Red is the New Black
by Mooselk
Warnings: Gore, mentions of torture, character death, evil plots.
He knows that no one is going to come after him. He is actually quite proud of his brothers for showing more sense than he did, for not walking into an obvious trap. But it is cold on Thangorodrim, it is cold and lonely. Not to mention agonizingly painful.
When he sees his uncle's banners, he screams himself hoarse trying to get them to notice him. It is useless. He is no closer to freedom than before, and now his voice is gone.
For a while, he continues to cling to a tiny ray of hope, that one of his cousins will come and kill him. None do. The sun moves through the sky, and the seasons change. He does not really notice it, but his body changes with it. By the third (or is it the thrity-third? The three-hundred thirty-third? He lost count long ago) winter, his skin is tough enough to withstand the bitter cold, and his teeth are sharp and broken from gnashing them together and gnawing at the surrounding rock. Still he does not die. And one day, Maitimo wakes up from his half-sleep feeling different. Feeling powerful.
With his left hand, he reaches to grasp the chain and turns himself around. Using the chain as an anchor, he slowly scales the cliff. Where the energy to do so comes from, he does not know, and frankly, he does not care. He sits atop the cliff and tries to pry the manacle open. But not even with this newfound strength can he open the cursed band.
The hand is dead anyway. He shrugs and goes for it with his teeth, ripping and tearing his way through his wrist. Blood squirts, no longer the bright red color of elven blood, but darker, a deep maroon, nearly black. With a crunch, the bone goes and the hand falls away, the last few sinews holding it together snapping with a twang. He licks the wound shut and it instantly starts to heal. But he does not let it bother him; he has bigger fish to fry.
No one bothers him on his trek to the throne room of Morgoth. All the terrible creatures the place is rumored for shrink away from this bloodstained figure cloaked in a matted mass of copper hair.
If he had been his old self, he would have considered his position impossible. But nonetheless, there he was, sitting in the twisted throne with the Black Foe of the world lying still and quiet, the body empty, abandoned, at his feet. Sauron had taken one look at him and sank into a bow of submission. Maitimo smiles: he could use Sauron yet.
The Silmarils stare at him from their iron prison. But he knows that they may burn-from experience? He shakes that thought away-, and does not touch them. Instead, he has some of the Noldorin thralls he finds in the mines extract them and place them into a jeweled box.
The first thing he does as King, for he is King now, is send out a letter of invitation to his brothers. Sauron pens it for him, but Maitimo signs it with all of his titles and includes one of his copper earrings. His brothers come.
He knows he will probably need to kill them. But he is willing to wait and see.
He does not wait long. The next morning, Curufinwë is caught with a Silmaril in hand. Maitimo does not bother with explanations.
Carnistir is next, for likening Maitimo with Morgoth. There are limits to his tolerance, and that goes beyond all of them.
The twins disappear soon after, and Tyelkormo will not reveal their whereabouts although Maitimo is certain that he knows. Torture does not loosen his tongue, but Maitimo loves his brother, after all, and is merciful, allowing Tyelko to die protecting his secret.
He suspects the twins have gone to Nolofinwë. That complicates his plans somewhat, but not much. It remains to be seen whether they will be accepted there. Besides, Nolofinwë is only a temporary set back. Perhaps he will try to convince Findekáno- and that should not be too hard, the silly boy has always been infatuated with him- to help him convince his father and siblings to come peacefully. Nolofinwë and his brood would make great bargaining chips for Maitimo against the darling children of Arafinwë, who are hiding in their kinsman's realm. If he plays his cards right, and if his cousins cooperate, he may succeed in bringing that flighty Maia and her Þindarin plaything to their knees. And wouldn't that please the voices in his head?
He only has one brother left now, and he realizes that he will need to keep Macalaurë alive. He is fond of this brother; Macalaurë knows when to keep silent and does not question decisions. Unless they involve killing his little brothers. He had been very vocal about that. Maitimo had been forced into gagging him. Had it been anyone else, they probably would have lost their tongue, and then their life.
But Maitimo is disfigured, and he knows it, and needs help with the doing of things that require two hands. But he cannot let his new subjects see this weakness. Only Macalaurë will be given that privilege.
But at the moment, he does not trust his brother to not try to slip a knife into his heart, or, Maitimo thinks with a grin, his own. Either way, Macalaurë would be dead, and that would not do at all. He will let Sauron handle it. Sauron knows how to prepare perfect attendants.
The walls of his throne room are an ugly shade of brown. That will need to change. And there is plenty of time to change it. Maitimo kicks his feet out and grins at the ceiling, as the Silmarils twinkle coldly from their case. He hopes his father is proud, wherever he is.
A/N: Nothing says "celebration!" like a dark AU. Happy Holidays!
Names:
Maitimo: Maedhros
Curufinwë: Curufin
Carnistir: Caranthir
Tyelkormo: Celegorm
Nolofinwë and Arafinwë: Fingolfin and Finarfin
Macalaurë: Maglor