Chapter Text
It was late autumn in 1980 of the Third Age. Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor, had survived long, and almost forgotten, these many long years alone, walking the shores of Middle-earth, unable to leave them. Alone and forgotten, he had been the shadow at the edges of history, the wandering bard who came and went like the echo of the songs he sang, never any place long enough to be found by any of his kin who sought him (or who didn't, as the case might be). From his people and his kin, perhaps, but not, apparently, by the Powers of the world. Usually, his days were spent in solitude, but this day brought a new discovery.
At first, it was a strange spark, a golden glare along the beach, the sun flashing off of something in the distance. As he approached, however, it became apparent what it was: an Elf lying washed upon the shore. Maglor's heart leapt into his throat. He'd seen a sight like that before. And he was gone. Surely, this one must be dead, lying there like that. Almost, almost, he turned aside entirely but...
Instead he found himself crouched by the Elf's side, reaching out to see if the other still lived. He was alive, but only just, having been mostly drowned and likely only spared by the grace of Uinen. Clearly, he had suffered badly from his time in the water, his body tossed by the waves and smashed upon rocks. He was covered in cuts and bruises, more becoming apparent as Maglor wiped away the mud from the pale, waxy skin. Blood caked under his nose and from his mouth, and his face was bruised and swollen. At least a few ribs were likely broken. One toe on a foot stripped of any boots was all but laid bare to the bone, and others scraped and broken. A particularly bad injury was on the side of his head, blood and sand matting the long, blond tresses. That he survived at all was a miracle in itself. Yet, though bedraggled and injured, closer inspection showed he was tall and, despite the damage, fair, quite beautiful even for one of the Eldar, with bright hair that shone like gold in the sunlight. His clothes were soaked, dirty and torn, but they were once fine and white. He looked so achingly familiar, closely resembling Maglor's uncle, Finarfin... But Finarfin was no longer on these shores, his sons lost long ago.
His daughter, Galadriel, however... And did she not have a son? Amroth, by name, to the best of Maglor's knowledge, though he had never met the boy. It had to be him.
Maglor couldn't abandon him. He couldn't just leave him there. But, what to do? He considered, and tried to lift him and carry him a little further from the water's edge. He had been in this cove before, although not in a while, and he knew how far the tide came up. There was a small, sheltered area not too far away, where he could build a fire and at the least see if there was anything he could do for the obvious wounds he needed to tend.
Once the fire was blazing, just-caught fish cooking by it, Maglor worked to clean and bandage the injuries as best he could. The other Elf did not seem aware of Maglor's presence or attention, but as he began to return to consciousness, he made a weak, soft groan of pain.
"Easy, easy," Maglor murmured softly as he stirred, abandoning his efforts at first aid to soothe his guest. Almost instinctively he wound power beneath his voice in a low soothing hum, the same way he would calm peredhel twins and younger brothers. "You are safe now, friend. Rest easy."
Even for one of the Eldar, it was hard to rest easy with a body so badly broken. Still, the groans of pain quieted down, and for a while, he was still enough for Maglor to tend to him. Eventually, he came to enough to be lucid. He was still in pain, and grimaced as his eyes finally opened as much as they were able to do so. He looked around slowly, carefully, but didn't recognize his surroundings.
"Where... where am I?" he said, his voice half a croak from disuse.
Maglor looked up from where he was checking the fish he had set to cook on the coals of the small fire he had going, and came over when his guest stirred.
"Safe, sir," Maglor told him. Thinking it better not to panic him, he had set aside the cloak with the Fëanorian star cloakpin for the nonce. "I found you washed ashore earlier. We have not moved far from that spot."
For a moment, the other Elf looked puzzled, his eyes blank. "Washed ashore? Why--?" His voice dropped suddenly. "Oh. Yes. I was swimming but... I don't remember why..." He gingerly touched the side of his head where the injuries were worst, and gave Maglor a chagrined smile. Even with his features distorted as they were, it was almost uncanny the resemblance he bore to the line of Finarfin when he did that. "I am sorry. My memories are not clear right now. But I thank you for your kindness, friend."
Maglor's eyes widened, his breath catching. So clear, so obvious the resemblance, that surely it could not possibly be coincidence, but-- Not now, Makalaurë, Celegorm's ghost scolded and Maglor managed a small smile.
"You have nought to be sorry for, friend." Kinsman, he wanted to say, but did not dare. "Do not worry yourself. You were badly injured - a head injury not the least. Rest you - this cove is fairly sheltered, unless Lord Ossë decides to storm, we are safe enough for the nonce. Are you hungry?" Maglor asked.
"I... Yes," the other Elf said softly, "I don't know how long it's been since I last ate..." He started to move toward the fire, becoming steadily aware that he was not only hungry, but uncharacteristically chilled. Yet, moving only brought a wave of pain and dizziness, so he quickly abandoned that effort. He grimaced at his helplessness, and glanced away, embarrassed. Still, he was grateful for his new companion, who oddly seemed to recognize him, though he had no recollection of this person. He began to wonder about him. It's evident he was married, which the blond Elf was not, but there were no signs of anyone else nearby. "...will your family be worried for you out here?"
Maglor had turned away to the fish cooking in the coals and his breath caught briefly at the memories, but the wounds were old now, and he only shrugged a little and smiled sadly, coming over to offer his companion a hand.
"I no longer have family to worry for me, I fear, but I thank you for your concern. Come, the fish will be ready soon - let me help you closer to the fire," he said kindly as he approached.
As soon as he realized his faux-pas, the golden-haired Elf winced. His memories were still vague, but hearing that opened some ache in his heart as well.
"Oh... Forgive me, I didn't realize... I don't remember if I have any family left or not, but... I think I may have... lost someone..." he murmured, flushing. By then, the dark-haired Elf was there to help him get closer to the fire. Injured as he was, he was unsteady, and leaned heavily on his companion. "Still, I am glad you were here to find me. ...what do I call you? I'm Am... Am... Am... something. It will come to me, once my mind is clear again, but..." He shrugged as best he could with his injuries. "You may call me what you wish."
Amroth, murmured Celebrimbor's ghost, Galadriel's boy. And, indeed, the last of the doubt was erased from Maglor's mind, though he did not dare say so aloud.
"Tis a fortunate man or elf in these days who can say they have not lost anyone dear to them," Maglor said, smiling a little sadly, "You gave no insult." Still, Amroth had asked him a question. He needed an answer. It was the briefest pause before he decided. "Cano, call me Cano. Am, is it? Hopefully the rest of your name is not long in the returning to you. Here, the fish ought be cooked now - I fear 'tis but simple fare, I have not overly much to season it with."
"Cano..." Amroth repeated softly. A slight frown creased the blond Elf's face upon hearing that name, and he took a closer look at his companion. There was no way to completely disguise that this was an Elf who was born in the Light of the Trees, and that created a faint flicker of recognition in Amroth's eyes, but not enough to be a clear memory, so he said nothing further on the matter. "We can only hope my name returns in time."
The freshly cooked fish brought a faint smile to his face. "Simple as it might seem, it will be as fine as a feast for me. Thank you," Amroth told him. As he ate the offered fish, a healthier color began to come back into his face, though he was still quite pale, weak, even fragile. Maglor noted the healthier colour with approval and nodded.
"I think it shall. You strengthen already - a good sign," he agreed, "But even so, you should rest. You need fear no danger here - this close to ocean, I doubt much evil would come willing, and I will keep a watch in case."
"Cano... You are very kind to a poor stranger. I swear I will find a way to repay your hospitality," Amroth said, eyes shining earnestly in the firelight.
"Do not trouble yourself over it." It is no burden to care for a kinsman, Maglor did not say, only smiling a little and settling down with his back to the fire to watch for anything that might come. Once the fish was gone, it was not long before Amroth nestled into a more or less comfortable position near the warmth of the fire, and, too weary of body and mind for a reverie, he fell asleep. But it was not a restful sleep. Many dark dreams were in his mind, judging from the way he moaned and shifted in his sleep. When Amroth stirred, Maglor looked up in concern, before biting his lip and fetching his harp.
Sleep, he played, fear no evil, dream no bad dreams.
As Maglor played, Amroth finally settled down enough to sleep, and when he did, it was for a long time, his poor body working hard to heal and regenerate.