Maglor's POV
Maglor had been seated on that lonely log for what felt like eons. The waves crashed rhythmically along the shore, each one a reminder of the endless march of time, an eternity that blurred into an unrelenting tide of regret and sorrow. He had been waiting for the Silmaril to reappear. It was the key to his release, the one thing that could finally free him from the binding chains of his oath, the Oath that had brought him nothing but pain. Yet, it seemed an impossible hope, as elusive as the stars, as the Silmaril remained lost beneath the sea's vast depths, beyond his reach.
He couldn’t move. His body ached with the weight of his cursed immortality, and the burden of his failure gnawed at him constantly. Every moment was agony, a reminder of what he and his brother had done, of the beautiful things they had destroyed in their reckless pursuit of the jewels. Maglor’s heart was numb, his once-vibrant spirit dimmed by centuries of isolation. The waves lapped at the shore in a slow, mournful rhythm, mirroring the hollow emptiness inside him.
Then, one night, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the waters, something changed. A small figure appeared at the edge of the beach. Maglor’s dim gaze barely registered it at first. Humans came and went, mortal lives passing in the blink of an eye. They were but brief sparks in the endless night that surrounded him. But this one was different.
A child. A boy, small and soaked from the heavy rain, wandered closer. Rain fell in torrents, beating against the sand and turning the beach into a slick, muddy mess. The child’s hair was plastered to his head, his clothes dripping and clinging to his small frame. The boy trudged forward through the rain, drawn by some unseen force, until he reached the log where Maglor sat, unmoving. For a moment, the boy simply stood there, looking at him with wide, curious eyes, as if Maglor were something ancient and wondrous.
For the first time in ages, Maglor felt something stir within him, something warm. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Hope. It flickered like a fragile flame, threatening to die out but refusing to be extinguished. He glanced down at the child, whose presence seemed impossibly real in the stillness of the night. The boy said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His simple presence brought a strange sense of companionship that Maglor had long forgotten.
Without a word, the boy clambered onto the log beside him, his tiny body shivering from the cold and wet. He looked up at Maglor, his eyes filled with an innocent kind of wonder, but he didn’t speak. Instead, the boy curled up beside him, his small hands clutching his knees as if to ward off the chill of the storm. Rain continued to pour down, soaking them both, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. He stayed there, sitting quietly beside Maglor, as if his presence was enough.
Maglor didn’t know what to do. It had been so long since he’d had any interaction with another living being, let alone a child. Slowly, carefully, he lifted the edge of his worn cloak and draped it over the boy’s small form, shielding him from the relentless rain. It wasn’t much, but it was the least he could do for this little spark of warmth that had wandered into his desolate world.
The child’s shivering slowed as the cloak provided some meagre protection from the downpour. His breathing evened out, and after a time, he fell asleep, leaning against Maglor’s side, his small body warm despite the cold storm raging around them. Maglor stared at the boy, bewildered by his presence and by the strange sense of comfort that began to settle in his chest.
The boy returned the next day, and the next, and the next. Each time, the rain poured down, drenching the small figure as he made his way toward Maglor. It became a ritual, one that neither of them spoke of but both understood. The boy would sit beside Maglor, sometimes speaking in soft murmurs about things Maglor couldn’t quite understand, sometimes sitting in silence, content to simply be there. Maglor, in turn, would lift his cloak to shelter the boy from the rain, a small, silent gesture that had become their unspoken bond.
One day, the boy brought something new, a blanket. It was fluffy, bright, and far too soft for the rugged beach. The boy carried it with him in his bag. When he took it out the edges trailing in the wet sand, before it was wrapped around Maglor’s shoulders. The gesture was simple but profound, a small act of kindness in a world that had long been cruel to Maglor.
Maglor hadn’t thought it possible, but the boy’s presence had begun to ease the crushing weight of his solitude. The child didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand answers. He simply sat beside Maglor, a quiet, persistent presence in the otherwise empty world Maglor inhabited.
But not all was well.
That day, as Maglor sat motionless on his log, he noticed the boy had wandered too far into the waves. The tide had risen quickly, and before Maglor could react, the boy was caught in the water, his small frame struggling against the pull of the sea. Maglor’s heart seized with fear, an emotion he hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes. Without thinking, he rose from the log, something he hadn’t done in an age, and dashed toward the water.
Maglor pulled the boy from the clutches of the waves, his hands trembling as he carried him back to safety. The child was coughing, gasping for breath, but he was alive. Maglor gently placed him on the wet sand, stepping back as his body quivered, not just from the exertion of saving the boy, but from the fear that gripped him. The sudden burst of movement, the terror of nearly losing the one small spark in his existence, left him shaken to the core.
He stumbled back to his log, his legs weak beneath him. Unable to look at the boy, he collapsed onto the seat, the numbness of centuries quickly reclaiming him. The waves of despair, guilt, and his cursed fate pressed down on him once more, heavier than before. He couldn’t protect anyone, not from the sea, not from the crushing weight of the Oath, not even from himself. That realization was as devastating as the tide that had almost swallowed the boy whole.
The child, however, didn’t seem to share Maglor’s helplessness. After a few moments, once he had caught his breath, the boy slowly stood up and made his way toward Maglor. His small hands grasped the blanket he had brought with him earlier, soaked from the sea, its soft fabric heavy with moisture. Maglor watched in surprise as the child lifted it up and wrapped it around him, the warmth and care in the gesture catching him off guard.
At first, it seemed like just another small, simple act of kindness, but the moment the blanket touched Maglor, something strange happened. Despite being soaked through, the blanket suddenly dried, leaving Maglor feeling oddly warm. He looked down in shock as the child tucked the fabric around him, and for a fleeting moment, he was reminded of a time when he, too, had been cared for, when he had been surrounded by love and warmth, before the endless years of guilt and wandering had hollowed him out.
The child, noticing that Maglor still trembled, clasped his small hands together and closed his eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Maglor to hear. It took a moment, but then, as if responding to the boy’s quiet prayer, the blanket began to heat up. A gentle warmth spread from the fabric, chasing away the cold that had soaked into Maglor’s bones. The warmth wasn’t just physical; it felt deeper, as though it reached inside him, thawing a part of his heart that had been frozen for too long.
Maglor’s breath hitched. This boy, this fragile, human child, had done more for him in a few days than all the ages of wandering had ever accomplished. He had pulled Maglor out of the abyss, even if just for a brief moment, reminding him of something he had long thought lost; comfort, kindness, the touch of another soul.
For a while, the two of them sat in silence. The storm continued to rage around them, the rain pounding down and the wind howling across the shore, but inside the blanket’s warmth, it felt like a sanctuary. Maglor allowed himself, just for that moment, to forget the weight of his curse, the endless burden of the Silmarils, and the unrelenting call of the sea. Instead, he focused on the warmth, on the child beside him who had somehow, impossibly, found a way to bring light into his darkness.
The boy remained with him, sitting close under the blanket as if to ensure that Maglor was safe. His small hand reached out and rested on Maglor’s arm, a simple gesture that brought with it a sense of grounding. Maglor didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the shaking slowly began to subside as the warmth of the blanket and the presence of the boy worked their quiet magic on him. The weight of centuries still hung over him, but for the first time in ages, it didn’t feel entirely unbearable.
The warmth of the boy’s prayer-infused blanket, the steady sound of his breathing as he stayed beside Maglor, these small things gave him a glimpse of peace he hadn’t known for longer than he could remember.
He had been so certain that there was no salvation for him, that he was doomed to an eternity of suffering for the sins of his past. And perhaps that was still true. But in that moment, wrapped in the blanket, with the boy’s quiet prayer lingering in the air, Maglor dared to believe if only for a moment, that there could be a flicker of something more.
The boy didn’t stop coming. His persistence was almost baffling. One day, the child brought food. It was simple fare, something cooked at home, and he placed it gently on Maglor’s lap. The boy then ran off to the shoreline, playing in the sand like nothing had happened. Maglor stared at the food in his lap, unable to bring himself to eat it. His hands trembled slightly as he thought of the life this child had, of the warmth he must feel, and of the innocence that hadn’t yet been tainted by the world’s cruelty.
And then it happened.
As Maglor watched the child, he felt it. A sudden surge of energy, a familiar pull that he had long thought lost. The boy had found it, the Silmaril. The realization hit Maglor like a wave crashing over him, a shock that left him breathless.
The jewel that had eluded him for so long, the very thing he had sworn to reclaim at any cost, was right there, in the boy’s small hands. Maglor’s heart pounded in his chest, a rare and painful reminder of what he had lost. He watched as the boy marvelled at the jewel, its light reflecting off the boy’s wide, innocent eyes. It was beautiful, more radiant than he remembered. The Silmaril shone with the light of the Trees of Valinor, a light that once belonged to the stars themselves. It radiated power and beauty, and now, it was in the hands of this child.
Maglor’s breath caught in his throat. His muscles, long stiff from centuries of stillness, ached with the sudden tension that filled him. He wanted to move, to reach out, to reclaim the jewel that had been the cause of so much pain and suffering. But he couldn’t. His body refused to obey. The weight of his guilt, his eternal punishment, held him in place.
The child didn’t understand what he had found. He looked at the Silmaril as if it were just another beautiful rock, another treasure washed up on the shore by the endless waves. The boy’s innocence was almost painful to witness. He had no idea of the curse that came with that jewel, of the wars fought, of the lives lost, all for the sake of its light.
Behind him, Maglor’s body trembled with shock. Centuries of restraint, of solitude, of self-imposed exile, all threatened to crumble in that moment. Maglor cried.
But before he could be consumed by the weight of his past, the child ran to him. The boy, unaware of the significance of what he held, placed the jewel in his pocket and hurried over to the sobbing man on the log. His small hands reached out, concern written all over his young face as he tried to comfort Maglor, just as he had done so many times before.
Maglor didn’t move. He couldn’t. The boy’s touch, his innocent attempts at consolation, were more than he deserved. Yet, he felt the warmth of the child’s presence, the same warmth that had kept him from falling into complete despair all those nights ago.
The child offered the food again, gently placing it in Maglor’s trembling hands. This time, Maglor couldn’t resist. He began to eat, his tears falling freely as the boy stayed by his side, watching him with quiet concern. The Silmaril lay forgotten in the boy’s pocket for now, its radiant light glinting through the thin fabric, but for Maglor, the boy’s presence was the only light that mattered.