Chapter 3: When Sorrow Sang

In which Erwen breaks the fourth wall, the author makes Pratchett references and our "heroes" escape from Mandos.


The plan went wrong almost immediately.

"What do you mean, you will not do it?" screamed Fëanor. "You are my son! You will do as I say!"

"I will not," said Maglor.

"He is not asking you to do anything immoral, Káno," said Curufin. "Only to sing."

"I will not do it."

"You cannot refuse to help me!" shouted Fëanor. "You swore an oath!"

"That is exactly why I will not do it! Now leave me alone!"

The spirit of Maglor floated out through a doorway between two rather fascinating tapestries of the great war between the anthills of Understone and Mossytrunk.

"I can hardly blame him," said Amrod. "Will the oath really start haunting us again if we return to the world?"

"I was under the impression that Russandol and Káno fulfilled it," said Curufin.

"Well, yes, in a way," said Maedhros.

"In a way?" said Caranthir. "Did you fulfill it or not?"

"We regained two of the Silmarils," said Maedhros, "but Makalaurë threw his in the sea, and I brought mine with me when, when I..."

"'Threw yourself into the fiery chasm' is the usual phrase, I think," said Celegorm.

"Yes," said Maedhros. "That."

"What about the third one?" said Caranthir.

"Eärendil has it," said Amras. "We saw the tapestry, remember? The Valar built him a ship of glass and mithril and let him sail the sky as a star."

"Oh," said Fëanor, who had now calmed down enough to stop shouting. "Then we will probably be forced to capture that one, yes. We need not worry about the others."

"No," said Maedhros. "If going back to life means that I have to attack Eärendil, then I will not do it."

"Nor will I," said Amras reluctantly.

"Nor I," said Amrod.

Fëanor looked about to explode.

"You are traitors, all of you ! ! ! How can you turn your backs on me ! ! ! I am your father ! ! ! !"

"You are using multiple exclamation marks," said Erwen. "Stop it."

Everyone stared at her.

"You know, exclamation marks?" she said. "Used in writing to show that the speaker is exclaiming something?"

"Used in writing, yes," said Amras. "We are speaking."

"Well, yes, but what we are saying is being written down," said Erwen. "And Fëanáro's last sentence needed four exclamation marks, which is dangerously close to five exclamation marks, the sure sign of a deranged mind."

"Are you calling my father deranged?" said Caranthir.

"No, that would be suicidal - "

"You cannot be suicidal; you are already dead," said Celegorm.

"What I was trying to do," said Erwen, "was to make you stop arguing and focus on the issue at hand: how can we free you from your oath?"

"I don't think that is possible," said Maedhros. "We swore by Ilúvatar himself. The oath is unbreakable."

"So we will have to fulfill it," said Curufin.

"Not at the price of spilling more blood," said Amras. "I wish you had never brought this up. You made me dream of feeling the wind against my face again; I had almost managed to stop longing for that."

"I can see two options then," said Erwen. "Either you acquire the Silmaril in a peaceful way, or you ask Ilúvatar to lift your oath."

"No one gives away a Silmaril willingly," said Celegorm. "We did try asking first, you know. It never works. I don't see why it would be different this time."

"There has to be a way," said Erwen. "We are going to get out of here, and to do that we need Makalaurë, and he won't help us unless the oath can be removed or fulfilled without harming anyone. Therefore it has to be possible."

"I think there is something wrong with that logic," said Amrod.

"Yes," said Caranthir, "it is stupid."

"Now would be an excellent time to provide us with those 'valuable insights into the author's mind' that you claimed to have," said Curufin.

Erwen sighed.

"I will try," she said. "Sooner or later one of us is bound to come up with an idea - there won't be much of a story if we have to stay in here forever."

"You do that," said Maedhros. "I am going to talk to Makalaurë."

"Do you think Vairë has finished today's sunset yet?" said Amras.

"Only in the eastern lands, I think," said his twin. "Do you want to go and look at it?"

"Well, I don't have anything better to do," said Amras. "Although I must say I prefer the sunsets on the west coast, where the sun sinks into the sea. Is it as beautiful in reality?"

"Better," said Amrod and sighed. "Much better."


Given the warped nature of spacetime in the endless halls, it is hard to say how much time passed before Erwen had her idea - which, like most of her ideas, was very simple. Nor is it possible to say how long it took for the small company - Erwen, Fëanor and all of his sons except Maglor - to gather. Therefore, I will simply go on and narrate the conversation that followed after Erwen had explained her idea.

"I still don't think it will work," said Celegorm. "No one gives away a Silmaril."

"But we're not asking him to give it away," said Erwen, "merely to let one of you hold it for a few seconds. That should satisfy the oath, shouldn't it? You have already captured two Silmarils, so when you get hold of the third, the oath is fulfilled. What you do with it afterwards doesn't matter."

"Yes, I believe it should work," said Fëanor.

Maedhros looked doubtful.

"I have never actually met Eärendil," he said, "so I cannot speak for him, but I have met his wife. And the last time I saw her, she was throwing herself from a cliff. Which she preferred to giving us the Silmaril. They may well refuse to listen to us."

"That is a risk," admitted Erwen, "but Makalaurë should be able to persuade Elrond to speak for us. And as for throwing herself from a cliff, well, that's something you have in common, at least."

"That was not funny," said Maedhros.

"I thought it was," said Erwen.

"But what if it doesn't work?" said Amras. "We really should have a plan B."

"Plan B is finding Ilúvatar and asking him to remove the oath," said Caranthir. "Plan C is returning to Mandos."

His brothers looked at him skeptically.

"Those are not very elaborate plans," said Maedhros.

"They will suffice," said Caranthir. "Now, who will go and ask Makalaurë?"

"I will do it," said Fëanor. "I am his father; he should listen to me."

"NO!" said Maedhros and the twins in chorus.

"You go, Russandol," said Amrod. "You were always closest to him."

Maedhros went, leaving his family and Erwen with nothing to do but looking at the walls. They were a glowing orange.

"The inside of the earth," said Amras. "See if you can spot Russandol."

"Or a ring," said Erwen. "Five points for finding your brother, twenty for the ring."

That kept them busy until Maedhros came back.

"He will not do it," was the first thing he said.

"What do you mean, 'he will not do it'?" said Caranthir.

"It was a perfectly clear phrase, Carnistir. He says he will not do it."

"Why?" said Amrod quickly, eager to get as much information as possible before the inevitable explosion of Fëanor's rage.

"He said that the last time I persuaded him to go along with my plan to capture a Silmaril, he ended up killing innocent elves, losing his last brother and walking the seashore for thousands of years, so I would have to forgive him for not taking my advice this time," said Maedhros.

"WHY WILL NO ONE DO AS I SAY?" shouted Fëanor.

"ALL CAPS," said Erwen, "is that better or worse than multiple exclamation marks?"

Everyone stared at her.

"You are mad too," said Amras. "I will go and ask Makalaurë."

"Good luck," said Maedhros bitterly.

After a surprisingly short time, during which Fëanor calmed down to the point of being able to speak in a normal tone (with some effort), Amras was back. And he was not alone.

"You managed to persuade him?" said Fëanor. "How?"

"I said 'please'," said Amras. "You should try it some time, Father."

"Was that all?" said Curufin.

"He reminded me of how long he had been here, and told me he would like to see the moon and the sun," said Maglor. "I had not understood how bored you had become; personally, I was looking forward to some rest. But very well, I will sing, as long as you promise me there will be no more killing other elves."

"I swear," said Fëanor.

"Don't," said Maglor and shuddered. "No more oaths, either. Your word will be enough."

"Excellent," said Maedhros. "Now let us go to Námo."


The dark figure looked skeptically at the spirits of Fëanor and his seven sons.

"You were doomed to remain in the halls of the dead until the end of time," he said.

"At least hear our petition," said Fëanor. "Sing, Káno."

And Maglor sang. He sang about their past deeds, and every syllable was filled with sorrow and regret. He sang of the shame and the loneliness and his long bitter years of walking the seashore, and how the greatest pain of all was the helplessness: that their past deeds never could be undone, no matter how much he wished it. If only they could do something! The past was dark, yes, and the present grey, but the future... if only there was a future.

In the middle of all the darkness was a tiny seed of hope. It was the desire to atone.

And Maglor sang on, and the seed grew into a flower, fragile as a soap bubble and just as beautiful. It whispered of all the good they could do, of the fair things they could create, if only they had a chance. They could not erase the harm they had done before, but they could bring good things into the world in a desperate attempt to compensate. It was not much, it was not enough, but it had to be better than nothing.

And with a last chord he picked the flower and threw it before Námo's feet.

"Yet your oath remains," said the Vala, though his voice was less stern than before. "And thus I cannot let you out, though I would wish to; for the oath will ever drive you to do evil deeds, as it has done before."

"We have thought of a way to satisfy the oath," said Fëanor and explained.

"And if our plan fails, we will willingly let ourselves be imprisoned in Mandos until the end of time," said Maedhros.

The dark Vala contemplated their words in silence. Fëanor and his sons would have held their breath if they had still had lungs.

"And what is this?" said a voice, speaking Sindarin. It was a voice the middle sons of Fëanor recognized very well, since they had spent a sizeable portion of the last millenia arguing with its owner.

"Eöl," said Curufin. "And Maeglin too, I see."

"This is most unfair," said Maeglin. "If they are going to be let out, so should we."

"What?" said Caranthir.

"My deeds were hardly worse than yours," said Eöl.

"Oh, did I try to kill my son when he deserted me?" said Curufin. "It must have slipped my mind; I was sure I left him safe in Nargothrond. I do not remember murdering my wife, either."

"All I did was try to defend what was mine from intruders," said Eöl. "You had no right to take our lands."

"You had no right to take our cousin to wife," said Celegorm.

"We defended your lands from Morgoth!" said Caranthir.

"Enough," said Maedhros. "We will gain nothing from arguing about past offenses."

"You," said Maeglin, "are just jealous because my father is a better blacksmith than yours."

"I think not," said Fëanor haughtily.

"Deny it if you wish, but it is true all the same," said Eöl. "Did I not forge the sword that is prophesied to kill Morgoth?"

For a moment a glimpse of something that may have been anger and may have been interest flashed in Fëanor's eyes - figuratively speaking, of course, since he did not actually possess eyes at the moment. Then he turned to face Námo.

"You have heard our plea," he said. "What is your answer?"