A/N: This fic stands on its own but is part of my series, Tales of the Elves. See my author page for chronology.
Story Image Credit: (c) Jenny Dolfen, goldseven dot de
No Rest for the Wicked
Valinor 4th Age
The mountain is as tall as I remember it, the palace as grand. I came to this Circle once before, the day my father was judged for drawing a blade against Fingolfin, his brother. That same brother is here again as well. He stands as King of the Noldor in Aman. Strange thing, that, a kinslayer a King in Aman. He looks the same as he did the day he died - beautiful, majestic, a great Lord of Elves. He is not alone. Olwë and Ingwë sit beside him, witnesses for the rest of the Eldar. It seems they all knew I would be judged this day.
Fingolfin spoke to me when I arrived - before I entered the Ring of Doom. He laid a hand on my shoulder as though I were his son. 'I am glad you have come back to us Maglor,' he said, and smiled.
He smiled! Can you imagine? Perhaps the time spent in Mandos addled his mind. Or perhaps it is I who have finally gone mad.
No, I am not that far gone... not yet.
Why would he smile at a condemned ellon? Why offer such a cruel gesture of support? We saw him and his sons exiled from Valinor. We bound them to our Oath and they all died, victims of our hateful pride. So why should he smile at me now?
My eyes drift around the Circle to the faces of the Valar. They have clothed themselves in elven form for the event. Even so, they are nearly too beautiful to behold. I return my gaze to the marble floor and wait for Manwë to begin. I take a deep breath, then another, to calm myself in anticipation of the Doom that awaits me. It will all be over soon.
"Of all the Noldor who followed Fëanor, you are the last to be judged." Manwë began without preamble. "Why did you remain in Middle Earth for so long?"
Maglor lifted his head to face the great Ruler of the World. He had expected anger in Manwë 's eyes, but the Vala's expression was inscrutable. He looked also to Varda who, likewise, revealed nothing in the lines of her face. "What does it matter?" Maglor replied.
"Your reasons might have bearing on our judgment," Ulmo's voice rumbled like the roaring of the waves.
Maglor shuddered as Ulmo's words echoed in the mountains. It was rare for the Lord of the Seas to come to Council and Maglor feared the Doom of which his presence foretold.
Gathering his courage and the bitterness of time, Maglor replied, "Would you have me beg excuses? Or tell of great deeds that might balance the weight of my crimes? No. I am guilty. There is no ocean deep enough to wash away the stains on my soul."
"You wish to be punished, then?" Oromë asked.
Maglor turned slightly and met the gaze of the Hunter, a Vala he knew well. Oromë had once loved the House of Fëanor. There was no love in the Vala's eyes now. "I wish to rest," Maglor told him.
"There can be no rest, Maglor Fëanorion," the gentle voice of Estë countered, "until you have made peace with yourself and those who dwell in Aman."
"Peace, you say?" Maglor shook his head in frustration. "I know my past. I can not ask for forgiveness."
"It is not for the peace of your soul, alone, that forgiveness must be sought." Namo, the Doomsman of the Valar spoke for the first time. He knew better then any of the Valar the results of Fëanor's Oath, for he was the keeper of souls. The slain all came to his Halls in Mandos, and he counseled and healed them if he could. But there were other fëar which cried out to him even now. Souls embodied, yet in pain. It was those souls which required healing, something Namo was unable to grant them while they lived. "There are others in Valinor who will never rest, until they have found it in their hearts to forgive you. It is from them that you must seek absolution."
Maglor, for a time, stood speechless. Surely, Namo has not uttered my Doom? How can I ask every elf my family ever wounded for forgiveness? It was a task impossible to imagine and Maglor said as much when his voice finally returned. "The oath I swore destroyed countless lives. I slaughtered kin with these very hands. How can one ask forgiveness for such deeds? Where would I begin? And how will I know when my penance is done?"
"You must begin, as ever, at the beginning," Nienna answered. Moved to pity, as she was, by Maglor's plea. "The end you will know, when the burden on your heart is lifted, and you sleep softly, as a child, once more."
Nienna's words made Maglor's heart tremble. He could no longer recall a night slept in peace. He feared even more to hope that such a night would come again. "The world may be remade before I see that day," he whispered.
Maglor's eyes passed over the faces of the Valar. No good nor ill intention could be gleaned from their eyes. He sought Fingolfin's face and saw sadness, from Olwë and Ingwë, acceptance of justice served.
His gaze fell at last on Manwë and Varda. "This is your judgment?" he asked in disbelief.
"The Valar have spoken," Manwë said in answer. "You may go."
Go? Go where? I want to ask him. Instead I flee the Ring of Doom. I walk along the hallways of Ilmarin, and find myself not knowing where to turn. Suddenly a voice cries out behind me.
'Maglor, where are you going?'
I turn to find my uncle at my heels. For a moment I wonder why he chose to follow me, then I see what looks like pity in his eyes.
'I don't know,' I answer and step away from him. He takes hold of my arm, bringing me to a halt.
'Come with me,' he says, 'to Tirion.'
Tirion? I shudder at the thought. It was there that this nightmare began.
'You must begin, as ever, at the beginning.' Nienna's words echo softly in my mind.
I must begin my penance in Tirion. Perhaps my uncle will show me the path. After all, I saw his hands after Alqualondë – they were stained as red as mine. I nod once my acceptance to Fingolfin and I let him lead me away.
A/N: Maglor's quest for inner peace and forgiveness occurs in my next story, Echoes of Shattered Glass.