What had he become? No longer the same shade he used to be, for sure. No. It would be necessary to ignore a multitude of mistakes to win back that title.
His head down enabled him to see the bright figures below. He had, once again, been hiding there, stuck in his comforting atmosphere that only the highest places could offer. He closed his eyes for a moment for the memories had become very intense.
He did not want to remember. He was tormented by it every day since the desertion of his mission.
"You have a choice."
Nobody could tell if Maglor was stating his choice or answering Eonwe. It was always difficult to understand his words, so it was with no great surprise that people noted later his departure from the Valinorian camp.
Maglor was gone.
No, he did not like to remember yet he could not prevent the trouble that afflicted him. His torments were what linked his old life with his new reality.
With a sigh, Maglor moved away from the edge of the building. The place was heaven and hell. He had found it by chance in one of his nocturnal wanderings; head too full to sleep. He had walked aimlessly for a while until he found himself in front of the large dark wooden door. The Hall of Mandos. It did not seem appropriate for the place, surrounded by dubious establishments frequented by people of questionable morality.
However, he never managed to get in, and his knowledge about it was limited to outside. When he was affected by the need to remember, he would climb the fragile scaffolding of the side up to the roof. When up there, his memories would become too much, reaching the limit that his soul had imposed him.
It was enough.
He was there for some time and felt increasingly exhausted. He went toward the scaffolding and made the slow descent. Upon reaching the ground he was about to continue his journey when something caught his attention. The hotel's doors opened for the first time. First he saw the wallpaper – a golden pattern on a dark background - and a rich red carpet, which did not surprise him. The interior proved worthy of the hotel's façade which was definitely too elegant for the neighborhood.
However, what intrigued him the most was the figure that opened the door. Dark, tall and pale, he had long dreads that reached his waist. He wore clothes that definitely did not belong to him as the shirt came almost to his knees and the trouser's hem was rolled up several times to allow him to walk without the risk of stepping on it.
The man bent down, ignorant of Maglor's presence, picked up the newspaper that had been left that morning at the door. He looked at the main page and a sigh escaped his lips. He had almost entirely closed the massive wooden door when he heard the voice of his observer.
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