The Feanorions steal the Silmarils and their sister is unwillingly caught up in the theft.
25. Theft of the Silmarils
She's not part of the plan! Maedhros ignored the dismay in Maglor's voice the best he could. We must wait… there will be another chance… Maglor pleaded. Mornel should not be here with Eonwe and the guards.
There will not be another chance! We must act. And now! Maedhros insisted. The Host of the Valar might take the Silmarils over the Sea the next day. The camp was packing up. They had observed the steady movement of chests of armour and weapons towards the shore to be shipped back to Valinor.
Now! Maedhros gave the silent command. Maglor slashed open the fabric of the tent with his razor-sharp dagger. Both Feanorions dashed into the tent. Both skilled warriors, they acted swiftly, not allowing for any opening for the guards to react.
"Hold her!" Maedhros shouted. Maglor seized hold of Mornel, placing his dagger under her chin with the flat against her skin. Her hands were still holding the small silver casket holding the Silmarils. Maedhros had his sword drawn before him. Once the guards had recovered from the initial shock of the ambush, they pointed their spears at the intruders. However, they dared not attack, not when the Kinslayers held Lady Mornel as their hostage. No one was willing to test whether the Feanorions would stoop to harming their sister given their rumoured madness.
"Don't try to stop us," Maedhros warned. The guards exchanged glances. Surely the alarm would be raised by now. Others would be converging on the tent. Lord Eonwe stood almost nonchalantly holding a carafe of wine and a cup.
"Nelyafinwe Feanarion, cease this madness. Repent your sins! The Silmarils hallowed by my Lady Varda would not allow themselves to be held by you."
"Shut up! What do the Valar care for us?" Maedhros bellowed. Mornel made use of the distraction of Maedhros' outburst to stomp on Maglor's toes. When she sensed his grip on her loosen from the shock, she elbowed him in the gut, and dropped the casket containing the Silmarils. She twisted both his arm and the knife away from her. Seeing her break free, Maranil vaulted over the scroll-table to go to her aid. Unfortunately, Maedhros was swifter and more experienced at combat than the young Vanya.
"Maranil!" Mornel watched in horror as her friend went down, his thigh bleeding profusely. Maedhros' bloodied sword was now pointed at his exposed neck.
"Pick them up," Maedhros commanded her. "Now!"
Mornel scooped up the pouch containing the Silmarils which had fallen onto the ground when she dropped the casket. Maglor had recovered and now took hold of her anew. Glaring at her brothers, Mornel thrust the pouch into her tunic instead of handing it over. It was the one act of defiance left to her. She wanted to prevent any further bloodshed by her brothers but she was afraid of what would happen if she let her brothers handle the gems.
"Move!" Maglor considered snatching the pouch from Mornel but thought better of it. She was more valuable to them as a hostage. The Vanyar guards drawn by the commotion would kill them otherwise, with or without Lord Eonwe's permission. The Maia frowned slightly but made no move to stop their escape. Ethwe considered for a heartbeat, threw down his spear, and went to his comrade to tend to his wound. Maranil's blood loss was considerable and he needed treatment urgently.
After exiting the tent from the hole they had rent in it, the Feanorions dragged Mornel towards the outskirts of the camp. Their departure did not go unobserved. Elves, Maiar, and even a handful of dwarves and men, now gathered outside Lord Eonwe's tent. They cautiously left a clear path for the Feanorions' escape. Everyone was reluctant to challenge the Feanorions when they had a hostage at their mercy. Lord Eonwe followed at a safe distance after he had cast a small healing spell over the wounded guard, enough to slow the blood loss until he reached a proper healer.
"Let the Feanorions go!" Lord Eonwe shouted out when an armed Lord Galdor and his manservant Legolas tried to block the trio's path. Galdor scowled but stepped out of the way, dragging an outraged Legolas with him before the servant could attempt striking Maedhros with his staff. The younger warrior was no match for the one-armed Maedhros. A horrified Celebrimbor watched frozen at his forge when they passed it. He did not even notice a live coal had fallen onto his boot until it had burned through the leather.
"Stop! Cease this madness!" Running out of his tent with Gil-galad, Arafinwe pleaded with his nephews to no avail. Gil-galad made a valiant attempt to challenge Maedhros in a headlong charge but Maedhros simply dodged his spear-thrust. The redhead cracked him on the side of the head with the flat of his sword, knocking him into the dust. It was hard enough a blow to momentarily stun the young king, allowing the pair to mount their waiting horses. Mornel was roughly manhandled into the saddle in front of Maedhros and her hands tied to the pommel. The elf-horses stomped and whinnied restlessly but they obeyed their masters, taking flight from the safety of the camp into the unknown wilderness of a rapidly collapsing Beleriand. No one, not even the Maiar, gave chase.
"So it has come to this," Arafinwe watched helplessly as the trio galloped off. He had no doubts about his niece's loyalty. He only feared what his nephews intended to do with her, and the effect the Silmarils would have on his nephews. Gil-galad was starting to come round. He was soon arguing with Lord Eonwe about sending a party of riders after the Feanorions. The Maia would not be persuaded. Arafinwe agreed with him. The Feanorions would see any pursuit miles away. They could not risk any harm to Mornel.
"So it has come to this," Mornel fought against her bonds but Maglor had tied them well. "You would choose those Silmarils over family!" she accused but Maedhros remained unmoved. Maglor grimaced at her words.
"You do not understand. Atto put so much of his heart and soul into the creation of the Silmarils. The Valar did wrong by asking him to destroy them…" Maglor tried to explain.
"You know nothing, you never knew Atto, or the Oath, or the horrors of war," Maedhros prodded Mornel in the side with his stump.
"I do know of the Darkening. I do know what the rebellion of the Noldor left behind for us all – Amme, Uncle Ara, and many others. I have fought on the battlefield against the armies of the Black Foe," Mornel retorted. "Yet I see the senseless massacres of Alqualonde, Doriath, and Sirion were not wrought by Morgoth but by your blind loyalty to your Oath!"
"Don't test me, wench!" Maedhros growled. Mornel knew she had touched a nerve.
"Gag her!" Maglor hastened to obey his brother's command with a murmured apology.
Fuming, Mornel could sense the growing uneasiness of their horses. The smell of sulphur grew heavier. Fire and smoke spewed from large cracks which had opened up in the rock about them. On one side of the path was a steep cliff plunging into an angry sea. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed overhead.
They finally stopped for the night along a lonely sea cliff. Maglor untied and ungagged an exhausted Mornel. He helped her off Maedhros' horse and over behind a pile of rocks so that she could attend to the call of nature. Mornel held her tongue when Maglor warned her to watch her words. A fire was started some distance from the cliff's edge and a simple meal was prepared from the meagre rations in Maglor's saddlebag. There might still be stray orcs and wargs about in the nearby hills despite the craters and chasms of fire.
"Sorry, Mornel," Maglor apologised as he handed her a water-skin and a hunk of bread. "We never meant for you to get caught up in this." Mornel accepted the water-skin and bread although she had little appetite. Maedhros busied himself cleaning his sword with the edge of his cloak. The blood had caked on the blade but it was of good elvish make. It would take more than a bit of blood to ruin it.
"Hand over the Silmarils. You may return to their camp. It is not that far a walk…" Maedhros glared at her. Mornel was reminded of the pouch in her tunic, which she had all but forgotten about. She shivered under his glare. The gems pulsed warmly through their velvet pouch, momentarily relieving her of the biting cold of the night. She was only lightly-dressed in her leggings, shirt and tunic. She had not thought to wear a cloak for the short walk to Lord Eonwe's tent.
"Maedhros, she can use my horse, and my sword," Maglor protested. "It's too dangerous on foot, unarmed." He unpinned his cloak and threw it over Mornel's shoulders.
"Mornel! Hand over the Silmarils now!" Maedhros shouted. Mornel shook her head and clutched at the pouch in her tunic. Maglor sighed as he stoked their campfire with one hand while restraining his brother with the other.
"Sister." Mornel turned to face Maglor. It was easier looking at his dark blue eyes, the colour of the sea off Tol Eressea, rather than the stone-hard eyes of their elder brother.
"Pass us the Silmarils please," Maglor added in a soft voice. As if hypnotised by his melodious voice, Mornel removed the pouch from her tunic. Putting down the stick he had been stoking the fire with, he held out his hand as she reached out with the pouch.
"Good…" Maglor urged. That hint of impatience in that word snapped Mornel out of her trance.
"No, you must come with me to return the Silmarils and seek the for…" Mornel started as she drew back her right hand, pouch and all. That was the final straw for Maedhros and she never finished her sentence.
Neither Maglor nor Mornel noticed the flash of steel until it was too late. Blood sprayed onto the flames. Mornel fell screaming in agony.
"Nelyo! What have you done?" Maglor screamed. Mornel watched through a haze of pain. Casting aside his sword, her eldest brother took the Silmarils from her right hand which was no longer attached to her. She could see their Treelight flashing though the open neck of the pouch. Close to passing out from the pain and blood loss, she soon became aware that both her brothers were screaming too as if in pain.
One for each of us… Maedhros emptied the contents of the pouch onto the blood-stained ground with his one hand. Mesmerized by the Treelight, Maglor followed his brother's example and picked up the gems. That was when the burning pain started.
Maglor glanced at his fallen sister and then at the burning gem in his right hand. It burned his hand as if it was a hot coal. Images of all the Kinslayings flooded his mind. They had sinned and the pureness of the Treelight would not tolerate their holding them. The Silmarils had burned Morgoth for his evil deeds. Likewise, they now seared Maglor's flesh. Despair flooded the second son of Feanor. With a final cry, he flung the Silmaril from him as far as he could, over the cliff edge. It sailed like a falling star as it hit the waves, lost to Lord Ulmo's domain.
Maedhros was not faring any better. The same horror and realization filled his face. What have we done? He had cut off his own sister's hand in a fit of mindless rage and greed. Disgusted with himself, Maedhros turned and ran, still clutching the burning Silmaril in his remaining hand. Laughing crazily in both madness and despair, he ran straight for the nearest fiery chasm.
"NO!" Maglor yelled as he ran after Maedhros. Mornel staggered to her feet despite her wound. They were too late to stop Maedhros from the act he had set his mind upon. The redhead threw both himself and the Silmaril into the fires of the chasm.
In Mandos
"Oh no," Finwe groaned as yet another one of his grandchildren entered Mandos. Nelyo's fea was a mess. Lord Namo's Maiar had to be ever so careful with him, guiding him along. He could not bear any contact with another fea. He seemed more like a shadow rather than a proper elven fea. Feanor had died in burst of flame. His eldest had chosen to immolate himself. They could not allow Feanor to see his son in such a state.
Lord Namo immediately sent a summons for his sister. This was an urgent case. Maedhros' fea had been so battered and worn down by all his sufferings that he might never be able to heal enough to leave Mandos. Lady Nienna had her work cut out for her. An elf had chosen self-destruction willingly – that was a first. Elves had faded from weariness before but never had one of the Children resorted to self-murder. It had taken many of his Maiar to ensure that this elven fea was not lost as one of the Unhoused like some of the Secondborn, open to manipulation and corruption by the forces of Shadow. It was whispered among the Children that Morgoth often beguiled such fea who wandered the Outerlands with false promises, and twisted them to serve the Dark Foe.
Forces of Shadow? Lord Namo frowned. Had not Morgoth been cast into the Void? What shadows remained? Perhaps he had looked ahead into the Song. There was that fallen Maia who was once Aule's protégé… What was his name again? He would think about it later, when Finwe was not pounding on his door. Feanor must have sensed the entry of his eldest into the Halls and was kicking up a fuss like he tended to do. When Curufin and his brothers came in, the fiery Feanor had flared up so fiercely he scorched the roof of his room and tapestries in the neighbouring rooms. His lady Valie would not be amused if her precious tapestries were to be damaged again.
Author's Notes:
Okay, it is done. I have killed off Maedhros as per canon.
Tolkien toyed with the idea canonic Elvish ghosts (fea that chose not to go to Mandos) also known as the Unhoused but he probably discarded it. I like to imagine all dead elves end up in the Halls of Waiting. In LOTR there were mannish ghosts that could be trapped or manipulated by curses and spells. Aragorn did have to use a ghost army to fight off the Corsairs and the Black Numenoreans. The Ringwraiths were also somewhat like ghosts twisted to serve Sauron.