2 | Half-Aini in a Shack

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Maglor Feanorion | The Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Maglor's Safehouse, Norway, Earth

Time: August 2027

Throughout his long life, he learned to control his worrying.

But all that control seemed to crack when a day passed by and Illyria Strange had not woken up.

His brother moved him into the bedroom when evening fell, tucking her into the small single-sized bed. The hours before had been a mix of silence, contemplation, and somewhat eagerness to be alone for the both of them. Maedhros still didn't talk to him, not after their tea-drinking session the moment they arrive and decided to begin with setting some tasks to not get himself bored. Maglor watched him head out of the cabin, following him out before his brother told him that he would get some wood.

He wasn't sure what to think or how to react to his sudden silence, maybe bringing the guilt wallowing back up into him perhaps. Even then, it was just surprising that Maedhros let him with Illyria Strange. Because it was either two things.

One: that he trusted him with her.

Or two: he knew if he tried to do anything, Illyria would wake up and kill/bind him no matter what.

The latter seemed more accurate by the time Maedhros returned, his heavy breathing still evident by his rising shoulders as he brought back a stack of firewood. All the fire and anger pent up in his brother made Maglor remain calm, his stubborn part of himself to openly ask if he was alright.

Which was also a stupid question for himself because they both know he wasn't alright.

None of them was.

The entire time Maglor had been healing himself, meditating to replenish his body and mind from the intensity of his predicament. 

For five years he had been undercover, chosen to easily be captured so he could understand what Saruman's part had been in this timeline. In truth he knew eventually about Baron Mordo and his alliance with the White Wizard; he knew about the knowledge that was passed between them. But he needed to make sure things needed to fall into place. Even if he had to waste five years watching the horror unfold before him.

There wasn't a choice for Maglor. It was either expose who he was and who he tied himself with...or watch Saruman reign a small portion of the world under his strict rule.

That was perhaps one of the things he hated having to choose. To choose to save a small number or to risk exposure to all.

He still replayed it. The fight up in Orthanc. Grabbing what he could collect of what belonged to him. The sling ring, his weapons, harp, and the Gem. Maglor cared less about how rugged and dirty he felt and appeared; to him, survival was better than appearance nowadays.

During that time he made sure to get them food, catching some fish from the lake and beginning to cook it under the fire once Maedhros arrived. They ate in silence, his brother sitting in the armchair whilst he sat on the sofa. Sometimes his brother would disappear into the bedroom, checking up on Illyria if he heard a shuffle or a sound. Sometimes he would ask questions, vague ones that didn't seem to go anywhere into a full conversation.

He was perhaps waiting for the moment Illyria would wake up and then there wouldn't be a repeat of the same questions fired back at him.

Maglor didn't feel either way to answer them. The exhaustion of sudden action as well as finally revealing who he was to them had taken an emotional toll that all he felt was wanting to drift off into another plane and sleep it off. In the back of his head, he could hear Isolde scolding him – calling him lazy and putting a lack of effort into his work.

Sometimes he just felt so tired.

He was so old and worn down that even holding a conversation with the people who he desperately fought for seemed to be the hardest thing. Fighting was perhaps even easier than this all.

They didn't sleep. Maglor simply told him that he would be outside to meditate and that Maedhros should perhaps rest. His brother simply scoffed, asking him who was the older brother in their relationship. That unexpected comment caused him to freeze slightly at the door, causing him to twitch his lips in a way that he had yet done in quite some time.

He remembered the last time he saw Maedhros' face.

However, it was never the one that was in front of him now.

That Maedhros had lost more than he could ever do. Not only his brothers and family, but even the twins, Illyria, and him as well. All that had been left was a red-haired elf and two Silmarils in his hands before he chose to finally break them at the end of the world – bringing the cycle early.

His Maedhros wasn't that broken. No; quite the opposite really. This one was on a path he rarely saw in the other realities. He wore that fire in him, the fire which burnt perhaps brighter than any of his counterparts had. And with the exposure that he has been experiencing, there was bound to be a moment where the Maedhros of this universe would finally become the best of themselves.

When morning broke, sharing a less silent breakfast which consisted of horrible, aged tea with his brother, Maglor visited Illyria to check up on her and check how much she had changed.

Thankfully she seemed to have improved and healed, though suspected that the damage was already there and that he could not do anymore but allow it to continue. In time he would have to explain to her what happened, what he predicted and expected after what occurred in Orthanc and know well to help her what to do next.

It was there when he knew Maedhros was gradually connecting the dots.

But finally, when the sun passed over the highest peak, he sensed Illyria finally wake up.

He had been standing at the front yard of the cabin, watching the wards and the landscape before him as he heard the door slam open with a bang and the stomping footsteps of a very pissed half-aini.

Maglor mentally inhaled and prepared himself before he turned around once more.

There was no point now to hide now, with his tattered robes limply clinging onto him, his torn and rotten boots and the Silmaril on his chest. The knots in his hair and his eyes showed more pain and regret he could muster.

For once he felt more like the ellon when he walked into the sea than Lokachari.

It was clear now how much Illyria had changed. The brief interactions, the flashes of moments of watching her pin Saruman into the wall in anger as her entire aura began to radiate and chip away her hröa to show her true form haunted him in a way that brought him to hitch back.

He had seen her true form in many realities. But seeing it in his Illyria Strange of his universe was entirely a different experience.

"So...all this time. You've been him."

Illyria gave him a deadly glare as she coldly said, "The Wanderer of Worlds." 

She spat the last bit almost like a slur in her mouth.

He stared back at the younger woman. There was a storm brewing within her gaze, a swirl of anger and confusion. Anguish and utter shock that if he tapped into her mind, Maglor could probably hear her laughing.

Standing several feet away, Maedhros attempted to grab Illyria before she stepped toward him. "Illyria..."

"I don't care Maedhros. And I don't care if you have some sort of code that you had to do this and that!" She spat back, her voice growing hoarse as she clamped her mouth shut before inhaling through her nostrils. After letting out a large breath, Illyria questioned back: "All I ask is why? Why did you hide it? Hide it from Elrond out of all people?"

It was there he felt something unlock deep within him.

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"Have you ever attempted to meet them?"

Maglor paused, churning in his stomach brewing. "No, I have not." He admitted to Isolde, "It is one thing I had always on my mind for many years, wondering the risks to meet them."

They were watching the volcano erupt in the distance. They were able to evacuate enough people in the southern peninsula after several creatures from one of the dimensions escaped and decided to use the volcano as a power source of destruction.

However, they cannot always interfere with human conflict. There must be a price to pay in such situations.

"There are hardly any risks. You could easily lie and not reveal yourself of your situation." Isolde paused before she added, "But that is not what you are afraid of, is it?"

"No."

Inhaling, Isolde glanced at him and said, "Your guilt will be your end, Lokachari." She said gravely, "Don't make that mistake in our reality. No less you wish to destroy everything you have done."

"We," He corrected, looking back at her. "You mean what we did for our universes."

Isolde pursed her lips and remained silent. The sounds of the earth before them exploding continue through the night.

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He knew that Illyria's first person she would protect would be him. His foster-sons he did not deserve despite being told in every moment he met a version of Elrond and Elros in different universes.

However, he had learnt the hard way the consequences of what life he lived by. The dangers of exposing the truth of what he did, the risks and choices he had to take. Neither the twins nor Elemmírë would ever agree to what he did. To bend the rules of what is right and what is safe.

Maglor began, "You know the answer to that, Illyria." He tried to reason with her, "I didn't want to endanger him—"

However, he saw the immediate burst of fury in the half-aini. Her eyes flashed in white light as her entire aura shifted and glitched slightly.

"Bullshit! We were already in danger our entire lives!" She roared, stomping up to him before she poked a finger into his chest. "But he needed you! And you stood back knowing it!"

Maglor couldn't ignore the immediate surge of energy electrocuting him. From the moment Illyria touched him, he felt the wards falter slightly as her energy exploded in a subtle wave within them.

Note to himself and for anyone who dared to anger Illyria, try not to let her even attempt to get angry.

What sparked a twinge of worry was when he felt something grasp his fëa, almost choking him in a way before she yanked herself back in a second of surprise. He saw a flicker of fear in her gaze before she narrowed and glared and spun around, barging past the red-haired elf and back into the cabin.

When he heard the slam of a door, Maglor shut his eyes and took a shuddered breath.

God, this was going to be a lot more work than Wanda. And she was what he had predicted more to be, he might need more help.

He then heard his brother gruffly say back to him, "It will take some time." Maedhros eyed the door of the cabin before he glanced back to him, "Allow her to let her steam out. Though I suggest you stop her from burning the cabin...or the forest."

When he looked back at his older brother, he could understand by the blank look that he did entirely disagree with the attitude Illyria posed.

"You're not pleased as well," He murmured, bringing his hands to rub his chest.

Maedhros inhaled and began, "I'm glad that you're alive. But no." He admitted honestly, "You forget that we are together and that you should trust us. You know that. Family—"

"I know the words, Maitimo." It was somehow Maglor's turn to be blunt, though not entirely snapping back at his brother. He was never someone who could snap so easily. But with how tired he was nowadays, age seemed to catch him faster. "I was there when I had to let her go. I had to watch them take her, turn her into a weapon. Their weapon."

Then he was caught in the anger and confusion of his brother.

"Why." Maedhros stepped closer to him, leaving his back on the cabin, questioning him: "You let her go through that all."

Their mother...

At least then he could be honest with him. For some reason, being honest about their mother seemed better for him despite the pain in his chest. 

"Because it was necessary," Maglor stared at him as he answered plainly, "Without them, she wouldn't know everything else. You don't understand."

"Then explain. Explain to me everything. Unless you want Illyria to blind you, I suggest you do so." Maedhros inhaled through his nostrils once more, pinching the bridge of his nose before he wiped away a strand of hair away from his face. He continued in a calmer tone, "I don't want to argue with you, Kano. You have always been the kindest of us. The one with the patience."

Something did snap in his soul, making him easily look up to his brother.

Maglor revealed to him in barely a whisper, "I am not him anymore. I lost Kanafinwë a long time ago."

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Location: Kamar-Taj, Tibet, Earth

Time: 1339 C.E

The last time he got beaten up to a pulp during a sparring match had been back in Eldamar. His brother bested him in combat, a secret art that their mother made sure all of them would be proficient with. No matter how safe he believed they would be (back when he was still that naïve and free minstrel, only caring about making songs and weaving Songs of Power and magic in his voice), Maglor understood from his mother that they still need to be prepared – to be ready when danger strikes them.

Perhaps that was why he survived the entirety of the First Age of the Sun.

And why now he was still alive by the hands of magical combat.

"Again."

Maglor got up from his knees, groaning audibly as he tried to massage his arms. They ached from the past half hour of sparring, hit constantly by the eldritch fans the sorceress in front of him conjured. He could never imagine fans to be such a lethal weapon, no less a whip could be one.

But then again his mother once joked about killing a man with nothing but platform shoes. And that one time she taught Celegorm and Caranthir how to kill an orc with a sharp-ended quill pen.

Nevertheless, a year of training and yet he had yet to master so well of complete conjuring of eldritch weapons. It was as if dimensional energy did not flow through him as well as he hoped for, but then again the High Lama did bluntly tell him that it was his stubborn head and his lack of self-esteem and belief that he could achieve such a magical feat.

The sorceress before him, blonde almost platinum hair braided in such complicated knots along with red and purple robes, adjusted her stance. Maglor quickly conjured what he could muster. Combining his wrapped hands, he saw the golden sparks ignite before they quickly faded once more.

Maglor could feel his cheeks heat up before he exasperated, "This is not going to work, Isolde."

This was never going to work. Even a year being here, he had yet to even try and conjure a weapon. All he could conjure up were wards and shields.

And despite the praise his teachers told him for his remarkable work on mastering ward making, he was failing very much on any offensive spells.

"It is Master Isolde." She corrected him, "Since you are to be my apprentice, we must act accordingly to the propriety."

Somehow that made him chuckle a bit, sensing her curiosity at why he was smiling – which was a rare occasion nowadays, "You sound like my cousin." Maglor's smile turned into a pang of sadness, remembering his tall cousin always somehow bossing people around. Even his older brother Fingon for that matter. With a fond nostalgic expression, he spoke, "He was rather...tightlipped in such things."

They never met since. Not since the last battle against Morgoth up in Northern Beleriand. Not after...not after Fingon's death. After that: Gondolin fell. Turgon was lost to the forces after their city was betrayed by no other than Aredhel's child. He could still hear the hatred in Elemmírë's voice when she told him and Maedhros what happened, how Maeglin betrayed them and tried to kill her, Idril and her family.

Family turning against one another.

Isolde questioned him with a raised brow, "Did he try to kill you?"

The months spent with Isolde, getting to know one another despite still feeling as if they did not know each other, Maglor was able to speak somewhat of his family. Of the things, he could easily tell. Like memories of his time, joking about the moments that hurt the most.

And in return, he knew more about the Sorceress before him. How she came to Kamar-Taj after being offered sanctuary, speaking that she had some natural ability in the connection of their world's magic despite brushing it off to be nothing but a tug to persuade her. However, Maglor knew otherwise. Isolde, despite her age, was greater than some of the Masters in the Sanctuary. She was calculating and intelligent, good, and controlling the room and reminded him of what his brother Maedhros was like during the siege.

Isolde somehow stuck to him, even when they made the excuse of being the only ones that could understand one another whilst Maglor continued to learn Tibetan and the other languages in their world. He felt comforted by her presence even when they admitted to feeling more like strangers and held little trust.

Maglor softened his expression before he replied, "We never got to encounter each other after Valinor." He revealed to her, finally finding himself opening more of his world to her. "Perhaps if his sister never left or we were able to find her before that dark elf...maybe we would have been able to help them. Save them."

Isolde's fans disappeared into gold dust as she relaxed, looking back at him with a saddened gaze before she softly said, "Don't dwell on the past." She inhaled and continued, "I've done it once and it only leads to more pain. But it doesn't mean you should ignore it."

That evening, sitting in the courtyard as they watched the mountainous landscape before them, Isolde laid down her past.

Of her troubles with her people. Being treated differently for what she looked to be. For choosing to be different and wanting different things, wanting to do good at a larger scale. Her people laughed at her, and told her that she was born to just be someone to be wed to and have heirs. To just be a wife or someone nothing more.

Maglor was sickened at the thought and Isolde gave him a look, almost amused at his horror, and was surprised when he told him what Middle Earth was like, she bore yearning of wanting a life like that. He spoke of the stories he heard during Beleriand. Of his brother's only love to a mortal woman who led her entire people until her old age. Of his cousin falling for a wise woman who chose to wait for him when the war was over. He even told him about his rather ambitious cousin, Galadriel, who was mentored by Queen Melian and would not be surprised to be the protegee of the next elven sorceresses of their people.

At the end of the night, he and Isolde somehow bonded over their past. She was right, of course. He needed to stop dwelling on the pain of the past but look back and see how much he could learn from them – and learn from the happy memories it took.

And maybe...it was the first step of finally finding himself in this world.

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Location: Norway, Earth

Time: August 2027

He had to get some supplies in the nearby village, considering how thin Illyria was and how she seemed too drained despite her remaining power residue coming out of her.

And thus he was along with said sorceress, despite his promises that he wouldn't:

1. Leave them and disappear again. 

2. Decide to kill them with his wards.

3. Or both.

Of course, a fourth option would have been nice to be included considering he would do none of the above and would in fact be killed by either a red-haired elf who can conjure weapons as easily as the snap of an Infinity Gauntlet...or get his soul ripped apart by a Half-Aini anomaly who was also a Master of the Mystic Arts according to ranking.

Therefore, Maglor took the latter and took Illyria along with him – forced once more to answer her questions in a mix of English and rather questionable Quenya language. Where she got a foul mouth in such a beautiful tongue made him raise his brows.

One thing he concluded: it might either be Maedhros.

But then he once remembered meeting a Darcy Lewis in one universe and putting two and two together.

Yes. Definitely the hybrid astrophysicist.

They arrived at the store, putting some illusions on their appearance and clothes as they entered the small grocers and began getting some food for them. Maglor felt bad for not paying with real money, conjuring some leaves, and transfiguring them into notes, but promised to both himself and Illyria that he would come back and pay properly.

Just to let you know that this was right before they entered the store.

[Sorry, just somehow went fourth-wall breaking but then again I think we'll be breaking more than just fourth walls this time around.]

What came next made Maglor wish he should have gone fishing instead.

As they perused the aisle, picking up some tinned food that looked to be edible enough for their tastes, Illyria placed the items in the basket as they continued.

Whilst Maglor was mildly trying to ignore the mental glare Illyria was giving, he could not escape the blunt questions she fired back at him.

"You haven't told us why you took us here."

Internally, he should have been more prepared.

They turned up to the bread and baked goods aisle, picking up a loaf that could last another three days and some eggs to go with it.

As he placed the bread in the basket, he explained to her as he continued to walk and grab the things they needed.

"Saruman, despite being stronger than me, doesn't know how to control the Silmaril's power. It's no mere jewel, it contains a part of Arda itself." Maglor stopped to pick up the bag of sugar before placing it down in his basket as he continued, "And therefore enabling itself to break into the laws of physics and create what I call rifts."

Illyria turned to him and raised a brow. "Rifts?"

Maglor answered back, "Tears into the fabric of reality." He took a breath in before he could delve in, "In simple terms..."

"You can travel the multiverse with it," Illyria finished, making a popping sound with her lips before she grimly made a face and asked, "So we could have fallen into another Earth or Arda then?"

Maglor nodded back, sensing the slight fear and gulped from the young sorceress before they turned to a new aisle where the tea section was held. They didn't have much, but thankfully it was better than the poor excuse of leaving Wanda Maximoff left behind for him.

He carefully eyed the brands of the boxes, deciding in one part of his brain which ones he would like and what Illyria and Maedhros would like as well before he picked some Chai along with some classic Earl Grey and Green Matcha Tea.

How this tiny village could import such things made him question modern globalization sometimes.

As he showed his suggestions to her, Illyria silently agreed to the set before he continued his explanations to her: "Saruman's control was through his powers, but the enchantments I placed in the gem along with Varda's hallowing made sure for him to burn at its touch even if its encased." Maglor sighed, still a little annoyed at what that Istar tried to do with all the work he did. "As well as that, it has taken me aeons to know how to control it. Five years he couldn't scrape even the top of what it could do."

Yes, five years of having to endure an annoyingly poor excuse of torture with an Istar wanting to know the secrets of his father's work, no less Fëanor would actually have the nice attitude to share his work.

Not even he and his brothers knew the extent of them.

(He remembered briefly that Celegorm always called them just some shiny rocks to put in Caranthir's ever-increasing safe of money.)

As he placed down another box, when he glanced up he saw Illyria smugly point out, "And yet it took me and your father two years."

For a second he saw Stephen Strange in that expression.

Like father and daughter then in a way.

And his father...

His lips twitched before he responded honestly, "He was someone whom I expected to discover a solution to control it." Controlling how to travel to the correct universe using the Silmaril had been something that took decades to tackle, discovering how to attune the same frequency of the energy that both universes are connected by. With the erratic and ever-powerful energy which the jewel exerted, it was difficult to navigate the way through the rifts and fall into the right one.

And that is all before discovering a way to not either cause harm to you or change you.

"Still doesn't add up that I'm...I'm..." He heard Illyria's voice waver as he turned to her and watched her face morph into a mix of confusion and (to his expectation) fear.

She feared the truth and what she could be.

Maglor squashed the guilt rising in his chest as he spoke gravely, "You were not supposed to know it that way—"

Suddenly, Illyria's eyes snapped into his – her eyes glowing a little too bright underneath the fluorescent lighting.

"And which way was I supposed to know? When I'm old in this body and ready to be reincarnated?" She rambled in a sarcastic tone, waving her free hand around. "Oh look at me, I'm fucking wrinkly but don't worry I can become a fucking lamp next time! Or what about a flashlight? At least you can carry that around!"

The lights began to flicker.

He eyed the lights and the shelves, sensing the energy almost making the air around them shake.

"Illyria—"

"In all my life, both as Elemmírë and Illyria, I thought that there was somewhere out there. Perhaps a family who loved me, who gave me life because they wanted a kid." Her voice grew thick, eyes watering as she ground her teeth and inhaled through her nostrils. And in the next moment, she snapped once more and hissed, "Instead no, I am the very thing people want. I'm just some weapon people who either want to use me or destroy me!"

As her hand flung in a whip-like motion, suddenly the air almost jittered. Maglor widened his eyes as the aisle before they somehow shifted like a wave washing up on the shore. The lights sparked slightly, the store going dark.

He looked at Illyria, her bright eyes staring back in horror.

She carefully brought her hand down, dropping the basket she held as all the contents spilt out in a crash. As they both heard the store clerk begin to complain and shout, she brought her hand up and carefully waved it – letting the tips of her fingers glow white.

What he never expected was her easily returning everything to normal.

Maglor watched silently, seeing the cans and boxes revert into the basket whilst the appearance of the aisle and room went back to normal.

Once the lights flickered back on, he was left having to pick his jaw back up and heave in a mentally heavy breath.

All he heard was Illyria's stuttering voice, "I...I'm sorry." She whispered, "I didn't..."

Instead, Maglor carefully brought his gloved hand to clasp her's and eyed down towards her, nudging his head to where the exit is. He muttered, "Let's go."

They left the perfectly full basket untouched on the floor, briskly pacing out into the car park before he could even think about it.

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Food was far from his mind right now.

Vishanti almighty...no words could comprehend what just happened.

And it all had to do with the young woman before him.

He closed his eyes, mentally counting to himself. But all he could hear was Isolde's stern voice in his head, telling him that this was bound to happen and that he couldn't do anything to stop it.

'Why am I here to pick up the pieces?' He thought to himself. 'Why couldn't this have happened decades ago? At least you would be with me, Isolde.'

Maglor wanted to slap his face and groan, but all he could do was stare aimlessly at the half-aini. He had to help her; he had to help her control it no less she starts breaking reality without meaning to.

"Maglor...please." She begged, walking up to him as she said. "I don't know what happened."

He tried to search her mind, easily accepted as he tried to decipher what triggered it. Surely it may have just been her emotions, but with that lack of control, it shouldn't have been possible to unlock it in such a short time.

Had something happened before they arrived at Isengard?

"That is not important at this time," He breathed in, trying to maintain both of their composure after causing...whatever that was.

She closed her eyes and sighed, opening them back as she tiredly said, "Look, I just want to know if everything that was said was true. And if it is...what I have is that..." She looked at her hands, for a moment he flickered as he recalled them once scarred and black.

Back when she was Elemmírë.

"I know, Illyria." Maglor spoke, "Surely you understand why I must have been away for many years. If you were exposed to what I possess...the jewel would have revealed who you were once more. You would have endured thousands of years of memories at such a young age."

Illyria stepped back, crying back, "It didn't help! I still remembered." When she realised she was raising her voice, she cleared her throat before she continued quieter, "I remembered even when I didn't know what it was and what it all meant."

Maglor mentally winced.

He breathed in and responded truthfully, "That was me and the Ancient One's doing." Or what they had agreed was best for the mortal mind and body with one of the most chaotic souls brought into it. "We were never able to rid of it. Your powers were too entwined with emotions and memories and it was inevitable you would remember. We did all we can to lessen the pain."

She peered at him and answered, "You could have made me forget." Illyria said knowingly, "There's a spell and all." [1]

"And rid you of a choice?" He questioned back, finding her snap her mouth close.

Maglor may admit to being one of the most known sorcerers on this plane but he would never be heartless for the greater good. He told her in a neutral tone, "I'm not a god, Illyria. And I am neither the Valar who would wish to make you some weapon."

She quickly realised what she said, trying to reel back her accusation as she asked back in a softer tone, "Then why?" Illyria folded her arms over her chest. "If you wanted me to make a choice you should have told me."

Maglor ignored once more that they were in an empty car, on a street in a village talking in English, and decided to at least finish this conversation at hand.

"I was supposed to tell you. To tell you that you are half-aini and that somehow the Valar have created you with a remnant of Laurelin and Telperion." He revealed, his earnest tone making her look back at him with less of a glare.

Illyria stared back.

"I chose to give you up, and it was the hardest decision I made then. I wanted to do the same, to help you like you helped my brother and me. So, I gave you something even better," Maglor said.

She glared as she snapped, "Like what? Being an orphan?"

"Having Stephen Strange raise you."

Her eyes slightly became wider, mouth faltering whatever she had to say before him.

What something he thought would have been something Doctor Strange should have said, Maglor knew that for Illyria to trust him: he had to tell her why he was never there. Why he couldn't raise her just as he raised the twins?

Because of the reality: he saw he saw both a young girl and a stubborn doctor find their path together. Helping them grow to become better.

Taking a gulp, Illyria stated: "You knew he would become my father."

He nodded. "You needed someone. And I am glad he accepted it."

There was a pleasant hum from the young half-aini, her eyes glimmering under the grey skies as she wiped away whatever tears fell from what occurred. Maglor wanted to reach out and embrace the young woman tightly. He wanted to tell Illyria that all he wanted was what was best for them. For her.

Instead, he remained standing alone, keeping his distance as she asked back, "So what happened next." Illyria continued, "You haven't explained why and what your task is or whatever you've been asked to do. Who tasked you?"

Changing the subject as always.

'In some way, there's a part of you in her as well, Isolde.' He thought to himself.

Guess he did pick the right parents for Illyria to be raised.

With a slight twitch of a smile, Maglor eyed the doors of the store (noting to return to get whatever they were going to get) before he replied: "I'll tell you when we get back."

Once his brother knows what happened, he was certain he'll get the rest of the supplies without the presence of Illyria.

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Location: Sanctum Sanctorum, South China, Earth

Time: 1348 C.E

It had been a disaster.

Countless sorcerers were dead. The sanctums almost destroyed hadn't hope arrived in the form of one sorceress who took the enemy on their own. He thought she was entirely out of her mind. Who would go up against one of the darkest creatures in the multiverse on their own?

Oh, that's right: Isolde would.

Makalaurë lost her during the battle, overwhelmed by having to help defend China's Sanctum after the sacking of Kamar-Taj. So many novices and acolytes were dead, causing his mind to flick back to the trauma he had buried in the past decade. The sight of the battlefield in Beleriand. The fallen soldiers and friends he once knew – now disfigured by blood and mud.

He dreaded the moment he ran through the portal, praying to himself that people he knew and had come to respect and like were still alive. His growing friendship with Isolde. His ever-growing respect for the Sorcerer Supreme ever since he had his third eye opened to the rest of reality.

When the silence arrived, and peace seemed to be evident in the air around him: he found her standing by the window of the Sanctum. The Seal of Vishanti over them as he stared out at the village below, smoke and ashes. People walked over rubble as they cried for their loved ones they lost or have found dead.

Makalaurë walked over, hearing what he dreaded whisper back to him.

"He's dead," Isolde murmured under their breath; her head hung low. "Shuma-Gorath took him." [2]

His heart clenched at the news. Shock, confusion, anger, and sadness washed over him as he felt himself tear up. The Sorcerer Supreme was to be the best of them, the one who would defend Earth against the threats.

And now he was dead.

Makalaurë took a few seconds to mourn before he looked back at her, seeing the back of her continue to stare out of the window. Even by his elven ears, he knew that she was hiding her tears. Out of all the masters and sorcerers he met in his time here, not one could match Isolde's deepest admiration for the High Lama.

He walked slowly over, bringing his hand to grasp hers as he turned to his right. Her eyes glistened under the dim light, appearing to look like icicles under the refraction of the glass. Her face was filled with cuts and bruises, hair in disarray and matted with ash and blood.

Whispering back, Maglor squeezed her hand, "I am sorry Isolde." He spoke, "It should not have been this way."

Isolde fluttered her eyes before she curled her lips and began, "he told me that it was alright. That he knew what would happen." She stared back up and finally revealed something that surprised him, "He is one with the universe now. And he has chosen me."

"I..." No words could describe how much he felt. For one, he should have suspected it. Though he paused once he saw the pain and guilt-ridden on her face. "You do not seem glad."

"I killed him," Isolde answered, gulping. "And he saved me when they thought I was going to kill them all."

Makalaurë should have felt disgusted, or perhaps that was the rational thing. But he knew how complicated people were. How despite mortality or immortality, people were more than what is above the surface of their personality.

They both knew the Sorcerer Supreme was a complexity, build-up of experience and lives they never knew.

And like that: he somehow knew it would fit Isolde to be named such as that.

Taking a deep breath, he began to tell her a tale, "A friend once told me, that we should not let our demons possess us. And that no matter what, we could never get rid of them." He turned to her, "However, we can live above those demons. Be better. Strive to do what is right for the world."

Isolde finally looked back at him, her eyes softening as she replied quietly, "Your friend is wise."

It was then he smiled sadly, remembering a different blonde-haired woman who he once had a chance to know.

Someone who was never complicated, to begin with. Someone who would willingly jump to know the most complicated people in their time.

Like him and his family.

"She was the most reckless elleth I have ever met," He revealed to her, "And she was the first who accepted the demons my brother and I have carried for years."

And for once, the ache and guilt in his heart did not seem to heavy this time - bringing something he had not done in years.

In the dilapidated village on Earth, a haunting voice - beautiful and capturing - echoed as the elven sorcerer sang his lament to the Sorcerer Supreme.

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[1] - The Runes of Kauf-Kaul: SPOILERS for NWH, is the spell that Dr Strange uses which makes people forget certain things.
[2] - Shuma-Gorath: A powerful and sometimes omnipotent ancient demon that possesses vast supernatural powers. In the comics, it is the demon who kills the Ancient One/High Lama and Dr Strange is forced to kill a possessed Ancient One/Shuma Gorath before the demon decides to kill their universe.

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A/N: More of Maglor's story but also a bit of Illyria's newfound powers. I wanted to extend the instability of the power she now has, and how far advanced it is to what it was before. I'd like to think that it's similar to Wanda's - in terms of the outcome - but Illyria is very different in terms of how it works.

Illyria's reality manipulation is to do with her Half-Aini side and not her Laurelin/Two Trees side. The Laurelin side is solely the appearance outcome (aka light) whereas the effect is based on what the Ainur and Valar could do.

Kinda like Wanda who initially had magic, but she was amplified when she got exposed by the mind stone. Just as Illyria was but it's more to do with her initial creation and how she evolves.

As for Maglor, I feel bad for this smol bean. He's trying...just not in the way Illyria wants him to and you cannot blame the guy who had to experience so much and can't exactly tell anyone (because there's just too much shit he had gone through).

Again, I'm sorry but I'll have to post one chapter a week because I'm still in the progress of altering a lot of stuff. Once I'm sorted it's going back to twice a week.

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Edited: 20/09/2022