More angsting... how typical *sigh* I'm not in a very good mood today, I'm afraid
Ah well... more Silmarillion... This one is about Maglor right after stealing the Silmarilli from Eonwë with Maedhros (the one I wrote for Maedhros is Fire) Anyway...
Warnings: angsting mostly, and a touch of swearing
Disclaimer: Maglor and all the other characters from the Silmarillion belong to Tolkien, not to me *pout*
Macalaurë = Maglor for those of you who didn't know
At the end, Macalaurë discovered, one found himself looking back upon the past and thinking of how everything could be different, how if only he'd done something different then maybe things wouldn't have turned out like this, some unsung, hidden tragedy. However, he knew, even as he held the very prize they had been searching for within the palms of his hands, things could never go back to the way they were, that it was too late to change now.
When he had first stepped forward along with the rest of his brothers in a foolish leap of faith in their father to take that thrice-be-damned Oath, he had never suspected that he would have to give so much.
His home, perhaps, had been a given, but nothing else had come of their quest but despair and heartbreak.
At one time he would have said that he would have given anything to reach this goal—this final step towards their salvation and the completion of their ill-thought quest—but he knew now that he wouldn't have. Anything was too large a word to sacrifice, and that was exactly what he had been forced to lay down in order to get here.
And where was here? Nowhere?
The pain ate away at his hands, like molten rock searing lines of sin onto his palms, but he couldn't just let it go, couldn't release it or drop it. He couldn't admit failure… not after everything they'd done, everything they'd been through!
I have given everything I am for this moment… and it was all for nothing.
"Was that what you wanted, Father?" he spat irrationally at the cold-hearted sky, screaming it over the crashing waves hundreds of feet beneath his boots, licking at the rocks as if they wanted to ruse out of the darkness and swallow him whole, to steal away the treasure which seemed only to want to punish him. "Did you ever think about what would happen? Did you never care?"
Of course, he couldn't blame Fëanáro for everything… that was simply foolish, but…
Give, give, give… Give your life, give you freedom, give your sanity, give you soul… all for this punishment! Fury radiated through his core, and his silvery eyes sparked with the fire that so personified his lineage. Do you know, Father, what I've had to sacrifice for your goal, for your utter arrogant foolishness? Do you know what it's like to watch everyone you ever cared about throw their lives away for some impossible fantasy?
Clenching his fists tightly, Macalaurë reveled in the burn—in the pain. He breathed it in like he breathed in song and passion. Emotion had ever been the one thing that had never failed him, that had kept him from the brink. But now… now…
His furious anger, his spark of defiance, faded and smoldered downwards into a few dusty bits of ash. Tears pricked at his eyes traitorously, stinging sharply at the corners.
I will not cry… I will not!
But the images came back all too quickly—the blood and war and suffering that he had never wanted, never wished upon anyone—the look on his beloved's face when he told her that he was leaving, and the feel of his chest splitting open when she chose to stay behind—the pure exhilaration of rage when he cut down his foes, good and evil alike—It all weighed down on his soul suddenly, grievously, like an old wound suddenly ripped open and fresh, blood seeping down from the cracks and leaking away his resilient determination to remain unmoved.
Even Maitimo was gone now…
All of his brothers and cousins, his father and uncle…
All those he'd left behind…
His music, his passion, his hope for a future, all of it was gone. What did he have left now? He was a sinner, a murderer, and alone… so alone. Not a soul in the world would shed a tear for his suffering; any who would had already passed.
Was this… was this really meant to be? Was this all that our quest and Oath meant?
The tears blurred his vision, until he couldn't make out the waves beneath him anymore, but could only hear their thunderous roars. It sounded so vengeful, so angry, as if it wanted to swallow him up and pull him under, make him suffer for all the wicked deeds he had committed.
For the first time, Macalaurë allowed himself to wish that he was someone else, some version of himself that had not succumbed to childish arrogance. He wanted to be that Macalaurë who had loved his beautiful elleth more than any Oath of his father's, who would sit in the garden composing music and playing with his children, teaching them their letters and how to play the lyre.
His head bowed, tears falling so freely. The leak in his self-made prison refused to be plugged, and his emotions writhed and screamed beneath the surface to be let loose. For so long he had held back—first for his family, and then for his brothers and himself, and also for Elros and Elrond, whose suffering had been wrought by his filthy hands—but ever last support was gone, every last protection broken. There was nothing between him and that tidal wave of feeling… of agony.
What more can I give? he wondered, staring down at the jewel and hardly feeling its wrath. It is over… two of the three are out of my reach… I am alone… and I cannot… cannot…
The blinding light hurt his eyes, and he refused to look at it or release it, though he desperately wanted to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the pitiful sob caught in his throat. There was nothing more to give except his pitiful Oath… and he would be all too happy to rid himself of its stifling chains.
You have lost.
Everything, everything, everything… He'd given everything for this.
And I do not even want it in the end. I would throw this away in a heartbeat to have everything back once more. It was never worth this… never.
Closing his eyes, Macalaurë could not stifle the urge to rid himself of this burning thing in his hands, to be rid of its presence, though he knew it would do naught to bring back the past. He hated it.
Before he could stop himself, his hand rose over his head, clutching the jewel tightly. He could feel the facets brand into his skin…
And he threw it as hard as he could. His eyes remained closed even when the burning ceased and his hand suddenly felt as if it had been dipped in ice-water. It fell limply to his side, free of its heavy burden.
His eyes slid open, and he looked out into the darkness of the waves which he knew had swallowed the gem. But he could see nothing of it. Its glow had vanished.
He felt strangely… hollow.
It is over… the temptation is gone as well. Everything is gone.
The tears did not cease, and he did not feel any lighter or the grief any paler, but… but at least the Oath was gone. Maybe it was cowardly of him to throw it away and cease trying to accomplish the dream which would inevitably fail. If his father looked down upon him now, he imaged the pure fury that would glisten in his fey eyes and the snarl that would twist his handsome features, but Macalaurë didn't care anymore. He didn't care about any of that. The Oath, his father's approval, it meant nothing to him anymore. It was an illusion which had clouded his mind of the true treasures in the world, which were now forever out of his reach.
Let this be my punishment, he whispered to himself resignedly, but at least grant me the solace of being free of the Oath. Now it is meaningless and shallow, a hollow and broken replacement for what could have been. It is the one thing I will forever be willing to give.
Maglor is one of my favorite characters; he's just so much fun to write! I just wish I could find something happier to write about him... his life sucks.
Review if you wish to