Author's note and disclaimer: Hello! I am brand new to this fandom, having just picked up the Silmarillion on a whim two weeks ago. And I fell in love with it so fast, I just had to write. I don't own anything, and there are bound to be mistakes, especially when it comes to accent marks on names. Speaking of names, this is set mostly in the Years of the Trees so Quenya names are used as follows:
Maedhros: Maitimo (Nelyo); Maglor: Makalaurë (Kano); Celegorm: Tyelkormo (Turko); Caranthir: Carnistir (Moryo); Curufin: Curufinwë (Curvo); Amrod: Pityafinwë (Pityo); Amras: Telufinwë (Telvo) (both twins may be Ambarussa in the plural); Fëanor: Fëanáro; Fingolfin: Nolofinwë; Fingon: Findekáno ; Finarfin: Arafinwë
Italics means a language other than Quenya, usually Sindarin. It is also my headcanon that near the end of the First Age Maitimo and Makalaurë spoke mostly in Sindarin. So in the very beginning I use their Sindarin names. Enjoy.
The Silmaril burned in his hand without mercy, and Maedhros knew in that moment that it was the end. It was finally over. He didn't realize that he was crying until he looked through tear-blurred eyes and saw the red streaked sky, the sun setting on his wasted life. As his last hand blistered, he felt the bounds of the oath release his strangled heart, leaving deep scars of sorrow in its still beating form. But it was too late. The Noldor had fallen. And he was no longer Maitimo, the one of beautiful bodily form. He was no longer the one who would read stories to his little brothers at night, scaring them with tales of monsters and heroes. No, he was the monster now. Scarred and deformed, a wretched villain. Kinslayer. That was what the oath had reduced him too.
And there was no hope in that setting sun. For who would ever love him? Who could ever forgive him, if he could not even begin to forgive himself? In that moment he hugged the Silmaril to his chest, the light within it burning with all the promise of a lost life. Of what could have been, but could now never be. And taking one last look at that dying sun, Maitimo began to run towards an open crevice in the ground. He leapt, one hand hold the Silmaril, his auburn hair trailing him, alight in the flames that surrounded him.
"Maedhros! No! You idiot!"
A voice. A deep, melodious, tear-choked voice interrupted his final peaceful moments. It was followed by the sound of rock fall. As the flames consumed him and he fell ever down, Maitimo looked up and saw a body fall in after him. It was then that he felt his wounded heart at long last rip in two as he knew Makalaurë would die with him here, in this dark crevice in the forgotten parts of the world.
But death did not come as he continued to fall for minutes it seemed. And Maitimo wondered if his punishment was to fall forever. Fear gripped him suddenly, and he thought of the Void. It could not be! For if he was truly damned to everlasting darkness after all that was sacrificed in order to fulfill that oath even on to the end, then every death, every bit of forfeited honor and happiness, was all truly for naught. He felt righteous fury rise in his chest and opened his eyes to see…. his bed?…. rising towards him at tremendous speeds.
And not just any bed, Maitimo dumbly realized. It was his bed from when he still lived in Valinor in Tirion, before Formenos. In fact from this height, he could see his entire room. Maitimo felt his fall become slower, as if some force was working against him. Even so, he still collided with the mattress hard enough to make him bounce a few times. Maitimo groaned as he found himself lying amongst his various pillows. He put his hands behind him to prop his upper body up and stilled in shock when he felt his right hand supporting him. Before he could fully process what was happening, a body fell across his stomach with great force, and he crashed back onto the mattress, with a groan.
He risked a glance down to see Makalaurë lying across him, his head hanging off one side of the bed and his legs the other. What the? Maitimo sighed and put his head back down, suddenly feeling very tired. When a loud voice rang out, one which sounded like a thousand waterfalls with its great depth: "I created the firstborn to be free. And I have grieved long, watching you, Maitimo, and you, Makalaurë, be enslaved to an oath sworn in a moment of great emotion. But in your heart of hearts, you never embraced the darkness, did you? Even when you committed the unthinkable, you felt every blow of your sword as one made on your own spirit." The voice stopped and chuckled. "I guess what I am saying is I like you, Maitimo, and I like you, Makalaurë, and your plight has moved me. I have rewound the hands of time to give you a second chance. Welcome back the the Age of the Trees." The voice paused and then in after thought said, "Don't tell the Valar.":
The Voice was gone, and Maitimo felt as if he was waking up from a dream. He became aware of a light spring breeze flowing from his open window. Of the waxing light of Laurelin, and the happy chirping of birds outside. It was morning. And he was not dead. Morning, not dead. Morning, not dead. He repeated to himself several times. And then something clicked.
It was morning, he was not dead, and he was back in time in his room in Tirion, not Formenos. That meant that Finwë was still alive, the Oath not yet taken, the Curse of Mandos not yet given. None of the great battles had been fought. Maitimo's mind was racing as he brought his very real right hand before his eyes. Morgoth had not yet hung him from Thandorogrim. Fingon had not cut off his hand. Wait, Fingon was alive! For Nirnaeth Arnoediad never occurred! This meant his brothers…. his brothers were all alive and well! Their minds not twisted by the oath, their hearts not haunted by all they had seen and done in Beleriand!
"Maglor!" Maitimo cried, pulling his knees up in his excitement, and jostling his brother. Hope and pure joy overflowing in his grey eyes. "Wake up! Brother! We live! We are back in Tirion. Look, my hand!" At that Makalaurë slowly rolled over into his back, still lying across his brother, and as sat up, he finally opened his eyes to stare Maitimo's unscarred, and very much there right hand. He took it into his own hands and gripped it tight, looking around the room in wonder, for he had not opened his eyes on the descent and had not yet taken in his surroundings.
Suddenly tears filled his eyes. "Oh Maedhros, I thought it was, I thought it was, I thought the voice was only in my head. But you heard it also?" he finished in a hopeful whisper. "Are we really here?" he asked, still not daring to believe, still gripping Maitimo's regrown hand in both of his.
Before his brother could answer a feminine voice rang through the halls, "You two boys better get down here now! Or Tyelkormo will give your breakfast to Huan!" It was Nerdanel.
Both Maitimo and Makalaurë looked at one another when they heard their mother's voice, lost hope creeping back into their hearts. Not daring to speak, for fear that words would break the spell, they leapt out of the bed, and not bothering to throw even a robe on over the leggings (which both had somehow ended up after that dreadful fall), they raced down the hall and practically fell down the stairs for all their haste. They ran into the dining room and laid eyes on their family.
Carnistir was reading a book at the table, breakfast all but ignored and pushed to the side. The twins were talking to each other, laughing over some inside joke. Curufinwë was washing his plate, looking ready to leave and start the day. And Nerdanel was guarding two other plates from a hovering Tyelkormo and Huan. All paused and looked up when the two eldest all but stampeded into the room on this peaceful morning.
It is an illusion, thought Makalaurë, it could not be real. His family could not really be here. But the looks of shock on their faces as they took in his bedraggled appearance looked all too genuine. And then he decided that he didn't care if they were real or not, and neither did Maitimo apparently as both ran simultaneously to their lost family. Maitimo grabbed up their mother and Tyelkormo in a massive hug, while he snagged the twins. Carnistir looked up in alarm and tried to escape, but Makalaurë reached out and grabbed him too, while Maitimo got Curufinwë.
"What is this!" their mother laughed.
Makalaurë heard footsteps behind him, and a deep voice rang out: "Curvo, you ready to…" but Fëanáro stopped as he took in the scene. "Group hug!" he cried after a second, correctly guessing what was happening as he happily joined in the melee. Finally Makalaurë released his brothers and let them breathe.
Nerdanel was the first to recover: "Maitimo, Makalaurë! Want to explain why you are both shirtless at the dining table?" Nerdanel asked, rapping a wooden spoon against her hand.
"Oh mother," Maitimo nearly spoke in Sindarin but caught himself just in time to say it in Quenya. The happiness in his voice, however, did not need to be forced, not this time. "We just overslept and figured the best way to avoid your wrath was to remind you how much we loved you."
"And it worked! See you're grinning," Maglor added, attempting to hide behind a mask of his former self as Maitimo was doing.
"Alright you two! You get away with it this time. No more staying up late reading or composing. I won't stand for this a second time. Now go and make yourself presentable!" Moments later and Maitimo stood before his wardrobe full of fine garments and robes. His mind was racing. Was this all really happening? He ran his right hand down a long elegant robe, the luxurious fabric falling through his fingers. He had not worn clothes like these in decades. Footsteps approached, and he turned to find Makalaurë dressed in blue and silver riding clothes.
"Is this a dream, Lord Brother?" I swear I saw them down there. Hale and happy, and so very much themselves," Makalaurë said in whispered Sindarin.
Maitimo at last picked a pair of faint yellow breeches and shirt with a red outer tunic complete with gold embroidery, "If it is, don't wake me. Not yet. Let us pretend to be happy just a little while longer."
"And if it is not?
"If it is not, then I promise you that I will do what I can, within morals," Maitimo quickly added, "to ensure that damnable oath is never uttered."
"As will I…. within morals. But I will not suffer to see them tormented again."
"Come, Maglor. Let us enjoy this dream a little while longer."
At last both of them walked downstairs back to the dining room. Everyone except Nerdanel had left. "Well your food is long cold by now, but I managed to save it from Telykormo and that hound of his."
"Thank you, mother," Maitimo said as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, forcing his voice to be playful when he really felt like collapsing with tears of relief and buried grief. Nerdanel playfully slapped his arm in response. The two brothers grabbed their plates and sat heavily at the table.
"So what is everyone's plan for today?" Makalaurë asked, also feigning normalcy. But inside his heart beating way too fast as it had been all morning.
"Well Curvo and your father are working in the forge as they always are. The twins and Telykormo just left on a hunt. And Carnistir, well Carnistir never said. He's probably practicing calligraphy or reading in the library. And I am heading up to work on that sculpture for Eärwen. Don't make too much of a mess."
Makalaurë made himself nod as he took another bite out of his eggs and watched his mother leave. He wondered then what her life had been like after all seven of her sons had departed with her husband for Arman, on ships stolen from kin slaughtered by their own swords. Maitimo seemed to guess what he was thinking.
"She will never have to bear that burden again. We will make sure of it."
Makalaurë sighed. "What will you do? Go back to reading your lore? That used to be normal for you. But I doubt I can sing right now."
Maitimo laughed quietly, "No, I feel as if those stories will hit too close to home."
Makalaurë understood. His brother was locking away his emotions to be dealt with when it was more convenient; he was trying to pretend that everything was alright. Reading of heroic deeds and dark forces would bring to the forefront of the mind all they had endured. And it would force him to reflect, to process, and grapple with it all….yes, Makalaurë well understood why his brother wanted to postpone such thoughts. It was the same with him. He had no desire to touch a harp or lyre for fear that his broken soul would play itself across the strings for all to see.
"Let's see if we can catch up with the hunt. A long ride will do us both good."
An few hours later and both reborn brothers were galloping through the forests of Valinor. Both of them had calmed down as they slowly came to terms with what had happened to them. Maitimo was now reasonably sure that his heart was no longer going to pound out of his chest. But as he relaxed into the ride, he noticed how he saw things that he never noticed the first time around in Valinor. Before, he would ride in Aman heedless of any danger, for there was none. But now he was constantly aware of his surroundings. He noticed when a canary landed on a distant branch, when a fox slunk behind a bush, or when the shadows shifted.
"Valinor seems different, Kano."
"Aye, you notice more after spending all those years in Ossiriand. And you notice the beauty most of all."
Makalaurë was right. The beauty of Valinor, he had never really appreciated it before it was lost to him all those years ago. But the trees here wore crowns of emerald, and the golden light of Laurelin filtered through their branches to where it danced on the forest floor, the soft mosses and damp dirt enjoying her caress. The sky, seen through gaps in the trees, was a blue so deep and gentle that it was both comforting and breathtaking to behold.
"Somebody is throwing caution to the wind. Woe be to them if anyone were to say, sneak up on them." Makalaurë said after a few moments of silence, nodding to the very obvious smoke rising from a very obvious fire that could only belong to their brothers. Maitimo smiled.
"I think it is well within our rights to teach our little brothers to have more discretion when starting a fire," he replied, feeling mischievousness arise in his spirit for the first time in ages.
With that the two slowed to a trot, carefully making their way through the forest. When they were close to hearing range, they dismounted, telling their horses to stay for a while. Makalaurë looked at the trees and sighed, "I used to laugh at the Moriquendi and their love of tree climbing. And here I am, back in the blessed realm, a son of the crown prince, and what is the first thing I do?"
"Frighten your mother by appearing as a shirtless savage in the kitchen?"
Makalaurë gently punched his brother for that response. "That was a rhetorical question," he grumbled. Maitimo only smiled as he scaled the tall oak after him. Seconds later and they were swiftly jumping through the branches. Dusk and the mixing of the lights was approaching, making it easier for the two to blend in with the surrounding branches. As they neared the campfire, both slowed down, and they stealthily creeped through the trees right above their kinsmen's heads.
"I say we simply sleep beside them," Maitimo said gesturing to the forest floor. "Since to startle them would be the second time in a day that we have acted in an uncouth manner."
"Wholly unacceptable," Makalaurë agreed. So the two, quiet as the night, leapt out of the trees. Huan shifted, but a quiet word from Makalaurë convinced him to go back to sleep, and the two layed down beside their brothers. Maitimo lied on his back and glanced at the stars. He heard the trees rustle in the wind and the fire crackle nearby, he ear becoming attuned again to the sounds of the forest. It felt good to be back. It felt good to be free again, to be mischievous and exchange banter with his brothers. He almost dared to believe that today had been the most perfect day of his life.
He sighed in contentment and then rolled, trying to find a more comfortable position on the forest floor. It was a mistake. For on turning over, he saw Telvo's back, when suddenly the image of the youngest twin lying dead on the beaches of the Sirion assaulted his mind. Maitimo squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden image, and quickly rolled back over. He looked at the stars, but at once they looked just like the stars he saw all those centuries in Arda. The cold, distant stars that mocked him as he hung by his broken wrist all those years. Those stars that laughed as he searched in the cold for Dior's twin sons not terribly long ago. He shuddered.
Makalaurë saw him from where he lay on his other side. "When we were running through the trees, a part of me forgot, you know? For a moment, it was all just a bad dream. Nothing more. But it wasn't just a dream."
"No," Maitimo responded. "It was over five hundred years." Sleep never did come that night to either of them. Maglor layed looking at the sky, his thoughts lost to tragedies past, silent tears falling from his eyes. Maitimo simply closed his eyes and sang quietly to himself songs of lament. He was only interrupted by soft hoof beats on the forest floor as their elven horses approached the campground. Quietly he got up and took their gear off, whispering them praises for finding them, even if their brothers made it rather obvious. He saw that they were content beside the other horses before lying back down again to pass another restless night.
TBC.
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