One Last Thing Before I Go

by bookwormfaith

for: BGoldfish

Summary: Elrond has one last thing he needs to do before he Sails

Legend tells of a singer by the sea, a voice lost to the waves. History tells of a murderer who repented of his deeds until he went mad.

Elrond knows him as his foster father.

The Third Age is ended and the time of the elves is over. The hole left by all his sorrows weighs too heavily on him to continue, and Elrond knows he no longer has the option to delay his Sailing - and he no longer wants to. But there is one wound that Valinor will not be able to heal. At least. Not if he does not do something about it.

Once before, he went hunting for Maglor - he failed to find him, but he knows that the last of the Feanorionnath still lives. Maglor is only not found because he does not wish to be. Elrond is sure that Maglor keeps tabs on him - and he tries to do the same, following rumour and whisper, the brush of music that carries his foster father's characteristic touch. This time, he thinks, it will not be hard to find him.

He is right.

Maglor is waiting for him by the main waterfall, on the same day of the year that he left them in the first place.

"You are leaving." He says softly, looking up as Elrond steps into view.

"Yes." He answers softly, eyes raking over the bard, taking in the salt crusted tangles, the faded and patched clothes. "Come with us." He says impulsively.

"You know I cannot. " Maglor refuses instantly, but Elrond knows him well enough to know that he would.

"You can." Elrond refutes in turn - this argument he can almost plot out. And he knows that he cannot afford to lose. "Galadriel Sails with us - she has been pardoned, Maglor. All the exiles have been pardoned."

"Not us. We refused them already, Elrond."

"And what does that matter now? You have repented, Maglor. The sea has heard your laments, surely they will not refuse you. I know you wish to sail - reports have come to me of the song of farewell that every ship hears as they leave the harbor. Cirdan knows you live."

Maglor pales and then flushes and drops his eyes, turning away. "What I wish does not matter. I am Exile. You remember both Doom and Oath."

Elrond sighs, frustrated. "I remember - far too well! - what it has cost me. I am also a loremaster who has studied that time and spoken to as many as I could. The Doom says nothing about forever, Maglor."

Maglor only shakes his head, getting up to leave. "Sail, Elrond. I will sing you home. I only wished to see you one last time."

"It need not be the last!" Elrond reaches out then, snagging a sleeve, the pleading grip of the child of long ago, now a carefully calculated move by the adult. "Do not let your stubbornness doom you. Our time is over, Maglor. It is time to go home. Please, adar. For me. At least come down to the harbor."

Maglor freezes at the hand on his sleeve and his resolve is visibly shaken at the name. "Do not call me that!" He almost begs. "I do not deserve that title. "

"You took us in and cared for us when you could have done so much worse. I am old enough to decide what titles I bestow with clear eyes, and I choose this. You are the father of my heart, Maglor, even as Earendil is the father of my body. He will not mind, I am sure."

Malgor's laugh is broken and rusty. "I would not count on that. But... I ... thank you, Elrond. I will come to the harbor, but no further. I suspect any boat that I get on will sink."

Elrond smiles, victorious. "Good. Come in and rest - have a bath, and a meal. We leave in a week."

Maglor stares at him and then laughs reluctantly. "I gave my word that I would be there, Elrond."

"And I am not giving you the chance to change your mind. Come inside, adar."

Maglor wavers, but as Elrond had always known he would, he agrees. Very good - he has one week to soften his foster father up... and then three weeks on the road to change his mind. By the time they get to Mithlond, he knows - Maglor will Sail. He had never really been able to refuse them anything the twins truly wanted. And Elrond has gotten very good at arguing his point, over the years.

-end-