#markedasinfernal

                                     Canafinwë Makalaurë

- Dedicated to one of my favorite fanfic writers - here’s the stupidest, silliest piece of shit I think I’ve ever written:

The days, weeks and months spent in Angband meant less to Maedhros than the dirt he scraped out from under his fingernails after a day of hard, exhausting work within the bowels of the Iron Hell. Any semblance of time he bothered to note was processed through raw, bloodied wounds scabbing over, the number of red lines dashed across his back, overlapped and replaced, or the screeching turn of the bolt at his door granting passage to an evil that banished all emotion but panic and fear from him. The hurt that followed was only a hateful reminder that he was being forced to endure, forced to scream, to bleed and cry and then hurt some more for others' amusement.

The sole solace within his confines came at the end of it all, when he was left to gasp and moan in pain. The tiny, scampering ball of fur that scuttled out from between cracks in the walls to settle against his palm when the darkness left was the only bit of hope Maedhros had left to cling to. It nuzzled against him, and he let it - any touch of innocent affection he could scrape together was appreciated and he was so very alone.

Sometimes, when the pain was not so overwhelming and the evil not so oppressive, he would whisper to it. When he was feeling brave enough, he would try and remember what once was.

Stories his ammë had told him before war had torn his people apart, before his father had descended into madness, before they had left the light of Valinor behind he would whisper to the small creature cradled within his palm. Broken and hoarse was his voice, but still he spoke. When he was little more than a few decades old, he remembered, curled up in his mother's bosom, the stories of the first elves awakened beneath Varda's stars. He stopped talking when he recalled the rest, how the enemy had invaded the peace of their lands, how the dark one had led elves that had wandered too far astray . . .

Instead, he turned to softly telling the mouse of his brothers, describing each of them. The twins and their red hair similar to his, Maeglin and his singing, Caranthir and his tempers -

But that, too, proved too painful for Maedhros to continue. The cheerful memories of his brothers gave way to darker feelings within him, to confusion and fear and anger. He did not know what else to do if his very own thoughts dredged up nothing but pain. He set the mouse down and curled onto his side upon the stones.

---

The mouse had begun clawing at a random spot between stones in the corner of his cell. Maedhros tilted his head, wondering if the despair and madness of Angband infected the souls of not only elves, but even the small, harmless creatures that dwelt unbidden in its walls.

He did not watch for long, however, as a minute later an orc entered and ferried him away. The thoughts of his friend's strange actions were lost for some time under the ache of strained muscles and flesh being torn under whips of worn leather as he endured within the mines for hours into the evening.

---

Only days later did Maedhros have the energy to investigate what his companion was up to and when he did, the Silmarilli themselves would not have been able to produce as much joy in Maedhros as the loosened stone he found in the corner of his cell did. His tiny friend stood proudly before it.

Stone by stone Maedhros clawed out a small tunnel in the wall. Hours, possibly centuries went by before it hit. Light filtered through when he removed another bit of rubble, running across his face and for a moment Maedhros could do nothing but stare. A slight breeze drifted through, ruffling greasy, coppery strands from his face, and then he closed his eyes. The thin beam of sunlight, after so long bereft of it, hurt. The wind carried a bitter, stale scent with smoke and blood mingled in - air that only the fortress of Angband could produce.

It was the most amazing thing Maedhros had seen and breathed in a long time. It was light and air from outside.

He turned to the mouse. "Dearly beloved friend . . . I will remember you from today and henceforth. Your unadulterated kindness shall be recognized amongst the Noldor and your deeds acclaimed throughout all of Arda. Your kind shall never see another treacherous trap laid out before them, and when my time comes to finally pass into the Hall of Mandos as my father did before me, I will fall upon bended knee and beg Varda to place you amongst the stars to shine high and bright, honored by all elvenkind til the end of days when the seas dry up, winds fail to carry the breath of it's people, and the mountains themselves wither."

He took a deep breath, fully intending to list the titles and cheese payments he would also bestow upon his savior, but a thunderous, familiar rattle from behind took him out of his brief moment of praise. Maedhros took to removing stone after stone, panic returning in full. A startled yell sounded from behind him and it fueled his worn limbs to work even faster, reopening raw nail beds that had scabbed over and wept sluggish trails of blood onto the bricks he was now tossing out of the way. His fingers tore beneath such rough care until at last, at last, daylight engulfed him and he stepped out from the small tunnel he had burrowed. The mouse squeaked in encouragement and Maedhros, after a small and tearfully whispered 'thank you', tore across the barren wasteland before him.

He ran as if the Moringotto himself were at his heels, leaving behind red footsteps as sharp rocks and splinters cut into his feet but Maedhros didn't care because he was free. A cliff reared up before him, and when he looked back, a flutter of blonde hair emerging from his tunnel had him reeling towards its edge. Only a moment of hesitation gripped him, and then steely resolve took its place. No more tears. No more hurt. He was in control, and he would end it now.

Taking a deep breath, Maedhros looked towards the sky, clouded over with smoke and ash, not being able to remember an image quite as beautiful, before stepping off of the cliff-face . . .

Only to fall face first onto the feathered back of an eagle, shooting up just in time and appearing out of nowhere. When the sound of cracking, breaking bones and the pain of his body being dashed across the ground hundreds of feet below failed to register, Maedhros opened his eyes and true joy, an emotion he had not felt in over a lifetime, filtered through his entire being as he soared above the desolate lands that surrounded Angband.

Raising his fists, the Noldor prince let out a whoop as the eagle, with a beat of its wings, turned them both away from the hideous fortress Maedhros had spent those long, dreadful years in. He turned, taking it all in one last time and - ready to start his new beginning - raised one bloody, middle finger towards the tall blonde figure slowly rising from the small entrance, reveling in the look of incredulity and utter confusion caught upon his face.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry but this is spot on.

markedasinfernal:

wavesheep:

Here, at long last, is Gilthariel, one of @markedasinfernal‘s OCs from “Sins of Our Fathers”!

It took me a long time to figure out how best to color her ... the scar was, surprisingly, not the hardest puzzle to solve.

No, that honor went to her silver hair. How to make something silver when the only colors one has at one’s disposal are blue, black, and the white of the paper? Well, one option is to leave most of the silver thing white, but I ruled out that course of action early on. (Not deliberately ... it just happened LOL).

Also, I way overdid the blue shadows on her teeth. They were supposed to be very faint, like the blue in Iskandar’s eyes, but too much paint got on them and now it looks like she’s just eaten a blue Popsicle or something.