Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Fallen	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12299 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
Chapter Twenty-Three
The woods weren’t as large as they at first appeared, and it seemed that they grew on a rare plateau just below the mountains. The land began to slope downwards steeply just as the trees thinned out, until they found themselves at the bottom of the first hills that led upwards into the westernmost peaks of the Ered Lithui.
Maglor found it distressing to realise just how much he had forgotten. He simply didn’t remember Middle-Earth, and he had no idea which direction to go. Luckily, Legolas had not been a captive for as long, and he began to lead them in a straight north-western line, explaining that in time they would hit the river Anduin. All they needed to do was follow it and they would come upon Lothlórien, and then, eventually, northern Greenwood.
But all that was a long way off, and in the meantime there were other things to be done. Before leaving the trees they took enough wood to make three or four bows and plenty of arrows. They made themselves cloaks out of leaves and grasses from the flatlands. It wasn’t much, but it was the best they could do. And it was more than to be expected from the inhospitable land around the edge of Mordor.
Their relationship was a true pleasure, although in the darkness of the watch at night, Maglor began to hunger for something else. Something different. He tried to shake the feeling off, but it stubbornly refused to budge, and when the first dreams of Sauron came to him in his sleep, he was not entirely surprised. Often, he dreamed of the dark lord coming upon him when he was on watch, and yet as much as he wanted it to, nothing really happened in those dreams. He even dreamed of the wolf once, and that at last scared him. The dreams were so real that Maglor couldn’t say for certain they were not, and for the first time he considered that he and Legolas should split up, and continue their ways separately.
Not only might he be a danger to the young Prince if Sauron was indeed following them, but there was also the fact that Maglor didn’t really know what to do with himself now. Freedom, he was finding, required more than just a jubilant cry of happiness. He needed to decide what to do. Should he try and settle somewhere? And if he did, was Greenwood the place to do it? At times he considered something that made him want to weep. He thought of making his way into the west of Middle-Earth and finally building a boat to carry him across the sea. West was a direction he understood. He would be drowned or allowed home, and after all of these centuries, the chance of returning to Valinor was a call he couldn’t resist in his soul. It was a pulling.
But for now he kept all of his thoughts to himself. Legolas surely would not understand. He was excited to be returning home, despite all that had happened to him. Legolas was still young, and he would survive what had happened to him now that he was free. Maglor knew he would not understand the weariness that demanded a final resting place. He kept silent about the dreams too. What could they do but worry Legolas? And he didn’t want to talk about them for a deeper reason. Maglor secretly treasured them – every single one.
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He came awake the next night to the feeling of something wet moving restlessly on his neck, and when he opened his eyes he wished he hadn’t. He drew in a breath to scream, but the giant wolf that stood over him lifted its head and growled menacingly, the yellow of its eyes burning bright in the darkness so that Maglor froze.
It stood over him as it might stand over a kill, and when Maglor remained quiet it resumed it previous activity. It sniffed and nuzzled at him, paying particular attention to his neck as his mind screamed at him. He raised his arm instinctively when it tried to lick his face, and soon his found himself staring into its too-intelligent eyes, his arm held in the grip of its teeth, just tight enough to hurt him. But the wolf didn’t draw blood. It let him go, and Maglor’s arm fell lifelessly back to the ground beside him as the wolf licked at him, at his face, his lips, his ears…
He sighed at that, and the wolf stopped to look at him again. It was too intelligent. “If you’re going to kill me, why don’t you do it?” Maglor hissed, and the wolf’s eyes narrowed as if it understood the words. But then it lost interest and instead lay down, draped over him like some expensive blanket. It stayed there, with its head resting on his chest, while its yellow eyes moved around the clearing, watching, and then they closed. Its breathing became slower and at last Maglor dared to move.
“Legolas,” he whispered urgently, as he reached out for one of the crude, but lethal wooden bows they had made while fleeing. He needed Legolas to wake up and kill it… before it killed him. He froze again when he heard the wolf. It growled warningly and he looked at it. One of its eyes was open and watching him. Very slowly, Maglor pulled his arm back and still the wolf growled. Maglor swallowed. It continued growling, a low rumble deep in its chest as Maglor put out his hand to it.
Then he was touching it. Its fur was soft and warm, and he stroked it lightly, finally letting his hand come to a rest on the back of the wolf as it lay on him. The growling stopped, and the wolf closed its eyes again. Maglor lay still, in complete silence this time, in awe that it had not killed him. At least, not yet. It slept, and he couldn’t move from beneath it. Did an hour pass? Nothing changed, and at last Maglor drifted back into sleep.
The wolf stayed the entire night, and nothing disturbed the elves again in that time. So it kept its place, the place it wanted to be. Maglor’s arm still rested over its back, and in turn the wolf’s giant paw held Maglor’s other arm down to the ground as he slept. From the look of them, it would be difficult to say who belonged to who. Perhaps they belonged to each other. But when dawn broke over the clearing – the wolf was gone. When Maglor awoke he conceded to himself that he recognised the wolf from his dream, and he began to plan a way to let Legolas carry on alone.
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This was a quiet time. Second watch. It was still pitch black, the new moon made the nights darker, but soon the first grey and blue of early morning would light the sky. It had been a few weeks since they emerged from the secret labyrinth that lay underneath Mordor, and Spring was fully upon them. It was not so cold now, but there was still enough of a chill in the air that Maglor’s breath fogged in front of him.
He rubbed his arms briskly and walked to and fro for a few paces before the fire, trying to get a little warmer. Cold could make you less alert in exactly the same way as warmth. He was concentrating so much on his body temperature that he didn’t hear the approach of a dark figure, and his eyes didn’t note the blackness that moved through the dark, but he did feel the change when a warm presence came to stand behind him. One large, warm hand covered his mouth before he could cry out, and the whispered hush made his skin tingle in awareness. Sauron.
Strange how when even the cold couldn’t make him shiver, his Master’s touch could. Sauron moved his hair aside and lips danced lightly over the soft skin behind his ear. Sauron’s warm breath there made a delicious tingle run the length of Maglor spine so that he moaned behind the hand that covered his mouth.
“Do you miss me?” he whispered wickedly, and Maglor leaned back against him in answer, closing his eyes. The hand left his mouth so that he could reply as Sauron embraced him from behind.
“Yes!” he replied in a heartfelt hiss, aware of the need not to wake Legolas. If he awoke, then Sauron would be gone, and Maglor wanted him to stay. One of Sauron’s hands slid under the layers of his clothes to rest heavily on his stomach, the other was raised to his lips again, and Maglor didn’t think twice about accepting one of Sauron’s fingers into his mouth. His heart leapt at this chance to please Sauron again, and his experienced tongue caressed the dark lord’s finger as he drew it deeper inside, wanting to show that he was willing. Everything else ceased to exist except what he was doing, and when he heard Sauron moan behind him, Maglor felt the sound in his groin.
All he wanted now was for his Master to touch him there, and when the hand left his stomach, and he felt the back of Sauron’s hand brush lightly over the hardness in his breeches, Maglor whimpered around the finger in his mouth. He moved forward quickly to prolong the touch, but Sauron pulled him back, the hand once more resting on his stomach.
“You are tempting me, mûl vain nín,” he murmured now, his voice heavy and ragged. He pulled his hand away from Maglor’s mouth, and he couldn’t help moaning a little in regret. “What do you want most of all?” Sauron asked huskily. He forced his hand down the back of Maglor breeches so that he could slip the hand between his buttocks and slide his wetted finger over Maglor’s entrance. Maglor spread his legs a little to make it easier, his breath coming in short gasps, needing to feel Sauron’s finger inside him. Wanting more than that but afraid to voice it for fear it would all be taken away. The finger continued to tease him slowly, never quite entering him even when he pushed back against it wantonly. “Do you want this?” Sauron breathed.
“Please, I want you,” Maglor begged shamelessly. “Herdir.” Oh! It seemed too long since he was last able to call Sauron that. In answer the finger entered him at last, and Maglor groaned in pleasure, pushing back, not caring that Sauron would feel how he still prepared himself for this. “Let me please you again.” Truly, that was all he wanted, for his Master to find pleasure in him again, to use him as he was meant to be used.
Sauron growled in pleasure. “Oh, mûl vain nín, somehow I knew you would,” he said in a low, amused voice, referring to the easy way he could touch Maglor like this. Suddenly the finger left him, and Sauron pulled Maglor back against his body so that he could feel the dark lord’s hardness against him. Maglor gasped, and rubbed himself against Sauron in pure desire. “But if I take you now,” Sauron warned. “I will take you back with me. You understand that, don’t you?” He matched Maglor’s movements, and thrust against him lightly so that Maglor moaned again.
“Yes,” he said fervently. “Take me back.” Was he really asking for Sauron to allow him to return? It sounded that way, and Maglor felt a little afraid for the first time, aware how much of a slave he still was to the dark lord.
“Didn’t you want to escape?” Sauron whispered, almost seeming to taunt him, thrusting again. “To be free?”
“I am not free,” Maglor replied, suddenly seeing it. It took more than distance to be released from this. It would take time. And just maybe he would never be completely free.
“Not yet, no,” Sauron stopped moving, holding Maglor’s hips so that he was still against that heat and hardness. “But soon you will be beyond my reach.” There was such a sound of regret and dismay in his voice that Maglor wanted to turn around and look into Sauron’s eyes, but he was held still.
“No…” he moaned, shaking his head, wishing that the choice were his. It wasn’t, and somehow he knew that Sauron would leave him here. Sauron wouldn’t take him back to Barad-dûr now.
“I will make you two promises, Maglor Fëanorion.” Those lips moved behind his ear again, and again Maglor trembled on his feet, wanting to fall into Sauron’s arms.
“If you ever return to me,” he began in a low, threatening tone. “I will make you so sorry for running away, mûl nín, that the crimes you committed for the sake of gaining the Silmarils will fade into nothing.” It was a serious threat. Maglor’s mind gave him an image of all the punishments Sauron would inflict on him for daring to escape, and it should have curbed his desire, but it didn’t. He wanted that just as much, because it would please Sauron to hurt him. The dark lord took hold of one of Maglor’s hands, running his thumb over the fingers in such a way that Maglor knew Sauron could break them. He whimpered, but he didn’t pull his hand away.
“Yes, Hîr nín,” he said, unable to disguise his longing, so that Sauron chuckled at his reaction to the threat. He raised the hand he still held, and instead of crushing Maglor fingers, he kissed the back of his hand softly.
“But I miss you too,” he said quietly, “and I will be happy to welcome you home.” Maglor hardly dared breathe when he felt Sauron’s lips and tongue moving down over one of his fingers, drawing it into the dark lord’s hot mouth. His legs refused to support him, and the arm around his waist tightened to take his weight as Sauron sucked lightly on Maglor’s finger. It was clear what he meant – such a promise! – and Maglor wondered how long this would continue. He wondered how long he could hold his breath. Those lips moved down again, taking the length of his finger into Sauron’s mouth, and then as he drew his lips up, Maglor felt the lightest scrape of the dark lord’s teeth on his skin, and he let out his breath at last in a long low moan at the thought of what Sauron was saying to him, what the promise was. He felt Sauron’s tongue swirl around the length of his finger, and he imagined he could feel it somewhere else too. He jerked in Sauron’s grip as the feeling travelled down, turning to jolts of pleasure along the way that made his cock throb in answer. But he needed something still – he wasn’t free.
“Please,” he whimpered, his need a craving as desperate as thirst or hunger. Sauron’s held Maglor’s finger a moment longer – sucking. Then he let go, lavishing one last kiss on the wet skin.
“Yes,” he whispered, and Maglor felt his world shatter as his orgasm claimed him at the word. He was sure he was falling, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had permission, and he gave in to it gladly.
When he returned to reality, he found himself lying on the cold ground – alone. He looked around him quickly, feeling bereft when he realised that Sauron was gone. Had he ever been here? The light was already turning the sky a deep blue, and he knew he must have fallen asleep on watch. He sighed and sat up, shaking his head to clear his mind of the dream, and then he saw it. Maglor jumped in shock. He reached down to his tunic and picked from it a single, long, black hair. These were not dreams, then. He looked over at Legolas who lay in peaceful sleep a safe distance away from the fire. Then he looked back at what he held in his hand. He realised belatedly that one of his fingers was cold. It was wet. Maglor groaned, thinking of the promise. He licked at his own finger until nothing of Sauron could remain there. Once more he had the thought, and now it was imperative. For safety’s sake, he and Legolas had to separate.
All through the next day, Maglor thought long and hard about what he should do. It was clear now that Sauron was following them, that Sauron was following him. He imagined coming clean, and telling the truth, and he knew that would not be the end of it. Legolas would be certain that they should stay together. He was looking forward to the welcome home, and he assured Maglor over and over again that he would receive a welcome just as warm. Maglor wasn’t so sure about that, but he let Legolas believe it as long as it made him happy.
The land they travelled was bare and featureless. Perhaps it was a mercy after all his time in Mordor. Although Maglor had enjoyed seeing the trees, he had been a little glad when the wood ended. It had been almost too much for his senses after such a long time away. This, while it might be flat and boring, and occasionally marshy if they wandered too far west, was easier for him to deal with.
He scanned the horizon, and there was nothing to see. There were the mountains if he looked behind them, and they served as an uncomfortable reminder of just how far away Barad-Dûr was. Was Sauron there? Or was the wolf silently tracking them even now? He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean the wolf wasn’t out there, somewhere.
When evening fell and they made camp, Maglor’s thoughts came to a startling conclusion. He looked at Legolas and considered it. It would work, but was it too cruel? Maglor knew it was probably the only way he could lose Legolas now. It would have to be so. Legolas would carry on alone, and he would escape. Any other course of action and Maglor could very well see Legolas refusing to accept the truth or the danger. They were lucky the wolf hadn’t killed him so far. Even Maglor was lucky come to that.
“What is it?” Legolas asked, a shy smile on his lips, noticing Maglor’s stare. Maglor made up his mind, and he apologised silently in advance for what he was about to do. Without saying a word he moved to kneel behind Legolas where he was sitting on the ground and began to massage his shoulders.
“I’m glad you’re free,” he said in answer, and it seemed Legolas didn’t catch the slip in his words because he moaned in pleasure as Maglor’s skilled hands went to work on his tense muscles, and closed his eyes. Although they were already lovers, Maglor decided that this evening should be more like a seduction. It eased his own mind to treat it as such, and by the time he was to take the Prince, he would make certain that Legolas was ready to beg for him.
Maglor took his time with the massage, using the oil they had brought with them when they left to help him. He drew it out, easing every single knot from Legolas’ muscles. He guided Legolas to lay down flat on his stomach, and then proceeded to knead and caress his entire body. At times Legolas would moan beneath his ministrations, and Maglor smiled tenderly, wanting Legolas to feel something he would never forget, despite what the night would bring.
He ended the massage with a series of firm strokes down Legolas’ body, remembering how it had felt for Sauron to do this for him, and he noted the way Legolas relaxed completely into his touch, his flesh pliable and soft. He listened to Legolas’ breathing, slow and steady. Maglor leaned over the Prince on his hands and knees, and moved down, greedily drinking in the sight of Legolas’ body. The smooth white skin of his back, the firm, round buttocks, his muscled thighs and shapely legs. Only when he reached Legolas’ feet though, did Maglor touch. He began by kissing his lover’s toes, one by one, smiling when he realised that Legolas was so relaxed he didn’t try to move his sensitive feet away from the teasing touch. He brushed his lips over Legolas’ instep, and then placed a bracelet of kisses around his ankle. Legolas sighed, while Maglor smiled and repeated the same actions with his other foot.
He moved up Legolas’ calf, and then licked lightly at the soft skin behind his knee, laughing against the flesh when Legolas let out a surprised squeak. Again, he repeated the actions, and then moved up still further, using his fingers now to tease Legolas’ inner thighs so that he opened his legs. Maglor avoided the obvious, and instead set to placing gentle kisses on the back of Legolas’ upper thighs, happy when he heard the Prince moan.
He rested his hands on Legolas’ buttocks and squeezed lightly, dipping his head at the same time and using his tongue to brush against the back of his balls, and then licking up in a line, over the place where his prostate ought to be, and then up further, teasing his opening so briefly that Legolas moved beneath him, trying to make the touch last. He laughed again, and took his weight on his hands again, now beginning to kiss the soft globes of flesh he had been lightly massaging. He moved up further still, and then quite suddenly licked a firm line up the lower part of Legolas’ spine.
“Stay,” he warned quietly, when Legolas would have turned over. He remained motionless until Legolas flopped back down on the ground and sighed. Maglor smiled and continued to show his appreciation for the body beneath him, nipping lightly with his teeth at the left side of Legolas’ waist in a series of small bites.
Moving quickly, he settled astride Legolas and then pulled his left arm up behind him, letting his fingernails drag up the length of his arm to from his shoulder to his wrist. He held Legolas’ hand in his, keeping the palm exposed, and then ran his tongue lightly over the top of his palm, just beneath his fingers. He let one of his fingers dance in small circles over the palm of his hand while with his teeth he pulled gently at the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He let Legolas’ arm back down to the ground finally after moving his lips down over the inside of his wrist so that he ended with kissing the inside of Legolas’ elbow. He sat up a little straighter.
“Now,” he said quietly. “I’m going to do all that to you again, only on this side.” He leaned down to begin the little bites, this time on the right side of Legolas’ waist, and he couldn’t help but giggle when he heard a slightly frustrated, dismayed moan from Legolas.
When he had fulfilled his promise, Maglor brushed the long, golden hair away from the nape of Legolas’ neck and kissed him there, before encouraging him to turn over onto his back. He held Legolas’ wrists to the ground when he would have reached up to touch, and shook his head slightly. Legolas sighed a little petulantly and closed his eyes, and Maglor took that opportunity to kiss his eyelids. He took in the sight of the Prince like this, wanting to imprint it on his mind forever. His golden hair was spread out around his face, his long eyelashes fluttered while he waited for the next thing Maglor did. The light had faded more, and so now he looked ethereal in the dusk, with the firelight casting delicious shadows on his skin, and accentuating the highlights in his hair. The light shone on his moist lips, making them glisten, even as the approaching dark made them a deeper red. It was a perfect moment.
I love you, Maglor thought. He had never said it, and he wanted to, now more than at any other time, but still he found it difficult. Why? It wasn’t as if Legolas didn’t know. Would it change anything? It seemed the entire world was conspiring to make him say it out loud, and Maglor couldn’t help himself. “I –” Maglor began, but then stopped when Legolas opened his eyes. They looked at each other, and the moment still wasn’t over. Maglor licked his lips. Say it! Legolas lay beneath him, he still held the other elf’s wrists to the ground – he was beautiful.
“What is it?” Legolas asked a little uncertainly, and the spell was broken. Maglor smiled, feeling relieved even though he hadn’t said the words. Something important had passed him by, but it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed. He shook his head, and satisfied himself with showing Legolas what he had been about to say as he leaned down and covered Legolas’ lips with his own.
He resumed the slow lovemaking, covering every inch of Legolas’ body with kisses, worshipping him with his lips, trying to remember everything. He traced the curving of his lover’s ribs with his fingertips, and circled the dusky nipples with his tongue before biting at them so lightly it must feel like kisses. He rested his hand on Legolas’ midriff while he followed the curve of Legolas’ hip with his tongue. He wanted to taste everything he had to offer, and keep it with him. When he finally reached Legolas’ cock, he didn’t spend too long there, just long enough to feel Legolas begin to stir at his touch. Instead, he continued moving down slowly; finding all the secret places that made Legolas moan for him, and relishing the sounds he made.
When he reached Legolas’ toes again, he once more kissed each one, and then took hold of the oil again. While Legolas watched he spilled some onto his fingers, and then moved to sit beside him, reaching between Legolas’ parted thighs to rub the oil over his entrance. Legolas’ eyes darkened, and his breathing quickened, knowing at last that the time had come. He was so relaxed now that it was easy for Maglor to slip a finger inside him. Legolas moaned and pushed against him wantonly. But that wasn’t enough. Maglor leaned over again, and licked at Legolas’ cock, satisfied when he hardened immediately at the delicate touch. He didn’t tease any longer, but took Legolas’ hardness into his mouth while he spread the oil within him.
Using two fingers now, he allowed Legolas to buck up when he brushed against his prostate, relaxing his throat and swallowing the head of his lover’s erection. He kept his face close to Legolas and swallowed a few times, rhythmically, before letting him go so that he could rub his tongue over the underside of Legolas’ cock right up to the glans.
When he felt Legolas twitch inside his mouth, he stopped everything suddenly, making Legolas cry out loudly in denied need. He was ready. At the thought of what he had to do, Maglor almost hoped that he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, but seeing Legolas so needy and desperate for him had already made him hard, and Maglor covered his own length with the oil before lying atop Legolas. He pushed one of Legolas’ long legs over his shoulder, turning his head to place a gentle kiss on his thigh.
“Please,” Legolas moaned with his eyes closed again, moving his hips forward to try and impale himself on Maglor’s erection.
“You don’t have to beg me, Legolas,” Maglor replied and slid inside easily so that they both gave a satisfied sigh. He held still for a moment, allowing Legolas to adjust, and then set a gentle rhythm, almost rocking. He would never know this again. Maglor closed his own eyes and concentrated on the way Legolas felt around him, accepting and moving with him, so hot and perfect. He felt every contraction of the flesh around him, and then opened his eyes again so that he could take Legolas in hand firmly. Legolas arched up into his hand, taking Maglor inside him to the hilt at the same time. He gasped as Maglor began to move his hand too, matching the rhythm to his lovemaking so perfectly that Legolas cried out.
It didn’t last much longer after that. Maglor stopped thrusting when Legolas began to orgasm, milking him of every drop before moving up his body and holding his arms to the ground again. Legolas looked up at him in complete trust, and Maglor felt sure he couldn’t do it. But then he thought of the boy he had seduced before, and he remembered the wolf. He began taking Legolas again, feeling his orgasm approach, and as he came he leaned down to whisper into Legolas’ ear.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. He came inside Legolas, but he was aware of how still his lover had become beneath him. He groaned with his release, letting Legolas hear that too, making his last few movements selfish, and a little violent. He lay for a while with his head pressed close to Legolas’ neck, not wanting to look and see what he had done yet. There was always the chance that Sauron hadn’t used the word on him, but Maglor didn’t see why he wouldn’t have. He composed himself and used his grip on Legolas’ wrists to raise himself up.
The look on Legolas’ face was something he didn’t want to remember, but he knew it would be there along with everything else. The moment when Maglor hurt him. He knew that whatever happened now wouldn’t matter. Nothing he could do or say now would ever take this back. Legolas looked at him for a minute in hurt confusion, and then he began to fight. He tried to throw Maglor off him, and struggled desperately to free his arms from Maglor’s grip. When he eventually realised that he couldn’t dislodge the other elf, he stopped in defeat.
“Why?” he asked, all of his pain there in his voice. “Why did you say that word?” Nothing would ever take it back. Maglor knew that, knew that he had wounded Legolas, and still he couldn’t let up. He plastered a smile on his face.
“Doesn’t it work for you?” he asked nastily. “It works for me.” He moved against Legolas again, feeling his softened sex move inside him suggestively. Legolas moaned at the same time as he cried out in anguish.
“Why are you hurting me?” he said then, still not giving up. Maglor pulled out suddenly and let Legolas go, standing over him coldly, wishing that his legs wouldn’t feel so shaky.
“Why don’t you run away from me?” he challenged, watching Legolas as he pushed himself back, away from Maglor’s feet. He drew his knees into his chest and hugged himself like a child, shaking with threatened tears at what Maglor had done to him.
“I never will,” he said quietly, refusing to believe in what had happened between them. Maglor sighed heavily, and crumpled to the ground in defeat. It hadn’t worked! The young one still wanted to stay with him. He had hurt Legolas for nothing, and Maglor hated himself more than ever. He looked over at Legolas, and Maglor realised again just how young he was. He looked so innocent and vulnerable, despite everything. Maglor decided to try a version of the truth.
“You want to go home, don’t you?” he asked gently, with sympathy. Legolas looked at him and Maglor knew that all he had to do was ask, and forgiveness would be his. Again, the words came to his mind from earlier. I love you.
“Yes,” Legolas admitted at last, turning his gaze away to stare miserably at the fire. The time for the words had passed earlier, and saying them would make no difference now, Maglor realised.
“So do I, pen neth,” he said meaningfully. “So do I. I’m so very tired.” As he spoke, Maglor felt the truth of his words, and he shivered wearily. It had been so long since he had left his home; he had been away for an eternity. “Time is never short, but still it stretches too thinly over me now. It becomes old.” He was aware of Legolas watching him speak, and he had to continue.
“No,” Legolas denied his words, but he must know it was hopeless.
“There is nothing left for me to do here, Legolas. I’ve played my part,” he sighed, “such as it was. You must go on alone.” He held his face in his hands, and he gasped when he felt Legolas touching him, pulling his hands from his face to look at him. The tears still threatened to fall, but there was acceptance there that Maglor didn’t deserve.
“I understand.” Maglor wanted to say that he didn’t, but what use would it be? He ached to tell Legolas of the dreams, and to say sorry for hurting him in such a way, but he knew that if he did Legolas would refuse to leave him alone. He kept silent as the Prince dressed and divided up their belongings. “I will see you again,” Legolas said in surety, kneeling down in front of Maglor and managing to smile a little. Maglor reached out to caress his face.
“In time, yes,” he said, not stopping Legolas when he drew back and stood up. He let his hand fall back down. It was night, but Legolas would not stay with him now. This was the time for them to separate. Maglor had engineered it, but he still didn’t want it, not really. He watched as Legolas backed away from him, and he remained silent. Maglor didn’t want take away his freedom.
“Time,” Legolas mused, and smiled secretly. “It gets old, you say? Not yet.” He shook his head. “Not for me!” Maglor was surprised when Legolas came back to him and kissed him passionately, and he couldn’t help but respond to it. Once more, the words rang in his mind. The kiss ended, and still Maglor didn’t speak.
“I’ll never forget you,” Legolas vowed seriously. “Watch for me?” Maglor smiled earnestly.
“I’ll be looking for you, pen neth,” he said with a kind of gladness. “If I give you a promise now, will you keep it?”
Legolas laughed at his choice of words and played along, making their final words something to remember, something that could almost be poetry. “Until time grows old,” he said with a little bow.
“Then I promise you’ll see me again.” It didn’t feel like a lie, and Maglor took heart from it. Whatever happened, they would meet again, he was sure of it.
He watched Legolas until he couldn’t make him out in the dark. He would survive alone, and he would reach home. Maglor remained on watch for a while, and then supposed that whatever happened to him would just have to happen. He rested, and in the morning, his sleep had been dreamless.
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Fallen