eldestfeanarion - Tumblr blog

[eldestfeanarion]

“Surviving kinda sucks, you live to be kicked about the next day.” She had survived quite a bit in her already short life, and by the tone of the pointy-ears voice he knew a thing or two about surviving.

Maybe if he understood the sadness that survival left then he could be trusted.. Just a little. “Hay, have you ever seen a Warg up close, like, close enough to pet?”

Maedhros bristled at the question.  “I haven’t,” he said. He wasn’t aware that they liked being petted - he had never thought of them as if they were animals. Instead, they were always shadows and howls at the edges of his memories, or simply part of the battlefield that blended in.

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

Maedhros nodded. “You aren’t weak if you survived,” he said, his voice going distant for a moment as if he was speaking in the middle of a memory.

“If you need somewhere to stay, the fortress is a good deal safer than the wilderness,” he continued. “Winter will be here before long.”

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

"Yeah, I was found near a patch of them, so that's the first name I got" The girl shrugged, she supposed it was different for Elves, they probably got their names in another way, a more proper way.

Now she was wondering just where the warg was, he'd been close by only ten minutes ago but now he had disappeared, or was remaining hidden until signalled "Others should be on their best behaviour too, being what I am I learned knives teach better lessons than a warning."

Found? Then could it be the case that she was not originally from Angband? Perhaps she was descended from some group of orcs that had broken free from Morgoth’s control long before the Noldor had arrived in Beleriand. 

“Then I shall tell them you are my guests here,” Maedhros said. “Provided you do not take up weapons against me or my people, or give us reason to believe that you are deceiving us.” He lifted a brow. “Now, how did you come to be here? Did you flee from Angband? That is how a good many of my own people have come to these lands.”

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

She was either dreaming or this pointy-ear was two wargs short of a Pack. Young but not dumb, the orc was well aware no land would welcome her kind anywhere as long as their head was attached to its body.

Maybe this was his own game of getting her guard down, maybe he was trying to cover the distance without provoking a threat, either way she’d learned to play the game by now “Viola, like the flower.. And I’m sure Fluffy is chasing squirrels round here somewhere, you’re familiar with wargs, right?” She asked.

If anything she hoped the knowledge of a warg prowling about would help keep him at bay “You’re not the first to bid me a false welcome, but I’ll accept it anyhow. Can’t trust anything that says kind words to an orc, you understand right?”

“I understand,” Maedhros said. “Viola, like the flower.” He considered this for a moment. It was a name in neither an elven tongue or in the speech used by the orcs of Angband. Had she chosen her own name?  “And yes, I’m all too familiar with wargs.” He grimaced. “So are many of the others who dwell here. I suggest he remain on his best behavior.” 

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

“No, that’s usually the ploy others use on me, but good to know you could play that game on me. It’ll keep me wary of you.” She’d been fooled enough times by a stranger willing to extend kindness to an orc, heck, she’d been fooled by others orcs extending kindness to her. She was still young but not so young she was ignorant.

This lone Elf wasn’t exactly instilling fear into her, he was all alone and had yet to actually try cover the distance between them. Perhaps he was bluffing “You haven’t moved to kill me yet, so I have more reason to belive you’re the threat here.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am the threat,” Maedhros said. He advanced by a step, but then lowered his blade. If she did not know who he was, he doubted she had been sent to spy. He was wary still, but perhaps she was simply an orcling who had fled Morgoth’s fortress.

“If what you say is true, if you left the fortress of your own accord, then I bid you welcome to Himring.” He returned the sword to its sheath and offered Viola a nod of acknowledgement. “I am the lord of these lands, Maedhros Feanorion. What name might I call you by?” 

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

The little orc laughed for a few seconds before frowning, this pointy-ear was serious, wasn’t he? Her, a spy of Morgoth! “Oh shit, that wasn’t you pretending you lot have humor, was it.” She cleared her throat and nodded.

Now that was a little awkward, if she wanted to kill him she could have, any good spy would have taken the shot and been glad of the opportunity “First off, I’m not a spy, look at me, do I look spy-ish. Second off, I didn’t put an arrow through your noggin so clearly I’m not out to make you past-tense.” She made a show of yhat by putting the arrow back in her quiver.

“And third, just for the record, I’d rather not be anywhere near him or his fortress again.”

“That is exactly what I would expect a spy to say,” Maedhros replied, his tone less aggressive but his sword still at the ready. “Gain my trust, get me to lower my guard, and then attempt to strike. I’ve seen it before.” 

And yet - Maedhros had extended the hospitality of Himring, such as it was, to those who had once been thralls of the Enemy. If this orc had fled Angband, as had the elves and humans who had come to Himring, he would be cruel indeed, not to mention hypocritical, to turn her away. 

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

Maedhros tensed and whirled to face Viola, sword drawn. This orc was smaller than most he’d seen. And...female? He knew there were female orcs, of course, but he had not seen many outside of Angband.  Had she been sent to Himring as an infiltrator, then? If he hadn’t noticed her before she’d spoken, perhaps that was not so outlandish a theory. Perhaps stealth was her gift. Or pretending that she meant him no harm.

If the Enemy thought he would take pity on this orc, however, he was mistaken.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now, spy of Morgoth,” he growled.

"Hay, hay, pointy-ear!" The little orc yelled, she wasn't best pleased with the sudden appearance of an Elf but given that it'd scared off the fox she was tracking, she was going to let it be known.

She had popped up from the Bush she'd crouched behind and lowered her bow "Are you mad? A few steps left and I could have shot you."

@eldestfeanarion

[eldestfeanarion]

Fingon felt as if he was in a dream as he observed the army of the West prepare to depart. Many exiles, or descendants of exiles, were leaving with them. The lands they'd fought over and bled onto, were underwater, claimed by Ulmo, but no longer polluted by Morgoth. It made the gods seem heartless, but Fingon knew he was a heretic, and most others were grateful to their saviors.

He looked at the rocky ground under his feet, recalling the first time he'd stepped on damp dirt instead of the Helcaraxe's ice. His father, brothers, sister, cousins, all of them were buried here. How had he survived, out of all of them?

Maedhros's voice broke into his thoughts, reminding him he was not alone. He accepted the offered arm and nodded, limping toward the ships.

"I've... n-never sailed before..."

An oh-so-familiar pang of guilt stung Maedhros at Fingon's words. In a different world, perhaps they would have sailed across the seas to Endorë together all those years ago.

Travel on ships, no matter how well-crafted they were, meant tight quarters and being at the mercy of the weather. The Valar would surely protect their own fleet from the latter, but Maedhros was not looking forward to living in such close proximity to the Teleri and Vanyar who thought him as evil as the vanquished Enemy, but as long as none of them dared to trouble Fingon, he could endure their presence and silent judgment.

"I am sure the Host of the West will be graced with mild weather and fair seas," he said, guiding Fingon up the gangplank and onto the vessel's deck. "It will be quieter than a war camp, at least."

{continuing this thread with @nolofinwion}

The sailors of the first fleet to leave Beleriand’s shores were making their final preparations for departure, and there was little for Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon to do but get on board the ship that would carry them to meet their judgment. In fact, Maglor already had gotten on board - he was arranging their belongings (what few they had) in their cabin. 

The Silmarils were stored in a chest in the cargo hold; not locked, but stored on neutral ground. Maedhros could feel the twin gems still, but their call to him was a low hum in his mind instead of an insistent shout. For that much, he was grateful.

Still, he was pretending to be more brave than he felt. He could feel the eyes of the elves of Valinor upon him, and given the design of the ship and their attire, no small number of them were Teleri. He hated the smell of the salt air and the sting of the sea breeze on his face - they reminded him only of blood spilled and ships burning. 

But this time, he wore no armor and carried no weapons, and Fingon was with him. Whatever fate they faced, they faced it together.

“Shall we?” Maedhros asked, offering an arm to Fingon and turning his gaze to the ship before them. 

[eldestfeanarion]

{continuing this thread with @nolofinwion}

The sailors of the first fleet to leave Beleriand’s shores were making their final preparations for departure, and there was little for Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon to do but get on board the ship that would carry them to meet their judgment. In fact, Maglor already had gotten on board - he was arranging their belongings (what few they had) in their cabin. 

The Silmarils were stored in a chest in the cargo hold; not locked, but stored on neutral ground. Maedhros could feel the twin gems still, but their call to him was a low hum in his mind instead of an insistent shout. For that much, he was grateful.

Still, he was pretending to be more brave than he felt. He could feel the eyes of the elves of Valinor upon him, and given the design of the ship and their attire, no small number of them were Teleri. He hated the smell of the salt air and the sting of the sea breeze on his face - they reminded him only of blood spilled and ships burning. 

But this time, he wore no armor and carried no weapons, and Fingon was with him. Whatever fate they faced, they faced it together.

“Shall we?” Maedhros asked, offering an arm to Fingon and turning his gaze to the ship before them. 

[eldestfeanarion]

Angulócendil sneered at the request:

“I figured as much. Water it is. Then we will talk.”

From a small flask at his hip, the lord of dragons unscrewed the top, placing the opening at the Feanorian’s lips, letting the water flow out. He watched as Maedhros eagerly drank up the water, almost greedily.

“Alright you’ve had your fill then, swine. Time enough to think on my question. Now I demand an answer from you. Or I shall leave you here to languish in the elements.”

The Prisoner knew the Valar could not - would not - hear his prayers, but he gave thanks to Ulmo nonetheless as the water passed his lips. Nothing had ever tasted as sweet as this. He knew he could not drink too much, but he savored what he could.  He regarded Angulócendil again, the light of the Two Trees sparking bright in his eyes. Perhaps he could turn this to his advantage, if he could negotiate a sort of contract. If he was not on this wall, he might have enough freedom, enough time, to formulate a better plan to satisfy the Oath that gnawed at his insides more intensely than hunger.  And if he and the Maia could not come to a satisfactory arrangement...then he would simply continue as he might have anyway. What did he have to lose? 

“These...are my terms. One year shall I serve you,” he said. He spoke slowly - words were easier now that his throat was not so parched, but it had been a long time indeed since he had spoken. “And then we might speak on this again.” 

He paused to catch his breath and gave a spluttering cough. “In all things, you may command me, save one: I...shall neither torture nor kill those of my kind.” 

Angulócendil chuckled as he watched the Feanorian hang from his wrist from a high rock:

“I have an offer for you, Feanorian. Will you hear me?”

@angulocendil

@angulocendil

The Prisoner - for that is how the one who had once been Maitimo and Nelyafinwe thought of himself, now - opened his eyes with some measure of caution, assessing the one who had spoken to him through the veil of his eyelashes. He was sure that Sauron and his foul master had forgotten about him here, left him in a state of deathless suffering...but perhaps they were not finished with him yet.

Attempting to ignore his captors' games had earned him punishment in the past. If this was some vision sent to torment him, he would know it soon enough. He allowed his eyes to open fully, and a single word passed his lips. "Speak."

[eldestfeanarion]

Angulócendil leaned against the stone as he listened to the imprisoned Feanorian:

“Why, you ask? Well I can see for myself that it would be such a waste to leave you here, only to waste away to skin and bone. No, I think I’ve a better use for you. And perhaps, in the end, you’ll come to thank me for it.”

Examining a glittering ring decorated with red-rubies and carved dragon’s head meticulously forged into the gold, Angulócendil continued:

“How do you like dragons, Feanorian?”

To be truthful, the Prisoner had very little idea what a dragon was. Some sort of great beast, it looked like, if that ring was any indication. And this Maia was offering to teach him to ride one? Why would the Moringotto allow this? Why would Sauron? An offer like this - any offer at all that was not complete thralldom - seemed too good to be true. 

But the Prisoner had once been a prince. A king, even, if briefly. He was not a fool. Even if this was some trick, perhaps he could turn it to his advantage before the hammer struck the anvil. 

“Water,” the Prisoner said, after a moment, meeting Angulócendil’s eyes. “Then...” The fingers of his left hand twitched, as if he meant to move his hand in what might once have been a wave of casual dismissal, but he had not the strength. “...negotiations.” 

Angulócendil chuckled as he watched the Feanorian hang from his wrist from a high rock:

“I have an offer for you, Feanorian. Will you hear me?”

@angulocendil

@angulocendil

The Prisoner - for that is how the one who had once been Maitimo and Nelyafinwe thought of himself, now - opened his eyes with some measure of caution, assessing the one who had spoken to him through the veil of his eyelashes. He was sure that Sauron and his foul master had forgotten about him here, left him in a state of deathless suffering...but perhaps they were not finished with him yet.

Attempting to ignore his captors' games had earned him punishment in the past. If this was some vision sent to torment him, he would know it soon enough. He allowed his eyes to open fully, and a single word passed his lips. "Speak."

[eldestfeanarion]

Angulócendil chuckled as he climbed the rock to where the Feanorian was hanging, standing on a small outcropping of stone:

“You presume to give me orders Feanorian. Amusing, giving the state you are in just now. Hear me out then, Maedhros. I can give you a way out of this eternal torment on the Thangorodrim. I shall let you free, but only if you pledge yourself to me, call me lord and be part of my legions of dragon riders.”

The Maia examined the shackle that held Maedhros’ wrist to the rock:

“It would be far better than this, don’t you agree?”

For a moment, the Prisoner thought the Maia before him must be an illusion - for who would make such an offer to him now? He was but a shell of the elf he had once been, most of the way to dead already. 

“No. Oaths.” There was only one Oath that drove him, and it would not be overshadowed without rending his fea apart. If Sauron and his lord thought their captive weak enough to blindly swear allegiance to them now, after all they had done, they were fools indeed. 

But then, his curiosity prompted him to rasp out a question before he could stop himself: “Why?” 

Angulócendil chuckled as he watched the Feanorian hang from his wrist from a high rock:

“I have an offer for you, Feanorian. Will you hear me?”

@angulocendil

@angulocendil

The Prisoner - for that is how the one who had once been Maitimo and Nelyafinwe thought of himself, now - opened his eyes with some measure of caution, assessing the one who had spoken to him through the veil of his eyelashes. He was sure that Sauron and his foul master had forgotten about him here, left him in a state of deathless suffering...but perhaps they were not finished with him yet.

Attempting to ignore his captors' games had earned him punishment in the past. If this was some vision sent to torment him, he would know it soon enough. He allowed his eyes to open fully, and a single word passed his lips. "Speak."

[eldestfeanarion]

Angulócendil chuckled as he watched the Feanorian hang from his wrist from a high rock:

“I have an offer for you, Feanorian. Will you hear me?”

@angulocendil

@angulocendil

The Prisoner - for that is how the one who had once been Maitimo and Nelyafinwe thought of himself, now - opened his eyes with some measure of caution, assessing the one who had spoken to him through the veil of his eyelashes. He was sure that Sauron and his foul master had forgotten about him here, left him in a state of deathless suffering...but perhaps they were not finished with him yet.

Attempting to ignore his captors' games had earned him punishment in the past. If this was some vision sent to torment him, he would know it soon enough. He allowed his eyes to open fully, and a single word passed his lips. "Speak."

[eldestfeanarion]

Fingon snorted at the Herald’s reply. No, he wouldn’t be running anywhere for a long time. He glanced at Maedhros, the light too dim to see the faded scars on his face, and felt a spark of hope that he also might recover his strength someday.

Fingon collapsed onto the cot when the tent flap closed behind Eonwe, not as concerned with his uncle seeing such weakness.

Arafinwe stared at the door the Maia disappeared through, surprised at how easy the parley went, especially in the presence of a silmaril.

He nodded and turned back to Maedhros. “The enemy is defeated. I do not want more blood spilled.” He gazed hard at his nephew. “Do not make me regret it.”

Maedhros met his uncle’s eyes and nodded. “I should be very glad if I never have to take up arms again,” he said quietly, surprised at his own confession as it left his lips. “I cannot make you any promises, but as long as none challenge myself or Maglor for the Silmarils, we shall do as you command.”  He sat on the edge of Fingon’s cot, careful not to disturb him. All he wanted was to rest, but he knew he would need to speak with his brother and ensure that the Silmarils were properly stored for the journey ahead. 

“Thank you, Fingon,” he said. “I know that can not have been easy for you.” Those words did not seem sufficient to convey the love he felt, knowing Fingon was alive, and that they did not need to part from one another again.

At least not yet. Maedhros knew he would have to tell Fingon of Doriath and Sirion before too long - it would not be right to keep those details from him - but surely that could wait until Fingon had healed further from his wounds. 

{for @nolofinwion }

The end was so close now. The Oath in Maedhros’ blood sang at the presence of the Silmaril, clutched in his prosthetic hand as he crept towards the edges of the Valinorean war camp. 

Moving in shadow, like a criminal. Like a murderer. Like the Enemy. Maitimo or Nelyafinwe would have been disgusted...but he was no longer Maitimo or Nelyafinwe. They had died long ago. 

He knew the jewel would burn him if he touched it, just as it burned the hands of all who were unworthy. But it was proof to him that the evils he had done were not for nothing. He had done as he had sworn to do, and Maglor would do the same this night. And then...? 

The nighttime murmurs of the Host of the West washed around him like the sea against the rocks of the shore. The forest loomed dark beyond the edges of the fires and torches. But then, Maedhros heard a name he never thought he would hear again, a song that seemed out of place even among the musical voices of the Vanyar and Maiar.

Findekano.

Maedhros drew his cloak closer around himself, taking shelter at the side of a large pavilion, and looked to see who had spoken that name. 

Had he imagined it? 

No, it was a soldier in golden armor who had spoken that name, in conference with a grey-robed healer outside a tent just across the way. 

Will he be well enough to return with the first fleet? the soldier asked. 

And then, bells began to sound. An alarm. He could hear the clatter of soldiers taking up their weapons and calling to one another. 

Intruders! He tensed, muscles preparing for flight, but something - something most certainly not the Oath - stopped him in his tracks. He had to know what the guard and the healer had been talking about. He had to know why they had been talking about Fingon. 

Against his better judgment, cloth-wrapped Silmaril still in hand, he approached the tent. Hopefully, the alarm would distract the guard enough that he could slip inside, investigate, find nothing of importance, and be gone again before anyone was the wiser. 

[eldestfeanarion]

If you had to choose only one brother to save who would you choose?

Maedhros grimaces. “This is a painful question you ask of me, Greycloak,” he confesses. “I have been asked this before, by ones much crueler than you are, but I do not think you mean this as torture.”

Would he save Maglor, his closest confidante and the brother with whom he has shared the longest and truest friendship? Or perhaps Curufin, who might help him think of a way to save more than one of them after all?

He is quiet for a long time.

“I will tell you one thing - whichever of my brothers I chose would insist I should have chosen another. It is how we are. We defend our own.” He takes another moment to think. “I think the only answer that would satisfy the most of us would be to save Ambarussa - both of them.”

[eldestfeanarion]

“Tell me, would you kill to save a life?“

@mano-of-mandos

@mano-of-mandos

"There are many people I would kill to protect," Maedhros replied, eyes narrowing as he considered the Maia's question. Was it a question of philosophy, or was it meant to test him somehow? "If you expect me to feel ashamed, then I am afraid I shall have to disappoint you."

[eldestfeanarion]

Amazing that Nelyo remained loyal to him after his failure led to the defeat and destruction of most of the realms in Beleriand. Fingon shuddered and forced himself to remain standing straight, though he could no longer meet the great Herald's gaze.

The Maia's question was reasonable, hopefully not too perceptive. Fingon hoped his disregard for the leaders before him was not obvious. Their army had defeated Morgoth, and also saved his life, which he had not deserved.

He could feel himself slipping back into the cowering, pitiful thrall he'd been for the last age, a creature far beneath the king he pretended to be. But for Nelyo... he would play the part for a bit longer. He squeezed the elf's hand and looked up once more.

Maedhros's exhausted, desperate plea gave Fingon his answer. They could no longer outrun their Doom, it was time to surrender.

"I, too... must face justice. I will not run."

“I do not imagine you will,” Eonwe said. Whether he had chosen to trust Fingon’s word or whether he did not think Fingon could make an escape, wounded as he was, the Maia did not say. 

Now that the Feanorions no longer had the element of surprise and secrecy on their side, Maedhros knew very well that, should they try, they would never leave the camp without being caught. But somehow this did not fill Maedhros with dread. If fate had brought him back to Fingon, perhaps it was not always cruel. 

Maedhros moved closer to Fingon, shifting to lightly hold his arm now instead of his hand, that he might lean on Maedhros for support if he needed it. Fingon had very much lived up to his epesse this night - ever brave, ever steadfast. How Maedhros had missed him! 

At last, the Maia focused on Finarfin instead of Fingon. “King Arafinwe. Post a guard of your most trusted soldiers around this tent - I shall do the same. I shall also have... accommodations arranged nearby for the sons of Feanaro and their Silmarils.”

With that, he turned on his heel, and was gone with a flutter of feathers.

Maedhros heaved a sigh of relief as Eonwe departed, and he looked briefly to his uncle. “I am glad we were able to resolve this without violence,” he said, and meant it. He was so very tired of violence. “Thank you both for speaking on my behalf.” He bowed his head. “I shall try to be deserving of your kindness.” 

{for @nolofinwion }

The end was so close now. The Oath in Maedhros’ blood sang at the presence of the Silmaril, clutched in his prosthetic hand as he crept towards the edges of the Valinorean war camp. 

Moving in shadow, like a criminal. Like a murderer. Like the Enemy. Maitimo or Nelyafinwe would have been disgusted...but he was no longer Maitimo or Nelyafinwe. They had died long ago. 

He knew the jewel would burn him if he touched it, just as it burned the hands of all who were unworthy. But it was proof to him that the evils he had done were not for nothing. He had done as he had sworn to do, and Maglor would do the same this night. And then...? 

The nighttime murmurs of the Host of the West washed around him like the sea against the rocks of the shore. The forest loomed dark beyond the edges of the fires and torches. But then, Maedhros heard a name he never thought he would hear again, a song that seemed out of place even among the musical voices of the Vanyar and Maiar.

Findekano.

Maedhros drew his cloak closer around himself, taking shelter at the side of a large pavilion, and looked to see who had spoken that name. 

Had he imagined it? 

No, it was a soldier in golden armor who had spoken that name, in conference with a grey-robed healer outside a tent just across the way. 

Will he be well enough to return with the first fleet? the soldier asked. 

And then, bells began to sound. An alarm. He could hear the clatter of soldiers taking up their weapons and calling to one another. 

Intruders! He tensed, muscles preparing for flight, but something - something most certainly not the Oath - stopped him in his tracks. He had to know what the guard and the healer had been talking about. He had to know why they had been talking about Fingon. 

Against his better judgment, cloth-wrapped Silmaril still in hand, he approached the tent. Hopefully, the alarm would distract the guard enough that he could slip inside, investigate, find nothing of importance, and be gone again before anyone was the wiser.