The minstrel wandered along the seaside, his long black hair blowing gently in the breeze, his clothing threadbare. He played sorrowful melodies on his harp of gold, lamenting the blight of the Noldor and all that has passed. The Silmarils are gone, the Oath was all in vain. His brothers are dead, and Maglor is the only son of Fëanor left in Middle Earth. It took all his will to not cast himself into the sea and join them.

Maglor had but all passed into legend, forgotten. In this state, he thought he would dwell until the end if Elrond did not find him. Years ago Maglor took the Half-Elven son of Eärendil as a foster son before he had to leave to pursue his oath. The boy had grown. Behind Elrond's eyes, Maglor saw a wisdom beyond his age. Elrond invited him to come with him to Rivendell so that he would not have to dwell longer in solitude.

And thus, by incredible circumstance, Maglor finds himself being swept up again in the tales of Middle Earth. With the Fellowship of the Ring, he journeys across the land on a quest to destroy the ring of Sauron. He turns to you. "Dost thou know where we are headed now?"