The last son of Feanor passes, singing alone, into legend. Or so the saying goes. Reality is rather different.
Reality had Maglor make his way to Numenor after a couple decades of wandering aimlessly, and was promptly shoved into the King's retinue, installed as someone trusted and to be respected.
His scars are better, these days, and he actually looks fairly well fed and much better kempt than when he'd first appeared. He still often keeps to himself, on the days when memory tugs most insistent and the sea demands he play for it.
For Osse, really, and Uinen. Even Ulmo, should the Vala listen. With his feet bared to the cool water and he'll play and sing for hours unless stopped, without thought for rest, food, or water.
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Reality had Maglor make his way to Numenor after a couple decades of wandering aimlessly, and was promptly shoved into the King's retinue, installed as someone trusted and to be respected.
His scars are better, these days, and he actually looks fairly well fed and much better kempt than when he'd first appeared. He still often keeps to himself, on the days when memory tugs most insistent and the sea demands he play for it.
For Osse, really, and Uinen. Even Ulmo, should the Vala listen. With his feet bared to the cool water and he'll play and sing for hours unless stopped, without thought for rest, food, or water.