Hello and welcome to my Mean Girls parody of the Silmarillion! Sadly, I own neither. The characters are not going to match their role exactly, but I tried to keep it as close as possible while still ensuring everyone's IC.
Sindarin names will be used throughout for simplicity, with the exception of Russandol - this is a Quenyan nickname for Maedhros and means russet-top. Why is it in there? Who knows? I wish you a good read!
I guess it's natural for parents to cry on their kid's first day of school. But this usually happens when the kid is five.
I'm 16, and until today, I was home-schooled. That means that my father hired home tutors to teach his 'precious' only daughter—but only teachers who had never associated with Uncle Fëanor. We have some family issues. I know what you're thinking. That means I'm a Finwean, and Finweans are freaks.
But that's only Uncle Fëanor's side. My side of the family is totally normal. Sure, my brother Fingon has gained quite a reputation doing stupid things and then calling himself brave afterwards, and my other brother Turgon spends half his time holed up in the library reading, but that's normal, right?
And I was totally okay with being home-schooled, until one day Uncle Finarfin was talking about how his daughter Galadriel had been sent to the most prestigious high school in the small town, Tirion High. Now, Galadriel is insanely pretty, and also insanely smart, so my dear father followed her example and enrolled me there too.
What he didn't realise was that the rest of my extended family were also here. Including the sons of Fëanor.
So here I am. First day of school.
"Come on Aredhel, don't stand there gawking."
My brother Fingon led me to our home room, and it's hard not to gawk. There are so many people—and they're all so different! Making paper aeroplanes, doing their makeup, laughing on their phones… and there was Turgon in the corner, doing his maths homework. What a world!
"Don't sit there," Fingon interrupted my thoughts, as I absently pulled out a chair. "That's Caranthir's seat, he'll be mad if someone takes it."
Being homeschooled, and what with my father being just slightly overprotective, I don't actually remember meeting the sons of Fëanor—but apparently I did as a young girl. And of course everyone had heard about their reputation. I hastily changed seats.
"Not there either," said my brother, who had simply taken his usual seat, next to an unusually tall redhead. "That's Túrin's seat in front of you, and he doesn't wash often."
I wrinkled my nose in disgust and decided to just sit next to Fingon.
"By the way, have you met Maedhros?" my brother gestured to the redhead beside him. My forehead creases. Maedhros? Like our cousin Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor?
"Hi," said Maedhros, flashing a charming smile. I couldn't deny that he was very attractive—tall, well-formed, gorgeous red hair neatly knotted in a manbun. "You must be cousin Aredhel. Nice to finally meet you." He extended a hand—his left hand. I knew from family stories that his right hand had been lost in a freak accident involving handcuffs, eagles, and Fingon, for some reason. Nobody seemed to know exactly what had happened, and both Maedhros and Fingon told a different story every time they were asked, so it all blurred into one big mystery. Caught in the memory, I tried to shake his left hand with my right hand, swore as I realised my mistake, tried to switch to my left hand, and ended up giving the limpest and sweatiest handshake I have ever given.
Maedhros just smiled sadly at me, as if he were used to it.
"Good morning class!" came a crisp, clear voice from the doorway. A woman who could only be our teacher entered, not because she was old, but because she was carrying a stack of folders. She was stunningly beautiful, her dark hair glittered as it caught the light and her blue eyes gleamed bright. "I'm told we have a new student today!" She pulled out a slip of paper. "Aredhel Finwean?"
There was a collective groan from amongst the students, a phrase that sounded suspiciously like, "not another one!"
I ignored them. "Here."
"Welcome, Aredhel. I'm Ms. Elentári." The teacher flashed me a toothy smile that almost blinded me. "Welcome to Beleriand High."
"I can't believe you're cutting class on your first day back!" I shouted shrilly.
"Shhh! Be quiet sister, or they'll notice!" Fingon hissed, beckoning me to sit down on the grass beside them. "I told you not to follow us!"
Me being me, I didn't like him telling me what to do, so I had followed. And found my brother and Maedhros relaxing on the grass behind the school while first period elapsed. And… what was that in Maedhros' hand? My eyes widened and he hastily hid it from my sight, but not quickly enough.
"Is that a cigarette?" I said, horrified.
"No," he said unconvincingly.
"Come on Aredhel, you can try it if you promise not to tell father," Fingon pleaded.
"I'm not going to smoke, that's disgusting. You two should know better." I crossed my arms.
"You sound like my mother," said Maedhros, a small smile playing on his lips. I noticed that Maedhros always seemed to be smiling, but never because he was particularly happy. In fact, the only reason he seemed to have for smiling was because life at that moment wasn't completely and utterly terrible, which apparently is something he isn't used to.
I stood my ground. "Well, it is disgusting. And it's bad for your health—"
"Oh my Eru," Fingon interrupted at that moment, his face pale as he looked past me towards the open PE pitch. "The Three C's are here, Russandol."
Maedhros and I turned simultaneously. There was a gym class making its way onto the field, and in the lead was the most stunning guy I have ever seen. His long blond hair fanned out like molten gold glistening in the sun, his sharp jawline threatened to cut the very air. His deep-set eyes glittered like the ocean waves, and that smile was the fairest thing in the world. Not to mention that perfectly toned body. Unf.
"That's my brother Celegorm," said Maedhros, whose smile had turned wry and knowing as he noticed me blatantly checking out his brother.
"Oh," I said, feeling my face heating up.
"Yeah, he might be attractive, but he's dumb as a sack of bricks," my brother put eloquently. "No offence to you, Russandol, but I sat next to him in English last year and he asked me how to spell orange."
"Did he also ask you what rhymed with orange?" Maedhros quipped back, and the two shared a laugh.
"See the guy dressed in all black next to him?" said Fingon, trying to point subtly and failing. Not that he needed to point – there was only one guy dressed in full black, despite the summer heat. "That's his brother Caranthir. He hates everyone and everything, and he only ever wears black t-shirts with punk band names on them."
Maedhros massaged his temples. "It's a phase, it's a phase," he muttered, trying to convince himself more than either of us.
"Is it? He's got three piercings and a tattoo already!"
"Do shut up," groaned Maedhros.
Luckily, Fingon had become distracted again. "And over there," he said, taking me by the shoulder and turning me around, "evil takes a human form in Curufin."
"He prefers conflicted and misunderstood," Maedhros said heavily.
"Conflict and misunderstanding takes a human form in Curufin," amended Fingon.
"Actually, I think I'm the human embodiment of those things," Maedhros interrupted.
"Why would you give me those words then? Just shut up for a sec, Russandol." Fingon paused, and when there was no snarky reply, he continued, "Curufin is the craftiest guy in the school. Don't be fooled because he may seem like your typical selfish, back-stabbing kinslaying Fëanorian—no offence, Russandol—but in reality, he's so much more than that."
"Curufin… How do I even begin to explain Curufin?"
"Curufin is flawless."
"He has a sharp knife and fancy jewellery."
"I hear his cheekbones are insured for $10,000."
"I hear he crafts jewels and exports them… to Gondolin."
"His favourite movie is Inglourious Basterds."
"One time he met Finrod in Nargothrond… and dethroned him!"
"One time he threatened to slit my throat with his knife… It was awesome!"