Disclaimer; I own nothing but my fiddle and the hair on my head.

Cast Shadow

As the sun glanced languidly across the land, her eye was drawn to a wide pane that ran into the edge of a forest. Just inside the forest were elven tents though indeed she would not have noticed them but for the soft music that faintly reached her ears; the cajoling lilt of a muted harp. Though the music was beautiful beyond describing, it was but the echo of a shadow that was The Beginning.

A small movement at the edge of the forest caught her attention; a young boy cautiously creeping away from the tents. Then as if satisfied that no one had seen his escape, he bounded out in to the open and around a bend in the forest line. Once out of sight of the tents he flopped down onto the coarse grass and closed his eyes, absorbing the rich aroma of the damp earth. He was smaller in stature than a human; but in his face was already the fear and responsibility that the elven kind often had to bear to early.

The boy enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face for a few minutes. He rolled over onto his stomach and plucked a blade of grass. He placed it between his hands and tried to make it whistle; but it did not work. After several minutes of exasperating failure he flipped onto his back and closed his eyes again. The wind blew across him, lifting his dark locks of hair and settling them down where they didn’t belong. The sun struck his face, creating shifting patterns of color behind his eyelids.

Among the tent the harp music had stopped and a strange silence filled its absence. A shadow fell across the boy’s face. He opened his eyes and glared at the dark hair man standing over him. “I will not return to the tent, my lord, it is too warm to be in confined areas.”

“Would you flout me again Elrond? You know why my brother forbade you to wander about alone,” the man said sternly, his grey eyes flashing with impatience.

“‘Because we are journeying through wild lands that may hide Evil Ones.’ As of yet we have not had need for this precaution, Maglor hir.” The boy spoke out defiantly.

For a second the elven lord looked as though he could not decide whether to be angry or sympathetic. Then he sighed and looked around; the plain was vast and the grass short. They were well out of bow-shot of any form of cover, yet within hailing distance of the tents. A grudging look of acknowledgement passed briefly over his face. In a fluid movement he sat next to the boy, but Elrond rolled away from him and plucked another blade of grass, but he still could not make it whistle. A sharp piercing whistle made Elrond jump. He looked over at Maglor, who whistled again on the grass. Elrond scowled darkly and tossed his blade of grass at him. It was a futile gesture, for the breeze blew it away towards the mountains. Maglor stifled another sigh, and rubbed his fingers through the grass letting its sweet smell mask his senses.

Suddenly he became aware of a queer gasping noise beside him. Elrond was lying on his stomach with his head in his arms, but his whole body was shaking with suppressed sobs. For a split second Maglor looked absolutely terrified, as if he had never seen a crying child before. Then he hesitantly reached out his hand and touched the Elrond’s shoulder. The young boy flinched and quick as lightning drew back; he kept his face hidden, but the sobs stopped.

Maglor swallowed visibly, “Elrond, what is troubling you?”

“Go away!” was the furious reply, “You could never understand.”

Maglor laced his fingers together around his knees and looked at he the back of the small head with frustration. After a long pause he said in a quiet voice, “I think I do understand. I too have lost almost everything I love.”

Elrond stirred and said in a voice so low that Maglor had to draw closer to hear, “But I have lost everything because of you.”

Maglor bowed his head and was quiet again.

Some time later a rustle brought him out of his reverie; Elrond had turned over onto his back and was scowling at the clouds that skittered across the sky. When he saw that Maglor was looking at him he scowled deeper and turned away. He picked up a beetle that was trying to creep across his wrist and watched it crawling in circles around his hand.

“Hating does not help, Elrond. I have tried it.” Elrond looked over at the tall elf, but Maglor’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. He seemed to be turning over in his mind something very bitter. Quietly he spoke of the Silmarils and the anger and loss that had driven his father to make a rash vow. Yet as he spoke of his burning rage and bitterness at the loss of his friends and home he said nothing of how they had sought after the Gems of Light, Elrond remembered that very well.

Elrond shivered; Maglor awoke from his half reverie. “I am sorry,” he murmured, bowing his head.

“Are you still driven by hate, my lord?” Elrond whispered.

“No. I am driven by a vow, and by anger, but no longer hate.”

“I do not understand my lord, you do not seem to have stopped hating.”

Maglor’s face darkened into a ferocious scowl. Elrond realizing his impudence paled, but suddenly Maglor laughed; a soft silvery laugh that was beautiful and wild at once. Then he sighed. “Hate and guilt often have the same face, boy. While the burning hate of the Vala was in me I could not love, even my family. I hated my very life. While Maedhros was captured by the Evil One and I could do nothing to save him, my hate and distrust of the Vala fled. During his capture Iluvatar gave me the gift of forgiveness. Then when Fingon rescued my brother, I was too preoccupied with concern and fear for Maedhros.”

“Concern?” Elrond frowned, not understanding. “Why concern, my lord? He healed well, there was no infection was there?”

Maglor looked down at the child who now lay at his feet. “There is more that one kind of sickness. My brother’s body healed well, but his spirit took so long to heal that I feared he would die, and…” Suddenly Maglor’s voice grew so bitter that Elrond could not bring himself to look into his face to see the suffering. “And you know the curse upon the sons of Feonor. It is not a light burden.”

Elrond gazed across the plain; the sun was just touching the horizon and the air was much cooler. “You are still angry, but not at the Valar. Your hate and battle rage is driven against the Evil one.”

The silvery laugh sounded again, softly and sadly. “You are wise beyond your years Elrond. Yes I am still angry at the Enemy, but I cannot pretend that it is entirely his fault. It is my choice and my consequences.”

Elrond bowed his head, “I understand, my lord.” Then he stood up. “I should go back now, my brother will be looking for me.”

Maglor scrambled nimbly to his feet, smiling. “Look Elrond,” he said gesturing towards the setting sun, “the sun is dancing.”

And so she did seem to be, for like all Maia she rejoiced in peace.