4 | The Nightingale

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Makalaurë | The Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Constantinople, Ottoman Empire, Earth

Time: 1550 C.E

After a decade of creating his new relic (or perhaps a sort of side hobby he enjoyed), Lokachari venture within the universe of the present date. He carried with him little, preferring to blend into the world around him and experiencing the evolving life of what society was like.

He even managed to travel to the New World...or what would become the Americas once the humans decided to push into their future modern technology.

Though despite learning how humans grew and learnt and found, it was the people to which brought his fear back to the front part of his mind. It had shocked him and shook him down to his core that he eagerly whisked himself away back to Kamar-Taj, hoping to find answers along with the Time Stone as well as the Silmaril.

One day, he asked to visit the Sorcerer Supreme, confused as to why she was visiting Constantinople.

He found her to his surprise just on the outskirts of the city, walking about until she gave him her usual amused gleam before disappearing around the corner of the alleyway.

Sometimes he wished Isolde was less mysterious so he didn't have to chase her about.

He finally discovered her having tea in one of the public tea rooms in the city, sitting crossed legged onto the floor just as he thanked the waiter with his cup.

Isolde nodded to him, greeting him and asking how he was liking the city – only for Lokachari to retort that it would be nice to tour it without going on a goose chase.

After hearing her chuckle under her tea, he changed the subject to the reason he was here in the first place.

"I met someone on my travels to the Americas," Lokachari informed her, "One of them somehow began speaking Taliska to me."

Isolde's lighthearted joy turned to seriousness in a second, peering her gaze towards him. "Did they arrive here somehow?" She asked.

Lokachari shook his head. "No. They appeared far similar to the people native to the land but...the moment they were exposed to me they somehow changed. The Gem changed them, allowed them to remember."

He glanced down to where his chest was. Hidden underneath his robes was the Gem, its hum and concealed power still radiating out. Lokachari had used it so many times that he had gotten used to its presence constantly on him.

Placing her teacup down, Isolde spoke: "Reincarnation is possible in certain people. People who possess the ability can and could do so with their souls." She frowned, trailing off. "But through universes..."

They both turned to silence, letting the bustling room fill the noise between them.

He had gone with some explorers further west of the northern continent, discovering a tribe where to his surprise: one of them somehow began to understand the Mannish Language after he had noticed their mind to be stark of the rest of their people.

That person, despite not knowing them from his world, somehow had a fëa.

The man was as confused as well, wondering why he could remember and why an elf was here in the first place.

"It is not just the Silmaril that is behind all of this, Isolde." He said gravely, gulping back the bile which now constricted his throat. "The Silmaril could just be a conduit of the bigger picture. And perhaps why only I can travel our worlds using it and not the sling rings."

Isolde stared back before she slowly said, "It is possible." She took another sip and breathed out, "You may have to ask your mother how she came to your world. The tendency of souls to move beyond reality and not be with the cosmic energies of our universe is not impossible, but the chances are rather low."

He widened his eyes. "You think there will be more that will come here."

"I know it." She firmly commented, gesturing to both him as well as her own body. "By how the timeline is flowing, it may soon become an occurrence."

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Location: Somewhere in Northern France, Earth

Time: 1914 C.E

Lokachari sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair, his eyes only focused on the unconscious person laying on the medical bed. It wasn't a rare occasion to visit a hospital, perhaps not a hospital during the first world war of Earth but it was something he often found himself doing. Sitting beside a patient he knew, waiting for them to wake up and to see if they were alive.

Of course, he made sure to dress for the correct time period and weather, his hair glamoured to be short and brushed back to fit his Edwardian outfit. He fashioned himself a watch as well, glamouring his magical relics as their familiar accessories. It was why as he was checking his watch, noticing the message pop up in pseudo-Nandorin before he heard a familiar voice echo from the end of the large open room.

Quickly closing his watch, he pulled his sleeve down with a gloved hand before he looked in the direction of the voice, hearing the tapping of short heels alongside a hurrying run of shoes before he stood up.

Just appearing past the dividers of the beds, he found himself staring at bright grey eyes.

"Where is he?" Standing before him was her, her eyes widening before she began, "You..."

He immediately felt her power radiate from her, keeping composed despite the anger evident in her eyes whilst a man began to speak to her, "Ma'am, please if you could."

The woman flicked her head to the man in the white jacket, narrowing her gaze before she turned back to Lokachari – who had cut off the tension with his assured smile and cough. "Not to worry doctor, she is in fact my sister." 

Lokachari mentally sent her a message, urging her to follow through. 

After many obligations, she nodded before he added, "Please excuse us with her husband."

As his voice echoed through and entered the doctor's ears, he watched the man's face and mind alter before he nodded quietly – leaving them alone with barely a second thought of the stark differences between their appearances.

Lokachari turned to find the woman's eyes gazing back up to him with an unimpressed expression – before she heaved out and relaxed her shoulders.

"Thank you." 

Her response was simple but there was genuine relief in her voice, making him smile a little as soon as he felt her anger dissipate, turning into a slight awkwardness between the two of them. 

She spoke after the silence, "Never would I imagine ever thanking one of your...people. And since when have you learnt the silver tongue?"

As he spotted her raise a brow, Lokachari simply gleamed before he gestured for the chair beside the bed. "Do sit, my lady."

With a muttered thank you, the now-mortal woman sat down, placing her slim pale hands atop her lap as she sat up straight and poised. Even at such a position and moment in time, Lokachari could imagine the imagery of a strong powerful lady. A princess of an ancient realm he once knew.

"I assume you are here because of him," Her eyes averted to the peaceful face of her husband, quickly snapping back to Lokachari as she said in a blank tone: "He won't speak of it you know. Neither will I. You have already done enough, Maglor Fëanorion."

Lokachari felt internally get hit by that remark whilst he remained fixed in his gaze between her and the man sleeping.

"Ulmo knows you are here. Your mother has traced you through, using as much of her energy to find you," He spoke, adding as well: "To our surprise, it was not much."

A scoff left her lips as she told him, "Of course not, it was not I who created the connection between these realms."

"Do you know who did?"

She stared up at him, her voice incredibly deadly and sharp as she spoke, "Only if you tell me what you did to my grandchildren. Your brothers - I heard that they had killed...you killed my son."

It was there he showed his emotions on his face.

"My people."

"I know," He admitted, leaving his voice to fill his sympathy for her. "And I will never...I ask for no forgiveness, only an opportunity for you to listen to me."

A dark haunting feeling crawled into him as he watched her power glow within her.

There was one thing he learnt from meeting certain people such as her, and that was to care for what he said and did. No less he wanted to be hurt by their power.

"Do not even think I will answer to you, Fëanorion!" The reincarnated half-maia hissed back, "You may possess magic and still bear your elven hröa, but I am half Aini despite mortal."

"Your husband won't survive this unless you allow me to use this," With a quick wave of his hand, he conjured the object which dangled from his hand.

The Gem of Lokachari – named after himself – held between him and herself.

Her mouth opened, whispering back in disbelief: "Where did you get that?"

"I have been holding it ever since," Placing the Gem protectively over his neck, he let it show in front of her as he continued, "If you just allow me to heal him I can—"

"And what do you wish for him? Torment of his mind?" She snapped back, causing him to grow quiet. "Make him remember much like you did when I was a child?"

He looked away momentarily, feeling as if he had been burnt by the remark as well as the conflicted anger and disappointment in her eyes. He knew it was wrong to allow her to stray far from her childhood, and give her false hope to become special. To move away from her sheltered and small life.

Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Would he choose the path that would save the future? 

Or would he consider their lives and let chaos control them?

For once he found himself in Maglor's shoes, remembering the moment he and his own brother chose the fate of the Peredhil twins and the future eternal. He implored her, "Then allow me to understand it. I have been studying the Silmaril for centuries and yet I have only scraped its abilities to simply travel through the realms and realities."

The women's gaze looked pained, staring for a second at the cause of their predicament. "The Silmaril...it is more than that, Maglor Fëanorion." She began, swallowing her breath as she murmured to him, "I tried and even I cannot bear the full powers of the energy of the Arda. Only one can do so."

Lokachari's eyes widened slightly.

"Her..."

She nodded, "Yes."

He suddenly felt a weight collapse over him, staring back at the sleeping form before he then looked back at the blank divider. "So my mother was right. The Ancient One was right..." He whispered, "She has changed The Song."

"Changing it has already altered this world." She quietly said, looking back at him. "We were never meant to slip through the cracks of other worlds. But it seems perhaps this is the gift of Men Eru has recalled."

He flicked his head back to her and asked earnestly, "Do you want him to remember?"

Her eyes wandered back to her husband.

Husband both in their life now and the previous.

Lokachari began, "Lúthien..."

"Yes." 

Lúthien Tinúviel finally said it, tears growing in the rim of her eyes.

She turned to him, asking afterwards: "But will you allow me? I shall not take it away. No more. Enough blood has already been spilt by it."

Lokachari graced his hand over the relic, a sense of refusal and urge to oppose it. However, years of pushing away the oath had stopped him from feeling that urge. "If you help our world, I will do it." He told her vaguely, telling her of the reality he had seen of this particular person of this time. "I saw in his lifetime; he will become a writer. Someone who would sway and inspire people."

Remaining silent, Lúthien contemplated.

"Only this, Maglor. I shall only help begin to uncover the truth," She firmly said. "But from then, I can only help you with no other. I swore to keep that promise until my very death. It was why I chose mortality, so none would know what happened at the destruction of The Trees...and our own world's destruction as well."

More questions began to fill his mind, wanting to ask more but knew it was not the right time.

Lokachari watched her lean forward, bringing her hand to grace over her husband's – Beren reincarnated – letting her own lingering magic entwine with his.

"You dreamt it." He finally spoke, sensing her agreeing with his statement.

Lúthien breathed in, letting her tear fall as she stared before him. "And it will pass on to my ancestors."

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Location: Maglor's Safehouse, Norway, Earth

Time: August 2027

For the first time since Orthanc, Maglor decided to display his magic. He knew he needed to train; it had been months since he exerted his magic and he needed to be able to let himself loose for once. And considering Illyria was not breathing down his neck or asking him questions, he allowed himself to train in the front yard of the cabin.

His brother was in the woods, using the day to hunt.

Maglor focused on channelling the dimensional energy, taking a controlled breath before he moved his arms in the instinctive pattern before him. Multiple strings of blue sparks of light formed in the air, weaving through as the runic patterns appeared and moved. He shifted his hand in a downwards motion, letting the heat pass through him as he allowed the Mandala to grow, adding more patterns within the circle before he parted his hands.

Suddenly the mandala split into three, spacing out within his radius as he swept his leg across and changed his stance.

He then began to hum to himself, letting the power of his voice ripple through the dimensional energy before finding himself watching the large mandala form before his feet, the familiar lotus and star marking onto the ground.

There was a mental mutter coming from Illyria, finding the half-aini looking impressed and surprised at the display of sorcery in front of her.

As he finished the enchantment, the blue-golden tint diminished and dissipated into the air.

"Your magic."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her. She was standing several metres away, standing firm with her arms folded over – using Maedhros' cloak as an extra layer over her.

She commented back: "It's blue."

Maglor stared at her, the shade of blue the same as the lake reflecting under the daylight.

"It is a blend of both eldritch and my own." He paused, frowning to himself as he thought aloud, "Though I never really asked why it is blue. Perhaps it is my colour."

There was a time in his early years, just after he accepted his title of Master of the Mystic Arts when he speculated that it had to do with the strength of his energy. In the spectrum of the output of power of light itself, blue was often in the higher levels compared to orange and yellow light. Dimensional energy mixed with his spiritual and soul magic manifested by his fëa must have been easily the conclusion he met the moment he began forming blue eldritch magic.

Like how the Scarlet Witch's magic was from chaos itself, blended by the mind stone within the radio frequency of light. Just like Lúthien's silver and blue magic that lay in many of her remaining enchantments on her books. Or the golden and white magic which Illyria manifested, all from her tapping of visible light energy mixed with the strength of what could be gamma radiation.

Illyria eyed him and bluntly pointed out, "Well right now you look like a hobo in a back alleyway in New York."

He gave her a blank look before he motionlessly uttered a spell, transfiguring his entire attire and appearance to what he usually did. His robes were clean and neat, hair combed back and braided with its usual pattern and pins whilst his gloves were nice and new along with his boots.

"How about now?" Maglor asked in a questionable tone, making Illyria raise her eyebrow – doing all she could to hide her smile.

She wistfully took a little sniff and commented slyly, "Hmm, could do with some cologne." Illyria bit her lip before she changed the subject. "I came here because I saw you practising. From what you're telling us, you're much older than before."

Maglor couldn't help but smirk, answering simply: "Thousands of years, Illyria Strange." His smirk turned to smile, reminiscing the number of times other counterparts asked him the same time. How old he was. How long had he been travelling the multiverse? How long he had not stopped or dodged the fate of death? 

"...And not even a day I stopped."

He caught her face morphing to a slight smile, perhaps trying to imagine the number of times and moments as well. She mentally told him that she probably didn't want to know truly how old he was, telling him that she would either make a boomer joke back at him or call him a fossil.

Maglor wasn't sure which was one worst, to be called some preserved bones in rock or a Gen Z insult.

"Do you still sing?" She changed the subject, tilting her head to the side.

He continued to practice his rune making, conjuring a new set of patterns around him as he wistfully replied, "Once in a blue corn moon."

A snort left Illyria's direction.

"At least you know cultural references then," She quipped before she asked as well, "You've met the real her?"

Maglor eyed her for a moment, a little gleam in his eyes as a memory of meeting the young girl back in Native America several thousands of years ago. However, to Illyria and the rest of this world, it would only be a few centuries back.

There was a reality he once wished he could have helped certain people such as Pocahontas, hoping to give them a life that was not filled with such uncertainty and pain of growing too quickly. In some cases, he had once surpassed the fate of patterns. And sometimes he couldn't.

"She was but a child. I hoped to have saved her from her life," He sadly spoke, flicking his wrist to conjure the rest of the mandala patterns. "I was able to give enough courage. And yet she still died so young."

He could still remember her dying in his arms. On that boat back to her homeland.

"Was she happy though?" Illyria asked him.

Maglor closed his eyes, remembering the young woman's gentle smile as she brushed his tears away and said her final words in her native tongue.

"She was," He replied quietly, turning his gaze back to her before he noticed her beginning to move up to him.

As he finally finished his conjured shields, he gestured his arm outwards, bringing the shield to span across the lake before hitting the translucent wards – strengthening its power. Illyria raised her brows, surprised and curious about how he created it. Of course, Maglor smiled instead; he knew she was clever enough to decipher how he had done it.

Once he placed his hands to his side, he expected the young woman before him to perhaps ask him to teach her what he just did. Maybe ask more about his journey throughout the multiverse and the people he had met throughout his life.

However, the question that came next hit him like an iceberg.

"Did you love her? The Ancient One?" Illyria questioned him, causing him to freeze on the spot. Clearing her throat, she added the next bit whilst he remained fixed and shocked. "She...she never told me about you, only that you were the Wanderer and that you protected the multiverse with threats."

The mention of the former Sorcerer Supreme...his friend.

He did all he could to pull himself away mentally and emotionally, hiding away the surge of swirling pain and emotions in his heart as he imagined her standing before him and Illyria.

There was never a reality he once saw him and her with a grown-up Illyria. All of them ended with a young Illyria, either watching her previous guardian die or hearing about her death.

She would never reach to see the sorceress before him, become the woman they have tried to protect all these years.

The years he would visit her, talking as if they had just been gone for hours and yet it had been decades since they last saw one another.

Isolde had been his companion. His lover? No...it was beyond romance. A familial love to which they both shared.

"We loved each other despite the duty we held," Maglor began, his lips forming a sad smile towards her.

Illyria replied, "But you knew her. The real her. Not the person praised for being the Sorcerer Supreme - but her friend." She murmured, "Even if she was complicated."

"We are all complicated in some way." He whispered, sensing the conflict in her mind. Maglor knew Illyria loved her much like a mother. But the news and choices Isolde made caused certain people to see a new perspective of who they thought the Sorcerer Supreme was. Even for young Illyria as well. "I knew the people who raised you. Wong, Faltine, Hamir. Mordo..."

"Really?" Her jaw dropped, surprised at the names he spoke.

Maglor nodded. "Even Kaecilius," Oh that young man...that young man had so much potential. If only fate had a different choice for his path. "He was the one who saw through the Ancient One. One of her biggest regrets to which I must have led as well."

Illyria folded her arms over her chest, bringing the cloak over herself. She asked, "What really happened? They never told me."

There was a reason as to why Illyria never knew. She would have been too young to learn of the consequences of Isolde's actions. It would have lost her trust in her first-ever mentor, dissuading her from the world that had been her childhood. The Mystic Arts and the Multiverse. She would – consequently – lose her third eye and potentially would never be this prepared for Arda and their original world.

"He was ambitious. He questioned more than what we both realised," Maglor told her, shaking his head – guilt shown on his features. "It was too late when we knew we lost him. Kaecilius discovered through the Ancient One that you were important. That you were more powerful than we deemed it. He thought of you as the child he lost."

When the words left his mouth, her face froze.

"What?"

"He lost his family before coming to Kamar-taj," He revealed gravely, "And like all those who come to the Sanctuary, we accept those who require all sorts of healing. But his methods of healing rose and evolved into something greater. He thought that we were depriving you. Raising you to be nothing more than ordinary."

Illyria clamped her mouth shut, blinking away before she stressfully muttered to herself what she just heard.

And despite it all, Maglor was impressed she was holding well with all of this news.

"Compared to Mordo, he might even be kinder," She choked out, laughing slightly before she pursed her lips in displeasure.

Neither of them liked the idea of it, but it was true. Even if he had known Kaecilius would venture to seek Dormammu and become a mindless zealot for him, the young broken man did it for the sake of what he thought would cure the pain of the world. The philosophy of the Mystic Arts had been always to defend and do what was best for the lives of their world.

Mordo's had been the same, though it had been underlined by personal agendas.

Those agendas led to red dripping over his path as he waged war to rid the world of sorcerers.

"Mordo had other reasons," His voice grew tight and stern, making Illyria glance back to him – interested. "His attempts in killing you were no mere for his hatred of your father nor the lessen of sorcerers."

There was a deeper reason why Mordo had done it all.

And it was standing before him right now.

Finally understanding, Illyria trailed off: "He wanted to kill me for what I am..." She furrowed her brows and asked, "How would he have known?"

"He didn't," As much as he loathed to, somehow that short interaction and his constant eye on the young rogue: Maglor knew something was off. Something to which only Baron Mordo knew. "He assumed something else. Something to which I still don't know how true it is."

"What is it?"

Pausing to debate within his mind, he finally decided to ask her the question he had not hoped to tell at this early point of their reunion.

Taking an inhale, he peered back at her and asked, "Have you come across the term Nexus beings?"

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Location: Kamar-Taj, Kathmandu, Nepal, Earth

Time: January 2000

That evening: Kamar-Taj was joyous and noisy. People were celebrating, singing, dancing and playing music outside the main courtyard whilst some had headed off into the city to celebrate a moment they would never have thought to be experiencing.

As the drinks poured and the drunk singing continued, Maglor chuckled at the sight of them all. Especially with certain figures, those who often were a little too stoic and didn't tend to show their fun side, relaxing for once and cheering on as the loudest within the group.

As he exited the courtyard through the portal, he found Isolde standing where the steppingstones had been, overlooking another part of the mountainous area in the secluded courtyard. She was holding a glass of wine – surprising him when she noticed him and raised it.

Maglor smiled in return, raising his glass before he walked over. As he took his usual spot on her left, they clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.

"Happy new year," Maglor greeted her, adding on: "And to a new millennium."

Isolde had her eyebrows, raised. "I was not expecting a visit," She showed an amused expression, her eyes twinkling as she continued: "You have been busy working on Earth."

Maglor shot her a look before he simply took a sip of his prosecco. Afterwards, he said in a sharing tone, "Just checking on some people." He grinned, adding on: "Your new acolyte, Wong, he seems to be fitting in."

That was perhaps an understatement, considering he saw the certain man singing his heart out when they had whipped out the karaoke machine.

Isolde perhaps had the same thought, or maybe like it, smiling back as she hummed: "Indeed. He is very quiet but a good student to teach." She softly said, "Patient and quite popular with the cooks."

He remembered briefly when he used the Eye, remembering that notable face within the million realities helping all those who would come to Kamar-Taj.

"He will be good to them," Maglor murmured, telling her honestly: "To those who will come to the Sanctuary soon."

"You are certain this will be the reality they would be brought together?" She asked him.

He inhaled slowly, bringing the rim of his glass to the tip of his lips. "With what Ulmo suspected in his visions it is likely."

"When do you think it will happen?" Isolde peered back at him.

It would seem this conversation took a turn, causing his body to straighten up and his mind to turn back to his so-called 'work mode'.

"From what I can tell, perhaps in less than two decades," Maglor paused, concern filling him as he saw Isolde's face begin to falter with the lightness under the moonlight.

For now, it was not the Sorcerer Supreme and the Wanderer of Worlds, but two friends concerned with the other.

He questioned her, "What is wrong?"

She averted her gaze for a few seconds, taking her time to place her words. "I've tried to see. I used the stone to try and find it but every moment I end up in the same place," Isolde revealed to him, telling him about her vision with the infinity stone for the first time. "The balcony in New York. With a man. After that, nothing."

Maglor's heart plummeted as he gulped, "Isolde..."

"I know, Makalaurë," She grasped his free hand, speaking in barely a whisper. "We cannot do anything about it."

He closed his eyes, trying to maintain the pain and rising fear on his fëa. Taking a deep breath, he shuddered a breath before he spoke once more.

"I won't be there, will I?"

Isolde nodded.

Glancing away, he tried to block out the swirling chaos that was building up in his mind. For years and years, he had dreaded it. He had run away, extended his entire life, just to bring more time with them. Give them time.

However, and just as they both knew: their time together would end eventually.

He felt a hand press against his cheek, rotating it as she spoke softly back. "Makalaurë, look at me."

Maglor opened his eyes, breathing in as he let his tears fall. Isolde stared into his eyes, unfazed by his unnatural glow.

Isolde whispered, "There is nothing you can do about it."

He began, "There is always—"

"Not this time," Her tears glistened, face pained and yet still so strong for both. "You have to accept it. It's only your chance to do this once I am...gone. You can make this happen."

As she let go of his face, Maglor wiped his face with the back of his hand. It had been a while since he had let his guard fall. Though even whenever he was with Isolde, it was the only time he could let his guard. The only person he could truly share the trauma, grief, and pain he held throughout his long life.

Because no one could understand him other than the woman before him.

"I'm sorry that I made this a terrible New year's, Makalaurë," She tried to crack up a smile, faltering by her tears.

"No," Maglor shook his head, trying to encourage himself and her. He didn't want to make this special moment be remembered with sadness. "As you said, we have to make the most of it. And I will try to be here as much as I can, find the time to actually live this reality instead of running away from it all."

And he would do so. He would do all he could to live in the present; try and fasten himself to help the sorcerers now to become better for the future.

"I am happy to have met you," She confessed, grasping his hand now and squeezing it. "You have been a brother whom I have cherished. Someone who has believed in me but has also not been afraid to point out the flaws which I bear."

Maglor smiled tearfully, squeezing her hand in return. "I am happy as well." Trying to cheer the atmosphere, he then changed the subject. "Perhaps a song may help."

When he stared back at her – it was like seeing her for the first time. Underneath the burden and duty...was a hopeful and courageous young sorceress.

That day when they first met in the same place as now.

"I would be honoured to hear you, Makalaurë," She answered back, letting him go as he conjured his harp and began to strum.

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Maglor Fëanorion  | The Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Maglor's Safehouse, Norway, Earth

Time: August 2027

Maglor sat at the edge of the small dock, staring across the starlit lake as he hummed gently a tune. It was the song which he composed thousands of years ago. A song that he created for both himself and his only closest friend he could ever ask for. It was something he finally sang since her death which was over a decade within this plane and something to which he felt too connected to share with others.

His theme for Isolde: Sorceress Supreme of Earth.

It still felt so recent since the news of her death, often causing that old wound to crack open whenever he thought of her, imagining her presence always following him despite knowing she was within the cosmos now. She would never be a presence next to him, always smirking at his out-worldly ideas or scolding his chaotic planning.

There were moments he was angered at the world for taking her so soon. So close to the point that he needed her the most.

And he remembered what she said to him. What they both said at such stark times.

They would never get to choose their time. He knew beyond their immortality; death would come after them. Her's was just only a different time to his.

He stopped humming as soon as he felt the shift of movement within the warded area, finding the mind to be someone he was thankful for before he quietened down to a stop. Sitting down beside him, Maedhros acknowledged him before they both stared back at the lake – the moon reflecting upon the water.

This was perhaps the second time he even got to be with his brother without the presence of Illyria. For some reason he was thankful for it, finding himself relaxing somewhat as he heard the gentle lapping of water and the wind whistling throughout the mountains. Maglor understood why Wanda Maximoff stayed here for quite some time and why he chose this place for anyone who needed solitude and a place to stay.

Finally, his older brother finally spoke. "Is she alright? She and Kurvo?"

"She is well from what I saw," Maglor heaved, brushing his hair back as he continued: "Though I don't know in fact how we would be able to pass through into Aman without being detected."

It had been the topic of question during that evening. After his conversation with Illyria in the front yard, their dinner conversation consisted of how he had been able to cross to Aman and enter the Halls. And how they would be able to pass when the Straight Road was shut from them.

The annoying thing was that out of all the realities he had been to, Maglor had never thought of attempting to pass through when the barrier between Aman and Arda was closed. This would be the first time he would do it and now he wondered how possible it would be. It was already a struggle with the Gem. He had been almost caught countless times, causing almost heart attacks by both his mother and Lord Ulmo.

Maedhros creased his eyebrows before he began, "I thought you managed to—"

"Yes but that was before they thought the Silmarils returned to Arda." He clarified to him, noting that the times he did venture into the realm of the Valar, they still believed the Silmarils were lost to the elements of Arda. However, their situation was far from that. Maglor sighed and said, "The Valar know we have them. No doubt Varda understands that we claim two out of three whilst the other is possible in the hands of the enemy."

"What is your plan then?" His brother questioned, "If we are to return, we have to get them out before Dagor Dagorath happens."

Maglor could tell his brother was staring back at him, wanting to answer his question. But even he was contemplating and doubting as well, his mind flicking back to the half-aini to which he had seen.

All her counterparts and variants. Their many powers and lives.

The creation and destruction that could make.

And none of them ever reached the level Illyria Strange of this universe could muster. And at that scale, she could do something more than just light magic.

"Only one other could potentially create a rift between the realms undetected," He murmured, turning his head to look into Maedhros' eyes.

"Illyria?" Maedhros breathed in before he lowered his voice. "Saruman was not lying then."

"No," Maglor echoed, still feeling the remains of his shock. The sight of the Eternal's fána manifesting in their eyes. "She is the remnant of the trees. But how I do not know. And how much a part is her or the trees remains unknown."

"But that isn't all of it, isn't it?" His brother narrowed his gaze. "Háno."

His mind went to the first speculation.

Lúthien's prediction.

Learning about Nexus Beings.

The supposed end of their universe and its effect on the universe they were in currently.

With a deep breath, Maglor finally revealed to him what had been in his head for the past several centuries. "I fear she is more than just a remnant of Laurelin and Telperion, that there was a reason our universes connected."

All he saw was a mix of confusion in Maedhros' eyes.

"I...don't understand."

Feeling his head aching, he dismissed the subject. "Perhaps in another time, I'll explain," Maglor assured him despite his brother's evident irritation. "But that is not entirely the thing I fear. It is what tied us together which concerns me, and who in turn ties our specific universe."

He waited for him to glance over his mind, trying to match over the specific title to which he knew that Maedhros must have read about. With Stephen Strange and Wong knowing his own research, he would know that it was likely that Illyria's titled brother would also know it.

"You...you think she's..." Maedhros clamped his mouth, hearing an internal swear echo in his mind before he continued, "I have only known one being to exist in this universe and it is not her."

"That is what I truly fear." He finally stated, forming a thin line on his lips. "We would be breaking our realities if it was possible."

His brother questioned back, "Who told you this?"

"Nobody did." Maglor coolly replied, not entirely answering honestly. But it was the truth nonetheless. "I speculated since my arrival here."

After a few scrutinizing seconds, Maedhros was exasperated before he shook his head. A slight smirk formed on his face. "Even when you say you are not Makalaurë, I still see it in you. Brother." He spoke, feeling a sense of tightness growing in Maglor's chest. "You still have that gentle courage and wistfulness. Wanting to atone for our mistakes even when you tried to bury them. You want to save what we couldn't. Do what is right."

Maglor looked away, staring back to fight away from his stinging eyes.

"He would want you to see him. We all want you to," His brother softly spoke. "She would have wanted you to accept the forgiveness he would give...even when he would never admit it."

He bit his lip, gulping back what was inside his throat.

"I know."

Finding a hand gently press onto his shoulder, he looked to his right to find his brother nodding back to him. "Rest," Maedhros called out to him, "You might be without a doubt thousands of years older than us, but I'm still technically the oldest. Go rest."

As he looked up with a nod, Maedhros gave him another look before he stood up from his spot – walking back into the cabin and leaving him alone back on the dock.

Maglor could still feel the touch of his hand upon his shoulder, his shoulders tightening as he tried to hold back the pain and warmth that mixed within him. For once in his long and tiring life, he found himself assured and welcomed with the intimacy of his family.

However, far from the front of his head: Maglor knew it was going to be a hard task to confront the rest of his family as soon as they return.

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A/N: Final part of Maglor's past and soon we'll be back to Illyria and the rest of our main characters in Middle Earth/Earth. I honestly wished I extended more of Luthien and Maglor's relationship, and how they (along with Beren/Tolkien) created the book that Illyria and Feanor would possess.

But don't worry, that will come up in the future parts. 

As for Isolde and Maglor: this will possibly be the only time you get to see them together. :( I honestly love them both and they both shared such a deep connection - reminds me of Illyria and Maedhros. We also got some sibling bonding with Mae and Mags and that's gonna be a key thing.

Also...I may have dropped the Nexus Being again. Why did Mordo know about it? Is Illyria a Nexus?

Well...you'll find out soon. ;) Thank you anyways for being patient. <3

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Edited: 03/10/2022