Longing
a double drabble written for the 4/4/26 SWG instadrabbling session for the prompt: We are far from perfect / but perfect as we are / we are bruised, we are broken / but we are goddamn works of art
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How unfair, Daeron thought vaguely, that he was doomed to fade away while Maglor Fëanorion, dispossessed kinslayer, remained as full of life as he had been when they’d first met beside the sun-spangled shores of Ivrin. Oh, how he had sparkled then, decked out in garnets and gold, with hands that strummed the strings of a harp with as much precision as they wielded a sword. Daeron had worn pearls and silver, and the finest silks that Doriath had to offer—though he had been heedless then, and brought them home covered in grass stains.
They were a very long way from Ivrin now, and Daeron could not remember when he had last seen jewels or touched silk.
Maglor sat beside him under the tree. A river flowed along at their feet, small and glimmering gently in the greenish light under the trees. “I should tell you to go away, Kinslayer,” Daeron said.
“I should tell you to seek the Havens,” said Maglor. “Does the Sea not call to you?”
“They say your voice is like the Sea,” said Daeron. “Maybe that will be enough.”
Maglor began to sing, and for the first time in years Daeron felt warm.
