At all times I'm thinking about the poetic grandiose, the wretched grace, the brutal beauty, the hard-won victory, and the sad magnificence with which Maedhros falls.

It's about the way Maedhros finally gives in and yields to what he's been fighting against since the first kinslaying, the way he still has his unyielding determination & great battle strategies but when once they were considered good qualities of him now they drive him and the Middle-earth he once fought so hard to protect to their demise, the way Celegorm was the driving force behind the second kinslaying but still as the overlord of the Fëanorians Maedhros was the one who had the final say and decided to go with it & the third kinslaying happened with the reluctant agreement of all of the four sons despite their best effort (and they who held the borders and protected the people of Middle-earth once now ravaged a refuge) but at the end, Maedhros-who once was a beacon of hope before Nirnaeth & would not slay his kin hoping that he would free the Simarils from Melkor's grasp- was the driving force behind the fourth Kinslaying out of desperation. It's about the way he who once led the free folk against Melkor wouldn't even fight in the War of Wrath anymore. It's about how he who once held the banner against Melkor and whom Melkor was weary of at the end helped Melkor in some ways. It's about how all throughout his spiral you can see his inner turmoil & noble nature still shining through as he searches for Elured & Elurin, tries to forswear the oath, tries to negotiate in peace, and at least agrees to take Elrond & Elros in and protect them, and eventually when the Silmarils burn his hands he can't live with himself anymore. The way he loses the one battle and war that he truly wanted to win and after that in a new war that he doesn't want, wins every battle that he doesn't want with every realm but cannot win the one thing he truly wants (and the thing he supposedly "wants" is the thing that ruined his family and his life. So the Sons of Feanor in the whole Arda must have been the only ones who truly didn't "want" the Silmarils) so he still loses the war. It's about the way Maedhros' final downfall comes with him "winning" his last fight. With him "winning" the thing he spent all of the story seeking and fighting for. It's about the way that thing truly wasn't a thing Maedhros himself ever sought or desired. It's about the way in which his story truly comes to an end. Just not the end anyone hoped for but the end that anyone could see coming. The way it was both preventable and inevitable. It's about the way in the end he essentially fills the role of Fëanor against whom he was a voice of reason (if still a loyal follower) at the beginning and despite how he tried to do things differently than his father, he eventually became Fëanor. He did, in the end, burn people's ships. He did burn his way back. He did ignore Eonwe and took up arms against the Valar and convinced Maglor to do so, too. The way Fëanor always haunts the narrative from the beginning but before Nirnaeth it's in a mute far away subtle way but after Nirnaeth it becomes completely obvious to the point that it's like Maedhros' story essentially ended with Nirnaeth & it's now Fëanor's story that continues through him. Maedhros after Nirnaeth is like a dead man haunting his own life trying to finish an unfinished business so he can finally die in peace. But at the same time, at that point, it all seems like a natural, fitting end to him. He was always meant to be a tragedy.

Unexpected Consequences

Part 2 

Maedhros x Reader

1.9k words

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

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Quietly Maitimo sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his thighs with his hands covering his mouth. It had easily been two weeks since he had originally shown up on your front door. With high expectations… The encouraging words of his Amme to prompt him to approach you had left him hopeful. The image of the excited attendant had left him hopeful. 

Yet it was clear to him from the moment your eyes met his, that the greatest person in his life he had betrayed was you. The sneer on your lips that you had aimed at him, your defensive body language, how loud and angry you had been with him. Maitimo had never fathomed the damage would be this catastrophic against you. Always had part of him regretted not taking you with him, though he had let the Oath and his capture reason that it was justified that he hadn’t. 

Still in his mind they were valid in justification after experiencing all the ruin. He had hoped that perhaps you’d eventually have felt the same way. Knowing how much would circulate and what would be said over time about what was happening. But that apparently was not the case. 

Yet the regret only continued to blossom and grow in his chest. This was the unexpected consequence of that, you were livid with him. Bitter was perhaps a better way to describe it. Any trust that you two had before was shattered into oblivion, and the shards were so small that Maitimo didn’t even know how to begin to pick up the pieces. Desperately was he aching to mend everything with you. 

The diplomat in him had ideas, yet you weren’t an angry King of the Woods who he could try to appeal to. You were you. Though he supposed you were just as formidable as that angry King of the Woods, seeing that you had been scorned and abandoned, left to try and pick yourself up with the help of his mother. Maitimo sighed out heavily rubbing his face, muttering curses under his breath regarding that damn Oath and those infernal rocks.

A few days ago he had sent a letter, anxiously awaiting a response to it. His stomach had knotted and coiled, filled with butterflies the whole time. Anxiety had held him in a vice as he had waited for days on end for a response from you. Now the reply to his letter sat on the coffee table right before him, with a firm and large no written on the page. The ink glimmering in the orange glow of the hearth, even despite its warmth he knew just how cold those words were.

He had sent you a letter in hopes to coordinate a time to meet with you, yet he was met with another no. With no time limit on when he could meet with you. 

This letter was after approaching you once more at your abode. In his defense you had not said you didn’t want to see him again, just that you didn’t want him in your house. Which Maitimo was more than willing to respect. Though you had made it abundantly clear that you still didn’t want to see him once more, as you slammed the door in his face when the attendant had fetched you. 

You looked more hurt than the last time when you looked at him. It reminded him much of when he had left you standing on the palace steps, yelling at you that you were forbidden to join him on the excursion across the sea. Maitimo couldn’t begin to fathom how painful it had been not knowing if he’d ever come home, if he’d be a victim to the Oath, if he’d ever even have the opportunity to set foot in Valinor… If he’d be killed. 

Maitimo could only assume that was only the half of it. He could only imagine what you had heard as elves from across the sea had circulated once they were reborn. Recounting their tales, of orcs, of his capture, and especially of his crimes again. Did you suffer any for it? For being wed to him and others knowing what you felt for him? Were you alienated too?

You were right, Maitimo didn’t know the full scope of what he had done to you. He could only guess it. His chest ached painfully to know that he had hurt you so grievously and now he didn’t even begin to know how to fix it. Especially when you were thwarting all of his attempts so far. 

It was the sounds of a gentle knock against his bedroom door that pulled from his tumultuous thoughts. Hearing the door creak open, before the soft sounds of Nerdanel’s approaching footsteps met his ears. 

“Did Y/N respond to the letter?” She asked with an eagerness to her lilt voice. Hopeful that you had been more receptive to not seeing him physically. Yet as she rounded the couch, she could only see the disappointment that was on her eldest sons face. Watching as he reached for the letter before him to hand to her. 

Gently Nerdanel took it from him, noticing how blank the parchment was except for the resounding no written in Tengwar across the page. Nothing else to address whatever else that Maitimo might have written about to you. No I love you’s, no I miss you’s or I’ve missed you, no further explanation as to why you were so angry with him. 

Nerdanel had not realized that your distress and upset over Maitimo leaving you for the Oath had festered into anger and bitterness. She knew the extent of the pain that you felt, and she thought she knew just how badly you had just wanted Maitimo back. Yet you had hid so well just how rancorous you were feeling over the ordeal. Not that she blamed you, you had every right to be upset with him over what he had done. 

“Oh.” She muttered softly, thinking for a moment as she began to seat herself next to her son. Who was quietly brooding, though there was some comfort that filled him at the feel of her hand on his back. A silence fell over the two of them, with Nerdanel’s blue eyes continuously looking over the no. If she had known… Nerdanel would’ve helped diffuse the bitterness long ago. Or have given you the chance to diffuse it on your own by venting to her. 

“Well… What happened when you visited Y/N this last time? Surely that went better?” She had meaning to ask him about his most recent visit. Perhaps that was why you said no? Maybe you were just overwhelmed with whatever conversation the two of you had shared then. Perhaps she was just assuming you were bitter, when in reality you were really shocked and overwhelmed to see Maitimo and it came out in anger. But Nerdanel didn’t want to give that as reassurance until she was sure she knew the scope of his second visit. 

Nerdanel watched as Maitimo ran a hand through his russet hair. Sighing out heavily, shaking his head at his mothers question. He wished that he had better news to give. 

“When the attendant fetched Y/N… They personally saw to slamming the door in my face. I couldn’t even get a chance to greet them.” Maitimo answered her honestly and in a soft voice. Though he didn’t want to invoke any pity from his mother. Not when any lingering sadness should be directed at you, considering what you endured. 

He had earned your bitterness. Would things have been better having you beg him not to leave you at the Vanyarin Camps? Where you’d have bore witness to the madness of the Oath? Would you have been more understanding of how horrendous the Oath had been? Or was this better than you hating him for subjecting you to the Oath in a more personal affront?

“I want to feel as though I have done them some justice, sparing them from the horrors of Beleriand and the madness of the Oath Amme… But I cannot help but feel as though this was the wrong choice as well.” Maitimo breathed out again, confessing his thoughts openly to his mother. Whose gentle hand began to rub his back while she quietly thought over his words. Leaning over to set the cold letter back onto the coffee table before smoothing out her trousers. 

“I do not say this lightly or to fully justify what you have done to them my son… But I find after hearing the horrors of Beleriand you have done a kindness leaving Y/N behind.” 

“But?” He pressed, 

“But you should’ve let Y/N make that decision for themselves. Just as I had the choice.” Though it was no secret Nerdanel would’ve never gone with them, they both knew Feanaro wouldn’t have stopped her if she had changed her mind.  

“Perhaps… Though I fear Y/N would’ve resented me in the end too. Regardless, the Oath would’ve brought me to abandon them all the same.” Maitimo said, moving to lean back against the couch, rubbing his face, letting his gaze fall right back onto the letter on the coffee table. 

Silence draped over the pair again, while Nerdanel let her gaze drift over into the hearth. Watching the way the fire danced with fleeting life at the logs that were burning. Letting her thoughts churn with ideas of how she could help mend the bridge that had been burnt between the two of you. Or at least give you a chance to express yourself fully to Maitimo and hear his words to get some closure.

You did deserve some closure to be able to make a decision on what to do next, whether it benefited Maitimo or not. You were the wounded party, it was your decision to make. Though you’d never get to make that as an informed decision at the rate you were going thwarting his every move. 

“I think it is best if I don’t do anything. I shall wait until Y/N decides when they’re ready. If they ever do.” Maitimo said, trying to keep his expression from being so sad over more time apart. It had been so achingly long, and by Eru had he missed you dearly. Always had you been on his mind during his travels, during battles and wars, those late nights when nightmares haunted him and sleep evaded him. 

But it was selfish to ask anymore of you seeing the stress it was causing you. Seeing that you were rightfully angry and bitter over what he had done, while time could heal wounds… It could also leave them to fester and grow more painful than before. It was clear that time had not been kind to you and your emotions. 

“That may be best for right now.” At least until Nerdanel could speak with you. But she knew Maitimo would sway her against it if she said it aloud. Nerdanel knew he respected you and recognized the harm he had caused, but to her you both deserved to be happy. Especially when the two of you used to make each other happy. You both deserved to work through this, to not end up like her and Feanaro especially when Maitimo was willing to amend his mistakes. 

Gently she reached over to pat his hand, giving him a soft and motherly smile. 

“Come let us have some tea for some kind of comfort.” She offered up, and Maitimo exchanged an appreciative look with her. It was better than dwelling further on how grand his mistakes had been. Slowly he nodded, moving to stand with Nerdanel doing the same. 

Quietly Nerdanel was forming ideas of what to say to you.

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @nerdysimpy​ @thegirlwithoutaname87​ @anunexpectedsideblog​ @spidergirla5​ @eunoiaastralwings​ @eternalabysss​ @pretty-shiny-silmarils​​

Imagine reuniting with Maedhros in Valinor

(I’m sorry that this took a bit longer. I had to rewrite to make it better, so I hope you enjoy it.) 

After several years living in Valinor with nothing but memories, you are finally reunited with your beloved. 

Requested by @wandererindreams

Warnings; mentions of captivity, death, killing, a break up, angst, trauma, reunion, hopefully sweet and emotional for your taste. 

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How has it been since the last time you saw each other? 

How long has it been since you held each other, loved and warm, and safe from the world around you? How long has it been since you heard his voice, filled with words full of love and reassurance that everything would be alright? 

How long has it been since you separated for good? 

You did not know. You had lost count of the years since you left him and tried to live a life without him and the oath that plagued his family for centuries. You did not regret leaving because it was for your own good. You couldn't stay and get caught in the madness the commitment to the silmarils brought upon your beloved. It would have only ended badly for you, so you had to do what was best for you. 

However, the longing and sorrow never left you. You missed your crimson-haired ellon, the one who welcomed you and your people to his home when no one else would accept you, the one who made your heart beat with love and passion. You missed Maedhros. 

When he fell into desperation to fulfill his oath, it broke your heart. It changed him for the worst. You tried to support and be there for him as much as possible, but when he agreed to settle down to attack Doriath to take the silmaril from Dior’s hand by force, that’s when you had to draw the line. 

You tried to convince him not to do such a thing, not to fall upon that path again and become a kinslayer he had already shunned since the first age. You have already seen innocent suffer and die at the hands of the dark lord. You did not wish to see your beloved do the same thing. 

Maedhros did not deviate from the plan and kept saying it had to be done. If you were not going to support him, you might as well leave. Those were words you never wanted to hear from someone who held your fragile heart. 

After escaping the hellish fighter pits of Angband – you promised yourself that you would never harm innocents again, so you left.

You and those who followed you had already been ridiculed once for being former thralls of the dark lord. Therefore it was better for you to leave than to be marked as kinslayers for associating with Maedhros.

You could still remember when you packed your things and turned to look at your lover for the last time, bidding him goodbye and hoping Eru would be merciful upon him. He didn’t even turn to look at you. He only apologized for the pain he had caused you and wished you well. 

It broke your heart. The tears that fell that day were uncountable when you left with those who chose the same. While his brothers mocked your decision to leave, Maedhros ensured they would stay quiet and let you go peacefully without strife or aggression. It gladdened you that he still cared enough about your safety, but it did not heal the broken heart within you as you left and never saw each other again. 

Cirdan, the shipwright, welcomed you and your people when you arrived in his city. He was kind, and living in his safety allowed you to heal and begin something new – away from Morgoth and the hardships of the past. 

It was hard to adapt in the beginning, especially when you heard the terrible news of the Doriath, the ransack of Sirion, and how Maedhros finally ended his life by throwing himself into the flames on the earth. It broke your spirit to realize he was now gone. You were glad he finally managed to fulfill his oath and rest his soul in peace, but it now meant you might never see him again. 

You knew very little about Mandos and the matters of the dead – but you didn’t need to be a genius to think that he might face judgment for his crimes and thus never walk upon the soil of the earth till the doomsman of the valar decides so. 

As time passed, Cirdan and your friends convinced you to sail for Valinor. You had suffered long enough, and your heartbreak over Maedhros’s death had yet to heal. It was one of the reasons why you should go to the undying lands than remain on Middle Earth. 

You had grown weary and tired. You wished nothing more than peace, rest, and freedom from violence, so you decided to leave Middle Earth and sail for the blessed realm. 

The sight was beautiful. It was like being enveloped in light for the first time in your life, and you could not feel even an ounce of darkness, strife, or danger you usually felt in your life on Middle Earth. The stories Maedhros once told you about it could barely compare to the feeling you felt when you set foot in Valinor for the first time. 

You reunited with those you once lost and even found your family, who welcomed you with teary eyes and hugs. You felt emotional when you felt their arms around you again. It had been so long since you saw them again. The last time was when the orcs captured and took you away into the Iron hell, away from your family. 

You got welcomed into the gardens of Lorien, where you were allowed to heal from your traumatic experiences. You joined groups of people who shared similar experiences, and through therapeutic sessions, you managed to bond and adapt more comfortably to your new life in Valinor. 

You even managed to make amends with those whose’s lives you had unfortunately ended in the pits of Angband. Their souls were lucky to escape the darkness and be reincarnated in Valinor. They harbored no ill feelings for you and had forgiven you long ago, so you finally managed to let go of the guilt that had plagued you for years. 

Your life became peaceful. 

You lived with your family, sharing loving moments and spending the time you lost since you got captured. The scars on your body began to vanish, and your grayish hair regained its natural color. It was almost a surprise when your hair suddenly started changing color since you were used to your grayish hair, but it was a pleasant surprise because you finally learned your natural hair color since you had forgotten. 

You still missed Maedhros from time to time. You sometimes imagined meeting him again and wondered how it would go. Would you be happy to see him, or would you keep your distance and avoid interacting with him? You hoped it would not be the latter. 

You went to see his mother once. The red-haired elleth was beautiful, kind, and welcoming – like Ariel in the morning sky. She was just like how Maedhros described her. You now knew where he got his height and good looks. 

Her time alone in Valinor had grown her weary and tired, but she was delighted when you told her many good things you shared with Maedhros before your separation. She insisted you come to talk to her if you missed Maedhros since she did not harbor hate or resentment like many who still bore hard feelings from the horrible acts of the first age. You appreciated it and took up her offer many times. 

She appreciated it as well since you made it less lonely for her. 

You took a deep breath, taking steps back from the cliff's edge. The sea waved before you, and the seagulls flew in the sky, singing and hunting their fish. It was an odd habit. You would sometimes go there and stare into the distance, toward Middle Earth and think. It helped you find peace and ease the deep homesickness you felt for Middle Earth. It might have been a dangerous place, filled with orcs and dangers, but it was your home with many good memories you shared with your loved one. 

You turned back and walked away.  

The exotic birds of Lorien sang in their trees, filling the air with their unique melodies. The bees and butterflies flew around the flower beds that dressed the garden with their colors and pleasant smells that effortlessly eased your soul and mind. You always found the scent of the flowers most pleasing when you walked in the garden. 

You remembered when lord Irmo welcomed you into his garden. He helped you heal along with his wife and sister, who were kind and made it easier for you to let go of the past and look up to the future. 

The memories of Angband had left your mind, and your heartache healed thanks to them. 

You almost thought you would never be able to heal from the scars the dark lord had inflicted upon you. It was one of the things you shared with your beloved ellon, the traumatic experience you both suffered at the hands of the dark lord and his wicked servants who took joy in your suffering and pain. 

He was the first one you opened up to about your time as a thrall like you were his. 

Mind occupied with sad memories and longing again, you couldn't do anything but think about them while walking. People passed you and gave you some greetings, which you returned with smiles and nods while walking with no destination. 

The elf sat down on the bench, his crimson locks falling from his shoulders and a solemn expression dressing his face. He looked at nothing. There was nothing much to look at, and he didn’t need to see or hear the whispering of other habitats of Lorien’s garden as they sent him looks of suspicion and displeasure as they passed him. 

He let out a deep sigh. He did not blame them. Who wouldn't talk badly of a kinslayer? 

His mind returned to the days of his life on Middle Earth. He had done so many atrocious things, and even after several years in Mandos repenting and healing, he will never be able to let go of the guilt. It was not his right. While he regained his hand, the scars that covered his body were reminders of his past, a reminder he gladly wore.

He looked around the garden, taking in the peaceful sight. He had almost forgotten the serenity and the peace it possessed. He wondered if you had the chance to feel those things. 

His mind returned to you and those times you spent together. Safe and loved in each other’s embrace, away from Morgoth and the world that sought to take you down. He never knew your fate. Have you sailed for Valinor? Have you perished in conflict? Or have you remained in Middle Earth? 

Did you live better without him? Or have you suffered because of him? 

He hoped it wouldn’t be the latter. He hoped you had lived a better life after leaving him. It was all he could ask for since he had succeeded in nothing but killing innocent people. 

Did you hate him? He wouldn't blame you if you did. He was foolish to make you choose between leaving or staying to watch him kill innocents. You had suffered the choice to take innocent lives by force because of Morgoth, and he expected you would support him as he took innocent lives. It made him wonder if he appeared like Morgoth to you back then. 

He might never know what became of you. He can only wish to feel the warmth of your arms and see your blessed smile again. He may not be able to see you again, and that may be best for both of you.

“Maedhros?” He almost jumped from his seat.

 He turned around and saw someone looking at him with curiosity and familiarity. He was confused for a moment. He had no memories of meeting this elleth, yet she knew his sindaring name. She closely reminded him of you, though. 

“Is that you?” You got closer when he looked at you. 

He was uncertain how to answer as you stepped closer to him. “That would be my name – but I do not recall meeting you before, my lady,” He said. “You do not recognize me?” You questioned with a tilted head. Maedhros almost cursed under his breath when you said that. He tried hard to remember where he had met you before but got nothing as you looked too different from someone he knew. 

“Forgive, my lady – I do not believe we have met before,” He said. 

“Well – I guess it had been a long time since we saw each other,” You said. “Things have changed, and I guess I look much different,” You almost chuckled. “My hair used to be gray like with an old man, I had scars on my face, and my hands were in a much poor condition than they are now,” You moved your hands, then looked at him. “But we have met before –” You smiled. 

“You were the one who welcomed my people when no one else would and helped us heal from the wounds we suffered from the cruelty of Morgoth. I found my healing in cooking, and sometimes I invited you for dinner to spend time together – away from the outside world to only enjoy peace and comfort,” You explained. There was a hint of recognition in his eyes when you told him.

“I’m (Name),” You gently smiled. 

Maedhros almost felt his body freeze as he stared at you with widened eyes. His mind ran through thousands of memories and emotions as you stood before him in your untouched beauty and that beautiful smile he fell deeply in love with before you separated because of his oath. 

He almost cursed himself for making himself a fool. How could he have not recognized you, his beloved who he abandoned? 

“(Name) –” He almost whispered. 

Maedhros almost couldn't move. He raised his hands, but they shook like he was hesitant to touch you. His eyes glistened, ready to shed tears. You were also close to shedding tears as he finally recognized you and decided to embrace him first. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist as you brought his face to lay against your chest. He was shaking and breaking down in sobs as he held you close like you would disappear. You allowed your tears to fall freely as your heart soared happily to feel him in your arms again. 

“I missed you –” You whispered. 

“I thought I would never see you again after I heard you had died,” You said as he sucked in his sobs. You slowly fell beside him on the bench – holding on to him. It was a moment when time stopped, and it was just you and him. 

“Please tell me you have been forgiven and allowed to walk freely from the shackles of Mandos. I have been alone for so long,” You looked him in the eye, almost pleading. “I can’t bear it again to see you gone, away from me,” You stated. 

Maedhros looked back at you, holding your now gentle hand that grazed his face. “I won’t go anywhere, ever again. I will stay by your side – if you have me again, that is,” He almost looked down in shame. You chuckled, sniffing in your tears of happiness. 

“I would not choose anyone else than you,” You smiled. “There is no one else who can make me feel so loved and safe as you did,” You said. Maedhros cracked a smile, almost breaking down in tears again after hearing those words. 

“Come here–” You said, bringing him into another hug. He laid his chin against your shoulder, and you two held each other close again, unwilling to let go. “I love you so much,” He said. “I love you too,” You uttered back. 

You held each other for a while before releasing each other. “Have you gone seen your mother yet? I think she would be delighted to see you again,” You said. “You met my mother?” He questioned with a curious yet hopeful tone. “Yes. She’s so warm and kind – just like you said,” You smiled, which made him smile. 

You picked yourself up from the bench, pulling him along. “C’mon, let's not make your mother wait. I think she would be even more delighted to see us together again,” You said, leading on through the garden. He gladly followed you as you held onto his hand. It felt odd to feel his missing hand again but feeling your warm and soft hand against his made it better, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to follow you everywhere in this world.

You know. I love that Elwing became a bird but I can’t help but wonder. What if Ulmo had given her another form? Something that could survive the desperate fall to the sea below. A seal, perhaps?

Elwing diving off of the balcony of her children’s room into the churning angry seas beneath. Resplendent in a white shawl and gown. Appearing for a brief moment akin to a falling star, beautiful and tragic in its descent. And finally her body cutting through the white foam and the choppy waves. Sinking into the dark waters.

Elwing, the princess of the Sindar, lady of the Havens, gone in that brief moment. Maedhros and Maglor watching. Her sons shrieking in grief and terror against them for the brothers had grasped onto the children in order to keep them from following their mother over the ledge. They’re quiet. Filled with horror and despair and anger at the sight. The anger gives way to the horror. Despair clings to their throats and bright bright eyes meet over the heads of two squirming biting children filled with the grief of too many centuries and the madness of an oath sworn out of love.

Someone gasps. One of the twins, perhaps. Bright eyes fixed on the waters below. Desperately seeking the sight of his mother. She promised during the dark silent nights that she’d never leave them. She’d always come back, no matter what. Naneth wasn’t ada, a tiny dark-haired child would whisper to his brother on those nights. She loved them more than the sea.

Something rises from the waters. A creature, fat and sleek, fur a bright blinding shade of white. The exact same color as their mother’s gowns. Light radiating from her form as she dives back into the sea. A star whose light cannot be drowned out by the darkness. She rises and falls cutting across the rolling waves.

A gem bound around her throat. The Silmaril gold and silver and every color in-between. Its light emphasizing the radiance spilling from her form. Illuminating the sea around her as she swims away from them.

Their mother is gone. Taken by the sea. A distant star on the horizon.

She stops. Briefly. White and silver. A star held in the cradle of Uinen’s hands, the white-foaming waves urging her onwards. Large star-bright eyes watch them from a distance. She is gone with the next rolling wave.

It is said that Elwing was carried by the sea, by Ulmo’s will, by Uinen’s gentle hands, to Eärendil. She rose from the waters not as a seal but as a woman. Bright white sealskin wrapped around her shoulders. Jewel on her breast. Starbright eyes filled with terror and grief and fury. A face as lovely as the dawn. Hair dark and seeping through the waters like seaweed.

It is Eärendil who takes her skin from her as Lúthien once took Thuringwethil’s. It is Eärendil who returns the white sealskin cloak back to his wife once she has settled within his ship. Love in his eyes and grief in his voice. Her name on his tongue and his children’s in his heart.

Eärendil weeps.

Elwing is silent in her grief.

A jewel, bright as the Sun, more beautiful than the Moon, between their swaying forms.

The Blacksmith

Inspired by the Unity 5 Demo video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXWAsayTFTo

Magol crested the valley entrance then stopped in surprise.  When he’d been told of Canas Odhellim, he’d expected a small town, like Bree or Esgaroth.  What he saw instead was a thriving city, no Minas Tirith, but at least the size of Dale or Edoras.  No ghost hamlet this, instead it was clearly the center of commerce and government for the region.  He didn’t know if this would make his quest easier or harder.

As he walked down to the river he began to notice some distinctions.  The southern bank of the river and the western mouth that emptied into the Belegaer were alive with activity.  As he got closer he saw the bustle of commerce and the industry of construction.  New buildings went up, ships came in and out of the docks, people scurried about in their daily business.  In contrast, the northeastern part of the city was still and silent.  Piles of stone rubble revealed where tall towers had been knocked down and the remaining walls had black scorch marks.  Decaying boats and fields of feathered arrow shafts portrayed a silent tale of destruction and devastation.

Rather than sneak through the ruins, he entered through the south gate into the living part of the city.  “Name?” asked the smiling clerk.  A part of Magol wondered at the sight of a high elf, demonstrated by his height, his leaf-shaped ears, and glowing eyes.  The other half cringed to think such a distinguished individual serving as a lowly clerk.

“Magol of the House of Caranthan.”

“From what nation?”  The grizzled man wondered how backward these people were that they didn’t recognize the House of Caranthan.

“Ithilien in Gondor.”

“And the purpose for entering our busy city?”

“I’m here to seek a sword.”

“You’ll be wanting a weapon smith then.  That’ll be Steel Street in the Mirdain district.  Be warned, the inns in that district are a bit pricey-”

“Not that kind of sword.”  At this the Elf stopped scribbling away at his ledger and looked up.  The smile fell from his face to be replaced by a serious frown.

“When you say that, do you mean one made by a specific race?  The Steel Street has smiths of all the free races, Man, Elf or Dwarf.  Or do you mean one with the power of magic?  Because that would be the same location.  The wrights work together with the smiths.”

“I meant a sword made by the Blacksmith.”  Magol put as much emphasis as he could in the last word.

“I see.”  Not only the clerk but all the guards were paying attention as well.  “You’re one of those types.  You know, he only takes very few commissions.  And the price is high, probably more than you can afford.”

“The House of Caranthan is the second wealthiest House of Gondor-”

“I’m not talking about money!” snapped the Elf, bright eyes flashing.

“We’re very influential as well.”  The dark haired elf closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose.  He looked the same way Magol’s elder brother did when having a headache, then dismissed the thought.  As if Elves were prone to such human ills!

“That’s not-” the Elf sighed and started again.  “There are only two ways to earn a gift from the Blacksmith.  The first is to serve in Canas Odhellim for ten years-”

“Ten years!” shouted the Gondorian.  He had expected one or two, maybe even five.  But ten?

“Ten years,” spoke the Elf, patiently keeping his voice low.  “It can be any role.  You may join the Guard.  You may serve as a civil servant, in law or medicine or education.  You can take up a trade.  Indeed, many who have come here seeking the same as you have become smiths in their own right, and discovered greater fulfillment in creating their own weapon rather than having another fashion one for them.”

This explained how so many traveled to this city on the edge of nowhere, yet came back empty-handed.  Or never returned at all.  Anything could happen in ten years.  The supplicant could decide it wasn’t worth it, and get a lesser sword from one of the smiths of the Mirdain.  He could make a life here and decide to never leave.  He could die.

“Ten years is not so long.  A Dwarf must work for twenty years, and Eldar for a century.”

“Only an Elf would say that ten years is a short time.” snorted Magol.  “Do you have a sword forged by the Blacksmith?”

The Elf shook his head.  Magol sneered at him.  Coward.

“What’s the second way?”

Now the Elf looked as grim as Death.  Maybe he really was a high Elf, alive from the dawn of the sun and all the horrors of the First Age.  “Trial by Fire.”

They’d let him keep his sword and armor.  The sword would be necessary for the forging said the clerk.  The armor, on the other hand, would not help, but he kept it anyway.  He climbed past broken pillars, shattered stone, and burnt-out houses.  When he reached the pit forge, he stop to rest, taking off his helmet to enjoy the cool air while each exhale created a glowing cloud in the failing sunlight.

His elder brother would say he was a fool to come so far for something so meaningless.  The rest of his family would be less cruel about it, but would still not understand his path.  If he felt he had to get a gift from the Blacksmith, he should work the ten years to get it, not gamble on surviving whatever test the monster gave.  Easy for them to say!  They had wealth, power, honored positions and loving families!  What did he have?  After a lackluster career in the military and a trail of failed businesses that his brother had rescued him from, he had nothing!  Not even the honor of a degree to his name, or the love of a slattern, or even a promotion to sergeant.  He was just another grunt in the army.  This was his last shot.

He couldn’t wait ten years.  Maybe if Magol had been a younger man, or if the Gondorians still had the lifespan of their Numenorean ancestors . . . but in ten years he would be a feeble old man, incapable of wielding a weapon in battle.  At least if he won his prize now, he could return and gain glory fighting against the Corsairs of Umbar.  He was sure with a powerful weapon he would finally succeed at something in life.

Loud steps caught his attention.  A shadowed figure made his way over from the far side of the pit forge, and Magol realized that this must be the Blacksmith.  He was tall, taller than even the high Elf who had greeted him at the gate of Canas Odhellim.  He had strange, dark red hair, the color of old blood.  Most of his skin was as pale as a corpse, except for his right arm which was as black as soot.  Bright rings covered his right shoulder, made of gold and steel.  Creepiest of all were his eyes, which were completely black.  There was no distinction between pupil, iris and scelera, instead all he saw was a lightless void.  The Blacksmith came up to him, then spread his arms, as if to give a welcoming embrace.

Magol stood up and then put on his helmet.  Then he took his sword and drove it into the gut of the monster.  The monster (Man?  Elf?  Something else?) grabbed with it’s left hand and pushed him back a little, drawing the blade slightly farther out.  Then it’s black right hand came up and shattered Magol’s sword to pieces.

The shrapnel floated in the air for a minute or two.  Then the Blacksmith reached behind him, grabbed one of those spinning splinters, and drove it into Magol’s neck.  It was painful, but he’d been in enough battles to know it wasn’t fatal.  The other pulled out the shard, and while Magol clutched at the wound, the Blacksmith removed the Gondorian helmet.  For a moment, pale blue eyes met pitiless black.  Then the floating pieces of his blade moved, adhering to his face until he was wearing a mask of steel.  The Blacksmith stepped even closer.  He held Magol’s face still with his left hand while the right one came up and pressed something (a ring?) into Magol’s forehead.

Pain!  Pain!  It felt like his face was on fire, then the fire spread throughout all of his body.  Magol tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound.  He couldn’t pull away.  All he could do was endure the pain as the world went black.

Macalaure skipped up the path until he reached the pit forge, just in time to see his brother drop another mask into it’s lightless depths.  “Nelyo?”

The Blacksmith looked up then smiled.  Had the Gondorian still been alive he would have been amazed at the difference the smile made.  From remote, lifeless statue to a real, breathing person.  “Kano!”  He opened his arms for an embrace.  When the younger didn’t move closer, the elder brother simply walked around and scooped him up.  “Kano, it’s so nice that you came to visit me.”

“Nelyo, where’s the body?”

“Don’t I get a ‘Nice to see you too, Nelyo’.  ‘How have you been hanno?’  ‘Sorry I sent another bother up here Maedhros.’“

“I just saw you last week and was going to see you tonight anyway Nelyo.  I know you’re fine because I can check with osanwe, hanno.”  The shorter Elf squirmed until the red-head let him down.  “Although, I really am sorry for sending that Man here.  I hoped . . . “

“No Man has survived my test for centuries, Kano.”  The elder stepped aside and let the younger brother see where the Gondorian had fallen.  “The only ones who receive anything I have forged have been those who have served you faithfully.”  He watched the other dart away, then say a short prayer over the dead.  “What did he want anyway?”

“A sword.”

“He would have been better served getting one from you.”

“Maybe.”  There was a minute of silence.  “He asked if my sword had been forged by you.”

“Curvo would be highly insulted to compare my amateur dabbling to his work.  I don’t know why people bother to come up here.  If they want artifacts of power; you’re better at magic than I am.”

“They want more than magic.”  The Singer stood up and walked over to his elder brother.  They both looked down into the forge and the uncountable number of masks at the bottom.  While they watched, something heaved from below the masks.

“Not much longer now,” whispered the erstwhile Lord of Himring.  He placed his black, metal arm around raven-haired Elf’s shoulders.  Russandol tilted his head back and brought the other’s head up too so that they could see the Evening Star fade into sight.  “Soon this work will be complete.  Then we will have all three of them hanno.”

Maglor said nothing, but brought his hands up to catch at the metal cradled his chin.  What dimmed his grey eyes and put such a forlorn expression on the serene face?  Was it longing for the last Silmaril?  Or the desire to run away?

elves of arda ✷ house of finwë ✷ headcanon disclaimer

back to middle-earth month 2022 ✷ found family: first meetings, conflict, teaching and learning ✷ family: growing up and letting go, found family ✷ fun with fanon: maedhros gives narsil to elros

          Elros and Elrond were the twin sons of Elwing and Eärendil, and thus half-elven princes of both the Noldor and the Sindar peoples. They were born at the Havens of Sirion among the last remaining Free-peoples of Beleriand, and though their parents loved them, Elwing their mother was busy as Queen of Arvernien and Eärendil their father was called to the sea by the Vala Ulmo, seeking aid from the Valar against the ever-present threat of the Enemy. While on his journeys, Eärendil gave Elwing his wife an enchanted stone known as the Elessar that he had inherited from his mother, but Elwing already wore a necklace with a stone of greater power, the Silmaril her foremother Lúthien had wrested from the Iron Crown, so she passed this gift along to her sons so they might have a token of their father while he was away.           Though for many years Elwing had succeeded in hiding from the Sons of Fëanor who had slain her family in pursuit of the Silmaril, at last the news that she lived and yet bore the jewel reached her foes and they began to stir amid the torment of their Oath. She denied their demands to the Silmaril, trusting that it would protect her family and her people from any assault and refusing to surrender the jewel her parents and brothers had died for. Within a year, the Fëanorions descended upon the Havens of Sirion with a furious desperation, and the last peaceful haven in Beleriand was destroyed.           As the battle raged, Elwing entrusted her children to the care of their nurse Evranîn, who managed to hide them in a wardrobe before she was slain. Elwing herself fled to the highest point in all the city, a clifftop tower overlooking the unforgiving sea below, and there made her final stand. The eldest sons of Fëanor, Maedhros and Maglor, cornered her upon her ledge and entreated her for the Silmaril once more, promising to call off the attack if only she returned it to them. But Elwing was proud, and distrustful, and seeing her city burn below her she was filled with despair. These Kinslayers had slaughtered her parents and left her brothers to die, and they would do the same to her and her sons; they could in no way be trusted and in no way be allowed to gain the for which she had lost so much.           Thus Elwing turned and leapt into the sea, plummeting toward the unforgiving rocks below, and both she and the Silmaril were lost. With their prize out of reach, the grip of the Oath slackened, and and Maedhros and Maglor sat back to weep at their evil deeds and the deaths of their youngest brothers, who had been slain among the fighting. But even as they lamented, Maglor discovered that Elwing had left behind her twin sons, and so despite Maedhros’ warning that only ill could come of it, he took the boys into his care and returned with them to their fortress of Amon Ereb.           In that lonely fortress, Elrond and Elros were raised with as much comfort and love as might be found amid the horrors of Beleriand. Maglor and Maedhros both promised to return them to the care of their parents if they could. Indeed, they wished to exchange the twins for possession of the Silmaril, for rumor had it that Elwing had been saved by Ulmo and yet lived, but as time passed the likelihood of she or Eärendil returning and demanding custody of their sons diminished, and Maglor accepted the responsibility of the twins’ education and protection.           In the early days, Elrond and Elros were cared for by two of the Fëanorions’ loyal servants, Erestor and Edhelvain. Erestor was Maedhros’ steward and an elven survivor of the fall of Himring; he was a friendly face who had not been present amid the carnage at Sirion, and the twins trusted him more easily than their captors. Edhelvain was a Woman of Maglor’s people, and with her skill and wisdom she cared for the young peredhil as a mortal might, sensitive to their human ancestry both physically and emotionally. Yet in time, Maglor slowly won Elros and Elrond’s trust, and became so dear to them that he earned the title of foster-father.           Maedhros was more resistant to the twins’ charm, for he had suffered many deep and bitter losses in his past and was not swift to extend his love again. This was made all the more difficult by Elrond’s possession of the Elessar, which Maedhros had himself given to his husband Fingon in years past. He had thought the jewel lost when Fingon perished in the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad, but it for it had made its way to Gondolin and into the twins’ possession from their father Eärendil, grandson of Fingon’s brother Turgon. This reminder of his grief reopened old wounds in Maedhros’ heart, but in time the children won his affection also, and he wept when Elrond allowed him to hold the Elessar once more. From then, Maedhros also became as a father to them, and he would tell them stories of his own twin children, Gil-galad and Erien, who yet lived upon the island of Balar with Círdan their foster-father.           After some years of living with their kidnapper-fathers, a new star rose in the sky that Elros and Elrond recognized at once to be the Silmaril their mother had worn. Maedhros and Maglor confirmed this intuition, for none knew the jewels better than the sons of Fëanor their creator, and though few others understood the origin of the star and none knew how it had come to be lifted into the heavens, it became a symbol of hope, earning the name Gil-Estel. Maglor took it as the sign of hope it was meant to be, but Maedhros only saw the fulfillment of their Oath move ever out of reach, and despair clouded his mind once more. Elrond and Elros, also, were devastated, for this was proof at last that their parents were not coming for them, and they found themselves turning to the Fëanorions for comfort. Maglor promised to care for them as a parent, for the first time voicing the strange bond that had been forged between them, and with only a little persuasion Maedhros agreed, and offered to officially adopt the children.           Though Elrond and Elros were at first hesitant, after conferring with one another they accepted their new situation, complicated as it was, and in the most festive ceremony Amon Ereb had ever seen they were adopted by Maedhros and Maglor. Here they were welcomed into the House of Fëanor (or what was left of it), and given new names in Quenya: Elenyafinwë to share, after the Fëanorian pattern, and each a name of their own also. Elrond was named Aþelairë, for he was as kind as summer, and Elros was named Almatáru, for he had great foresight and fate had made clear that in time he would become a king.           For a few years, there was gladness between this strange new family despite the darkening world around them, but when the Host of the Valar arrived to at last fight against the dominion of Morgoth, things changed rapidly. Maedhros threw himself into the war effort, allying himself with leaders of the Valar’s Host and those lords and kings of Beleriand who yet lived, and Maglor stepped up to take sole responsibility for the twins’ care. Yet when Amon Ereb was besieged and overrun, Maglor and Maedhros knew that they could not protect their sons any longer while the War of Wrath raged. Though Elrond and Elros protested the separation from yet another set of loving guardians, they were sent away with only Erestor for company to the dwarven city of Belegost. As payment for taking in his lords’ children, Erestor gave to the dwarf-king Elros’ mithril coat, another relic out of Gondolin as the Elessar was to Elrond, and meant for a young prince rather than the near-adult Elros had become.           Elros and Elrond chafed at the restrictions placed around them, insisting that by the count of their mortal forefathers they were old enough to fight. They had never known a life not plagued by danger, and they were eager to take up arms against the Enemy as all their parents did, each in their own way. Though Erestor lent them a sympathetic ear, he was firm in his ruling that they must obey Maglor and Maedhros and remain in the safety of the Blue Mountains. After a decade of biding their time, Elrond and Elros at last saw a chance to escape, and fled from Belegost to join the Host of the Valar as they marched northward towards Angband. There Elros swiftly won great renown among the Mannish soldiers as a powerful warrior and charismatic leader, and he found a place for himself among their ranks, more at home with his fellow Men than he had ever felt; and Elrond proved his great skill in healing, taking few lives and saving many.           As soon as he discovered his charges’ departure, Erestor frantically ran to Maedhros and Maglor to tell them of their escape. Desperately afraid for the twins’ safety, the Fëanorion lords immediately abandoned their positions to search for their sons, and upon discovering them among the Host of the Valar a great argument was had. Elrond and Elros impressed upon their fathers that they were more than full-grown, their Mannish blood having great influence upon their maturity, and more than capable of participating in this war. Their fellow soldiers and healers vouched for them, and seeing their determination, Maedhros and Maglor were humbled. Though they grieved the loss of Elros and Elrond’s innocence, they understood the urge to fight back against evil and finally agreed to let them choose their own path. In honor of this momentous coming of age, Maedhros gave unto his son Elros Elenyafinwë Almatáru his best sword: Narþil, crafted by the great dwarven smith Telchar of Nogrod, which would become an heirloom of Elros’ house for Ages to come. And to his son Elrond Elenyafinwë Aþelairë, Maglor gave his silver harp, carried out of Valinor and preserved through much tragedy, heavy with enchantment and rich in mighty Song.           Though Elros and Elrond offered to join the contingent of Fëanorian soldiers, Maedhros and Maglor refused, for if their sons were old enough to strike out on their own, it would not due to stain them with the Fëanorian reputation more than they already had. Instead, they instructed Erestor to take the twins to High King Ereinion Gil-galad, their kinsman, that they might earn valour and renown under his banner. Elros’ mortal soldiers swore allegiance to him and followed him to his new general, under whom he became a captain in his own right; and Elrond swiftly grew close Ereinion, becoming his personal healer and his herald. As the war raged on, small moments of companionship were snatched between the twins and their kinsfolk; Ereinion and his sister Erien took Elrond and Elros as their brothers, and befriended Erestor as well, the five of them becoming a tight-knit group bound by friendship and love. Elros found a love of his own, as well, in the young mortal dragonslayer Hiril of the Haladin, and they forged a strong bond upon the battlefield that would lead to their eventual marriage in the years to come.           As the War of Wrath drew to a close, Elrond and Elros at last reunited with their birth parents. As Elwing and Eärendil were forbidden from setting foot upon Middle-earth, Elros and Elrond instead boarded the flying ship Vingilótë in which their father bore the Silmaril into the heavens as Gil-Estel, and though many tears were shed at this meeting, they were perhaps more bitter than sweet. Over fifty years had passed since the Kinslaying at Sirion, and all of them were much changed from the last time they had seen each other, and they could not find common accord among them. This was when Eönwë, herald of Manwë, informed them of the Choice their parents had been offered, between the fate of the Eldar and that of Men, and extended it to Elros and Elrond also. Their parents had both chosen to be counted among the Eldar, and clearly hoped they would choose the same path and return with them to Valinor when the war was over, but Elrond and Elros balked at the proposition, for they were not inclined to abandon Middle-earth after having fought so much in its defense.           Elrond and Elros were both present to watch their father Eärendil’s defeat of the dragon Ancalagon the Black and the destruction of the Thangorodrim as the beast’s body crashed to the ground. They witnessed the cleansing of Angband, and the final defeat of Morgoth, and the freeing of the Silmarils from his Iron Crown. Conscious of their foster-fathers’ Oath, they entreated Eönwë to relinquish the jewels to the remaining sons of Fëanor, but he told unto them the same verdict he gave to their fathers, that their claim was made void and the Oath invalid. Again, Eönwë offered them the Choice of the Peredhil, but Elros and Elrond could not decide between them which path to take, and fled from him to seek the advice of Maedhros and Maglor.           But though they discovered the small camp of Fëanorian followers, there was no sign of the sons of Fëanor, and none knew where they had gone. Turning back to the camp of the Valarin host, Elrond and Elros arrived just in time to witness the murders of those elves that guarded the Silmarils and their theft of the jewels by none other than their fathers, who had once again slain their own kin. Though Eönwë refused to attack them for their crimes, Elros and Elrond were distraught and attempted to run after them as they fled into the darkness, but at the Maia’s command they were restrained and protected from the madness that had overcome Maglor and Maedhros.           For a long time, no one knew what had become of the final sons of Fëanor, but eventually rumors spread of Maedhros’ fatal fall into flame and Maglor’s surrender to the ocean’s siren call. Elrond and Elros were heartbroken, and in defiance of Eönwë and their birth parents, they refused the call to Valinor. At last they made their Choices: Elrond for the elves, retaining his position as the herald of Gil-galad—and Elros for mortality, accepting the mantle of King and leading the surviving Men of Beleriand to an island kingdom blessed by the Valar and created especially for them.           Thus the fates of Elros and Elrond were sundered, though they remained close in brotherhood for the remainder of Elros’ life. Both would go on to honor the memory of their foster-fathers, naming their children in the Fëanorian pattern, however subtly; and though they remembered also their birth parents, it was Maedhros and Maglor whom they always searched for in hope that the rumors of their deaths were false and their family might be reunited. In the end, Maglor was discovered alive and wandering the shores of Middle-earth, and reconciled with his sons in time to be present at Elros’ deathbed; but Maedhros and his Silmaril had indeed been claimed by the fires of the earth, and was lost.           No matter Maglor’s attempts to slip away into obscurity, Elrond would always find him and reaffirm his love despite his mistakes. In time, Maglor would settle in Elrond’s valley of Imladris, and he would even sail with Elrond to Valinor at the end of the Third Age of Middle-earth, where in time they both would reunite with Maedhros upon his release from the Halls of Mandos, and though Elros’ mortal spirit had long since passed beyond the circles of the world, his memory remained with them always.

I was thinking about how one of the defining features of both Fëanor and Fingolfin is anger. It’s more obvious with Fëanor (drawing a sword on his brother, swearing a very threateningly worded oath), but it’s also true for Fingolfin. Tolkien says Fingolfin was of a different temperament and yeah, maybe he was more restrained and less reckless, but still it was partially anger at Fëanor that pushed him to cross the Helcaraxë, and it was anger that made him go and confront Satan.

In contrast, their firstborn sons rarely do anything out of anger. Fingon's driven by loyalty, friendship and compassion, even when he has every right to feel betrayed and angry. It is said he hated Morgoth only, but even that hatred isn’t shown on page through anger (defiance maybe but not anger). His last charge against Morgoth's forces was born from hope unlike his father's.

As for Maedhros, he laughs when he receives Thingol's condescending answer, while his brothers are mad. I don't think he felt angry even before/during the kinslayings but rather frustrated and desperate. While his deeds of surpassing valor during the Bragollach faintly resemble Fingolfin’s furious charge (his spirit burned like a white fire within / his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar), the wording here sooner reminds me of the fire of life was hot within him (and whose ardour yet more eager burnt) used to describe Maedhros before. It’s fire of life / white fire for Maedhros and filled with wrath and despair and great madness of rage for Fingolfin.

Finarfin, though, is not angry like his brothers, he's soft-spoken and peaceful, and nopes out of their mess pretty fast. At first glance, his firstborn son is like him. He's friends with everyone, beloved by everyone, but I can’t forget the moment Finrod threw away his crown (such a great scene, it’s been living in my head since the moment I read it, probably because it was unexpected to see such a furious gesture from Finrod). It makes me think that he was more similar to his uncles than he'd like to believe, but he was slightly better at controlling his rage.

time travel aus, amirite? since we’ve all decided to start talking about our ideas, i thought i’d throw my hat into the ring. i’ve actually had this idea for a while, i just wasn’t sure what to do with it because i barely have the patience for one-shots, let alone the continuous plotted longfic this would need

it’s not my idea, of course, i’m incapable of original thought. it’s based off this can-i-really-call-it-a-genre-if-it’s-two-fics-with-the-same-premise where some combination of maedhros, maglor, elros, and elrond land in the blessed realm before - even the unchaining, in my take, when the ambarussa are still children and the world is blissful. it’s more specifically my take on this fic, which takes elrond and elros from very early in their captivity and maedhros from just before the silmaril theft and maglor from several centuries into the second age. i just plugged my own characterisations into it, and, uh. the specific setup this not-genre uses is that maitimo and makalaurë *~mysteriously disappear,~* throwing their extended family into chaos, blah blah blah, and then a few decades later -

well. with my characterisations, we have a nightmare hellbeast who’s burned up everything he used to be in singular pursuit of an unreachable goal and has carved his very self into a weapon, a completely drained beaten-up husk barely cognisant of reality past the screaming in his mind who’s so utterly broken it’s debatable if he even counts as an elda, and two extremely young extremely traumatised children in a completely unfamiliar land- and skyscape whose only adult they can maybe-kind-of trust is currently bleeding from the eyes and shrieking wordless notes of utter despair

yeah, this au’s Fun. elrond and elros have maybe eight words of quenya between them, most of which are obscene, maedhros will act completely normal until he suddenly stabs himself in the arm because can’t this stupid hallucination end already, he has a character arc to tank, and maglor seems completely unaware he’s not still on the beach having the same cyclic arguments with the ghosts of the people he failed. the elves of valinor aren’t completely unprepared to deal with this, at least not the ones who remember cuiviénen, but it’s still a massive shock to see two of the children they came to the land of the gods to protect twisted and scarred like the worst victims of the dark. especially since noone can figure out why

so yeah. i have trouble finishing oneshot collections, so i doubt i’ll ever write this out in full, but i do have a lot of Scenes. fëanáro staring in utter horror at the oath, whispering ‘i made this.’ elros and elrond’s somewhat hole-filled explanation of their backstory devolving into a sindarin argument, and when the family asks tyelkormo what they’re talking about he freezes before saying ‘they’re arguing about whether maitimo killed their mother.’ the moment maglor finally managed to get through what happened after they got the silmarils to maedhros, who immediately switches from off-the-cuff self-harm to well-planned suicide attempts. the five-minute period the family hellspawn’s working theory was ‘they’re maitimo and makalaurë from an alternate universe where we’re evil’ (‘is there an evil version of me??? does he eat kids???????’ - tyelko) finwë going full bulldoze taniquetil in the background. fun times, might write some snippets in the future

but i like to think through the mechanics of this kind of time travel story too much, so i started wondering where maitimo and makalaurë, yanno, went. i quickly came to the conclusion that they probably swapped places with their evil future selves, giving me three time travel aus for the price of one! technically four but (a) i’m not sure if or with who the twins would swap and (b) if they did their alternate selves are probably having a really bad time and i don’t particularly want to think about it. the stories maitimo and makalaurë are in... they’re not necessarily any happier, but they are a lot more wtftastic

maitimo falls asleep under the light of the trees, on a relaxing retreat from the demands of court life and family-induced disasters. he wakes up in a world that’s almost completely dark, surrounded by plants he’s never seen before and wearing clothing designed for a much warmer climate, the scent of death in the air. now permanently separated from all his old problems, maitimo rapidly acquires several exciting new ones, including but not limited to:

everyone he ever loved being dead or worse

the lone possible exception, his last surviving little brother, being an almost unrecognisable blood-drenched kinslayer who hates everything in the universe especially himself

said blood-drenched kinslayer almost immediately imprinting on him like a grouchy murderous duckling

his future self having apparently wanted to kill even more people, why

getting dogpiled by like thirty dudes in full armour the instant they showed up at the army of the west’s camp to surrender

getting soul-scanned by eönw two minutes later. not fun

arafinwë pulling him into an enormous hug and then bursting into tears

the subsequent explanation as to just what happened to him and his brothers, which somehow got worse after he’d already thought they’d hit rock bottom like four separate times

proceeding to lose a staring contest with findaráto

the way everyone in camp looks at him like he’s an incredibly dangerous wild animal that might bite at any time

how if half of what arafinwë said is true he can’t even blame them, fuck, fuck

the twin half-elven(?????????????) princes he and his brother apparently kidnapped and held hostage for years, inflicting unimaginable cruelties as far as anyone knows

his first meeting with the kids happening when elrond broke into where they were holding maglor to scream at him in very loud very fast very angry sindarin for like half an hour

maglor just staring at him, eyes wide, ears pinned back, the whole time, and then trying to maul the first guard who mocked him for it

getting saddled with kinslayer containment duties in the aftermath of that whole incident

elrond punching him in the collarbone when he tried to apologise, shouting ‘you weren’t there, don’t you dare try to tell me what it was like’

elros’ visible half second of pure terror after the blow hit home

elros then using recognisable techniques from maitimo’s debate team circuit during a speech to the edain

like, clearly some shit did happen, but it’s obviously not what the local leadership’s afraid of

this sour-faced scar-covered warrior slipping out of the shadows in an unpopulated part of camp, kneeling before him, intoning ‘the swords of the host remain at your disposal my lord’ and then immediately vanishing

he didn’t recognise them until after they’d left but they were definitely one of his philosophy club friends, what even

just generally having woken up in a future a thousand times worse than his darkest nightmares

his natural instinct is to try and fix things, but how?? what’s even left to fix????

maglor sometimes goes into these unhinged desperate spiralling rambles directed at the older brother who exists in his head rather than the one in front of his eyes. whatever’s left of maitimo’s biggest little brother is clearly in so much pain

all the things he’s trying extremely hard not to think about because if he slows down enough to he’s pretty sure he’ll collapse

all the people he’s never met who hate him for pretty understandable reasons and whose social structure he now has to learn to have any hope of making it out of All This

the edain’s collective insistence on calling him pasthros

curufinwë isn’t even a hundred how does he have a kid

makalaurë, on the other hand, wakes up on a beach beneath a giant glowing orb. finding himself in a land so much barer than what he knows, among people whose souls don’t even work like his, his initial working theory is he’s been abducted by aliens

After a kin-slaying

in which Maedhros and Maglor reflect on their actions and become kidnap dads

‘The smell of burning flesh is one you don’t get used to.’  

‘But I have learned to ignore it. It is only when I think of Losgar that it angers me, though in truth it is more a feeling of shame and regret that overcomes me.’

Maedhros’ words were spoken in a manner so cold and free of emotion that one would not be able to even guess as to the pain they truly bore. It was a skill he had dreaded since he developed it, Angband had stolen the life from is voice and replaced it with the militant and cold nature that would only further his new reputation, the cold blooded fёanorian who lead his people further astray.

Maglor stood at his side the sights of despair and death that he had seen now thrice stained his vision. Upon hearing Maedhros he did try to bring his brother some comfort and put his blood-stained hand to his shoulder.

‘Nelyo, that was not your fault. You needn’t feel the same guilt that I do.’

‘Then you should not either.’

‘I should have resisted the Atar, I should have stood apart alongside you, I regret not doing so every day and night.’

Maglor had always been master of his voice, the gift of a minstrel, yet with tragedy his tone became desperate and uncontrolled sounding closer to that of a weeping child than a war hardened son of Fёanor.

The kin slayers moved through the fields of slaughter in secret both wished that they had been the ones slain rather than those of the havens and their last brothers. They did not speak as they moved down the slope towards the sea, yet each one knew what the other was trying to hide.

Cool water rinsed wet and dried blood from cloth, skin and hair alike yet the hands of one that slays his kin was in mind and spirit never washed clean of blood. The wine-coloured sea would always remember the blood that she had rinsed, yet would still offer some semblance of renewal to those whose skin she washed clean.

The fading lights of Ariens vessel coloured the last of the sky before Tilion rose, the silver remnants of Telperions lights reflecting in the sea as darkness crept over Sirion as it had in the hearts of those two who still remained here at its shore.

‘We should leave this place.’

‘Where would we go, Kano we are alone now. We are deserted and alone. So where would you go where death could not reach you.’

‘Death will reach us here if we stay, we may just evade it longer if we leave.’

‘You speak as though death is a punishment, when we both know that it is the one secret desire that we both share.’

They both knew they would be compelled to leave; their father’s spite would still haunt the world despite the centuries since his death.

Two cloaked figures along the fading river, their wayward fёar breaking further. Exhausted in body and mind they did stop to rest by a in the shadow of a cave.

The strangled voice of a weeping child was the first sound they heard above the gentle waves, both certain that it was a memory that had been sent to haunt them before they discovered they both could hear it.

The sound amplified by the resonance of the cave walls, Maglor who still was known amongst his brothers to posses his mother’s kinder heart did follow the sound to the child. He took the child in his arms and carried him out of the cave, where he did see his own brother holding a child who was identical in face but who’s eyes showed that his spirit was the one burning with more rage as the other was closer to composed.

‘Ёarendillion.’

‘Are you certain.’

‘There were few children at the havens beside the spawn of Elwing’

‘These children then are motherless because of our oath and action’

‘Many more than just these two I expect Kano.’

‘But the only ones we have met. I will take care of them then.’

‘Kano you cannot raise the children of those you have slain.’

‘Why not, I will never be able to repay my debt but maybe I can lessen it.’

‘I do not think one act of kindness to these children will save you from judgement, but I will not stop you, though I judge it to be unwise.’

‘When has any elf that carries the name Finwё been known for their sound judgement.’

‘I could say the same to you.’

‘Where did you find the second child.’

‘He was in the foam of the waterfall.’

Each Fёanorian held one equally exhausted child on their backs as they made their journey away from the mouth of Sirion.

 Hours had passed silently and the light of day had reached its peak when Maglor spoke again.

‘Nelyo, I have thought of what to call them, the one in the cave will be Elrond and the one in the water will be Elros.’

‘Have you not thought that they may already have names.’

‘They would not give them; I expect they are too fearful to speak for now.’

‘Be warned not to grow to fond of them dear Kano, I know in your heart you are trying to fill the hole left by Pityo and Telvo but they are not Ambarussa and will not replace our brothers. And do you not think Ёarendil will hunt us to the ends of Arda when he learns that his sons are in the hands of those kin slayers that drove his wife into the sea for a stone.’

‘I do not understand why she would rather sacrifice herself for a stone than ensure the safety of her children.’

‘Silmarils have the power to move anyone to corruption, we of all should know that.’

‘You are right I am a monster. All the horror I have caused does haunt me and now that I see the children who’s lives have been broken by it, I am afraid that I do not feel even half of the pain and grief as I was able when we first killed at Aqualondё. And I do not know if it is because my heat has grown weary or cold. I can no longer recognise myself, the hair I once saw as beautiful and soft is now coarse and as blood stained as my hands that are now covered in scars and callouses in the places I hold a sword and not a harp, my voice that was once so beautiful that it was loved by all in Tirion is now full of pain and is stretched thinner with each strained and impure sound, eyes that once gleamed with the light of the trees are now darkened like storm clouds and only shows a hopeless bleak Fёa that breaks further everyday yet grows continuously colder. So, you are right my dearest Brother I am corrupted and twisted and… broken.’

His voice strained further and further as he spoke, becoming more desperate. It became clearer and clearer in his voice that he was holding tears back in the eyes that grew more desperate to.

‘Kano, you are not a monster. The acts of horror and devastation that we both committed were only of the oath that is our father’s creation, we were just the blind fools that chose to follow him. And even then, my sweet Kano you still do have our mother’s kindness, enough do to save these children despite knowing it will be seen by anyone else as a crime and a dishonour as their father still lives. You are no monster; you are the kindest of my brothers.’

Elrond had heard from his mother about the terrible kin slayers and their actions that made them irredeemable in the eyes of any of the eldar that still did live, he had never expected that they would be capable of regret and grief. Yet a compassionate moment between two brothers who behind the cruel iron and masks, that made all see only the cold-blooded nature of their father, made him understand that behind all evil there is pain and a broken life that is deserving of love and forgiveness, a belief he would then keep with him throughout all the ages of Arda.

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Show (Part 3)

Links to Part 1 and Part 2.

Part 3 is where Men show up, and this is the point where the time-frame issues around adapting The Silmarillion become really challenging. Because in Season 2, you could have longish periods of time passing, a season taking place over the space of decades, without really drawing attention to it - your characters don’t age. But unless you want to really draw out the events of the Silm, you’re going to end up with whole generations of Men aging and dying within the space of one season. Which does have the intriguing potential of essentially getting the audience to view Men - us - from the Elven perspective, and see the brevity of human life the way the elves percieve it. For the most part, I’ve dealt with the issue by shortening the time frame and incorporating one timeskip, so the events can be concentrated into two periods rather than spread out evenly over more than a century.

(Technically, there are also about 150 pretty quiet years between the end of the previous season and the start of this one. Whether we tell the audience that is an open question - on the one hand it could deflate the tension a little; on the other, it explains some things like Aredhel’s restlessness, which could come across badly if she’s pushing to leave the city just a couple episodes after it was established.)

Episode 1: Teenage Glaurung sneaks out of Angband and is driven back by Fingon and a party of horse-archers. This is an effective warning of things to come, as he’ll show up again at the end of the season in the Dagor Bragollach; plus, it lets the season get started off on an exciting note. Finrod and Thingol both have foreboding dreams (Finrod’s of the fall of Nargothrond and an oath; Thingol’s of trouble coming to Doriath from Men), and Finrod talks to Galadriel about him. Rumours reach Beleriand (likely via the dwarves, as Nogrod and Belegost have relations with Khazad-dum) of a new people on the other side of the mountains.

Episode 2: Finrod, on a visit to Maedhros and Maglor (and interesting in asking the Laiquendi about the new rumours) encounters Men in Ossiriand. The Laiquendi dislike them because they find them disruptive to nature, and Finrod negotiates that the Laiquendi will not bother them and that the Bëorings can establish a settlement further northwest, which becomes Estolad. Haleth’s people are in Ossiriand at the same time and settle in Caranthir’s lands; Caranthir tolerates/ignores them. At the end of the episode the people of Hador (much more military and well-armed) also arrive in Estolad.

Episode 3: Aredhel leaves Gondolin. The arrival of Men fits into this nicely, because it gives her an incentive beyond mere restlessness. What we see of her suggests she’s adventurous and impetuous, and she would be interested in meeting this new group of people, in addition to wanting to see her cousins. And she can make the case to Turgon that knowing more about them would be beneficial to Gondolin. Turgon lets her go partly because he can’t really stop her and partly because Idril has a foresight that Men will be beneficial to Gondolin in some way. Aredhel’s group encounters monsters in Nan Dungortheb; she survives (and has some exiting vattles with giant spiders and other unpleasant creatures) and makes it to Aglon; the rest of her company do not.

Various elves, curious about Men, visit Estolad, and we have several scenes of the various elven main characters (Sons of Fëanor; Fingolfin and Fingon; Thingol and Melian) discussing the situation.

Episode 4: Aredhel, on her way to see Estolad, attempts to cut through Nan Elmoth (seriously, it’s directly to the north of Estolad) and becomes lost. She meets Eöl. Whether there are plenty of different interpretations for their early relationship, I think it works best for the show (and gives Aredhel rather more agency, and makes Eöl less out-and-out evil) if they’re genuinely infatuated with each other at the beginning. Neither of them has met anyone quiet like the other before! Falling in live with a mysterious stranger does seem like a reasonably in-character thing for Aredhel to do. Let him tell her the story of how Thingol and Melian met (in those same woods) and make some appealingly-flattering comparisons. Leave it ambigous as to whether Aredhel’s inability to find a way out of Nan Elmoth is due to Eöl’s magic or to the general enchantment surrounding Nan Elmoth.

The Noldorin rulers of Hithlum and Dorthonion, both out of desire for closer relations between elves and men (it’s fascinating to finally meet the Secondborn!) and an understanding of their military value, invite the houses of Beör and Hador to live in those lands.

Episode 5: The Men of Estolad debate whether to accept the elven-lords’ invitations, or whether the presence of Angband makes Beleriand too dangerous and they should head back east of the mountains. We get the moment at a community meeting where someone who looks like Amlach claims that both the Valar and Morgoth are a fiction and the real problem is with the Eldar; but Amlach says he wasn’t there, to great discomfitment. Some of the Men leave for the east; some leave for the west; Anlach goes north and joins Maedhros’ forces.

The debate, while interesting, doesn’t fill an entire episode. There’s also room in this episode for the Orc attack on Haleth’s people, the death of her father and brother and her desperate defence; and their (belated) rescue by Caranthir.

Episode 6: Haleth’s people head west through Nan Dungortheb (with more battle sequences!), and after their arrival in Brethil, Finrod negotiates with Thingol to let them stay there. Some scenes with young Maeglin in Nan Elmoth, as several years have passed since the previous episode. The houses of Beör and Hador settle into Dorthonion and Dor-lómin, respectively.

Episode 7: Timeskip from the previous episode. Beör, now living in Nargothrond, is elderly, while his grandson Barahir rules the Edain in Dorthonion (yes, I think I’ve condensed things by a generation). Death of Bëor. In Dorthonion, Aegnor and Andreth meet, fall in love, and break up. The juxtaposition with Beör’s death highlights the difficulties inherent in relationships between elves and mortals.

Maeglin, now an adult, is becoming weary of life in Nan Elmoth and expresses interest in meeting Aredhel’s kinsfolk, including the Sonnof Fëanor. Eöl reacts sharply and threatens to chain him up if he tries it.

Fingolfin calls a council of the lords of the Noldor to discuss an assault on Angband aimed at going beyond a siege and winning the war.

Episode 8: The council of the Noldor-lords is held. Considerable debate about whether to try to outright overthrow Angband. Fingolfin, Fingon, Angrod, and Aegnor are in favour; the Fëanorians, Finrod, and Orodreth are opposed. (Turgon, obviously, is not present.) Maedhros in particular is opposed on the basis that it’s impossible, being the only member of the group who has actually seen the interior of Angband. The decisions is ultimately against a direct attack on Angband.

Aredhel and Maeglin talk, and it becomes apparent that both of them are feeling rather like prisoners and Aredhel misses her family and Gondolin (and sunlight, and freedom).

This episode is also a good place to introduce Beren as a young man, since he’ll be one of the main characters in the next season.

Episode 9: Eöl visits the dwarves in Nogrod for a midsummer feast; Aredhel and Maeglin take the opportunity to escape. Eöl follows them to Gondolin, is captured, tries to kill Maeglin, does kill Aredhel, and is executed. This is dramatic enough to trick the audience into thinking it’s the climax of the season (well, at least if they’re not very genre-savvy; the subject matter of the previous episode is what we call ‘a hint’.)

Episode 10: The early parts of the Battle of Sudden Flame (Dagor Bragollach): Glaurung (now full-grown), the deaths of Angrod and Aegnor, desperate fight of Maedhros to hold Himring in the east, defense of the fortresses of the Ered Wethrin in the west. Ends with the Duel of Fingolfin and Morgoth and Fingolfin’s body being brought to Gondolin. (Poor Turgon has now lost two immediate family members in the space of two episodes. This contributes to him feeling very attached to Maeglin, the one family member he’s gained.) Season ends with a final pan out from Gondolin to show the entire north being on fire and full of orcs.

This episode is going to need a serious special effects budget.

So, basically, I've been working on this little head for some time, and it gave me several heartbreaks, but now I think this child is ready to face Tumblr c: WARNING, to some extent it may be ooc So... Meet "Birds"

Aman, before the Flight

Tyelkormo is in the woods with Oromë. They are saying goodbye, both knowing that this is the last time they see each other. Oromë is sad: of all other Eldar he loves Tyelko the most. However, the third Fëanorion has also given the Oath, so he will follow his father and leave Aman. Tyelkormo himself is not completely glad about leaving his patron and beloved friend too. Oromë gave and taught him so much, that elf feels like with Oromë he is leaving behind a part of his soul. Still, he believes in his father's words, maybe too sharp, but true in general. Tyelko says he's going to miss Oromë. Vala is going to miss Tyelkormo too. While they exchanging the last farewells Oromë promises, that he will never actually leave Turcafinwë alone in trouble. Elda cannot understand how would this be possible, but then thinks that Vala ment Huan, as the hound will be the memory of Oromë and his company. Since Tyelko still feels troubled Oromë advises him to visit Lórien-garden, while he still can. That is what Tyelkormo does. In the Garden he starts to feel better. Birds gather up around him, the elf smiles and is pretty happy. Although, he notes the absence of nightingale among all other kinds of birds. Tyelko doesn't understand this. Vala Irmo predicts Turcafinwë a lot of pain and sorrows after the Flight, and this almost makes Tyelko angry. He rises rapidly, but at the very moment when he wants to outrage, Fëanaro enters the Garden. He throws a wrathful look at his son, whom he didn't expect to see here, and chases him out to get packed. Tyelko leaves obediently. 

Amon-Ereb

Celegorm and Curufin are not in the best condition. They have lost their lands, failed to conquer the neighboring one and are almost out of people. Celegorm tries to be cheered up: after all, they are on the edge of one, maybe most important fight in their life. They're finally going to be a step closer to a Silmaril, to fullfiling their Oath. Besides, they haven't seen their brothers for ages. Still, Curufin seems all grumpy and irritated. Celegorm cannot let himself to fall under those emotions, because if he does, after everything he's gone through, he will only have to sit under the tree and cry until the darkness consumes him. 

Caranthir welcomes them gladly in the royal castle. They're all exchanging  warm greeting words and then Caranthir takes brothers for a walk through the castle, showing them, as they go, all the preparations for the upcoming battle and asking some clarifying questions about all Beren and Luthien story. Celegorm and Curufin answer briefly. After that they proceed into a small, by Caranthir's castle standarts, room, where they meet up with twins. Amrod and Amras are very happy to see their brothers again after a long time, especially hunter-Celegorm, they cheer and laugh, and are not aware of what's happening.They only know that there's going to be some fine mess, this time, as it seems, in Doriath. Brothers tell them the long story short, and twins become not so happy anymore. After a few days the elders arrive, they know all the deal in general. Maedhros is upset and gloomy, but as well as other brothers he has no choice, the Oath is the Oath. Maglor missed everybody and is very happy to see everyone again, he tries not to think about what they are going to do, about all the massacre, which they have gathered up for. He just wants to enjoy family reunion while he can. He orders minstrels to play and calls Celegorm for a private talk, then hugs younger brother with great compassion. Celegorm is surprised, he's afraid that Maglor found out something about Luthien, but then it appears that the Singer is sorry for the loss of Huan. Celegorm is really touched by that. He suddenly realises that he missed Maglor more that it seemed to him. After all, it was exactly Makalaurë who taught and mentored Tyelko in his early childhood. Kano was almost like second father to him. 

Preparation days pass by, and one time Celegorm, Amrod and Amras go to caserns to give some regular orders to their commanders and soldiers. While walk, they reminisce about good old days in Aman. When they chose to go through inner courtyard, one of the twins remembers, all of a sudden, a birds game, which they used to play back in Aman, and suggests to play. Celegorm refuses at first, says that they have a lot of work, but being dared and then agrees. While they play the first round, Caranthir passes by, and very surprised stays to take a look. All the same with Curufin, he then sits behind Celegorm's back. All in all, the crowd of multiple elves, including all brothers, gathers. One servant doesn't understand all thing, and Maglor quietly explains him the rules: Amrod is supposed to think of a bird and with ósanwe give Celegorm the image, sound, a feeling, all associations with it. Celegorm, since he knows the tongues of all animals, should imitate the song of the bird, which Amrod thought of. Amras should simply guess it. If Celegorm succeed imitating he gets a point, if Amras guesses, twins get a point. They lose their points if they can't do the task, or do it wrongly. Maglor remembers, that youngers used to play this game a lot, back in Aman, because they all three are hunters and this was an easy amusement to them, but everyone who ever saw them playing was amazed of their skill. Though, after the Flight they almost forgot about it. 

The game lasted for a long time, and on the another round Amrod faced a problem with thinking of another bird, which (as he thinks) Celegorm couldn't show. Everyone is waiting, so desperate (since he supposes that would be too easy), he gives out a nightingale. This is where Celegorm breaks down. He starts to gasp, his eyes fill with tears. Amras suggests to stop the game, but Celegorm rises hastly, claiming that he is fine, he will do it, and that he "had never lost a game since he was ninety four". And he sings the trill of the nightingale, as beautiful, as anyone has ever heard. Everybody is shocked and keeping silence. Celegorm looks down and breathes heavily. Amras starts to guess gingerly, and at the very moment he says "This is…", Curufin finishes -- "Nightingale". He and Celegorm look at one another, both thinking about the same "Nightingale". Celegorm looks around and then runs away, as far as he can.

The forest in Amon-Ereb

Celegorm runs through the forest and cries. He curses himself, curses Beren, Finrod and everything he can remember. His eyes water, he stumbles and falls on his hands and knees. Like that he stays and keeps crying for a few moments; then he just seats on the ground and leans on a tree and starts praying to Oromë. He remembers Vala's promise, that he wouldn't leave Celegorm in trouble, and now he is in the worst trouble of all, but where is Oromë? Still, nothing happens. Because nothing can happen, Oromë is fenced from him forever. Birds are gathering on Celegorm's cry. He smiles through tears. It seems that he sits like that quite a while, because at some moment Curufin comes in, all sweaty and nervous. He falls on his knees before Celegorm, tries to get him on his feet, cries and asks all things like "how long have you been here", "why have you run in forest", "everyone in the castle searches for you", tries to brings brother to his senses. Celegorm notes him that there is no Nightingale among the birds. The sign was given long time ago, at the very beginning, but only now he can understand it. Curufin keeps silence. Celegorm asks, how he found him, brother answers - with ósanwe. The two of them never thought, how strong became a bond between them after all this time they spent together in Himlad and further. Although now they both think "he is my most beloved brother, it's good he is near right now". Curufin tries to raise his brother up again, Celegorm hugs him and asks: "Curyo, why can't I stay in the forest forever?" 

Curufin is not really good in comforting, but he tries to cheer his brother up. He shakes him by the shoulders, tells that now is not the time to fall apart, that they need to keep themselves together. The upcoming fight might be as well their last one, so they should be ready to die with honor, like they promised. Actually Curufin, as well as Celegorm, and Caranthir, to some extent, feels the imminent end. But they need to turn these feelings into bravery and courage. That's why Curufin tells Celegorm about their duty, reminds about their kin and pride, and they return to castle together. 

Songs for the Dead

Maglor writes more elegies for his father than is entirely sensible or perhaps even sane.

The first isn’t really a proper one at all. It’s just noise, almost a wail, all his anguish pouring out as his father goes up in smoke.

A few hours later, he thinks, in a shocked sort of way, that he’ll have to write a proper one. Something to sing for their people. He actually manages to start on one, which he later counts as a sort of proof that he could write music in his sleep because at the time he had about that much brain function.

He isn’t even halfway through with it when they lose Maedhros, and he crumples it up and throws the whole thing on the fire. He writes instead a song for Maedhros which without him quite intending it turns into the furious scratching of you idiot, you idiot, you absolute idiot, how could you do this and leave us alone, YOU IDIOT - set to music that runs across his ears like a screech. 

Caranthir finds that one and shouts at him a lot. He shouts back, and the thing ends up getting ripped to shreds.

He writes another one later. One for both Maedhros and his father, that is powerful and moving and entirely political. 

Everyone loves it but Curufin, who has always read that sort of thing far too well.

. . .

When Maedhros returns to them, not dead after all, Maglor writes a song for that, of course. Maedhros asks him, later, if Maglor had written a song for his death.

He makes the mistake of asking the night after yielding the crown to their uncle, and Maglor, blank faced, sings him the version that repeatedly calls him an idiot.

Maedhros laughs for the first time since Angband, even if it is a bit hysterical.

. . .

That should probably be the end of it, but it isn’t. Not even close.

Maedhros’s return and the rise of the sun bring a new ache to his father’s death. Maedhros has returned and the whole world seems to have been made new, but his father is still gone.

He doesn’t mean to share the song with anyone, but Celegorm hears him. He doesn’t say anything about it, just sinks to his knees beside his brother with the very same pain in his eyes.

. . .

When Thingol bans Quenya and Fingolfin decrees that they’d better go along with it at least in public, Maglor spends months translating his old songs.

HIs father wouldn’t have stood for it, he thinks. His father, who had loved language, who had fought an entire linguistic shift for the sake of his mother’s name, had been happy to learn the new language, but he never would have surrendered to it.

His old laments sound odd in Sindarin, so he writes a new one in this new tongue.

Then he secretly writes another in Quenya, wrapped in the conceit that the language itself mourns the man who had loved it so fiercely.

. . .

It becomes a habit to write laments for his father whenever something happens. They become conversations: letters to his father that are never answered, save in his mind’s twisting dreams.

They approach something that is almost peace while he guards the Gap.

Then the Long Peace goes up in flames, and his songs become desperate beacons for his people as they frantically retreat.

When his lungs become too choked with smoke with that and his mind hazes, his memory drifts to his father’s fire, and the song becomes a quietly choked plea.

. . .

He sings lots of laments after the Nirnaeth. None of them directly address his father, but he writes them all with his father’s Tengwar, and whenever he closes his eyes, he still sees flames.

After Doriath, he writes another, fast and choppy and filled with despairing rage.

He rips it apart himself and throws it into the fire.

It turns to ash quickly.

Alqualonde. Doriath.

He already knows it will happen again, that it must happen again, and he wants desperately to be able to lay it all at his father’s feet, when Feanor had raised his sword in the air and shouted his Oath and expected his sons to follow.

It would be easier.

He dreams of his father that night, his father weeping silently as Maglor screams his ashen accusations into the wind, and when he wakes up, Maglor is weeping too.

He writes another song that reads more like a confession and a plea, all rolled into one.

I wish you were here.

If you were here, you would know what to do.

. . .

He writes other songs after Doriath.

Songs for Celegorm. Songs for Curufin. Songs for Caranthir. Songs for all their fallen people.

He writes a song for the sake of fallen Doriath too.

. . .

He writes songs for Amrod and Amras after the Havens.

He writes songs for Elwing and Earendil too, but he is careful not to make them laments.

Elrond writes one of those later when Elros convinces him they’re dead. Maglor hopes - fruitlessly, he knows - that it’s the only one Elrond ever has need to write.

He doesn’t write songs for his father now, but he thinks of him often as he struggles to -

Not to raise the twins, surely that’s the wrong term, but he can’t think of any term that isn’t worse.

He dreams of Tirion and of his father singing him to sleep after Maglor had nightmares of monsters hiding in the dark.

Elrond and Elros also dream of monsters, though admittedly for rather different reasons.

. . .

He thinks of writing a song when they at last have to send them away, but that thought is too close to singing their laments, and Maglor shies away from the slightest hint of that.

. . .

He doesn’t write a song for Maedhros. Not for a long, long time.

He sings to his father instead, a wordless wail for his lost parents, his lost brothers, his lost home.

For the Music he had clung to for one brief shining moment before he’d flung its shining light into the sea.

He thinks he will still be singing to his father when he is nothing but a voice on the wind.

Their deeds would be a matter of song till the end of days, his father had said, and this promise, at least, he can keep.

. . .

(That’s all very well, Elrond says when he finds him, but Maglor can do that just as well from Rivendell, and while Maglor is free to disagree with that, Elrond is free to follow him around singing a song that his children claim never ends until Maglor changes his mind.

It does not take Maglor long to change his mind.)

vi: hellfire

Day 6 of my 30 Day Tolkien Challenge. The song is Hellfire by Barns Courtney.

Hellfire, hellfire Take my soul I'm waiting, waiting I'm ready to go

Mothers, children Lock your doors I'm waiting I'm ready to go

Burn in an alleyway Through a dead end street Murdering promises that I just can't keep

The streets ran red with blood.

The dead were everywhere: littering the streets, filling the gutters, lining the alleys. Men, women, and children alike—some few armed with spears or short swords, most of them dressed in sleep clothes and hastily donned boots and cloaks—lay hacked to pieces, arms and heads severed from their bodies, entrails spilled onto the cobblestones, throats gaping smiles of blood and bone.

Fire crawled up the edges of Maedhros’s vision, claiming building and air alike with demanding fingers and a vicious roar. Faint and dying screams of pain, of desperation, of the dead, echoed through the night, reaching for the stars and Ithil’s waning light. The smell of offal and fear permeated the fire-kissed heat, heady and heavy enough to coat the tongue and drench the throat.

Maedhros stalked between the firelit shadows, naked blade gleaming in the ruddy light and dripping scarlet wounds. His face was smeared with more blood, his hand dripping with it; the hems of his pants were drenched, his breastplate splattered. He was a vision of fire and death, his long, fiery hair hanging loose around his shoulders, the firelight accenting the furrows carved into his face and neck.

A shadow detached itself from an alleyway and approached at a smooth walk. He was darkness, he was night—black armor cloaked in black, with dark hair and glittering, silver eyes like stars. He was doom, Maedhros thought—he was death incarnate.

Maglor.

“Greetings, brother,” said the youngest remaining son of Fёanor. Amrod lay in a pool of his own blood on the docks, pierced a dozen times over by the swords of the city’s defendants, who Maedhros had slain in hatred and vengeance a moment after. Their bodies lay hewn in the waters of the sea, bobbing up and down with each undulation, their blood turning the waves crimson.

“Greetins,” said Maedhros. He stared around himself: at the fire, at the blood, at the death. A child lay at his feet, and it took a moment for him to realize he was treading on a stained, stuffed bear that the girl had undoubtedly been holding when she was murdered. His hand trembled—and then steadied.

They invited this upon themselves, he told himself, and looked once more at Maglor.

“The city is ours,” said Maglor. “Now all that remains is the Lord and Lady of the city’s house, which yet stands defended.”

“Then we go and breach their gates,” said Maedhros.

They found a pitched battle raging when they arrived at Lord Eärendil’s and Lady Elwing’s house. The lord and lady’s personal guards were fighting the Fёanorians with savage desperation at the gates and in the street, even as more and more of Maedhros’s and Maglor’s men arrived to aid their comrades. The fighting swelled, the clangor of metal against metal ringing through the fire and night, the shouts of the wounded and the shrieks of the dying punctuating the distant groan of buildings collapsing.

They joined the battle, throwing themselves onto the nearest Sinda guard with furious battle cries. The Sinda fell with head cloven in by a mighty swing of Maedhros’s sword, surprise and fear alike etched onto his face. Then the two brothers moved on, circling each other like flame and shadow, dealing death and damnation wherever they paused.

Then, abruptly, there was silence. The last of the guards lay dead in the center of the gate. It looked as if he had been trying to close the gates against the Fёanorians—though that would have only held them for so long.

Leading the way, Maedhros stepped over the guard’s corpse and into the courtyard beyond. It was eerily silent and absent of death, save for the curled, brown stalks of plants that had already died at autumn’s touch. His boots echoing on the flagstones, he crossed to the front doors, and pushed them open.

A flash of silver and a blaze of light caught Maedhros’s eye. He hurried forward, just in time to catch a woman’s voice cry, high and shrill, “Take your brother and hide!” And then more movement, and before Maedhros could even comprehend what his feet were doing, he was racing forward after the fleeing shadow of silver and light. Down a corridor, around a corner, through the kitchens, then out a side door and into the night once more he followed the shadow, a blast of cool, nearly-winter air striking his blood-stained cheeks.

“Halt!” he cried, leaping forward in a savage burst of speed. But the woman—Maedhros was certain it was an Elf-woman, by the slightness of her figure and the swiftness of her feet—ran faster still, dodging ahead of him down the garden path and then through a side gate and onto the cliffside beyond.

Behind him, Maedhros could feel more than hear Maglor following. His brother had always been nearly-silent when he ran, even armored—and all the more as the years of their Curse and Oath had eaten away at their sanity and nobility. Now he was as much shadow as he was Elf, as much death as he was alive.

“Halt!” Maedhros called again as he reached the gate and exploded onto the grassy clifftop beyond. He angled his footsteps to one side and sprinted forward, opening his stride on the open and straight ground. Behind him Maglor came on, blade drawn and dripping, ready to follow his elder brother’s lead.

The woman turned and fled the other way, Maedhros cutting off her first attempt at escape. But Maglor was there in an instant, hemming her in on the other side, pushing her toward the cliff and no escape.

Still she ran, this time straight for the edge of the sea. She slid to a halt—and turned, and Elwing Dioriel stared at them with hatred in her eyes and the Silmaril in her hand.

“Come no further,” she snarled, and her voice was far from the kind woman all the tales said she was. Her voice was that of a she-wolf cornered. “Come no further, or I will throw the Silmaril into the sea for it to be lost forever.”

“You do that,” Maglor said coldly, “and we will slay you where you stand.”

“No,” said Maedhros. “I think not, brother. I think that, if she does that, we should make her suffer for her crime first.”

Maglor turned and looked at his brother. “Oh?” he asked.

“We will find your sons,” said Maedhros, “I understand you have two, and we shall slay them in front of you—and only then, once you have screamed in your loss and your sorrow, will we take your life.”

“You would murder innocent babes?” Elwing asked, stricken.

Maedhros smiled cruelly. “You ask that as if we have not already, this very night. Now hand us the Silmaril, and we will allow you to go free.”

“You will not,” said Elwing. “I know you will not. You are murderers and thieves, Kinslayers and without honor. I have no proof that you will not kill me—or my sons—for trying to keep the Silmaril from you in the first place.”

“You have nothing but our word.”

“Your word means nothing.”

“Then what will you do, o Elwing the Fair?” Maedhros asked.

Elwing smiled, and took a step back. “I remove myself from the equation,” she said. “I take myself from the picture, in the hopes that you will find pity in your hearts for my sons, and my people, and leave those of us who remain alive. I die, so that you may not kill me—or my children.”

“What—” Maedhros began, even as Maglor shouted, “No!” and lunged forward.

But they were too late. Elwing took one last step back, away from them, and then turned and flung herself from the edge of the cliff.

She fell, fell, fell, her body crashing toward the waves and rocks below. Maedhros ran forward in a futile attempt to grab her, to pull her back, to snatch the Silmaril from her hand. He reached the edge of the cliff—and there, rising up from the waves, was a large, white bird, the holy gem they had so ardently sought bound to its breast.

They watched the bird fly away from them, disappearing into the darkness of the seaward horizon. Then, slowly, Maglor turned to Maedhros and whispered, “What have we done?”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐦'𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Firstly, Celegorm — like his brothers — took the Oath out of loyalty to their father, and whole heartedly he took it. Everyone was filled with anger for Melkor’s lies, and they grieved Finwë also, and while Celegorm had not so soon forsaken the Valar — for his friendships with Oromë — he did upon the Oath and the Doom of Mandos, moved by Fëanor’s claim, that Morgoth, even if he was restrained again by the Valar, they would again not punish him as needed. And, further, having been among the last few allowed to still look upon the Silmarils ( “[and] grudged the sight of them to all save to [Fëanor’s] father and [Fëanor’s] seven sons;” ), he also had, from the desire that they claimed of one, the wish to recover them.

Then coming upon Beleriand, seeing a vast and ever so largely unclaimed land, he also found within himself a want for conquest. At first it was one that was alike Celegorm’s passion to learn and see all of the woods of Oromë ( and knowing that the Huntsman was there much as well before the Eldar came ) — for he still thought they might wrest the Silmarils from Morgoth as it were — but with Fëanor’s death after the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, it became one desire of need, as they might not fight in Angband and take back the gems.

Celegorm was disagreeable and resentful of Maedhros giving away the kingship and with their move out of Hithlum, but as he and Curufin set up in Himlad and held it for a long while he was still driven, but not as terribly. Only when they lost the Pass of Aglon and the surrounding land in the Dagor Bragollach was he dispossessed and coveted foreign land again. Thus, his and Curufin’s schemes to win Nargothrond for themselves and the Sons of Fëanor.

When this failed, and they were cast out — and coming upon Lúthien and Beren, and their quest for the Silmaril meanwhile — the promises of the Oath flared up again.

Now Celegorm’s want for geographical conquest waned... he was gripped by the words he had sworn, and he was desperate by now to fulfil them, to recover the Silmarils and return; in part Beleriand had not given him what he had thought it promised, and what he had left behind.

He roused his brother’s to assault Doriath out of a hasty need that fit his name; out of an ever more desperate want to go back, that still knew the constraints of their Oath and Mandos’ doom.

Hello! Every and all information (and speculations are also fabulous) you have on Maedhros are great to know! Please tell all! Thank you.

Hi :) Well, if you want straight up facts about Maedhros I suggest that you Google them - the combined might of the internet has a better compilation of the details regarding any of Tolkien’s characters than I could ever put together. But as for speculations, well here are some headcanons that I managed to dredge up:

- As a young elf I bet he had a really gangly phase where he was all limbs and big gawky hands and feet, and other members of the royal household had the odd chuckle about him looking rather the ugly duckling. But then when later he developed more into adulthood and filled out in muscle then people would look at him with a far different emotion in their eyes ;)

- Following his rescue from Thangorodrim, his maimed arm and shoulder never truly healed properly. The damage done to the connective tissues and muscles of his shoulder was too much to be fully repaired, and he required extra support at his shoulder joint hereafter. This might have been in the form of a brace, or simply carrying his arm in a sling to allow it to rest when not in strenuous use, and I think that the mobility and strength of his arm was somewhat compromised as a result.

- While he was not ashamed of the scars left on his body by his torment in Angband, he did not like them to be left too fully exposed. After he had healed he developed a new liking for full-sleeved, closed jerkins and shirts even in the height of summer. 

- I don’t think that his eventual suicide was entirely impulsive. Or perhaps, I think that the act may have been but the driving motivation behind it was not. From the first moment that his hands started burning as he laid them upon the Silmaril he knew that he was accursed, and he knew that truly he wished to end himself. But not then, and not there, so he stole the jewels with Maglor and bided his time, growing in horror and anxiety and restlessness, until at once the guilt of all that he had done became overwhelming. 

- I think that he knew already, he knew that the Silmarils would burn them, he knew it even as they have blazed down upon him from Morgoth’s crown, and he had felt the light of them itch upon his skin. He knew, and still he struggled, and he denied it even to himself, but through all of the years that ghost of disquiet hounded his every action. It sowed doubt, but already it was too late to change his course.

- The sheer act of desperation that was his suicide is staggering, and heartbreaking. The Oath of Fëanor had driven him to ruin, and even into death it would follow him - into a realm scarcely comprehensible to the immortal Eldar. For he knew that there would be no reincarnation for him, no rest and respite in the Halls of Mandos to atone for his sins or to while away the years in solitude. There was no chance for a better life, only the Everlasting Darkness. Only oblivion; utmost, eternal oblivion. What desolation must he have been feeling to choose that end, to forsake all hope of redemption or forgiveness or escape, to throw that all away in a moment of violence and extinguish himself utterly from the world? How powerful, how awful must that emotion have been? For he knew what he was choosing, and he chose it willingly. How much must he have been hurting?

For the DVD commentary - anything with Maedhros in Pieces of the Stars? I can't put it into words, but I find your portrayal very interesting. Maybe because I remember him as the one who managed to unite all of Morgoth's enemies under one banner - granted, it didn't end well, but still. It was quite the feat. So I've always assumed he had lots of charisma and people skills. Here in Pieces of the Stars he's falling to pieces (quite literally too) - understandably, it's been a rough hundreds years

Oh boy, if you like Maedhros, there is a lot of GOOD MAEDHROS CONTENT in upcoming chapters.Like you said, it’s been a rough hundred years or so since the Nirnaeth, when he lost everything. His lands, his people, his best friend, his alliances, everything. If he didn’t have a complete psychological breakdown then, soon afterward came the reawakening of the Oath, the second and third kinslayings, the deaths of most of his brothers, and the continued collapse of everything he tried so hard to maintain throughout the First Age. Hence my portrayal of Maedhros near the end of his life: embittered, alcoholic, suicidally depressed, almost beyond caring.And yet. There’s still a spark of principle left in him.“You will not take them anywhere,” Maedhros repeated. He was shaking more violently now as he lurched to his feet and nearly fell, but he steadied himself on the table at his bedside. “I will not let you.”“I don’t need your permission to leave them in the care of a suitable guardian!”“Such altruism! Such generosity!” Faster than any of them could have predicted, he had crossed the room and seized a fistful of Maglor’s surcoat. Even wounded and medicated, he towered over his brother, and Osgardir clearly knew better than to try and get between them. “Disgusting! Abandoning them to whichever army finds them first, now that the Jewel is out of your reach!”“The king is half a day ahead at his current pace—”“I will not let you make that wager! You took them, now take responsibility for them!”The abandonment of Elured and Elurin was one of the most disturbing parts of the Silmarillion for me personally, and every time I think about it I wish that Maedhros would have found them. Still, what happens next? Does he raise them alongside their family’s murderers? Does he leave them for someone else to take pity on? What is taking responsibility when they’ve already ignored all the responsible courses of action, leaving them with a terrible situation with no right answers? This becomes a recurring theme: is anyone doing the right thing? Was there even a “right” option available to choose? What happens now? What is the next best thing they can do?Maedhros isn’t really thinking about that in this scene, however. It’s just him refusing to relive the trauma and guilt of losing Elured and Elurin to his own people’s spite and cruelty, and it’s up to Maglor to work out the details.Elrond and Elros often crept out to eavesdrop in the night. Maglor was pacing by the long hearth, and they could see his shadow on the far wall.“Why did she not come for them? Even now, why does she not search for them? They are her own flesh and blood!”Maedhros’ shadow, hunched and craggy, lifted his cup to his lips. “You know damn well not to blame her for this.”Even in his current nonfunctional state, I’ve enjoyed giving Maedhros some moments of sanity like this. It’s almost as if he’s the only one who’s not completely delusional: he knows that it’s all hopeless and that the grand purpose they had when they came to Beleriand 500 years ago has decayed into banditry and desperation. What else is there to do besides drink away his last years and then die, if he is the only one with a clear perspective on all this?Of course, Maedhros is his own unreliable narrator. Depression on its own is a big stupid liar that tricks you into thinking that the world is dark and hopeless and that death is preferable to living in it for one more day. It fills normal people with guilt and shame for things that weren’t their fault–but then again, a lot of this is Maedhros’ fault, so it leaves the reader with an uncomfortable question: is he right? Is it all hopeless? Are there really any right answers left? Or is death the only logical release from a cruel, broken world we only have limited power to improve?