#maybe that made the negotiations for Silmaril worse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

Text

The Third Kinslaying

So, when I was making my posts on this the other day, I forgot to mention something quite important, and upon rereading the passage in The Silmarillion I noticed something that I’m not sure I fully registered previously.

The first point is the exact content of the response from Sirion to the Fëanorians’ demand:

Then Elwing and the people of Sirion would not yield the jewel which Beren had won and Lúthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain; and least of all while Eärendil their lord was on the sea, for it seemed to them that in the Silmaril lay the healing and the blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships.

That “least of all” is important. If you’re saying, “no, absolutely not, never,” then you don’t need to add an “and certainly not now”. An “and certainly not now” leaves open the possibility of a different answer at some future point. This means two things - that Elwing is giving the Fëanorians a loophole in their Oath (waiting until Eärendil gets back and asking again doesn’t break it) and that she’s buying time for herself. They have the perfect excuse to not attack right away, and the people of Sirion could reasonably expect that, with this kind of response, they wouldn’t. They’ve already waited 20-some years (and several hundred before that, while all the Silmarils were in Angband); what’s a couple more?

On top of this, the mention of Eärendil also implicitly brings up the fact that he is away on a mission that is everyone’s best hope of surviving and even defeating Morgoth. You know, Morgoth, the person the Fëanorians are supposed to be pursuing vengeance against, the person who killed their father and grandfather? They do want him defeated, don’t they? So they would have an interest in Eärendil’s mission succeeding, and in not demanding any artefacts that might contribute to its success? This feels like deliberate subtext within Elwing’s reply.

The second point is this:

Too late the ships of Círdan and Gil-galad the High King came hasting to the aid of the Elves of Sirion.

This means that Círdan and Gil-galad were already on the way when the Fëanorians attacked. Which means that Elwing contacted them in advance. She knew an attack was possible, she gave a response that allowed her to buy time, and she contacted Círdan and Gil-galad for backup or evacuation. She did not walk into this with her eyes closed; she made preparations. The reason those preparations did not work is because the Fëanorians attacked very quickly (the Silm specifically says “suddenly”) after recieving her response, despite her phrasing things in a way that gave them very good cause for waiting. But there was nothing at all unreasonable or reckless in her actions; very much the reverse.

So, why did the Fëanorians attack immediately instead of waiting for Eärendil’s return, given that the response from the people of Sirion said that his current absence was one of the major reasons they wouldn’t yield it? Why, after so many years, did they launch a sudden attack despite a response that deliberately left an opening for future negotiations? It can’t have been because of the Oath alone - it doesn’t say they can’t wait for a better opportunity. I have two possible theories.

The first theory is that the Fëanorians are actually afraid that Eärendil will succeed and a Valinorean army will show up, because that would put the Silmaril entirely beyond their reach. So they can’t wait for him to come back, because in all probability he’s going to either die at sea (thereby delaying the matter indefinitely, since no one will know about it) or he’s going to return with a giant army, rendering recapture of the Silmaril impossible. I like this theory because of the sheer power of the irony underlying it, the idea that the Fëanorians have departed so far from their original goals that the Valar showing up and defeating Morgoth is now, for them, something to be dreaded rather than wished for. However, I’ve largely moved away from it because it seems too hopeful for the Silmarillion at this point in time, that the success of Eärendil’s mission would be regarded by the Fëanorians as something they need to anticipate and plan for. It’s the very longest of long shots; the arrival of the Valar is something no one is really expecting.

So my second theory is that the Fëanorians found out, somehow, that Elwing had contacted Círdan and Gil-galad, and were moving as fast as possible to attack Sirion before any evacuation could happen, because it would be much harder - given their current resources, perhaps impossible - to regain it once it and Elwing were on the Isle of Balar. I like this one because of the themes it draws from the rapidity of the escalation. The Fëanorians have been inactive for over 20 years; Maedhros in particular regrets the attack on Doriath and does not want another Kinslaying. But they feel that they have to do something about the Oath. Well, let’s send a letter; one letter can’t do any harm. Even if we don’t get the reply we want, it doesn’t mean we have to do anything right away. And then their messenger gets back and says: here’s the response, and I hid along the shoreline before I left and saw oceangoing ships depart; I think I they’re sending to Balar for help. The Sons of Fëanor run some quick calculations - time it took for their messenger to return, time needed to gather their forces and move on Sirion; on the other side, time needed for shops to get to Balar and back; and realize that if they don’t move immediately they’re going to lose the Silmaril. Well, they say, now we have no choice; we need to attack now. It’s such a perfect illustration of how even a small surrender to evil, a little choice to act on what you know is wrong, can so quickly collapse into something much worse.

(Also, I like my headcanons about my Fëanorian messenger in this theory. She could have just headed back with the message and no one would have known about the ships, and the people of Sirion could have escaped to Balar in time. But she was dedicated! She was proactive! She went out of her way to collect additional intellegence! Maybe she was delayed on her journey back and had to evade a few orc or wolf patrols, and took daring risks, and made it back as quickly as she could! And now, because she was so dedicated to doing her job well - and it wasn’t an inherently evil job; no one was telling her to kill prisoners, or torture, or anything; she just delivered a message and brought back a response - thousands of innocent people are dead who could otherwise be alive. If she had been a bit slower or less determined they could have escaped. She’s going to have a long time in the Halls of Mandos to think about that and work through it.)

#tolkien #the silmarillion #elwing #eärendil #fëanorians #sons of fëanor

166 notes · View notes

sweetteaanddragons · 6 years

Note

Geez, I hope Maedhros got sent back to just before the silmaril was handed over -- can you imagine if he'd been there as long as Elrond and Elros and spent the whole time sure the same damnation was repeating? God, the least mercy, the worst. Also, I question if he'd have gone to find that lava early. I can't even tell if he'd think living to hold a silmaril would be a mercy for his brothers or not.

Okay, so technically, in my Time Traveling Twins AU, they’re the only time travelers. Maedrhos doesn’t actually know what’s going on, he just made the same mistake Elwing did.

However, this gave me an idea, so here, have an AU of an AU in which Elrond and Elros are not the only ones caught up in this mess:

He had stepped into the fire anticipating darkness. Cessation. Cold.

That was the best his mind could conjure when imagining the Void. Failing that, he had expected a call to Mandos’s Halls where he would be judged and locked away. Perhaps, if Namo was merciful, it would be with his brothers. Even if he was not, he would at least be in a world of grey with nothing more to cause hurt.

He had not expected to wake up in bed without even a twinge of pain in his hand.

For a moment, he lay perfectly still, barely breathing, daring to allow himself to imagine that he is back in Aman. Soon, one of his little brothers would come running in to wake him, or he would hear one of his parents call -

“Maedhros, I’m sorry to wake you, but - “

Maedhros. Not Maitimo.

Maglor hurried over to him. “Maedhros, are you well?”

Maedhros forced his eyes open to see what precise moment of the slow descent down he had found himself in.

Stone walls. Rescued wall hangings, one of which had a slight scorch mark on it, barely visible.

Amon Ereb.

Maedhros forced himself from the bed, fell to his knees, grabbed the chamber pot, and threw up whatever precious food had been served the night before.

Maglor was beside him in an instant, holding back his hair, and singing a soothing song until Maedhros was finally done retching.

“The twins?” Maedhros croaked as soon as he could. A safe question. There were always twins at Amon Ereb. Maglor’s response will tell him just what he’s being forced to relive.

“Amrod and Amras are already up and preparing the horses for their patrol,” Maglor assured him. “They won’t have heard.”

“I need to see them.” It was nearly certainly a bad idea as he doubted very much he could maintain control if he did, but it was go find them or sink back into the bed and beg Namo to end it already, and trying to end it hadn’t worked so well last time.

He had tried. He had somehow, impossibly, failed.

Maedhros was used to failure, and as tired as he was, the iron will that had been forged even harder on Thangorodrim was reasserting itself now.

Maglor was looking at him with open concern. He hadn’t been so open since Maedhros had insisted they send the twins away. He had closed himself off then, going through the motions till Maedhros had finally asked too much -

But no. That hadn’t happened yet.

“Of course,” Maglor said. “But let’s get you cleaned up first. They won’t leave without seeing you, not after last time. That’s what I came to wake you up for, in fact, though I was sorry to do it. I know the dreams have been worse of late.”

They’ll get even worse than this, Maedhros almost told him, but he stopped himself just in time and let Maglor wipe his face and hand him his clothes.

And none shall release us, he thought bitterly. Not even death itself.

He wondered if he would only have to gain Elwing’s Silmaril to fulfill the Oath now.

It was like wondering whether it would be quicker to fly to the Sun or the Moon. His task was impossible. How impossible was a matter that concerned him barely at all.

But he kept moving, kept going, because he knew now that was the only choice he had.

Two weeks after that, Maglor came stumbling into his room in the dark watches of the night. Maedhros was still up, reading reports by candlelight and trying to figure out a way to save at least someone from this trap of Doom.

“Maedhros,” he said, swaying. “Maedhros.”

Maedhros glanced up. This did not sound like Maglor’s usual attempts to get him to go to bed.

Maglor’s eyes were wild. His brother stumbled forward and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re real,” he said. “You’re real.” Tears started rolling down his cheeks. “You’re real, you’re real, you’re real . . . “ He sank to his knees and buried his head in Maedhros’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded, and Maedhros knew.

“I won’t,” he said helplessly, knowing it might be a lie. “I won’t. Don’t cry, ‘Laure, please don’t cry.”

But Maedhros’s own iron control, already rusted almost to nothing, was already cracking, and he was crying too.

Amrod and Amras did not wake up.

“Maybe because they didn’t hold a Silmaril?” Maglor suggested.

“Maybe because they’re less cursed,” Maedhros said, pressing a hand to his burning eyes. Sleep was becoming ever more difficult to obtain. “They weren’t around for me to drag them into a fourth kinslaying.”

“Maedhros . . . “

“Never mind,” Maedhros said wearily. “What does it matter? We should be thankful that they at least do not know their end.”

“The end is not fixed,” Maglor said firmly.

Maedhros thought of the cold iron of the Doom of Mandos, but he maintained the sense not to say, Isn’t it?

The hardest part was keeping up the charade that he still had a little hope left, but he’d been trying to keep up that charade the first time around too, so if there was a little more despair in his eyes or weariness in him movements, no one noticed it, not even his youngest brothers.

No one save Maglor, who seemed afraid to leave him alone.

Maglor need not have feared. Maedhros was not eager to seek another way to die.

Next time, he might wake up in Angband.

Maglor poured over the letter they sent to Elwing. Apparently he thought that if he got the wording just right, the young queen might give in.

Maedhros had no such hope. At his most optimistic, he thought perhaps he could get the Ambarussa through the fighting. The rest of the time, he spent his hope on the thought that if he failed in that, at least Elrond and Elros might bring some comfort to Maglor again.

When the letter actually received a favorable response and a team of ambassadors with it there to negotiate a deal, Maedhros spent the whole of negotiations convinced it was some ploy for spies or assassins. It could not be as simple as different wording to the letter. It could not.

If it was, then that if he had simply tried harder . . . If he had simply tried longer . . .

He avoided Maglor’s triumphant looks and waited until he could excuse himself to go be violently sick.

Amrod found him curled up agains the cool stone of the bedroom wall. Maedhros tried to sit up, but dizziness and Amrod’s hand forced him down again.

“It’ll be alright,” Amrod assured him quietly. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how ill you’ve been lately, but it’ll be alright. Once we’ve gotten one Silmaril, the Oath will leave us alone for awhile.”

Once, the Oath had felt like fire in his mind. Now it felt like an iron leash, dragging him forward into the dark.

Maedhros could hardly breathe.

“It’ll be alright,” Amrod said again, and the warmth of his brother pressed against him was enough to push the dark enough away that he could breathe.

The Doom might claim them all eventually, but for right now, three of his brothers were still here.

Maedhros had been prepared for many things from the delegation supposedly bringing the Silmaril, treachery foremost among them.

He had not been expecting to see Elrond and Elros, somewhat changed but unmistakably them, among them. Elrond and Elros as adults.

He accepted the Silmaril in a daze and almost forgot to flinch, but it didn’t burn. Instead, the Oath’s noose loosened and jostled uncertainly, as if it was uncertain whether it ought to be lifted entirely or not.

He didn’t blame it.

He looked to Maglor to make sure he hadn’t been driven mad after all, but Maglor’s eyes were locked on the children.

Well. Not the children, anymore.

Maglor’s songs were wild with joy, and neither of them had to look at the other to slip away after Elrond and Elros when the two finally went to bed. The Ambarussa could play chief hosts for awhile.

Maglor opened his mouth to call out after them, but his voice must have failed him. He sent a pleading look at Maedhros.

“Elrond? Elros?” Maedhros called because he had failed his brothers too often to do with such a simple thing now.

The two of them turned automatically, and even in the moonlight, he could see their eyes were wide.

“How - ?” Elros started to say.

“I could ask the same of you,” Maedhros said wryly, “considering that you are supposed to be about six years old right now.” If they had travelled as he and Maglor had, what was the common factor? Why were they not in their own younger bodies?

But there was a lightness in his chest now that he had not dared to trust to before. The children were here and safe, and so were the Ambarussa. The Silmaril was here and their’s, and there had been no blood shed for it. Things had changed, and they had not been the only ones changing things, apparently, so perhaps a different letter had not been all that was needed after all. Perhaps their good fortune was from the work of the twins, little deserved though it was.

Elrond, for his part, was looking at Maglor with over bright eyes. “I did tell you that I wouldn’t let that be the last time I saw you,” he said.

Maglor reached out a tentative hand and placed it gently on Elrond’s shoulder, like he was afraid it would fall through. “Clearly, I should have listened,” he said with a shaking smile. “I suspect letting myself get dragged to Imladris would have caused far less trouble.”

“Or Numenor, for that matter,” Elros grumbled and threw himself at Maglor like the boy he should be instead of the full grown man he so clearly was. “Stop being so elvish and hug him already, Elrond. You too, Maedhros, we didn’t do all that wrangling with Mother’s council just to get stared at.”

“That must have been awkward,” Maedhros said blankly. “What did you tell her?”

Elros groaned. “Technically, nothing that wasn’t true except for ridiculous fake names that are apparently also real names because my brother has no imagination. By implication, I pretty sure she made the same mistake you used to on bad nights. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. Get over here. You owe us this.”

That and far more than that.

And holding close those he had thought lost to Doom and folly was hardly a high price to pay.

94 notes · View notes