maedhros nelyafinwë fëanárion

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."

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?”

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."

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. 

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."

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. 

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."

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?”

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."

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.

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."

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.” 

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."

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

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.

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 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.

“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.” 

“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.

“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. 

“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.

“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. 

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. 

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.