Melkor was beginning to really hate Valinor. It wasn't just the light that split his head and scorched his eyes every second of every day. It wasn't just that this was his brother's accursed realm. It was a simple lack of resources. Mairon was currently gathering legions upon legions in Arda, which was wonderful, but he wasn't in Arda, dammit! He was stuck here with a jaded Maia trying to prove himself and whatever tag-alongs he brought along.
He had been planning on leaving and never looking back. As soon as he found a good opportunity, he had hoped to abandon ship and leave this light-filled place to his brother and return to Arda as its Dark Lord. Only for some reason he couldn't. He couldn't just leave and return as if he had never spent three ages in chains! Manwë owed him. Owed him for the great injustices he had suffered. Yes. It was unjust. Of this Melkor was certain. His "crime" had been daring to call himself Lord. But was he not created to be a king, to rule over the dark as his brother ruled over the light? He was. But jealous Manwë just had to throw him into bounds for daring to claim his birthright.
He could not overlook such insults. So Melkor waited. He had waited three ages in Mandos. What was a decade more? He waited and he plotted, looking for the perfect parting gift to give to his brother in retribution for his great hospitality. And then he had heard about the Silmarils: these jewels that held the light of the trees. The light that he hated the most. Yavanna's light. And they had been crafted by the proudest of the Children of Illúvatar. It had been perfect.
And then, on the very day on which he went to see these gems for the first time, he had laid eyes on that son of Fëanáro who had been touched by destiny. And the game had changed even before it had begun. Suddenly all the cards were on the table, the element of surprise lost. Nelyafinwë would move to stop him. So he had been forced to act first.
Melkor looked over his shoulder to see Naracalammo approach, dragging the unconscious red haired son of Fëanáro by the elf's wrist. The Maia walked up to Melkor and dropped Maitimo before him. "It is a shame we don't have more time to…. enjoy this victory, shall we say?" Melkor looked down at the wounded elf, allowing himself a slight smirk as he noted his hacked hair and bloodied form.
"Perhaps."
"If I may say so, my lord, why not kill him? If those memories hold the truth…."
Melkor had asked himself the same question earlier. Killing Nelyafinwë now could certainly save him from some future headaches. But to slay him where he lie, with only Naracalammo as a witness….it was too kind of an end.
No, he wanted to break Maitimo's body on the fields of the North before all of the Noldor. He wanted to drag him barely alive into Gondolin or Hithlum or whatever the elves decided to call their stronghold this time around and have him put to death in the city square. He would then hang his body from the ramparts as he forced the firstborn to bow down to him. There would be songs of his triumph, and of Nelyafinwë's shame and defeat, for the world to remember forever. No, the elf would not die here.
"It's too early in the day to be killing princes," he told Naracalammo. "But I won't have him interfering while we are vulnerable here in Aman. Take him through lomba men with the others."
"What of the dog?"
"Release it."
"My Lord?"
"All in due time. The beast may serve its purpose yet."
Tyelkormo was having a wonderful dream. He was visiting the beach just south of Alqualonde, a beautiful stretch of white sand where Laurelin always seemed to shine just a little brighter. He was laying in the light without a care in the world listening to the waves lull gently on the shore. A beautiful maiden was reading a worn book by his side, occasionally nudging him and as she read aloud lines she liked.
Then he realized that there was a boulder crushing his leg. He sat up and frowned as he eyed the massive rock. Curious. It should hurt more. Turko laid back down at that thought realizing that he felt only a dull ache. But it felt as though the true pain had been muffled by a thick curtain. Suddenly the maiden on his side started jabbing at him forcefully.
"Come on, Tylekormo, open your eyes."
Open his eyes? But then the curtain would lift and that boulder would become more problematic. No, he was perfectly content where he was.
"Brother, in case you have not noticed, we are in a bit of a situation here, and I have half the mind to blame you. The least you can do is look at me."
Shit. That was not some lovely maiden, that was Carnistir. An irritate Carnistir by the sound of it. Because that was the thing about his brother. He was like those mountains of fire in the lore. He would be stoic and silent for years as the pressure slowly built on the inside. And then, about once a century, he would explode. And when Moryo showed signs of imminent volcanic eruption, he would flee for the forest. It was the rational thing to do. But right now Tyelkormo had a boulder on his leg. His heart sunk. What had he even done to deserve this? He tried to remember.
Slowly he opened his deep blue eyes to stare at his brother. It took him a moment of studying Carnistir's limp ragged hair, bruised face, and bare chest for his memories to come back to him. At once he felt like throwing up. Slowly he propped himself up on his elbows, absently noting that he really was on a beach, facing the wide open sea. His wounded knee had been bound by what looked like the remains of Carnistir's undershirt, but at least there was no boulder.
"Hey, take it easy," Moryo said as he gently helped to support Turko's back.
"Where are we?"
Carnistir had no answer to that. They had woken up on a white sandy beach, turquoise waves lapping the shore several meters away where the ground met the sea. His first thought had been one of the coves near Alqualonde, but that idea had immediately been dashed when he had looked behind them and saw towering white cliffs. The beaches near Alqualonde eased gently into meadows of grass.
"I do not know," he replied, looking away from the sea to stare at the cliffs once more. Turko slowly rolled onto his stomach so that he might look as well without paining his torn knee too much. The sight took his breath away. About fifty meters away from where he lay the stone rose like a great wall protecting the land from the great unknowns of the waters. Cut into the base of the cliff was a dark cave, curiously situated almost immediately behind the two elfs, if not a little to the left.
"What is that?" Tyelkormo asked nodding with his head towards a speck of red that his keen eyes saw among the larger stones littered near the cave. Carnistir sat up and looked in that direction.
"Stay here," he ordered, his voice suddenly commanding. Turko would have protested, but it wasn't as if he could move very well at the moment either. He just continued to lay on his stomach, enjoying how some of Laurelin's residual warmth soaked into his back. Funny, her rays almost felt cooler, distant somehow, he thought as he watched Moryo make his way towards the mouth of the cave.
Carnistir stumbled slightly as the sand turned coarser as he moved away from the sea and towards the cave. But he hardly even noticed, even as some of the more angular pebbles bit into his feat. Because laying among the stones and sand was the body of an elf. And even with the numerous cuts and wounds on the elf's body, even with the short hair, Moryo recognized him immediately.
"Nelyo!" He cried crashing to his knees besides his oldest brother. He looked with dismay at the lacerations perversely decorating his bare chest. At the more serious, jagged, and open laceration maring his side and the slash across his temple. At the bloodied bandages at his ankles.
Carnistir felt as if he was going to be sick. Someone had done this to him. He remember the vision Naracalammo had taunted him with, and he fought the urge to look away.
Nelyo's grey eyes blinked wearily open. "Moryo. You look like you've been run over by a horse."
Carnistir smiled at the attempt at humor, secretly relieved that somehow Nelyo could still joke at a time like this. "Nay, brother. You should try looking at yourself. Mother is going to skin us alive, that is for sure," he said following along.
"You think? I believe she will simply chain us to stools in her studio…" Nelyo grunted as he shifted and pain seemed to flash across his features, "...force us to model for her sculpting for the rest of eternity."
Moryo laughed quietly. "Maybe that will be your fate, Maitimo, but there's no use rushing in to it. Don't force yourself," Carnister said as he noted with concern that his brother had somehow managed to prop himself up on his elbows and that the idiot looked as if he were about to make an attempt at standing. Moryo sighed internally. Nelyo could be as stubborn as the rest of them once he put his mind to something, so telling him to stay put would do little good. He might as well help him up.
"Turko is here too. Let's try to make it to where he is so that we may talk, the sand is finer there and more comfortable." The dark-haired elf offered a hand to his brother.
Maitimo took it, and Moryo had barely pulled him up when the tall elf immediately collapsed forward. Only Carnistir's strong arms had kept him from falling face first into the gravelly sand.
Maitimo grimaced. "I am sorry. I do believe the tendons in my ankle have been cut through. I cannot walk."
Moryo looked at him horrified, wondering again when exactly he had mischaracterized his oldest brother so badly. Nelyo was supposed to be a gentle bear. The kind that hibernated too long and was more fluffy than fearsome. He was not one who nonchalantly said things like 'my tendons have been slashed by some evil straight out of myth, and so I apologize.'
But Carnistir didn't voice his thoughts as he bent down to more firmly grasp Maitimo's left arm, slinging it across his shoulder so that he could better support his weight. He then began to drag him back to where Turko lay, his mind once again beginning to race as he realized just how much he didn't know. He belatedly considered once they were almost there that he was perhaps being a little too rough with Nelyo. But he was frustrated. The world was supposed to make sense! And right now absolutely nothing did. He felt the headache of the age coming back on, and Tyelkormo's priceless face of shock as he stared at his two older brothers only helped alleviate it a little.
"Nelyo," the blond said still gaping in shock at the bloodied form of his brother.
"Turko, you look a little worse for wear, and you say that Moryo and I here never have any worthy adventures."
"You don't," he said looking from brother to brother as they awkwardly half-collapsed, half-sat in the sand besides him. "It must be why this one has gone so awry." His voice then softened as he turned on his side and gently took a lock of Nelyo's sheared hair between his fingers. "Eru what has he done to you?"
To his credit Nelyo only flinched slightly. "It will grow back," he said stiffly, though Turko could see the pain hidden there.
"Of course it will! But that's not the point! To take an elf's hair that is…. that is…."
"Not the worse that can be done. Your leg, Tylekormo, what happened?" Turko went silent and looked down at the sand, while Moryo began to gingerly unwrap the bandages on Maitimo's ankles. He gasped when he saw the cruel slashes, still seeping blood.
"Well I know the horrors of this world, Turko," Nelyo began with a soft, distant voice, and for a moment it sounded like the voice of the sea itself, deep and melancholic. "Tell me what happened yesterday, so that we may help each other."
The hunter sighed and layed his upper body back down on the sand and began to recount the events of the previous two days. He told of Huan's suspicions, the encounter with the Maia disguised as Ñolofinwë in the forge, the race through the forest, waking up in a cell in the mountains, and finally the visit of Melkor and his Maia in which father had stomped on his ruined knee. His voice got very quiet then as he watched the waves lull on the shore.
"And I am sorry, dearest brother. For not taking you seriously before when you warned us about the Silmarils and Melkor. I was close minded, not believing that father would betray his family over a few gems. I still don't, but clearly there is something about those damn jewels. And as certain as the day, Melkor has made himself our foe," he laughed humorlessly at that.
Nelyo inclined his head. "Thank you brother. And I too am sorry for being overly harsh that night. I know that father loves us and would never put the Silmarils before us as long as he is in his right mind. If we are to stand up to Melkor, we must do so as a family."
Carnister looked up from where he was kneeling at Maitimo's side, having just finished binding the wound there with strips of Tylekormo's shirt. "So what about you? Tell us your story from the beginning."
Nelyo looked at the dark haired elf through the corner of his eye. "If I were to do that he would be here till dusk."
Moryo looked at the ocean. "I don't mind. It's not as if either of you can walk right now. Let's rest for today. With the exception of your side, most of your injuries are shallow. Your ankles are in bad shape, but no arteries were cut by some miracle. Besides it's not as if we can easily find help when we don't get know where we are."
Maitimo sighed. "From the beginning?"
"Yes, it's been awhile since I've heard a story from you Nelyo." Tylekormo answered.
"No interruptions?"
"Yes, we will even try not to fall asleep," Turko promised, sounding at the moment very much like his younger self.
"Very well. The beginning was all at once two days ago and three ages past," Maitimo began.
Carnistir had always known that Maitimo was a storyteller. He would enthrall them all as elflings with great tales of heroes and monsters, of love, redemption, and sacrifice. But this tale was like no other. Moryo lost himself to his brother's words: scenes of burning ships, black forges, demons of flames, enchanted forests, hope, betrayal, and sorrow all played out before him. He knew every character, but yet none of them.
"And so I clutched that burning Silmaril in my last hand, and took one last look at the sky of a broken world and flung myself into the abyss. Makalaurë followed, why I cannot say. Then the voice of Eru Illuvatar came to me and offered us both a second chance. And so I awoke in my bed two days ago. Only Melkor gleaned from me this entire tale when he brushed my mind within the confines of father's forge." He went on to tell of the hawk, the battle in the forest, his capture, and lastly how sweet Anairë had been forced to hurt him, though she tried to be gentle.
"And then I wake to find you two here."
The lights were mingling, casting the ocean shore into a beautiful silver-gold light that reflected off the waves. For a long time neither Carnistir nor Tylekormo said a word.
Finally Turko rolled over and embraced his brother in a crushing hug. Moryo did the the same. And the three elves sat together huddled on the beach as the soft silver rays and Telperion waxed into the night.
I don't own the Troy quote that found its way into this. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Tomorrow the geology crew and I are leaving for six weeks in the boonies where there will be rocks and sky and not much else, so I definitely won't have any internet connection. (Honestly guys, I am a little terrified. I am either going to come back a female Indiana Jones or I'll get lost and wander the desert for eternity.) But I will have to find my way back to some semblance of civilization to stock up on food/water occasionally, so I will try to update then!