Summary: Maedhros Fëanárion was the brave warrior that followed his father to his death and never shed a tear, or so the stories say. Maedhros receives a letter after Fëanor's death.
I finished writing The Books of Dante, and got the idea for this fic a while after. It was just begging to be written, and so here it is.
Maedhros, Maglor, Fingon, Fëanor, the Silmarillion, and all related/mentioned characters (c) J.R.R. Tolkien.
Chapter Warnings: Slightly out-of-character Fëanor and Maedhros. I hope you do not mind.
PART 1 OF 3.
Speaking With the Dead.
Part 1.
LETTERS.
Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanárion, or Maedhros, as he was known to the Sindar Elves of Beleriand, sat upon his cot, a sealed, yellowed letter clutched in his shaking left hand. He was still weak, recovering from his ordeal in Thangorodrim, but what caused his hand to shake was the sight of the wax seal on the parchment. It was the seal of the house of Fëanor, his father, and an elegant, flowing script depicted the amputee's name on the front of the thick, folded paper. The letter itself was well-worn and wrinkled from years of travel and hardship. After all, it was Fingon who had, at last, delivered the message to his elder cousin: Fingon, whom they had abandoned; Fingon, who had had to cross the Helcaraxé so that he could aid his best friend in his foolish quest to regain his father's Silmarils.
Maedhros closed his tired grey eyes and took a deep breath, casting a glance at Maglor and Fingon, who sat nearby with letters of their own.
"There was a letter for each of you, as well as for me, my father, and my uncle. I was told that another letter was left for Mahtan, Aunt Nerdanel, and grandmother Indis, as well, and for grandfather Finwë, should he ever return to Aman in hroä." He paused a bit. "I do not think that my father has read his, yet, but mayhap after reading my own I can convince him to look upon what his eldest brother had to say." Maedhros nodded in response to his best friend's logic.
"Then let us see what my Atar had to tell us in his madness that he could not say aloud," he mumbled, and, with trembling fingers, fumbled the letter open. The mere sight of his father's flowing script nearly sent his drained body into tears, but he fought them back with an iron will and began to read.
Nelyafinwë Maitimo, Maedhros, my most beloved firstborn,
I understand that you are probably horrified and angry with me right now, as are many, concerning my actions of late. But please, read this through.
It is with a rare moment of clarity that I write this and others, what will probably be my last letters from me, myself. The truth is that I have not been in control of my actions, thoughts, or emotions these past years. It is terrible, like living in a horrid nightmare, where everything I say or do harms those that I love.
I greatly regret not being able to tell you this in person; I likely never will have the chance to.
Outside of moments of sanity such as this one, it is as though I am watching an event play out from a distance, shoved into a mere corner of my mind as a master of shadows spreads words from my mouth that I would never, ever say, and taints hearts with darkness. If I had the will to overcome this evil, then I would; but its will is even greater in strength than my own, and even when you and your mother and brothers are in danger of facing the wrath of this creature in the shell of a body that is no longer my own I can do nothing to help you.
When I say that I am no longer myself, I mean it in the most literal of senses.
Here, Fëanor's writing became wobbly, hurried and yet elegant at the same time; his hand had obviously begun to shake terribly. The ink was smudged in spots, and there was even what appeared to be a drop of blood on the parchment. Maedhros began to wonder just what his father had gone through to write this last letter to him. Feeling a great ache forming in his chest, he read on.
Please, Nelyo, when the creature attempts to make you and your brothers re-swear that accursed Oath, do not do so! You are already cursed due to the Enemy's devices. If you somehow receive this letter before we land and I die- yes, I plan on dying soon, to rid you and your brothers of the peril facing you by being in the presence of this creature inhabiting my hroä and speaking with my mouth- then warn your brothers of what is happening to me. I expect that the shadow will not withdraw from me until just before I die, so please, I beg of you, do not swear that Oath again! Never make another Oath like it, or of vengeance. Vengeance and greed will produce nothing but grief, pain, and death.
His father had known that he was to die? He had not really wanted them to swear vengeance upon Morgoth? He had never wanted them to swear the Oath in the first place? Almost reluctant, he looked back down at the crumpled and stained parchment to read his father's last words, written in a rushed script that became nearly illegible from Fëanor's haste.
My time grows short, Nelyo.
I know it not if we will ever see each other again in this plane of existence, but know that if we never do again, it will be because I am serving my punishment in the Halls of Mandos or in the Eternal Darkness. In truth, I feel as though I should be damned to linger there for all of eternity, for failing you and your brothers and mother. I should have been stronger, strong enough that my will was able to overcome that of even Morgoth. I am sorry, my son, for all that has happened, and all that will come. I sit here at my desk in the home that I built with your mother, and tears fall from my eyes as I realize that your innocent hands will be stained with the blood of others by the time that we reach Ennorath. I only hope that you will be able to forgive me someday.
I already feel the shadow beginning to encroach on my vision once more, and I must hurry to write this last group of thoughts.
I know not if you know this, Nelyo, but I love you. My son, you are one of my greatest joys, the one that is foremost in my heart beside your mother and my father. Your brothers are there, too, but still, you are my firstborn and my heir. You were the one that I first held as your mother fell back on our bed, exhausted from birthing you. You were the one whose copper-down hair I stroked back from a tiny forehead, whose eyes, blue at the time, opened and looked up at me with a greatness already beyond your years. Even then I could see the black threads of fate entwining about you and myself, though I paid them no mind at the time and knew not what they were. Ai, if only I had known sooner!
I love you, Nelyafinwë. Never forget that, my beloved son.
All the hope in what is left of my heart goes with you. May you not fall into darkness as I have done, and may you lead your brothers and cousin and uncle well. Be a good leader to our people, Maitimo, the voice of reason in the midst of the madness. Become the best of the house of Fëanor, Maedhros the Tall, no matter what may befall you. Goodbye, my son, and may the Valar watch over you and protect you always.
Your father forever,
Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwion.
Fëanor.
It was this last paragraph that caused Maedhros to finally shed the tears that he had been holding in. He clutched his father's last letter to his breast and wept for everything that had transpired; but mostly he wept for the sake of his father and brothers, who would no longer weep for themselves.
It was after the tears subsided that Maedhros collapsed back onto his cot, emotionally and physically drained, and whispered one thing before sleep overtook him:
"Goodbye, father. I love you, too."
Sniff, sniff. That chapter made me cry whilst I was writing it!
As for Fëanor's letter: I think that Fëanor was not wholly bad. It is possible that he was being controlled, I think, kind of like demonic possession like you would see in The Exorcist or something. Hence the idea. I also think that if he had a rare period of clarity when Morgoth's mind was away from him, Fëanor could write letters to several people. This one was one of the longer ones, in my mind.
This directly ties in with my other story, The Books of Dante, and so if you have not read that, then I recommend that you read it first. This chapter could be read as a stand-alone fic, but there will be other chapters to go along with it.
I hope you liked the first chapter of Speaking With the Dead. The next chapter will be posted on the 19th if you wish to read it. Navaer!
-Fanatic