FICLET - Redemption (FPGen, G)
*Title: Redemption (Written for the 50passages challenge)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: First Light - http://community.livejournal.com/first_light/profile
*Update list: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/first_light_reflected/
*Fandom: JRR Tolkien
*Characters: Elladan, Maglor
*Type: FPGen
*Prompt: 32 - The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. (50passages)
*Word Count: 500
*Rating: G
*Summary: One last chance.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
*A/N: Good gods, I have written more than 100 words! **faints** More than 100 words of pointless melancholy fluff, but hey, whatever. **grin** For no particular reason, I consider this part of the same universe as Rescue. It just feels like the same Maglor.
Also posted to 50passages
Redemption
Hard as he tried, Elladan could not keep the frustration out of his voice. “But why not? Lindir has sailed, and most of the other minstrels with him. We are sorely lacking in song in what should be the happiest days of the Age.”
His companion looked away, eyes dark and veiled in the dim light of Gil-galad’s fire, and answered as he had for all the months since he had come to Imladris, a lone wanderer fleeing a rapidly changing world. “I do not sing. I am not-”
“Nonsense,” Elladan broke in briskly. “Ada spoke often of the days with you, of your voice and your harp and the magic you wove for two frightened children-“
“Those days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow,” Maglor barked harshly, a flicker of emotion at last lighting his face. “I sing no longer.”
“You choose to sing no longer,” Elladan retorted, willing himself to remain unmoved by the pain in Maglor’s voice. “You draw your failings around you like a tattered cloak and turn your back on your people. I am not my father. My patience has limits and my hospitality a price. Payment for your room and board is due.”
Maglor’s eyes narrowed. “Then I will trouble you no further,” he snapped, tossing a small bag of coins onto the table. “I will leave with the first light tomorrow.”
“You will, of course, do as you see fit,” Elladan replied, his tone carefully neutral despite the pounding of his heart. He had gambled all his hopes on this single throw. “But I would rather you stay. Stay and do your part in these last days.” He pushed the bag of coins back across the table. “Redeem yourself, Macalaurë. I would have a song instead of your gold.”
Elladan held Maglor’s furious gaze for a moment, then turned to go, speaking over his shoulder as though in afterthought. “Ada thought your voice magic. Imladris could use such magic now. Too often our thoughts turn melancholy with the waiting.”
It was late when Elladan made his way back to the Hall of Fire, the ominous silence weighing heavier on his heart with every step. The small stage was empty, even the usual amateur performers absent, and his spirits fell further.
If he had caused Maglor to flee again, Elrond would never forgive him.
He looked around the room, hoping against reason to find the bard, but his search went unrewarded. Though the gathering seemed larger than most, there was little conversation, and it slowly occurred to Elladan that most of those present were watching him covertly. Then there was a rush of excited whispers and all eyes turned expectantly to the stage, drawing Elladan’s attention with them as if by physical force.
Maglor sat alone on a simple stool, an exquisite harp nestled comfortably on his lap and the ghost of an uncertain smile on his face.
“I have decided,” Maglor announced solemnly, “that your terms are fair.”
*~*~*~*~*
The Seriously Huge Table