiviénen who know him by sight, and he has a tendency to show up in folktales from the weirdest places

still, rivendell appears to be his home base of sorts, and he tends to at least show up if he’s in the area. sometimes he just dumps something on elrond’s front doorstep in the middle of the night and vanishes into the woods, but more often than not he hangs around for a few months before disappearing again. given how erratic his movements are, the time between maglor sightings can vary wildly; if he’s doing something-or-other out past rhûn he might not turn up for half a century, but if he’s lurking around eriador he’ll probably spend every winter in rivendell

(while elrond’s children where growing up, his visits averaged out to about once a decade, maybe a little more. this, of course, made him the cool iterant relative who brought tales and presents from faraway lands, and there’s a certain subset of rivendell’s population whose first encounter with maglor involved one or two excited elflings clinging to his legs shouting ‘GRAMPY!!’)

even so, there are times when he’s guaranteed to appear. whenever the valley is threatened, like absolute clockwork, maglor will emerge from the wilderness, and the mountainsides will run black with blood

[threerustyleaves]

#au where the war against sauron goes wrong#maglor has been lurking around the valley#and he takes this personally#one very ticked off singer is about to bring the power of the silmaril to bear against the back of this army#is it going to be enough?#who knows#but he's going to try#b2mem 2025

B2MEM - "I will not bid the stars farewell, nor say the day is done."

@spring-into-arda (397 words)

There was a point where hoping that things might yet get better - or that at the very least they might endure as they currently were - was not, perhaps, sensible.

With the protections of the Valley breached and the enemy even now pounding at the last barricaded door to his halls, Elrond had to admit that this point might have been reached.

It was an almost unimportant thought, however. For one thing, it changed nothing; this was not an enemy they could surrender to. They would defeat it, or they would be destroyed; there was no other path to seek.

For another, he had spent an uncomfortable amount of his life at this point. Most of his childhood, certainly. And yet, time and again, the light had endured.

The light, he was certain, would again. If he himself would - Well, that mattered far less than those of his people gathered here with grim purpose behind the shuddering door. This hall had been meant for songs and feasting, but he was a child of the First Age and had built accordingly; it would hold a siege a while yet.

Most of those who had won to this redoubt were armed and ready, but there were injured among them, and he moved among those quickly now, giving what chance he could that they might stand ready when the time came.

His ring weighed heavily on his hand.

He had not leaned on it much. He had not dared. And now -

Now he must make his choice. Throw his will and his might into its blatant use - reveal beyond all doubts its presence, throw his will against Sauron’s - or take one last desperate measure to hide it, that at least those others who might still be fighting might have a better chance.

Both measures were likely doomed unless help came.

There was no help that might yet come.

And yet -

And yet.

How many times had he thought those words before?

The door shuddered.

Cracked.

He squeezed the hand of his last patient and stood, drawing his sword at long last.

“We stand!” he cried, the full power of his will weaving through the words.

“We stand!” his people echoed in a response that shook the timbers of the roof.

Splinters flew from the door.

Above the thunderous roars that followed, he could just hear one more impossibly powerful, impossibly familiar voice, ringing out in distant answer.