Thomas apprehensively approached the elven spirit, mentally going over what little he knew of elves other than Maglor's brothers. The only non-Fëanorian elven ghost he had ever met had been Elenwë, and he would rather not revisit that experience in any way. As he let his eyes roam over Aegnor though, he quickly became convinced that a repeat of that incident was unlikely. There was nothing frightening or hostile in this spirit's appearance; if anything he mostly looked… lost. Lost and disoriented, as if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere and hadn't been able to find his way back since.

Maybe he really is just lost on the way to the afterlife. Could it be that I finally found a soul whose only doom is a bad sense of direction?

Thomas wryly smiled at the thought. As if Maglor's gods would ever make this so easy on him. He was probably in for another heap of unforeseen pain and trauma… The thought didn't faze him much, strangely enough.

Come what may, I suppose.

Making a decision, he calmly called out the spirit's name.

"Aikanaro."

As the single word seemed to resonate in the corridor, the spirit's aimless movements halted, and he slowly turned away from the wall. With a distant, slightly unfocused look in his eyes he gazed at Thomas.

"I… I know that name."

His voice was soft and melodious, but there was a vaguely absent tinge to his words, almost as if he had spoken without fully realizing it. Thomas frowned.

"It's your name."

When Aegnor blinked, Thomas thought he could see something shift in the spirit's vacant gaze. Oddly surprised the elf mumbled,

"It… It is."

For a moment he just stood there, confusedly eyeing Thomas. Then, all of a sudden he reached out, cold fingers grazing Thomas' face before he had the chance to step back. The unexpected coldness sent a bone-deep shiver of recognition down his spine, and he almost jerked out of the ghost's tentative grasp on instinct. However, together with the sudden spike of panic came an oddly reassuring insight. Thomas wasn't sure how he knew, but somehow he could tell there was no danger in the touch. It was cold, but it wasn't violent; there was no mental pressure or evil intent. He supposed it wasn't even really intrusive, once you got over the awkwardness of having someone raptly stroke your face like that.

The things you get used to in this job. If someone had told me a year ago I would have an actual ghost fondle my face and it wouldn't be the weirdest fucking thing to ever happen to me, I'd have laughed and called them crazy.

Aegnor traced his features like a blind man, his piercingly blue eyes glazed and faraway as if caught in a dream. Thomas was almost tempted to inquire what the elf was doing and how long he thought it would take, when the blond suddenly gasped and abruptly pulled his hands back. The dreamy haze was gone from his eyes, replaced by surprisingly lucid bewilderment.

"I-It's you!"

There we have it.

As the Noldo stared at him in disbelief, Thomas nodded a little awkwardly.

"It's me."

Nice to meet you too. Please don't murder me.

Thankfully, Aegnor didn't seem inclined to attack him. Instead he pensively cocked his head to the side, observing him with unhidden fascination. He looked as if he itched to touch him again, but didn't quite dare to.

"Your soul… It is strange."

Thomas frowned.

"How so?"

Aegnor hesitated.

"It… It is… like the mingling of the trees." He made a non-descript gesture in Thomas' direction. "Bright and… strange."

Now that explains everything. Really. Wonderfully informative.

Thomas fought the urge to sigh. Elves. Never a straight answer. Deciding to focus on the mission rather than whatever peculiarities his soul might have, he met Aegnor's curious look with one of his own.

"Why are you here?"

The answer was not what he expected. The blond elf straightened himself, a determined glint in his eyes.

"Because I will not go."

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"You don't want to pass on?"

"I do not."

That was a first. Thomas had met spirits before who initially refused to pass on, but never one who had said it so candidly. There was no misunderstanding it. The sense of lost-ness he had gotten when he first laid eyes on Aegnor wasn't gone, but the elf's words now were conscious and unmistakably coherent, and he saw no reason to doubt them. Aikanaro Ambarato, third son of Finarfin, truly did not want to go to the afterlife.

"Why?"

Aegnor's eyes glazed over for a moment, and it was as if his whole appearance became a little dimmer.

"There is nothing for me on the other side. These lands, these… these people, are all I have left."

"Don't you miss your family? Aren't you tired of wandering?"

Thomas knew in the instant he met the Noldo's eyes that the answer to both his questions was yes. The look the elf gave him sent shivers down his spine. It was so lost, so very broken… and yet there was fire in it. Resolve. He didn't understand it, but this was not a spirit who had succumbed to pain or madness. Aegnor suffered, because for some reason that was the fate of his choice.

Just my luck. A masochist.

Thomas sighed.

"Aikanaro. Why do you do this to yourself? You know you don't have to stay, right.? The Doom was lifted ages ago."

The blond softly shook his head.

"You… you would not understand."

"Try me."

Aegnor looked at his feet, thick golden curls falling in front of his face. When he raised his head again, he looked older and wearier than anyone Thomas had ever seen.

"You never knew them. The Aftercomers; the Secondborn of Eru who you said would supplant us and usurp the lands of our awakening. You never met them. How could you understand?"

Thomas wondered if Aegnor was seriously implying that Fëanor had been racist of a people he had never even met, or if that was just his own low opinion of Maglor's egomaniacal dad shining through. He grimaced.

"You'd be surprised what I understand about mortals."

You know, being one and all.

Aegnor tilted his head a bit, once again pointedly examining him. Eventually he acceded,

"… Perhaps."

The elf then calmly started walking back to the central living space, leaving Thomas no option but to follow him. From the corner of his eye he could see Maglor follow suit, a worried frown marring his face. He wanted to give the Noldo some kind of sign that he was ok, or well, at least not being murdered just yet, but they reached the communal area before he could think of something. The strange assortment of spirits there immediately seemed to take notice of their entrance, with several ghosts momentarily halting their actions to observe them. Aegnor wistfully eyed them.

"They are too bright all at once. Like… sudden flame." The wistfulness in his gaze darkened with tormented memory. "Their form is consumed in their fire. And when there is nothing left to burn… they die." The elf took a shuddering breath and fell silent. Thomas was unsure what to say. He was on unknown terrain here. Aegnor was without a doubt the sanest elven ghost he had ever met, but if anything that apparent sanity only complicated matters. It meant that rather than just subduing and comforting him, he would have to actually convince him the afterlife was a good idea. And since he had no clue what had convinced the blond that it wasn't, he had nothing to go on. Looking at the sadly staring elf next to him, Thomas felt like bashing his head against a wall.

Why is it that every time I think I have this ghost therapy thing sort of down, they come up with something new that doesn't fit the pattern?

As it was, neither whining nor cranial recalibration was very likely to provide a solution, so he decided on a more constructive approach. He turned again to the forlorn spirit.

"Do you know why there are so many spirits here?"

Unexpectedly, Aegnor provided an actually useful answer almost immediately.

"Their forms are broken, nearly burned out. They are… becoming unmoored. But they haven't died yet."

That was an interesting bit of information… Thomas hadn't known that such a thing was possible; he'd thought you were either dead or alive, not something in-between.

Even though I'm supposedly something in-between myself. Shows what I know.

His eyes flitted over the assorted spirits and apparitions in the communal living room.

"So… they're not actually ready to pass on yet?"

The blond shook his head.

"No."

Well, then there was nothing he could do for them. Before another loaded silence could fall, Thomas spoke up.

"You still haven't told me why you stay."

He felt a little bad for pushing the elf, but contrary to a being that was technically dead, he didn't have all the time in the world. Aegnor shuddered slightly.

"I was a fool. A blind, blind fool. I didn't want to see it. It hurt, to be with her. And I thought it would… it would hurt less if I left." He shook his head, almost rhythmically. "Not our fate, not our custom, not our kind… I told myself the same things over and over again until I believed them truth. And it hurt. It hurt and I only wanted for it to be over. For it to stop." His strained chuckle sounded too much like a broken sob to fool anyone. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Thomas knew Aegnor had supposedly died in a big battle, but this almost sounded as if he had committed suicide. And who was this woman he was talking about?

"I gave up when I should have fought. Fought when I should have given up. Always had a knack of doing that, picking my battles wrong."

I can see that. Don't think you'd still be here if you didn't.

Resisting the urge to say that, Thomas instead kindly touched the spirit's arm.

"Who was she?"

For a moment, Aegnor closed his eyes, pinched them shut as if he wanted to keep the question out. When he opened them again, they glistened with tears.

"Andreth…"

The name fell from his lips like a sigh, alive with pain and desperate longing. The sorrow held within it was almost like a physical thing; jagged shards of ice, sharp like a knife to the gut… Thomas pulled his hand back before more could seep through, momentarily shocked at the raw intensity of the emotions. There was so much; love, pain, grief, regret, anger, guilt, hope, bitterness… like a flood it broke down the elf's calm façade until there was nothing left of it, and Aegnor was lost in his own mind, face twisted in anguish.

With strange clarity of mind, Thomas realized he couldn't let himself be dragged into the elf's memories now; it would do more harm than good. He needed to calm him down somehow... Before he could think too much about it, he reached for the blond's wrists and tightly gripped them, levelling his eyes with the spirit's vacant, grief-stricken stare.

"Aikanaro. Listen to me."

You need to calm down. Get yourself together. Now.

There was an undeniable edge of command in the words that surprised Thomas even as they came out of his mouth, the necessity of calming down somehow contained in them. At first Aegnor shook in his grasp, but soon enough he quieted down, the haze of painful recollection fading from his eyes. Not letting go of his wrists, Thomas spoke up.

"Do you think Andreth would want this for you? Do you think she would want you to torture yourself like this?"

He didn't know the whole story, but he could put the pieces together. Obviously, Aegnor was one half of a pair of star-crossed lovers, and he was willing to bet that the star-crossed bit of his relationship with Andreth had been the latter's mortality. A regular Romeo and Juliet, straight from First Age Beleriand… only worse, because if he remembered Maglor's explanation correctly, humans and elves had different afterlives. They wouldn't even be together in death. Thomas mentally shook his head. Aegnor's reluctance to go to the afterlife was starting to make sense… Even though it was pointless. Whoever she had been, his Andreth was long gone, and while she might not be waiting for him in the afterlife, she wasn't here either.

If anything, he should use all this determination to bother that Namo guy with his issue. If he's stubborn enough to stick around for this long, he might also be stubborn enough to get the god of the dead to give his girlfriend back.

The elf looked at him with panicked urgency in his eyes.

"You don't… You don't understand! I… I left her. And when Moringotto attacked, I went to war with no intention to return. I was a coward. A fool and a coward! I should have fought for her, and instead…" Aegnor grimaced, trying to wrench himself free from Thomas' grip. "Let me go!"

Thomas surprised himself by holding on despite the elf's effort's to get loose.

Weird. Either I'm stronger than I think, or this elf is weaker than he looks.

He fixed his gaze on the elf's wide eyes.

"And instead you went to your death, wanting for it all to be over."

The stern words stirred up from deep within his mind, tumbling out of his mouth before he could overthink them… but they hit the sore spot just right. Aegnor cringed.

"I just… couldn't bear to be without her. I didn't understand what I gave up, what I did to her… She would never have had to be alone, if I had done right by her. I… I was so selfish…" Tears streamed down his face. "I hurt her. And when I understood, it was too late."

Thomas felt he was getting through to the elf. He pushed on.

"You probably hurt her, yes. But that's water under the bridge now. I ask you again, do you think she would want to see you suffer on her behalf? Was she that kind of person?"

Aegnor looked away, blond curls falling in his face. When he spoke again, his voice was almost inaudibly soft.

"I… sometimes I don't even remember her. She has become a shadow in my mind. I lose myself trying to recall the tilt of her nose, the sound of her voice, the curve of her lips. I… forget. I have forgotten so much already. There are…" He faltered. "There are so many faces. Sometimes I think I see her, but I am never sure. I… If I go, I will forget what little I have left of her. Lose her forever. Here, I can… I can try to remember."

Thomas loosened his grip on the elf's wrists, holding them only gently now. He shook his head.

"Staying here won't help. On the contrary even. I've been told that being unhoused is bad for your being. It messes with your mind, twists your thoughts and memories. The longer you stay, the worse it gets."

To the point of forgetting your own name, if you recall that happening.

Aegnor's shoulders slumped.

"I… I don't know where to go. Not anymore."

He looked so lost… The helplessness in the spirit's voice told Thomas that he had won, for now.

One battle isn't the war though.

He soothingly stroked the elf's slender hands.

"I can help you remember. But you can't fight me. Ok?"

Apprehensively, Aegnor met his eyes.

"Will… will it hurt?"

Biting his lip, Thomas hesitated. From experience he knew it wasn't pleasant by any means… but Aegnor's look was like a silent plea for mercy, and he just didn't find it in him to be harsh. He sighed.

"It might. But in the end you'll feel better, and nothing will hurt anymore. I promise."

The elf's eyes widened at that. He visibly shivered.

"A-Alright. I won't fight."

… … … … …

(The first time, she was like the sun.)

It was hot, far too hot for Dorthonion this time of year. The Beornings' buildings trapped the unusual heat with the same efficiency as they normally contained the warmth of their great hearths. The sun had yet to fully rise, but the air was already thick and humid, cloying to his skin like a discomforting garment... He hadn't thought being too warm would ever pose a problem for him again, but here it was. Even so, it was better outside than inside, and the further he walked into the shadowy hills, the more bearable the temperature seemed to become. Once the settlement was out of sight, he looked up. The sky was a deep purple rather than black, with tinges of pink and red courtesy of the approaching dawn.

(He remembered the first time he saw the sun rise. He remembered being both overjoyed and terrified, and blinded, blinded by this new, bright thing that hurt his eyes and gave colour to a world he only knew in twilight shades.)

Lost in deep reverie, he didn't realize anyone was approaching until the rustling of bushes and clearly audible footsteps startled him from his thoughts. Not exactly the cleverest thing to do when out in the wild on your own… but when he turned to see who had managed to sneak up on him, all thought of his own carelessness faded from his mind. On the path up the hill stood a slender human girl. The first rays of morning sun were caught in the fall of her brown tresses, and the slightest gust of wind rippled her white shift dress, subtly highlighting the gentle curves of the body beneath it. She smiled, and something inside him lurched, profoundly alarmed at how a simple facial expression could be a thing of such beauty.

"Good morning, Master Elf. Have I disturbed you?"

For a single moment, he couldn't have formed an intelligible answer for all the wealth in the world.

(She was like the sun, and he was as he had always been in its countenance. Blinded.)

… … … … …

(She spoke with fervour of the future and thought beyond the span of her life, and her hunger for knowledge was only matched by her desire to put it to good use for those around her.)

He had always thought that humans were merely transient, fickle creatures; strategically important as the ever-growing group they were, but insignificant on a more personal level. Their children grew to adulthood in the blink of an eye, and in just another they withered and died, like flowers in a field. How could their beings have any substance, when given only such a short time to learn and grow?

He had disregarded them. Never bothered to distinguish them as individuals, to hear their stories, share their dreams, learn their names. And he saw now, he had been mistaken.

(Her name was Andreth. He didn't understand what insight had made her parents name such a passionate, creative, wildly curious spirit "Patience", but that was her name. Andreth. He loved the way it sounded.)

Maybe his prejudice had been a hope of sorts. A hope that Eru would not let things of true worth and beauty waste away and fall apart like that.

… … … … …

(It was said that the gift of true Sight ran in his branch of the family.)

"I've heard you've taken an interest in Boromir's oldest daughter." Keen cerulean eyes met him over the rim of a tome on local wildlife. "I thought you didn't think much of the Secondborn?"

He frowned.

"What made you think that?"

Finrod rolled his eyes.

"You don't exactly sing their praises when we're in private. Not to mention that I usually have to bodily drag you to the common rooms to make you spend any time among them. You can imagine my surprise when I heard you now voluntarily go on walks with one."

He shrugged at his brother's shrewd glance.

"Maybe your lectures on humanity's many virtues have finally gotten through to me. You should be glad."

Finrod put his book away, an oddly grave look on his face now.

"I would be glad if you showed interest in humanity as a whole, yes. But why just this girl?"

"Weren't you the one who said I had to learn to appreciate them as individuals?"

"You're avoiding my question."

He shrugged.

"She has a generous, caring spirit, and a fiercely bright mind for one so young. I didn't know humans could be like that. It's… intriguing. You'd like her too, I think."

Finrod seemed to think that over. Lightly tilting his head, the blond subjected him to an uncomfortably long, scrutinizing look.

"Are you sure that is all there is to it?"

The mild suggestion in his brother's voice made his insides twist.

"You can't be suggesting what I think you are!"

"Well, you tell me."

It must be anger, this painful feeling inside. Revulsion, even. It had to be. He indignantly shook his head.

"Of course it isn't anything like that. She's a child, for Valar's sake!"

Finrod grimly held his gaze.

"And mortal, brother. Remember that well. Nothing can come of it."

(It was a trait that had obviously passed him by completely.)

… … … … …

(The last time was like the very first time.)

It was a moonless night. Every once in a while there were nights like that, nights when the moon wouldn't rise and only the stars lit up the world. He had never grown used to them, never stopped feeling shivers of phantom cold at the sight of the black expanse over his head. The darkness was ever heavy with memories. He didn't like it. Yet now, it was heavy with something else too… a sense of anticipation, tingling on his skin like the air before a thunderstorm. Andreth walked before him, with the familiar ease of one who knows the path. She sent him a smile over her shoulder.

"We're almost there. It'll be worth the trip, I promise."

(Grandfather Finwë used to speak of the awakening at the waters of Cuivienen, sometimes. Of warm darkness that felt like shelter, and eyes so new that the stars alone were enough to brighten them. Of seeing, feeling everything for the first time, without words to understand it all.)

He followed her without question, until the trees receded and he found himself looking at something so stunning it took a moment before his mind caught up with his eyes. In a clearing amidst the pines lay a lake, so smooth and still it formed a perfect, gleaming mirror for the heavens above. Deep blue and sprinkled with starlight, it was as if an iridescent piece of night sky had fallen to the forest floor. For just an instant he was lost in its splendour… and then he saw Andreth, standing at its edge. She was like a vision in a dream, a divine apparition with a smile on her lips and the stars caught in her tresses. Her dress was stained with mud at the bottom, her hair was tousled from their trek through the woods, and her cheeks were still red with exertion, but… she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It struck him like lightning. Like paralyzed, he was incapable of doing anything other than staring, and desperately soaking up the sight of her. His blindness fell from his mind like a veil, and he could no longer deny the truth.

(He had no words then, no verbal expression for this understanding that bloomed in his soul and overwhelmed his mind and clenched his heart in an iron fist. He could only feel it.)

The words she had wanted to speak had died on her lips when she saw the way he looked at her, and now they just stood there, eyes locked, so close it almost hurt not to touch. The unspoken emotion between them was so tangible it nearly formed a barrier… He reached out anyway.

They kissed, and it was as if the darkness folded around them like a cloak, and the whole world ceased to exist outside of their embrace. There was nothing but Andreth; filling his mind, warming his soul, saturating his senses... He never wanted to let go. He knew deep inside that as long as he held her, everything was all right.

(But he had gone and let the world back in, and now nothing would ever be all right again.)

… … … … …

(He was blind again, like an animal wounded, forever running and fighting and struggling in anguish, against friend and foe alike.)

The mountains were alight with liquid fire, and the air was thick with devastation and the black, putrid smoke of burning pines. The bells of alarm rang with shrill urgency, mustering the troops… but when he met his brother's eyes, he knew it would be for naught.

(He was mad, and he knew it. They all knew it. He could smell the insanity on himself.)

The end was a haze of ash and agony. They fought against the flood of enemies, back to back, surrounded, hopeless. Angarato was the first to fall. He could feel him seize up against him when an orcish blade was rammed into his side, heard the choked, broken cry before his brother lifelessly fell to his knees. He couldn't even feel grief; the pain was already so all-pervading that he barely felt his wounds or the blades that pierced him. Only when suddenly the strength seeped from his limbs and he could no longer stand, could no longer hold his sword, he fully realized he was dying. Everything just… hurt too much. Darkness oozed into his mind, swallowing up what thoughts he had left. He didn't struggle.

(As he lay there, he remembered her smile. It might as well have been the final blow.)

… … … … …

Thomas came out of the memories with a start, heart pounding in his throat, mind buzzing with foreign thoughts and images. He was still holding Aegnor's hands, but when he looked up at him, he noticed to his satisfaction that the elf's expression was peaceful, if somewhat absent. That was always a good sign. A single tear trickled down his cheek.

"I… I remember now. You m-made me remember." He shuddered. "Thank you."

His voice was weak now, almost a whisper, but Thomas could hear the astonished gratitude in it. He shrugged, comfortingly squeezing the elf's hands.

"You're welcome."

It just passed through his mind that this had to be the first time he had performed an exorcism with minimal body contact, when Aegnor suddenly freed his hands and pulled him into a tight hug. Thomas had to contain a slightly inappropriate chuckle.

I just had to jinx it, didn't I?

A little awkwardly, he patted the elf on the back.

"It's ok, you know. You can go now. I'm sure there's people waiting for you." Before he could stop himself, he added, "And try to pick your battles a bit more carefully next time."

At that the blond let go of him, a sad smile on his lips.

"I'll try."

Next thing Thomas knew, the spirit had faded into thin air. But the fading was not a relief, this time. Aegnor's presence had forced him to focus on the being he was trying to help rather than his own views, numbing his own feelings about the matters at hand. Now that the elf was gone, everything he had held back flooded his already throbbing head. How he wished someone had told Aegnor's self-righteous prick of a brother that finding another race delightful as long as they don't marry into your own is just as racist and prejudiced as whatever Aegnor used to think of humans. And that someone had told Andreth how much Aegnor loved her because the idiot had never gotten the words past his lips himself, and for all he knew the girl had doubted it the rest of her days. And most of all, he wished someone would kick whoever was responsible for the whole separate afterlife shit because that was just pointlessly unfair. What was the deal with that anyway? Dead was dead, right? Fucking Valar. Thomas clutched his head and groaned. He really needed to let off some steam or he was just going to blow apart…

If ghosts don't fuck me up, I do it myself. I'm fucking hopeless.

Watching Thomas from a safe distance, Maglor had seen that everything seemed to go smoothly this time. There was no tension in the air, no frightful currents of power sizzling around the boy, and when at last he saw the unclear figure of his cousin, warmly hugging Thomas with a relieved, grateful smile, the Noldo finally dared to breathe easy. Maybe this would be the one time they got out unscathed… With how unsteady he still felt, it was all he could hope for.

However, as soon as the spirit faded, something seemed to happen to Thomas. Maglor couldn't put his finger on what it was, but as he approached the boy, he sensed something was not right.

"Thomas? Are you ok?"

Still turned away from him, the boy slowly shook his head.

"Do you have my bag?"

He sounded strangely hoarse.

"Thomas, look at me."

"I need my pencils. No, crayons. Bad surface for pencils. Crayons. I brought them."

It sounded as if he had effort stringing a sentence together… Well and truly worried now, Maglor gripped the boy's shoulder and put a little more force in his words.

"Thomas Ashworth, will you look at me?"

His breath hitched when Thomas turned around.

Every time I think I'm used to this…

His eyes were bright; too bright for a mortal. They shone with something so disturbingly intense it sent shivers down his spine. Maglor knew this look, this… madness, all too well. As the memories bubbled up from under his provisory layer of sanity, he suddenly had to suppress a very real urge to just run away. Meanwhile, Thomas managed to look pleading, which was a real feat with those eyes like burning embers.

"Please. I… I need to do this."

Wordlessly, Maglor handed him his bag. He didn't know what else he could do. Start a fistfight in an old people's home? Thomas rifled through it quickly, grabbing a large box of oil pastels. However, rather than taking his sketchbook along with it, he turned to the white walls of the living area, crayons in each hand. The Noldo closed his eyes in quiet exasperation.

I wonder how we're going to explain this one to the nurses.

When he opened his eyes again, Thomas had already outlined the features of two life-sized figures on the wall, and was working frantically to detail them. With both hands at once, Maglor noted with rising unease. The furious drawing quickly enough drew the attention of both the residents and the department staff… but while most of the elderly were content to just fascinatedly watch Thomas' work, nurse Michelle clearly wasn't of the same appreciation. Stomping indignantly out of the break room after catching a glimpse of them, she yelled,

"Hey, what do you think you're doing there!?"

Maglor suspected that he could have fired a cannon right next to the boy's head without him paying him notice now, so an angry lady nurse with a twangy accent was hardly going to make much of a difference. If she were to physically interrupt him though… In the spirit of preventing fistfights in old people's homes, he intercepted Michelle before she could accost Thomas.

"Excuse me madam, but it is best if you don't interrupt him. He is… drawing a sigil to keep the spirits from re-entering the building."

I have no idea where I get this bullshit.

The woman nearly growled.

"I thought you were gonna wave around with a bush of burning sage and bless the rooms or something, not draw on the bloody walls! I was supposed to keep an eye on you nutters, what am I going to tell my boss now?"

In his most polished, soothing voice, he said,

"Of course it would be in your advantage to keep the sigil, but I don't think it will be difficult to clean off."

This was an old people's home after all; Maglor had worked in too many of those to think crayon was the worst thing those walls had ever seen. Lacing the slightest bit of persuasive power in his words he continued,

"In any case, it would be best if you allow my colleague to complete the ritual. Disturbances at this point could cause a new spirit infestation."

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but all she had in retort was a simple,

"Oh."

For a moment it seemed as if she would follow up with a scathing reply, but clearly she had no inspiration. Maglor dared to breath again.

Crisis averted.

Meanwhile, Thomas' drawing was quickly gaining that stunning resemblance so characteristic to his work, despite the circumstances he was making this one in. Even Michelle thought it intriguing enough to put her righteous anger aside for a moment. Watching the boy, her eyes went wide.

"How is he even doing that?"

He shrugged.

"Honestly, I don't have the slightest idea."

As they watched the impromptu mural take shape, Maglor considered what it depicted. His cousin and a young human woman, raptly staring at each other. He wondered who this girl was, for Aegnor to have looked at her with such tender reverence. Objectively she was no remarkable beauty, and yet somehow, the drawing captured a loveliness that gave her something deeply compelling… Before he could think further on it, Thomas dropped the crayons from his hands and stepped away from the wall, giving them a clear view of the full work.

The picture was mostly in greyscale, and large parts of it were still sketch-like, courtesy of the medium and the speed at which Thomas had been drawing… but Maglor still couldn't quite look away from it.

It's hopeful.

It radiated hope. Optimism. Maglor suddenly felt a warm fondness for the boy who now looked at him with a dazed grin and –thankfully- a pair of perfectly normal human eyes.

I guess… we can use a little more hope in our lives.

Author's Apologies

Merry Christmas everyone!

There are no words that can express how sorry I am it took me this long. If anyone is still reading this, I honestly apologize. I could come up with excuses, but the truth is simply that I had a writer's block and no motivation to write, and I kept postponing it. Also, I'm writing my thesis at the moment, so that also put extra pressure on me. In any case, here is the new chapter!

Extra thanks to my translator fish-in-fridge, who not only kept following this story, but also made glorious fan arts for it! There is new art for chapters 9, 10 and 11 on my AO3 profile, please go check it out and shower her with appreciation! ^_^
Extra thanks as well to Sara Petterson/Rogercat, who is one of my most loyal reviewers both here and on AO3. *applauds* You're awesome :)

Now, about the story.

About the Title:
The title, "'Tis A Fearful Thing (to love what death can touch)" is taken from a beautiful poem by Yehudah Halevi. It's so fitting to the story of Andreth and Aegnor, I couldn't resist temptation. Look it up, it's worth it!

About Aegnor and Andreth:
They are a couple close to my heart, these two. I really hope I did them justice… Aegnor loved Andreth desperately, but he grew up with an entirely different way of looking at the world, and he didn't manage to overcome those boundaries of race and culture.
Humans grow up with an innate sense of having only limited time. So, they grasp what they can have of life and love and cherish every moment. Being in a situation that is life-threatening (like a war) only makes them more aware of the necessity of living every moment to the fullest. Elves on the other hand, respond to a life-threatening situation by doing the opposite. They don't do temporary; if they know it isn't going to last, what's the point in doing it at all? In addition to that, there was the mortality issue. In a way, Andreth was already dead to Aegnor, even when she was still young. Her life expectancy was nothing compared to his. What meaning could those few years he might have had with her have, when seen against an eternity alone after her death? Only after his own death, he understood what he had given up.

About Thomas' Knowing of Separate Afterlives:
I mention Thomas having heard from Maglor about the separate afterlives, but it is never explicitly mentioned in the previous chapters. I assume that it's something Maglor revealed to him in one of their first conversations. When Thomas found out he was divinely ordained to help people to the afterlife, I can imagine the question "what do you know about this afterlife business" did come up. The separate afterlives thing was fairly common knowledge among the elves (eventually), and Maglor had no reason to hide it from Thomas.

About Thomas' Mural:
Just like that time with Elenwë, the transfer of memories was intentional. That mainly means Thomas received a lot more information than when he has to fight for every scrap of memory (like with Curufin) or the spirit's mind is so broken their recollection is all messed up as well (like with Celegorm). Simply the volume and depth of the memories is enough to bring about an overload that needs to be siphoned out. On top of that, this story really hit home with him. The thing is, Thomas isn't all that sure of a decent human afterlife. Maglor couldn't tell him anything about it, and what experience he has had with the Valar isn't exactly inspiring faith in him when it comes to them giving a shit about humans. But confronted with the story of Aegnor and Andreth, he chooses to hope. A deity who would discard a soul who loved and was loved so fiercely, has to be either evil or uncaring. And if he believes that of the Valar, what's the point in what he's doing? All this is in the back of his mind when he makes that mural. It's overflow from Aegnor, but it's also his own struggle to hope for the best.

About What the Fuck is Happening to Thomas:
What do you think yourself?

Thomas' Terrible Opinion of Finrod:
I really don't hate Finrod! But I want to point out that Thomas has only ever seen him through Curufin and Celegorm's eyes (so he is -perhaps unconsciously- biased), and I think we can all agree that the way Finrod took care of the Aegnor and Andreth matter was far from ideal. With only that limited material as reference, he doesn't make the best impression on Thomas. (And it is my personal opinion that Finrod was just a tit bit sanctimonious.)

About the Spirits and Apparitions in the Living Room:
Some people guessed it, but the spirits Thomas could see in the old people's home weren't actually fully disembodied. Dementia is the unmooring of the fëa from the hroä; the body is breaking down, and as a cause of that (because human fëar cannot remain bound to a gravely injured or worn out body) their fëar slowly lose their grip on it. This story was built on a strong link between soul and memory, so it seemed like an interesting idea to explore.

About Maglor's Internal Bullshit Generator:
A lot can be said about Maglor, but not that he lacks improvisation talent.

Some Thoughts of my Own:
Andreth means Patience. Aegnor's fathername Ambarato means Champion of Doom. I want to live in a world where this is hopeful foreshadowing.

Please let me know what you think! Reviews are love and Silmarils! ^_^