Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Four Seasons (#3912)
Author: LuthienTinuviel
Chapters: 3

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: The Silmarillion
Description: Two lonely souls, a window's view of the first year that they shared. Continued from Finding Comfort, but could stand on its own. I just can't get those two out of my brain, lol.
Published: 30 Sep 2008
Updated: 30 Sep 2008
Warnings:
Type: Drama
Characters: Maglor, OFC.


Chapter 1 - Autumm

A/N = This took me a long time to write. I'm working on the last of these four, since I'm keen for it to be as close to the original as possible. Hope you enjoy this!

-----------------------

Autumn is a marvelous time of the year.

I do curse the chilly wind.

Though I do also mourn the death of all that is green, the golden aftermath is a sight to behold from the endless blue that is the sea. It is also one of the best times for stocking up the winter stores. Hence the activities mostly consists of me pickling the spring fruits and the making of jam. I made some plum wine for special ocassions as well.

Dinner was roasted steak deep in the special gravy that I've concocted, baked potatoes steaming from the oven and fresh vegetables. There was cherry pudding for dessert. Even Figwit gnaws on a particularly meaty joint of cow, a feast in our standards.

"Fara, do you not drink the wine?" he poured a glass for himself.

"I do not drink the stuff, Maglor. I am fond of keeping dwarven hammers away from my head in the morning."

"Why do you keep it, then?" he sipped the wine contentedly, for such drinks are rare in the isolation that we keep.

"Because you like it."

Silence.

"Oh."

"May I ask you something, but you may refuse to answer if you wish," his fingers skimmed the rim of the glass.

"Why Maglor, just ask."

"You have not the flaxen hair or ways of Rohan, have not the appearance of the men from Elros's rule, though you may pass in Gondor you have not the colour of the masses. From whence did your line came?" that was unexpected.

"My great great grandfather was a trader from Harad who fled to Gondor. He was one of the few who refused the charm of Annatar, and thus exempted from Morgoth's evil will. Even though he was a refugee, he soon found his skill useful and built a home for himself here. According to the tale, his sons, for his own wives, yea, I had no less than 4 great great grandmothers of Harad stock, intermarried into the citadel's citizens. We assimilated but some traditions we still keep. We drink nothing that would induce drunkeness, remove our footwear before entering a home, and most unique of all serve not the Valar, but Ea the one God. Some traits still ran true as I have the look of my father more than my mother." I smiled to Maglor. "Does it quench your thirst of my history?" he looked very interested in my tale.

"Harad is a wondrous place, I heard."

"If sand and scalding sunshine as far as the eye can see is to your liking, I suppose it is," I said nonchalantly. Maglor still had that questioning look.

"Four wives?" he sounded scandalized.

"Yes, it is the most that one is allowed."

"Four?"

"The arrangement is common among the wealthy in Harad, I am told."

"At the same time?" and I thought all elves are totally ignorant in that area of knowledge unless married. I chuckled.

"That is inappropriate, Maglor." Undeterred, he pressed on, the pun obviously overlooked.

"Still alive?"

"Maglor!"

"I meant that he married all four of them living?" I nearly forgot that monogamy is the rule for elves.

"I'm sure that Finwe's wives Mireth & Indis are in Valinor having wifely sessions together now, discussing Finwe's latest bout of silliness. You're immortal, we're not. As we see it, better a latter wife than a contracted whore."

"Finwe, silly? But he married them when the first one died, and took none while she was living," he countered.

"The point is Maglor that it's acceptable in Harad society, but not in Gondor. Mahmud Yusoef was the last of our line who had 4 wives. His sons, my grandfathers were more forward, they married only one and visited the upper courtesans. It demeans the women more than the way we treat ours, but it is acceptable here."

Maglor mulled the new information within his mind, and shook his head.

"What?"

"Your ways are strange."

"Part of the reason I moved here, nobody can complain," he caught the hint of something else in my voice, something not even I myself noticed. He gazed at me with understanding, and inside me it stroke a chord.

Our palate is now clean (elves eats well) I cleared the plates and wiped the table clean. Then I took out my knitting basket, full of colourful yarn and my current project, a woolen sweater. Maglor, as always has started the fireplace and I, along with Figwit would sit for hours knitting and staying close to the warmth. He has this habit of simply staring at the fire with vacant eyes.

"Fara"

"Yes, Maglor?" the wooden knitting needles clicked in a rhytm of a pattern.

"How long have you stayed here?"

"Oh, since I was 25 or so," Maglor's brows creased to a frown.

"That is not long," I smiled knowing that the elven concept of time is far different than the humans.

"It's a living."

"Fara,"

"Yes, Maglor?"

"Were you ever...bound to another?" the clicking stopped, and I gave him an inquiring look.

"Bound?" It was fun making Maglor skittish once in a while. His face began to perspirate, and I had wondered whether elves sweat when they're nervous. He's so innocent too.

"Well, er...when an ellon meets an elleth and their souls sing the same song and they choose to join in which they uh, find much in agreement with one another and urm..agree...to produce elfings," he rambled, his gaze suddenly finding the carved deer that he had made very interesting.

Apparently they do. A glistening sheen not unlike the white yolk effect on the pastries I bake.

"Marriage?" I provided helpfully.

"Yes, I believe that is what the edain call it."

"Goodness, no," chuckling, I resumed my knitting.

It was peaceful for a moment.

"Fara....I..."

The crickets are very musical tonight. Maybe Daeron's hiding around somewhere playing his pipe-flute. Maybe Maglor would stop fidgeting with his own shirt.

"Spit it out, Maglor."

"Do not all humans marry young, around the age of 15 or so?" I chuckled.

"Are you implying that I am a very old spinster, Maglor?"

"No, no. Goheno nin. I.." he sputtered, eyes wide at the thought that he had insulted her unintendedly. I gave a low laugh and winked.

"It is no matter."

The issue remained hanging, at least in Maglor's head.

"I think you are lovely in your own way, Fara, and the edain are fools not to see it" I raised an amused eyebrow. Realizing his folly, Maglor coughed and moved silently to our storeroom, procuring a ball for Figwit to play with. He attempted to make Figwit chase it. Figwit simply stared at him as if saying "I'm not stupid", yawned and flopped on his back sleeping. I held my laughter.

"There was a few, Maglor. I could not decide which one I wanted."

"A few? Are edani women allowed the privilage of many husbands?" I looked up to see his teasing smirk. I felt my cheeks warm and blushed.

"It wasn't like that," at his questioning look I elaborated, "theological differences," I tried again at his vacant look, "religion. He serves the Valar, I serve the Ea."

"The Valar walked with my forefathers, and taught us many a trade. That is why we revere them so. Ea is simply the One who creates them."

"That's not the point. I loved him and it didn't work out," I confided to him, grief of bygone days in her eyes despite the years that have gone by.

"How did you met him?"

"Modreth was a colleague of mine in the Law Academy. We met in the institution of learning. I was constantly trailed by my companion, Mrs Darwein, and longed an escape from the dreary routine and critical eyes. Let's just say I was very adept at the art of evasion in the large halls of knowledge. I actually met him while jumping off a window."

"Companion?" he enquired.

"To safeguard my virtue. It was one of the condition that my father and the Dean himself set so that my reputation and apparent worth in the marriage market remains intact."

"Human ways are strange," he commented.

"I suppose we are," I agreed. Then the companionable silence went on awhile until Maglor got surprisingly emotional.

"Who were they to question the calling of two souls meant to be linked together?"

"Ah, if only you were there to plight Modreth's troth to my father. He won't hear of it. It was a long time ago. Modreth's married with 2 sons, last I heard, now a judge in the westward part of Gondor. Enough of me," I sighed and straighthened the current knitting work and put it back in the basket, "how about you?"

"Me?"

"Maglor, an elf who can sing the way you do must have had a horde of admirers, particularly beautiful elleths," I said. "Anyone special?" His expression remain impasse, and he rubbed Figwit's belly.

"There were...many, but none who sing back," he said softly.

"High standards, do we?" I said teasingly.

"No, no," he took my hand and placed it on his chest, "here." I was reminded of the first time I saw him cleaned up, and then I find his face deadly close to mine. Ah, to be born an elf. In another lifetime, in another place, in another world, so many ifs. I will not risk this friendship. I cleared my throat.

"Of course," I retrieved my hand back and busied myself tidying the place up. "The moon hangs high, it is time to take my rest," I turned to him and smiled, "Good night!"

Then sped to my room and closed to door, wishing that Ea would answer my prayers and swallow me whole now.

-----

Ea = the highest God
Valar = Angels/powerful beings created by Ea to govern Middle Earth since he's not around.
Harad = Think Middle East around Christ's time. Should be around there.


Chapter 2 - Winter

It drifts within the caresses of the cool breeze.

It sweeps across the noble bearing of the earth.

It floats, skimming the surface of the sea.

That infernal elf was singing out in the cold again!

From individual flakes, a thick blanket of snow seemed to cover the world yet again, as it is wintertime.

I kicked the door open with no small effort, making a mental note to ask Maglor to shovel the infuriating snow off our doorstep.

I trudged through the night, lantern aloft and ever faithful Figwit by my side. In an improvised and improved version of Maglor's elven duffel bag was stuffed almost to the point of near impossibility of removal of items contained within, the strained button ring almost burst at its seams.

Sparkling jewels sprung alight in the velvet murkiness of the skies. The largest of all lays dormant tonight. I've always fancied that my parents are one of those stars in the skies, looking down on me with love and affection. Unfortunately, I can also imagine my father's trite remarks down my back, particularly referring to my lack of common sense of trying to hunt down an elf no doubt equipped with polished skills of the evasive arts from humans like me.

My mother would be throwing her wooden cooking spade back at him.

He'd be grunting in pain and insulted her parentage again.

Funny how that marriage lasted 30 years, all they did was argue. The word divorce and seperation never appeared from their lips, though.

It appeared in mine.

The lantern died out. I cursed in the so-called secret language of the dwarves (Orin's balls!), and set down all my burdens. Then I attempted to reclaim the light with flints.

Figwit watched with baleful eyes, his alert nose sniffing for possible danger.

I tried fitfully, almost blind as humans are apt to be without the aid of fire.

Figwit's ears suddenly went taut, his usually playful whines now in a deep threatening growl.

The word "oh, Valar take me" flashed across my mind. With trembling fingers, not from the weather I tried again, and again and again...

'Sometimes things are so bad it was all that I could do but to scream. Ironically, as the daughter of the lawman, I was wealthy but the lawmen lived a frugal life. No fine dresses adorned me, no frivolities was approved. He believed truly in a man's dominance in a man's world. It was practical, he says. I did everything to gain his approval. I went to school, I learned well, but home wasn't always a welcoming place.

I suddenly missed Mother.

Figwit's position is now in a full guard dog position. I heard twigs snapping under the burden of great weight and hurriedly placed my flint in my pockets. Aiming for the beach where things are more familiar, I made my move, as silently as I could. I produced a pair of pairing knives. I am no warrior, but I can probably wound the beast enough to give it the notion that I will not be easy dinner.

I was the only young lady in the higher orders of Gondor's learnings. I learned law, totally unheard of.

I had hoped that my father would be proud. He was, in a rather odd way, as he was silent for a week when he knew. Things remained the same though afterwards. Under ceaseless assault of ridicule and irritation, little wonder my brother ran off to be a mariner.'

As the vegetation gets sparse, I glimpsed back enough to see the shape of a wolf, reasonably large in size. Where there is a wolf, there is usually the pack somewhere nearby. A scout, no, the alfa wolf. Ach, food must be scarce for them to actually foray near the coastline.

I prayed to the Valar to spare me as I moved as fast as I could.

True enough, when the alfa wolf howled, it was accompanied by answering cries that echoed to the sky. My blood ran cold, as the crashing sounds of the sea gets louder. Once we are at the beach...

Figwit bared his teeth, barking at the wolves. It was one of those moments when I truly wished that I had placed a collar and leash on him as I urged him to flee with me.

I was grateful to see the curling waves, inky black and grey to the sight.

Now what?

It occured to me that wolves are the ultimate stealth animals. They would not have been foolish enough to step on a twig nor weigh enough to break it. Wolves also do not hunt mankind or elfkind. Except for Thu and Cacrious from Maglor's stories that is.

My blood chilled.

In the snowcovered beach I resumed my attempts to light the lantern with flints, knowing that my chances are survival are now dependent on light. Wolves hate lights and fire.

Ah, a spark. No, don't die. Again, another spark. It doesn't work. The wolves are getting closer. Figwit, keep still. Another, come on, light, curse you!

The howlings of the wolves intensified. I was so intent on lighting my lantern with trembling fingers that I did not notice a figure approaching me.

"Fara," Figwit, you deuce! I jumped in my skin, Maglor's fierce orbs looking at me with worry. I squealed, actually. Most embarassing.

"Fara, what are you doing out in this weather?" 'oh, I wanted to be chased by wolves because they're cute'

"Trying to light my lantern?" Knowing better than to reply, he took the flints from my stiff, cold hands and proceeded to light my lantern with a single try. "Maglor," I pulled the sleeve of his thick woolen shirt that I made for him.

"Yes, Fara?"

"Wolves were chasing me, and I'd really like to hurry," he worried face creased into a smile. A smile? Is he mad?

"Worry not, Fara," says he. I genuinely thought that he had lost it. Then he went into the direction where I left the wolves and said loud and clear in his language. I am not language proficient, so it could have been singing to me for all I know. A few yelps and howls later he returned.

"Did you? You didn't? Wait, I don't want to know," I mumbled. He was having a conversation with the alfa male, he told me.

"Morgoth's will do not sway over them, they are friends to the elves," he said softly, and I know I-am-hiding-something when I see it.

"And?"

"What are you carrying?" he innocently diverted the subject.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," I relieved the strained button ring of its burden, told Maglor to hold the bottom end and pulled out its contents. I looked at him pointedly up and down. He was wearing leather breeches and just the woolen sweater over a tunic beneath. I was, from head to toe, reinforced against the frigid cold with many layers. In my hands I held a thick coat trimmed with fur procured from Valar-knows-where which reaches down to the knees. "A drop of water will reach the ground frozen and you traipse around with naught but what you are wearing now."

"Elves, mellon nin, are impervious to the cold," he said, but put the coat on none-the-less.

"Says you."

Figwit wagged his tail and begged for a rub in the belly from Maglor. He complied, enjoying himself with our little moments.

"Maglor, what do you mean by friends to the elves?"

"We awakened the trees and spake with them, as we are the first to come and devise the spoken words.""

"The wolves, Maglor," I said flatly in a tone that all males seem to respond similarly.

"We, ah, had an agreement."

"Spit it out."

"I asked the wolves to look out for you and warn you should any danger approaches and should you venture too far alone," I stopped on my tracks.

"You tell me that you asked wolves to guard me and told me nothing of this?"

"Ai, yes," he looked guilty.

"You could've informed me."

"I, uh, thought you won't take it, well, you do tend to be...opinionated," of course I am opinionated, I don't like strange surprises in my life!

"Figwit was on full alert just now, if the wolves were friends, why did he growl?" That caught Maglor's attention.

"That could not be, Figwit are friends to the wolves," I raised an eyebrow at him. Figwit knew?

"It was passing strange, though," I commented blandly.

"Tell me what you saw and heard," he faced me.

"Twigs snapped, then I saw the wolves and assumed it was them at first but wolves..."

"They make no noise while hunting," he finished for me/

"Exactly. Any ideas?"

"Outsiders?" it was a term we called of those who come from the towns. "Fara, go home. I will be with you soon," then he sped off with typical elvish fashion. I decided that to be fair to the Elfinesse I'll credit it to impulsive and foolish Noldorin carelessness.

I grunted and resumed trudging through the snowy and sandy shores back to our little cottage. I was still nervous. It felt rather strange, having wolves as extra bodyguards other than Figwit. As if the elf wasn't infuriating enough. I crushed the word sweet off my brain.

"Some comfort you are, Figwit, collaborating with the elf."

Again, I was reminded that the doorstep needs sweeping and shooed Figwit inside. I painstakingly removed the layers of clothing one by one and used the lantern to light the fireplace. I'm not going through that again. Figwit happily laid himself at his usual place and I set to make two cups of tea while waiting for Maglor to return.

It wasn't long, thank the Valar.

The door opened with Maglor brushing snow off himself. "The doorstep needs shovelling."

"We need to talk," I placed his cup of tea on the small table.

"Yes, we do," he absent mindedly took his coat off and hung it.

"What was going on there?" I asked as I sat down on one of the armchairs. He chose the other.

"The wolves smelled something that wasn't supposed to be there and so chased you away from it. I asked Giran, the alpha male to show me where it was, and I followed it. It happened to be human tracks. Whoever it was, he was gone."

"That's it?"

"That's all." All is calm but for the crackling fire.

"Your tea's getting cold," he took it from the table and drank it.

"It's still good."


Chapter 3 - Summer

WARNING : Indication of gore. Not much violence tho.

It was a hot, hot night, those nights which leaves you sweating and turning in your bed and Fara found herself staring at the summer stars lecturing the Valar in her heart. The soft and steady breathing of Figwit who miraculously consented to sleeping with her for once didn't help her insomnia.

"NIENNA... Manwe forgive me....VALAR...."

Fara immediately lit the nearest candle and ran to Maglor's room. He was thrashing about wildly, the pillows thrown about (one ended up on his working table) and the covers were twisted around his writhing body. Valar, the 3rd time this month!

Forsaking her culture's anality when it comes to the opposite sex, Fara jumped on his bed and put up a good fight in attempting to pin him down so that she could calm him down. It was no easy feat, she has experienced failure in the form of ending up on the floor flat on her back before. A fist came out of nowhere and narrowly missed her face. She swore in Haradic. She finally managed to hold on to his hands, using her insubstancial form to pin his body down and tried to shush him to sanity somehow.

"Shh, mellon. It's alright, shhh..."

Maglor awoke to a foreign woman's face scrunched up in effort, i.e. looking exceptionally focused on something which is highly difficult and was baffled. The dream was very vivid and he was disoriented between the sight of a mortal pinning him down and the very realistic alter-reality that to him was real.

There were blood in his hands, not his own, but staining the ivory of his skin none the less. In vain, he looked about for water, anything to wash it off. There was a chipped pitcher on a table, so he took a few steps towards it, and realized that his soft boots were deep in water, enough to make slushing sounds as he waded carelessly, kicking hidden objects within it. Then he made the mistake of looking down, and noticed that within the scarlet liquid were dismembered ears, arms, thighs, calfs, hands, torso of elves...

And he screamed.

"Valar, Maglor. It's me!" she slapped him, hard. The wolves and Figwit followed suit with the howling. He pushed with all his might and something rolled to a loud thud to his right. The source of the loud thud swore again. It registered to him that it was a feminine voice. Panting from the dream, he sat up, clearly not remembering any wenching activity prior to his slumber, but the high elf in him demanded that he apologised to whomever it was that he obviously harmed unintentionally.

At the edge of the bed he saw a tiny hand, and the hand clawed the bedsheet until a head poked up. The head shook the hair off its front. It was Fara. A very angry Fara. He cringed, though was astonished as well.

"Fara?" he asked, gaping at her. She painfully pulled herself to a more dignified position of sitting cross-legged on the bed while glaring at him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Mentally, Fara chastined herself for being angry, for whatever that haunts Maglor's dreams are obviously horrific events of the past which she will never have an iota of understanding. She reminded herself to be more patient with him.

"What on earth were you doing on the floor beside my bed?"

"Maglor, you have dreams," she said calmly, almost too calmly for someone who he had just thrown bodily off the bed.

Blood in his hands, blood at his feet, blood he helped spill. He nodded once. She tilted her head slightly to the right.

"Want to talk about it?" Scarlet liquid in his name, he could taste the metallic tang.

"Nay, I have forgotten." She seemed unconvinced.

"Are you sure?" He smiled assuredly.

"It is merely a dream," she wouldn't give in, and gestured towards the askew pillows and bedsheet, raising an eyebrow at him. "Very well, an unpleasant dream, but no matter. Please continue your rest, Fara. Forgive me for disrupting your sleep."

Sighing, Fara walked out to her room and closed the door a little too hard.

Belatedly, Maglor realized that he did not enquire on her well-being after his unintentional assault on her in misguided self defense. He reasoned that she was aware of his inability to control himself at the particular time, but a nagging feeling in his heart made him feel guilty.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he feared to sleep again. Maglor decided to pick up his askew pillows and rearrange the room, again. Still, he feels no inclination of slumber and decided to go out hunting. He changed into his hunting gear, grabbed his bow and quiver, and silently slid out into the night.

-------------- &Fara&

I woke up sore all over, and stretched, yielding not few cracks from my joints. Damn elf is strong, pretty boy or no. I dragged myself off the bed, not particularly feeling cheerful and headed to wash myself. That done, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast as I have always, and Figwit as usual was mournfully pusing his food bowl my way. Absent mindedly I gave him his meal which he gulped down happily. I felt cranky, and old.

I wanted to hit something.

Bread and butter'll do, I mused. "Maglor, breakfast's ready," I knocked on his door. I waited awhile but there was no response, taking a hint I ate mine alone and buried myself in embroidry for a dress I never figured what to wear to. There was no sign of him until at noon, worried, I poked my head through the door, only to find him missing. I felt a moment's worth of panic and noticed that his room is tidy, that his hunting bow and quiver is missing, and I reasoned that he's out hunting and would return when he feels like it.

Damn elf, could've told me. A note would be nice.

I decided that horticulture would suit my mood and worked on my herb garden. Admittedly, it wasn't tending but more of me attacking the weeds more viciously than is needed, such was the foulness of my temper. The sky was of reddish hue when he returned, a few rabbits, a deer and even a peasant hanging off him. If not for my mood, I would've laughed at the sight. He looked bashful, and a little hesitant to address me.

"A star shines upon our meeting, Fara," he said finally.

"Hi, Maglor. Nice catch," He dug something from one of his pockets and handed to me a medium sized jar of white green paste.

"For your aches." It wasn't a straight out apology, but close to it.

"Thank you, " I took it from him with surprise, my mood a little lifted that he DID care. I removed my gardening gloves from my hands and unscrewed the jar, sniffing its contents. It smelt of strong mint and faintly of athelas. "Why, Maglor, where on Arda did you procure this?" It's a special blend made by only the most experienced healers.

"I, uh, took a longer walk than usual," my heart softened towards him that he made the effort to find ointments for my sake. So that's where he was all day.

"Do send your catch to the meat shed, before you buckle over from all that weight," I was jesting, he looked as if he was carrying next to nothing. "Skin a few of those rabbits, I'll make stew out of it with mushrooms," he brightened up, knowing that I was pleased and went about his chores, greatly relieved.

I shook my head in resignation of my odd friend and put away my gardening tools.

------

Figwit was happy that Maglor's home, if those yelps was of any indication. I was working on that embroidry still, the motifs now more defined. Almost on cue, the mutt sped to my feet jumping around like an imp, showing off what Maglor gave him. A new leather ball was pushed onto my lap, and he grinned at me.

"That's a lovely ball, Figwit," he rolled over and lay of his belly, begging a scratch. Without a thought I obliged.

It's been quiet for a whole week, or if there were nightmares suffered by Maglor, I know nothing of it. The air is uneasy between me & him. I decided that remaining silent is the only way to coax any information out of him, but he stubbornly persist on keeping his silence. I was determined as I was to know, but he is probably more determined not to. I closed my eyes in frustration.

Only time would tell.

I wondered whether my mortal life was enough.

------------- Maglor POV.

There they were, in the distant shore, waiting, waiting, waiting... Their faces, once fair, were now in mangled tatters, bits of rotten flesh hanging off unnaturally glowing bones. He wanted to turn away from the horrible sight, glad of the expanse of water between them. "Run, you may, son of Feanor, but cursed you remain," was the combined hoarse whispers of a thousand tormented souls. "You will join us soon enough."Then laughter, laughter, hysterrical laughter, echoed in his mind and vibrated to the deepest depths of his soul.

He woke up panting, droplets of sweat running down his chiseled form.

To his surprise, something soft and wet touched him and he nearly lashed against it. It was Figwit, whining unhappily from the apparent unease that his co-master suffered from. Those very eyes was asking him to be well in soul as well as his body, it was fear in devotion of love.

"Hush, Figwit, it was nothing," he rubbed the top of the canine's head, recovering his will. Ah, Fara. What would you say to me? My deeds are my own, as much as my memories and my troubled dreams. You know only of that I am cursed and foul, but nothing of the horrors I have committed. The phantoms are right, I deserve their fate.

"Valar," he prayed, "I am deserving of thy wrath and punishment, but spare Fara from my weakness for she is but a kind soul willing to take in an unworthy creature of Eru," he wished not to cause harm upon her. He recalled the conversation at the dinner table not too long ago, when he suggested that it would be better if he left and wander once again, with the intent of sparing Fara the danger he obviously presents. She gave him that look that succeeds to convey to him that her temper is flaring again, slammed down her spoon, and thrust her angry face in his.

"Look, Maglor. It may be best in your elven head that you can handle and make it alone in that Valar-forsaken journey that you persist in imagining that you deserve walking until the end of the circles of Arda. I am dissapointed that you feel that I am any lesser of a friend than any of the Eldar could be to not understand, despite how sometimes I feel cranky about it, on what you are going through. Even if you can argue that I do not understand, I cannot force you to tell me what you're going on, and I don't really know what goes on in you head, and so that limits my capability to help you. You're an obtuse ancient overpretty, overangsty adolescent on accepting the fact that I am willing to be here and help you in whatever way that I can. If being roughed up once in a while is the price, then so be it. However, if you wish to leave, GO AHEAD," and she stormed into her room. Figwit whined with his paws over his head under the table.

He wondered then, in his ancient elven wisdom, who was the child and who was the wise elder, and decided she was right.

Still, he will not tell her of his dreams.

"Maglor?" a sleepy voice informed him that yes, indeed he had in the course of his nightmare cried out without realizing it again, and yes, she is checking whether he is well again. Not wanting to explain, he pretended to just wake from the dream as she sat herself beside the bed, leaning worriedly over him.

"Stay," like a child said he, wrapping his arms needily around her body, absorbing much needed comfort from her presence.

"Yes."

----

Fara slept like a babe.
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