Author: Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, do you really think I'd torture them as much as I do? No profit gained, no harm intended.
Author's note: I would rate this PG-13 for violence. You can archive this anywhere so long as name and e-mail adress are kept attatched. All comments welcomed, especially constructive criticsm. Thanks go to Finch for the name of Maedhros' tutor and Deborah for beta-ing above and beyond the call of duty. However good or bad you think this is, it would have been far worse without her.
***
The sea tasted bitter, Maedhros reflected as he spat out another mouthful of it. He stood by the railing of the topmost deck of the largest swanship, and still the waves reached up as if to swallow him. The tip of another swell splashed over and around him; he choked and spluttered, but would not take the saltwater in. It was soiled with tears and blood.
Undignified he might look, his breeches and tunic clinging to his skin and his hair flying beside him in thick wet strands, a mockery of a banner. 'Here stands Maitimo Neylafinwe, heir to the Kingship of the Noldor, staring down the sea.' But he closed his eyes when the stinging saltwater threatened to hit.
In truth he had come out here because anywhere else he was slave to his thoughts, or to the whisperings of his brothers. Only Feanor stayed constant at the helm. His sons assisted him by turns. It was Maedhros' time to rest, but he found he could not dream, only remember, so he came out to the railing to forget.
And yet, after a time he found that even here at the brink of death he could not escape them. In the furious waters he saw the clash of swords, the blood of the newly dead, the sobs of widows and the cries of friends.
His cherished former mentor. Caranthir's closest companion. Curufin's wife.
He thought of the servants of his father's halls, loyal to him until the end, although they never could have known what he would ask of them. There was a maid who had frequented the court in Formenos, her gaze afire whether she was passing along gossip or speaking in the great debates of the realm. The night of the kinslaying her eyes had been lifeless when the rest of her moved as though she was living. He thought of her sweet lips pressed into a grimace, he thought that she would not, could not, ever be the same.
He thought that people could be destroyed by the swords they weilded, destroyed by who they used them on, as surely as one can be destroyed by the sharp edge of another's blade. He thought of those he loved whom he had led into battle, who's crime was spurred by his.
He thought of his cousin Fingon.
Fingon had sought him out after the worst was over, but he was distracted by the blood on his hands, and his words barely sounded over the weeping of the Teleri. Turgon watched them with loathing in his eyes, for though he followed Feanor rather than break his word he had little love for the man or his sons. Idril in her father's arms stared, too, and he had not thought a child's eyes could be so vengeful. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps that was only the way he percieved her shattered innocence.
"How could you?" Fingon had asked. His face had been pale as the sand of the coast, and splattered with blood as the beaches were. His tone was flat, but Maedhros could tell it for an urgent question.
"My father commanded it of me," Maedhros replied, and that was true. "There was no time to think." They had not set out for bloodshed, though to see Feanor's teeth flashing as he fought one might expect otherwise. They had set out to be robbers, thieves, to steal the swanships as Morgoth had stolen the Silmarils, though for a more just cause. "You fought as well, Findekano."
It was though he had reached out an invisible hand to slap his cousin's. Maedhros was suprised. Fingon knew his faults, or he would not have been so grim. 'Do you think I have no right to remind you? We are bound by blood, my Findekano, if now in a different way.'
At last Fingon spoke, and again his voice was dead, as Maedhros imagined their grandfather's words sounded in the Halls of Mandos. "I did not know that we were in the wrong. I did not know that I was slaughtering innocents - at least, not until it was too late."
Were it any other elf, Maedhros would have snapped, 'Innocents? It was they who tried to stop us. There might have been no kinslaying tonight.' But it was Fingon, and if his beloved cousin thought it just to blame himself, then it would be just for Maedhros to examine his own guilt.
Now he would have ample time on the swan ships, for battered by the sea as they were, it would be some days before they reached shore. Fingon's guilt and his own were more distant now, and he thought of them only when he could no longer stand the heaving of the decks and went below. There Maglor lay, taken by the combined force of a slight wound and seasickness, and perhaps not a little by remorse.
Maedhros thought it a pity, for of all his brothers, he would rather share his concerns with the singer. Maglor was a poet, and he knew the music of jewels and the music of stars, though in happier times the Noldor had been known the claim that they were but interpretations of the same song. They exulted that Feanor made the Silmarils as Varda had made the Eleni. But the musician's talent was the greatest, for he echoed the melodies of the song of Iluvatar, by which guide all stones and stars were made. Varda and Feanor had created but the physical form for the music, and they had power beyond reckoning.
Sometimes the waves swelled so he could not see the sky, which was darker than it had ever been, black without the light of the trees. As such, the stars shone brighter, but the sea rose up to block them, and the sea was bitter.
'On Middle Earth I would have been glad to bathe my sword at my father's command, I would have been glad to strike at the enemy's forces. It would have been an honor.' Instead, the first he felled had been an elf, and barely of age at that. It made no matter whether their opponents were newborns or had awoken is Cuivenien, however. Swords had come to them a mere few years before, and few had thought to be trained in them. In the end, Maedhros was almost glad their foe had switched to bows and arrows. At least, until he had found Nolendil, who had been his tutor when Maedhros was still a boy, with a shaft in his chest.
Maedhros was suprised to find that he was crying, though no one would know it as he was being perpetually soaked to the skin. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and clutched tighter to the rail.
"It is dangerous to stand so close to the edge, Maitimo," a voice said from behind.
"It would not be if the sea did not hate us so," Maedhros replied. It was Curufin, the wrong brother to say those words to, but then Maedhros didn't care. Any affection he felt for this particular kinsman was inconstant, and all tenderness had vanished as the boy had aged. He was too much like Feanor, and all the cruelties and vanities that were disregarded in a son's eyes were detestable in a brother.
Curufin had urged their father to steal the swanships. He had checked that every man was armed, and supplied those who weren't. And it was he who first drew his swords when the Teleri moved to stop them.
"Let the gods hate us," Curufin said, his voice light, too light for an elf who had shed elvish blood. "Their love was of little enough consequence, was it not?"
"That is one way of looking at it," Maedhros conceeded. "But if their love was so cruel, how much worse will their anger be?"
Curufin laughed. "We have seen their anger, did you not hear the words of Manwe's dog?"
Maedhros did not care to hear any of this. He thought idly that Celegorm would not like to hear his pet Huan's kind slandered that way, and then wondered why his brother was not by Curufin's side. They had been inseperable, as of late.
Curufin noticed that he was not paying attention, and his voice rose. "Such useless threats! What matter it if they fence us out, if we never care to return? Our song may not echo over the mountains of Valinor, but they lose the trumpets of triumph, not of lamentation..."
"Enough!" Maedhros shouted. Whatever the rest of his family thought of the words, they were like a dagger in his heart, the fierce pain of which he did not yet know. He heared the fear in his tone and covered it with anger. "Be quiet; enough!"
For a moment Curufin refused to meet his gaze, looking instead to the howling ocean. His brother saw something in the waves, for he stood against them with his back unbending, and as he was immersed by them he still stared. When he turned back, his eyes were red with the salt of the sea.
Maedhros raised a hand to touch his shoulder, and said again, "It is enough."
Curufin looked for a moment like he might take Maedhros' hand. Then he shrugged. "It is enough for me as well, brother. Father is right, as I always thought he was. The Valar are fools and cowards, however pretty may be their thrones."
Did he want an answer to that? Maedhros could not think of any. How could he find a reply when Curufin spoke their father's very words?
When Maedhros did not speak, Curufin turned and walked away. Maedhros watched him go.
***
The fire places were skillfully crafted on the swan ships, made to hold back sparks when the ship tumbled and the flues carefully concealed. The fuel of the flames was the wood of the very floor. Perhaps there was no skill in it at all, but magic. One of the twins had suggested as much to Feanor but the proud elf simply laughed. "They are water elves, and though we might learn their trade, I doubt they could master ours. How could *they* create endless fire if the Noldor cannot?"
However it had come to be, Maedhros was grateful for it.
He was blessedly alone as he stood before hs room's fireplace, warming himself and peeling wet garb from his skin. Naked, he let the flames caress him, drying him with their phantom touch, and tired as he was he was finally able to chase away his memories. 'Don't think, feel,' he told himself as he felt his skin grow hot. His hair grew dry between his legs and down his back. He saw the light dance through his closed eyes.
Feanor strode into the room without knocking. "Greetings, my son. Fire or not, you'll be cold afore long if you don't get yourself some clothes." He said this with all the authority in the world, although Maedhros knew for a fact he had never rested in one of these cabins and knew not their chills and drafts. He had been commanding the ship since he first stepped aboard.
And yet he was here. That took Maedhros aback, and he asked as he reached for his robe, "Father? You are not at the helm?"
"The sea has calmed," Feanor explained. "I believe that Osse has been warned of the Ainur's promise not to stop us. Though he is petulant, and still batters us with good size waves. Besides, I thought to speak to and reaffirm the loyalty of my people."
The loyalty of his people, of course, began with the loyalty of his sons. Anxious to prove himself, Maedhros said the first thing reasonably intelligent thing that came into his mind. "What plans are you making for the long wait?"
Feanor tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean?"
"It may be several days before we land on the shores of Aman, but it will be many days more before we can transport all our kin," Maedhros said, though he thought it obvious. "What are your plans?"
Feanor stroked a hand through his hair, and his mouth turned slightly down. After a long moment he said, "I know we aim for the shores of Aman. The journey to them is what concerns me now. How would you handle it?"
Maedhros pushed his other thoughts aside. "Well, what of the fleet of ships?"
"We lost one of the smaller ones," Feanor replied, and looked aggrieved. "And that makes two. I fear we shall lose all of the small ships but there is no way to take the people on board."
"We could go slower," Maedhros offered, but he saw the dilemna. "Yet that would endanger the larger ships, which have more people on them then the rest combined."
"Ours is in no danger of sinking," Feanor assured him. "But that is untrue of the rest. What would you have me do?"
"I saw the first ship go down. We got a mere dozen elves aboard before the ocean claimed the rest. The Noldor were not meant to swim. There is little we can do for the drowning."
"So you counsel me to abandon them?"
"No, I - " Maedhros protested. Yet he saw that that was the only thing they could do. "I - "
Feanor looked at him gently. "These are the hardest of all choices, my son, but it is no virtue to push them away, no matter how noble the reason."
"But - " Maedhros couldn't stand the thought of losing more people to the wretched ocean. He saw the same grief in his father's face, but could not stop himself from reproaching him. "But they're your people - "
"Your people, too. You've already made the decision," Feanor said as his gaze hardened and his encouraging smile turned to a frown. "Know what you want, and do it. Otherwise you lie to yourself, as well as to others."
Maedhros could think of no reply, and Feanor took his silence as assent. He tried to at least meet his father's eyes, aware that he was being measured.
Feanor gazed at him, his expression stern and demanding by turns, but never cruel. After a long moment, he shifted where he stood. "How is Macalaure?" he asked, moving on.
"Still unsteady on his feet. The wound he sustained at Alqualonde heals fast, but he is given an herb broth for the pain, and between that and the ships swaying he is rather indisposed." Maedhros did not reveal what his brother moaned while in his less cogent states, that the very ground was moved by the Vala's wrath and they all must repent or die. He did not think his father would like that very much. Besides, it was only the affect of the dastardly mix of swells and potions, and soon enough Maglor would be well again.
"There are others like that, on the ships," Feanor admitted, "though I had not thought my own son to be so weak."
Maedhros swallowed his protests so his father would not think him weak as well. After a moment, Feanor stood to go. "I will visit your brothers and then return to the helm. See that you are there to meet me."
Maedhros looked at cubbard of elven wine, the swan-feather bed, and the roaring warmth of the fire, and sighed.
***
It was a busy job to command a ship, even more so one as large as theirs, and especially if the captain had never so much as set foot in a ship before. Still, Feanor learned as quick as a born Teleri would, and kept the great ship afloat by the force of his will with the help of his growing skills. Others took different tasks, and on a calm sea but one look-out was needed. Yet with the tumult of the seas Feanor stationed two.
Maedhros and Celegorm stood side by side in the look out tower, searching for dangerously large waves and shouting down warnings to their father below. They must also watch out for the other ships, and for the floating ice. It had been sighted more frequently as they left the warmth of Amam for the chill of the north. The winds were louder than ever, but the brothers' backs were touching in the cramped space, and they talked when the sea seemed clear.
"Has father told you of his plans, Russandol?" Celegorm asked over the crashing of the waves.
"Not enough for my liking," Maedhros responded. "I don't think he's thought beyond the landing."
Celegorm paused a long moment, then said, "Curufinwe won't like my saying this, but I know he has."
"What do you mean?" Maedhros asked. He wished he could turn and look in his brother's eyes, but he dutifully watched over the sea. "Why would he speak of it to Curufinwe when he won't to me?"
"Curufinwe thinks more like him, so his guesses are better than yours, and father would not lie to him."
"What are his plans then? If any of us has a right to know, it's me."
"Aye," agreed Celegorm. "Why else would I tell you this?"
Maedhros heaved a loud sigh that was lost to the gusts of wind. "You haven't told me a thing yet."
"Father plans to push on," Celegorm said. He had lowered his voice so his words wouldn't carry, and in order to make up for it he squeezed closer to Maedhros. The boat swayed harshly and they banged the backs of their heads together.
"What do you mean, push on?" Maedhros asked, ignoring the pain as he did the wet and the cold.
"I mean just that," Celegorm replied, rubbing the back of his head and moving apart again. "He wants to attack Morgoth as soon as possible, suprise him. We go when we reach the shores."
"But that will sunder us from Nolofinwe and his followers," Maedhros cried, aghast. "Already there is tension. We must remain together, share camping grounds if not banners."
"Yes, and I thought of this, too. How does he plan to get the ships back?"
The thought left Maedhros cold. At least, colder than he already was. "How?"
"I don't know. Maybe he plans to send back a small crew? Mayhap Osse will give up the storms once we've passed." He seemed determined to remain hopeful, and there was a twinge of longing in his voice. "They will come over, won't they?"
"Mayhap," Maedhros muttered, knowing that even as his thoughts returned to Fingon, Celegorm's remained with Aredhel.
They stayed silent for a few moments, while Maedhros found the words he needed. "I thought it strange that he would not think but a few days ahead. After all, is not the gentling of the waves a sign that we approach the shore?"
"Not all waves are yet gentle," Celegorm replied, spotting a large one from his side. He leaned out the tower and howled a warning to the elves below. One waved an arm in acknowledgement.
"What do you gain from coming to me?" Maedhros asked.
"What do I lose?" Celegorm replied, hurt. "You are my brother."
"Curufinwe is your brother, too. Did he tell you to share this with me?"
"He did not tell me *not* to," Celegorm said. "Besides, I have no wish to make sides in this matter, and then be forced to chose from them."
Maedhros allowed himself a thin smile. "One day you may have to chose sides."
"But that is what I came to you to stop! Surely if you all share the same knowledge, you can come around to the same views?"
Maedhros' smile widened at his brother's stubborn naivete. So unlike Curufin, and yet they were always together. Couldn't Celegorm see that Curufin was drawing the sides, and trying to beckon Celegorm to his? No, Celegorm would not seek for motives to Curufin's companionship. And perhaps there were no motives. Surely Curufin deserved a brother with which to share his grief.
Ashamed at how suspicious he had grown, Maedhros answered, "Perhaps, perhaps not. Surely father made clear to the Teleri what was needed, surely he gave them all the truth required for their choices. And yet it ended in blood."
Celegorm flinched and pulled away, pressed himself against the side of the tower so only his hair touched Maedhros. Celegorm's braid flapped wildly against his brother's back, dealing him soft blows. The younger elf's next words were nearly lost. "I don't wish to speak of it any more."
"Neither do I," Maedhros replied, his smile vanishing. 'But I will think of it. I will long think of it.'
***
Maedhros opened a door and slipped silently into his brother's room. The care was unnecessary, however, for Maglor was up and even seemed rather lucid.
"Hello, Maitimo. Talked to father lately?"
"Yes, yes I have. Have you?"
"He came to see me a little while ago."
Maedhros' stomach turned, and not from the waves. What had his father said? What were the words that Feanor had used before? Weakness, cowardice...
"Calm yourself, Maitimo. I know our mother did not come with us but you should not feel a need to play her part. Father merely said that I should come help steer the ship when I am ready."
"He did?" Maedhros asked, relieved. Perhaps his words had helped soften his father's. "And how do you feel?"
"Better. The wound has closed completely now, and I will take my last draught of the herb-potion when I leave. I think when I stop taking these Iluvatar-forsaken herbs the waves won't affect me so much."
"I'm suprised they affect you as much as they do now," Maedhros said. "I had never heard of such a thing happening before."
"Well, they do," Maglor's voice was unnaturally sharp. "You just can't see it because I have not taken them lately. Right now I am fine."
"Good, then," Maedhros said. "I have some things I wish to speak to you of, before you take your drink and set to dreaming again."
"All right," Maglor replied, his eyes going a bit unfocused. He shook his head gently, as if to steady them.
"The waves have calmed, and father left the helm awhile and came to speak with the rest of us. He asked me for advice on the formation and speed of our ships and nothing else, yet I've learned he's spoken with Curufinwe to some length about about our plans upon reaching the shores."
"What plans are these?" Maglor asked.
"He will brook no delay in our quest to revenge grandfather and regain the Silmarils. He means to camp only long enough for a brief rest. He does not plan to wait for Nolofinwe to cross."
"A shame," Maglor said, "for we'd recieve their gratitude should we stay. They will stumble off the ships wet and cold, and grieving for the newly lost, and we could comfort them and warm them, by the strength of the flames..." He said 'them' but he meant 'she', and because Maglor's wife was safe in Valinor Maedhros knew his little brother was wishing that she would be on the shore to warm *him*, to comfort him and give him strength.
It was painful for Maedhros to watch, so he added, "Aye, and we could use their swords and sheilds when we go against Morgoth. What does father think to gain?"
"You know how father mourned grandfather, Maitimo. When he first heard, he was nearly felled by his grief, or so they say." Feanor refused to speak of it, and forbade all from mentioning it in his presence. As he imagined it, Maglor's was lined with sorrow.
"Then it is our job to calm him, is it not?" Maglor reasoned gently. "Good sons give their fathers sound advice as well as their vengeance."
"But of course, brother. So you will speak to him of this?"
"Yes, though subtly. He does not wish me to know. No doubt he thought me too closely tied to Nolofinwe's people." An image of Fingon flashed through Maedhros' mind. He didn't want to ride off to fight Morgoth without ever seeing him again. Was that why his father, who had been so understanding of him before, did not listen to him now?
Maglor as always seemed to read his thoughts. "Do not be ashamed of your love for Findekano, my brother. I wish all the links between our people were so strong."
Maedhros nodded. "As do I, but I fear that father shares not our hopes. And he takes Curufinwe's council in this, who will do nothing but encourage him in his ways." Remembering Curufin's boastful words from before, Maedhros felt his lips curl down with dislike.
"You must try to understand our brother, Maitimo - "
"Why must I?" Maedhros snapped, knowing the words were unfair.
" - for his hurt is deep, though he will not speak of it. But when he visits me I see it in his eyes. Yes, there is hurt, and anger at Nolofinwe's people. Would you spare any concern for the people who betrayed your wife? He believes she would not have fallen in the kinslaying if they had come to our aid. He has lost as much as anyone."
"That isn't a reason to lose any more!" But even as he said it Maedhros felt himself shudder with sympathy for his brother.
Maglor sighed. "I know that, and you know that. But it is hard to understand in the midst of such pain..."
"His pain I will respect, though he does not show it," Maedhros said, "at least not as I can see. But I will not surrender to him our father's ear. I need you well, so you can stand with me in this."
"I will be better soon, I promise," Maglor replied. "Why, I feel as if I could be up on the morrow and take a dip in the waves. Tell me, Maitimo, does the water seem welcome for swimming in?"
Maedhros laughed. "If you plan to swim to the bottom, mayhap." Then he remembered the capsized ships and the dead bodies in the shallows of Alqualonde.
Maglor watched Maedhros' face fall, and his eyes shone with sympathy. "We learn from our mistakes, and they make us stronger. Or we grieve for our mistakes, and that makes us wiser. But guilt leaves us unchanged, and we make the same mistakes again, unknowing, and our guilt eats us whole."
"That was well put, Macalaure," Maedhros said when he could speak again, for at his brother's words his chest had clenched with emotion. "Would you like your healing drink?"
"Not at all, but I'll take it anyway," Maglor said. He took the pitcher from Maedhros and sipped it down, then grimaced and wiped his mouth. Handing it back to his brother he said, "They mix berries in it to make it sweet, but its rather oversweet, and grows no better with more tastings. I'm glad I've downed the lot of it. Silly little scratch, not worth the bother, I'm sure the twins gave me worse when they were babes. Do you remember that, Maedhros, how I used to try to sing them to sleep, but they always wanted your tales?" He was growing drowsy.
"Grandfather used to tell them to us, all about fighting monsters on the long road to Aman," Maedhros replied, lost in the remembrance.
"More to your fancy than mine," Maglor said, and yawned. "So you'd tell the twins the same stories, with your funny voices..."
"Grandfather always laughed at my impression of him," Maedhros' remembered, tears coming to his eyes. They had never had a proper burial for him, but then elves had buried few enough of their kind that Maedhros wasn't sure what a proper burial was. Besides, he had not faded or died from childbirth, he was slain. That was different. And he had nothing to speed him away but cries of grief and the shouts of anger and vengeance, as had the dead at Alqualonde...
"... and they'd get so excited, not tired at all..." Maglor was continuing, his voice getting softer and slower as he went on. "And they'd pick up their sticks and beat eachother with them... called eachother dark elves... and you laughed and laughed, but I tried to stop them, they needed to sleep... and I tripped and fell against the metal dresser... do you remember?"
"Yes."
"They were so scared," Maglor was struggling to stay awake to finish the telling. "Never seen blood before... promised never to play at dark elves, never be dark elves... we'll fight them here, the dark elves... and the twins won't become dark elves... will they?"
"They won't," Maedhros said, smoothing Maglor's hair. For a moment he was fourteen and Maglor was four, and he was soothing him back to bed after a nightmare, playing a game of parenting that would soon enough become real. He thought of Maglor curled so small in the great big feather bed back in Tirion, and then he thought of Maglor driving his sword through a Teleri and just missing the full thrust of another elf's blade, and he wanted to weep.
Maglor's hand drifted towards his thigh where the scar remained, and his eyes drifted shut. He murmured a final question. "... just thought... how would we get the ships back... back across the ocean..."
But Maglor was asleep before Maedhros could reply, and that was well, for Maedhros had no answer to give him. He left before he broke down completely.
***
He brought food and drink to his father, who could not take enough time away from the helm to go among his people, encouraging them, and still be able to eat and sleep as well. Maedhros did what he could to help him. When he handed his father the bowl and pitcher he had brought from the ship's galley he said, "I will go and meet with our people, offer them comfort and listen to their complaints and assure them we near the shores of Aman. Then will you rest?"
He expected his father to refuse, but he nodded yes and gulped his drink. When he was finished, he turned back to the wheel. His hands gripped the wood firmly, and his eyes were focused forward to watch the waves, but he spared some concentration for his son.
"We've word that another ship has fallen behind."
"Has it sunk?" Maedhros asked, picturing the dozens who would die if it had. Dozens. In Valinor, he would weep for one dead stranger, but now he forced his emotions aside.
"We don't know, but it's as good as lost if we can't see it, or it can't see us."
"Why can't it see us?"
"The winds will tip us if we keep the sails up. So we've taken them in, Nelyo, and they are the great white flags that beckon in the darkness. They reflect the light of the stars, but we've rolled them up, and they're what you can see the ship by."
"Then we must hold back, wait for the ship to catch up with us. If we keep up at this rate, we'll lose three or even four."
"We're not that far from the shore," Feanor replied. "They could get there by themselves."
"Or they could turn tail and lose themselves in the sea, father. They could run aboard among the rocks. The little ship captains have never sailed before, they don't know how to steer a steady course, or how to hunt for proper landing ground. If we don't slow, they'll die." 'And for what?' Maedhros thought. 'A few days less before we battled Morgoth? Are we trading their lives so we can lose our own quicker?' "They have always looked to you to guide them, father. No one else can."
"We risk ourselves for them, if we do. At any time the sea might rise up and bring us down. We must needs be off it soon," Feanor said, but he sounded slightly uncertain. "We are the larger number, the few must be sacrificed for the many. And the bad for the good... I gave the small ships to the cowards, the ones who stood aside at Alqualonde. The ones who would not serve us anyway."
"Father!" was all Maedhros could say.
Feanor's voice was like steel. "Don't you presume to judge me, Maitimo Nelyafinwe. I am your father and your king. The men on those ships risk now what they should have at Alqualonde, and if they die, well so did their brothers at the havens!"
Maedhros stood silent, not trusting himself to do anything else.
"What is your advice now, my son?" Feanor's words were soft and deadly. He stood had not looked away from the sea.
'What good is my advice, if you will not heed it unless it matches your own?' Maedhros swallowed the words that would earn him a slap on the face and lose him his father's ear, at the very least. "You must do what you think is best. I can offer you no more when I know so little." He bowed his head. "May I have your leave, father?"
"Yes, you do," Feanor replied. "Go amongst the people as you offered to do before. Assure them that this trial will soon be over."
Maedhros nodded and left.
He walked down the center of the deck where waves seldom reached, turning his head up every once in a while to look at the great sails wrapped into rolls against the masts. Towering swan sails, they were, but those smaller ones that were up had lost their feathers to the beating of the wind. Maedhros supposed not even the handsome birds could last against a storm this long. Then he lifted his head higher, to where the stars made their patterns in the sky. Because the sea was less rough, the waves did not reach high enough to blot the stars, nor did the rolling make them blur. They were clear, and Maedhros watched them hungrily.
He loved these stars, but they were Varda's, and she was queen of the Valar who had pushed them to this place. By the beauty of the Eleni he knew that she was powerful, that she was great.
And yet if she was, if all the Valar were, to ask Feanor to break the Silmarils was an outrage. How dare they with one breath ask Feanor for the light of the Silmarils, an acknowledgement that he stood great in power among the Ainur, and then with the next treat him as a king does his subjects? 'This you may do, and this you may not. We grant you leave to go, if you can find a way out. You are exiled, you are banished, you ought to be ashamed, now will you please take the work of your heart and crack it open as Morgoth cracked open your father and king?'
They claimed to know so much, then how could they not know a better way? They claimed to be more powerful than Morgoth, then why could they not hunt him down? They claimed to be all wise, then how could they force the Noldor into a place where they had no choice but to steal from the Teleri?
He choked back a cry of helpless anger, and as he did, the kinslaying came back to him, the taste of iron and bile in the back of his throat...
He had never known in practice sessions the fear, the terror of the rushing blade, the sound it made as it slashed by your ear - a sickly hum of disapointment that it had not met with flesh.
He wished he could fall to the ground as those around him were doing, only not to his death but to huddle in a corner until the fighting stopped. His hands would not let him, though. In their movements they insisted he was not craven, and he let them guide him where his heart and mind had failed.
Thrust. Parry. Use a dagger or a knee. This one does not know how to guard himself, so you can slice him through the heart; this one has some skill to him, you must disable him before you try for the kill. Strike the sword hand. Strike it. Strike, strike, strike.
He repeated this in his mind to block the screams in the air, but a familiar cry rang through. "Macalaure?" he asked, and it was not more than a whisper. He turned from the person he was fighting and shouted louder, "Macalaure?"
He saw his brother fall, his body thudding onto the deck of another ship, and Maedhros was too far away to help him. Tears stinging his eyes, he turned back in time to get his sword knocked from his fingertips. Gasping, he saw a Teleri advance -
And then the Spirit of Fire was there before him, cutting across his attacker with one harsh blow. As the Teleri fell, Feanor drove him through again, and then shoved him off his sword with a snarl and a curse.
Maedhros scrambled to reach his weapon as his father kept the enemy at bay. And then they were fighting, side by side, and when his own strokes failed his father's blade was there, and when he stumbled Feanor held him up. Two more Teleri died by Maedhros' sword. When no one else came Maedhros looked up and saw a half dozen elves on the ground around them, and more fleeing, and with what little breath he had left, he panted, "Macalaure - "
"You must watch for yourself, my son," Feanor answered, his voice hoarse, and grief and rage and tenderness in fought their own battle in his eyes. "You will watch for yourself," he repeated. Maedhros realized it was a command. Then Feanor was gone.
Maedhros' legs ached with hours of fighting, and there were cuts on his arms that the saltwater found and inflamed. But the fire in the stings kept him going, kept him seeking out the fiercest of the battles, and he ignored any pleas for mercy or cries for help. No one had helped Nolendil or Narwen - no one had helped Maglor. And his father would not be able to help him again if he fell.
Down to the ships at the water's edge. Fall upon them before they can turn. The eyes, the heart, the hands, the throat. Strike. Strike. Kill.
Maedhros realized his hands were clenched so tightly to the railing that he would soon break wood or bone. Slowly, he realeased the rail and watched his fingers shake.
"Think no more of this," Maedhros begged softly to himself, unable to sustain the weight of his memories. He was trying to stay true, to help his father and make up for the lives that had been lost. Was there no comfort to be found, even in his own mind?
He seized upon the one bearable memory of the kinslaying, the skill with which his cousin Fingon fought, his face a mask of calm behind the blade. He, too, fought utterly unlike he had in practice, and where once he had laughed and made faces and gapes to distract his opponents, in true battle he was expressionless.
Maedhros struggled to put emotion on his cousin's face: love, hope, forgiveness. He remembered him in the old days when they rode together in the fields south of Formenos and North of Tirion. They lay on the grasses with flowers growing around them and the light of trees bathing them, and their horses playing together as they did. One time Fingon had told him about Aredhel's exploits avoiding the stately elf that had been hired to make her a lady. He had laughed as Fingon described the hole Aredhel's cut in the high hedge fence of the garden, and how every time her lady teacher thought Aredhel was rounding the roses practicing her 'womanly walk' she was out at the stables, mucking the stalls to earn her horse. Her father would have bought her that horse if she was good, but she'd rather be bad, and she'd rather know that the horse was all hers....
"Maitimo!" Curufin called him, coming up from below decks.
'Why now?' Maedhros thought. 'For once I was having pleasant thoughts.'
They met at the entrance to the stairway and began the trip down. Whatever reason Curufin had come up for was apparently not as important as talking to Maedhros. Perhaps to speak to his brother was the reason he had come up.
His voice was calmly measured. "Tyelkormo tells me you know of father's plans."
'Did he tell you how I know?' Maedhros wondered, slightly amused. Aloud he said, "This is true."
"You shouldn't speak to him on it. His course is set, and he should not waver from it."
"I will speak to him as I like," Maedhros replied, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. "And if it changes his mind, then so be it. It is not your place to chide me so, little brother."
"Then you will not turn from this folly?"
"It is not folly," Maedhros said, "nor will I turn from it."
"It *is* folly, brother, you must see that," Curufin hissed. "We may have to wait many days for them to reach to us, and in those days the dark foe will assess our strength, and determine our plans, and if we fall before his gates it will have been your insistence!"
"If we fall, it will be because we did not wait to have our full strength. There are many able fighters we'd be leaving behind."
"There are no fighters among the lot that wait on the shores of Araman," Curufin sneered.
"There are those that wait that fought with us at Alqualonde," Maedhros replied, determined not to let the conversation become a shouting match, "and many who would bloody their swords on the enemy, rather than their kin. If we wait we swell our ranks."
"Or lose people to the beauty of Middle Earth. We have traveled a long ways, and once they set down some will not like to rise again."
"We're making camp, not building a city. The commoners will leave when we do. And if they don't, we must question what we ask of them, and why it is they would refuse it."
"You dare question the righteousness of our cause?" Curufin's face had become flushed with anger, but that was no suprise to Maedhros. He knew his brother would attempt to with rage what he could not win with reason. "You dare?"
"Of course not," Maedhros answered smoothly. "So why should anyone else?"
"People do not always know which path to take, so we must show it to them. Elves will be fools, just as those that follow Nolofinwe are."
Maedhros turned, finished with the conversation. He had tried to be understanding, but his patience had run out. Curufin could yell all he wanted to, but Maedhros did not have to listen. His brother parted from him in sullen silence, and Maedhros continued on his task.
He spent a long time going from door to door, answering questions as best he could and telling all that the end of the journey was in sight. Many he times he heard the tremulous pleas of those who's families had been split apart, spread over the ships, but he dared not give the truth to those who had friends and cousins on the ships that had foundered. One man, having learned that all three of his sisters had been lost had declared that Iluvatar was dealing out justice, and that he would be next. He was, in fact; he had jumped from the boat within the hour.
At the end he visited the sick rooms. Some of the elves who lay wounded below had conditions like to Maglor's, though most were worse. But many were those slowly dying of grief, whose bonds had been torn apart. He held their hands and tried to bring them back.
He had tired by the time he was finished, but he went to the last and largest of the sickrooms. He pushed open the door to find his brother awake.
"Macaluare!" Maedhros exclaimed, seeing the fretful look upon his brother's pale face. Maglor's fingers trembled on his blankets. "I thought you were getting better."
Maglor only stared at him, moving his lips as though he wished to speak but found he could not, or rather he knew he must say something but could not gather the words. At last he said, "Father was here."
"Father?"
"And Curufinwe."
"Curufinwe?"
"Yes."
They were silent for a moment, then Maglor added, "Our brother was very upset. It was more his show than father's. He spoke to me of good counsel and folly, of loyalty and betrayal. Father only watched, but I could see that Curufinwe was doing what he could not, saying what a father cannot say."
Maehdros realized that it must have been spurred by his conversaton with Curufin out on the decks. He had not realized how he had angered his brother, that he would drag their father to Maglor's sickbed. Maedhros asked, somewhat afraid, "What exactly did Curufinwe say?"
"He said I did not have it in me to fight. He said when I took wound on the shores of Alqualonde it was only to keep me from the battle. He said that I did not love grandfather enough to do what I must in order to exact vengeance. I would have struck him for it, but father was there, and he did not stop him - "
Maedhros growled, "How can he say that? How can he even think to?"
"No, no," said Maglor, now twisting the blanket in his fists. "Think you I would have been bothered by such a tongue-lashing if I thought it unjust? Chastised maybe, but - no, the reason it hurts so, is because they're right."
For a moment Maedhros could not breathe. "... Macalaure, why would you say that?"
Maglor closed his eyes, and when he opened them he had composed himself. "When we talked before, you and I, it brought back so many memories of grandfather. After you left, I wept so hard for him. And then when I had no tears left, I stared up at the ceiling and pretended it was the sky, and remembered the people I had killed, and wept for them as well. But - it wasn't really for them. It was for myself, that I had killed them."
"What are you trying to say? I don't understand."
"It feels so strange to be telling you this, Maitimo, for you have always been the warrior. You've faced your guilt bravely, but I've hidden behind songs and in sickbeds. So now I see that father is right, that you are right, Maitimo, that some things must be bought with blood, and to say otherwise is just another sort of cowardice. And so I am a coward."
"But you fought, you were wounded, you could have died - " Maedhros' voice broke.
"I did what I did by my father's command, and ran from it afterwards. I have not earned the freedom you have won."
This was too much for Maedhros. "What a fool you are, brother! Do you think I sliced through a dozen elves because I thought it the right thing to do? Do you think I slayed my kin because I deemed the swan ships worth it? I, too, did all at father's will. And do you - how could you - how could you possibly believe that I could ever face my guilt? I have run - no, sailed from it as you have. So do all our brothers, and our people! Perhaps Curufinwe and father do not run from their guilt, but that must be because they have none."
Each word added to the pain in Maglor's eyes, but Maedhros did not notice in his anger. Only when he was finish did he stop, and sit, and take his brother's hand, and whisper, "I loved grandfather more than I did myself, and father I love almost more than I can bear. I will follow him, even if it is to the Halls of Mandos. But I earn nothing but shame from the kinslaying, and I want it never to happen again. Don't you see that when the mighty clash, it is only through your 'cowardice' that grace can be found? I would never go against father, believe me, but that would be what I was doing if I agreed with him, and Curufin - and you."
Maglor squeezed his hand and pulled it away, and moved to the edge of the bed. Standing, he reached for his robe, but before he could pull it round himself Maedhros saw the cut that stretched down his side. It showed no signs of festering, and in fact seemed a shallow thing. It might leave a scar, though. Maglor wrapped the cloak around himself and sat again, taking a deep breath to speak.
"I do not wish to defend what happened at Alqualonde, Maitimo. You know that. You know I could not defend it even if I wanted to. All I say is this: there is a difference between you and I as we are now, and as we once were. There is a difference between our father and his brothers, and between us and Turkano and Findarato. Curufinwe said you often stare at the sea as though in the waves were the faces of the dead. You have fought with them, struggled with their salty blows, as is the warrior's way. Through your pain, you have paid the price of passage."
"You say it as though it was some great deed on my part!" Maedhros spat.
"No, I know that is not true, better than anyone else. In this very bed I wept for my innocence, although I thought it were for the man I killed, and the maiden I sliced through after she got me with her spear. Father came and told me the truth of it."
"The truth? So he told you we will go on without our uncles and cousins, and let ours be the only vengeance? He told you that he wishes to tear friend from friend, lover from lover, tear the very Noldor apart?"
Maglor's words were harsh, though his voice was kind. "Have you listened to nothing I've said? Must you make me say it again and again, until I am sick once more? We are already torn apart, we kinslayers from our kin, the innocents at Alqualonde from we guilty at this foreign shore."
"Macalaure - "
"No, leave me," Maglor said, rising a bit unsteadily and opening his door. "I have barely the strength to face myself tonight, I cannot face you as well." Maedhros walked to the door but did not pass through it, turning to face his brother. Maglor continued, with a mixture of tenderness and bitterness, "I wish you had been with me when Father and Curufinwe came."
It struck Maedhros like a physical blow, and he could only whisper, "I wish they had never come."
***
End Part 1/2