I'm sorry, this version doesn't have the correct formatting :/ for the version with the correct formatting, please read it on AO3
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Eyes, hundreds of eyes watching him… he could block them out, couldn't he? Pretend he was only in his room, not here in front of the hundreds of guests his father had invite for his first recital. He was only composing, playing bits and pieces to nobody at all, to test their sound, see if they worked. Oh, he knew Nelyo was just down the hall, listening to what he could. But his brother gave him space, never disrupted.
Yes, this was just a test. He would play the piece through to see how it sounded altogether. If there were adjustments to be made, he could do that later.
A quiet sniffle pulled him from his thoughts and brought his attention to the sheet music on his stand, illuminated by the gentle glow of Laurelin's light streaming through his window. He smiled. Nelyo was listening.
His fingers strummed the first notes of the song on his harp.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He choked- whether from the smoke or his father's words, he could not say. A burning pain spread through his chest, and his eyes stung, and tears streamed down his cheeks, and still he could not tell if the ashes of the burning ships or the knowledge that his brother's ashes were among them were the cause.
He could not pretend. Not this time. He could not pretend like he could when the Trees lost their light, when their grandfather fell, when they killed at Alqualondë. Telvo still lived, and he still screamed. And he could not pretend or block it out.
Rain started to fall and the fires slowly went out as the first notes of his first lament rang clear through the air.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Again.
Maedhros would not sleep.
Fingon had tried, and the healers had tried, and even Fingolfin had tried to get him to sleep with no success. They had requested he try as a last resort, apparently having heard of the power he had learned he held. And it wasn't that Maedhros wasn't tired; they knew he was exhausted, could see it clearly in the deep bags that sat under his eyes. No, even here, in relative safety and surrounded by family and warriors to guard, the horrors he had lived while in Angband were too much. Maedhros would not allow himself to rest
It would be much like at Losgar, he thought, and fought back the bitter taste of bile that came with it. Only I am soothing the flame of my brother's fëa with metaphorical rain.
He let that image fill his mind, allowed his intent to leak into the soft song he sang.
Maedhros' hand clutched Fingon' s tightly.
For the first time in years, Maglor allowed himself to pretend, remembering little brothers that were afraid of the dark and would come to him for a comforting lullaby. This was just another one of those times, and just another monster under their bed to banish from their mind. His song changed to an achingly familiar lullaby.
Maedhros' eyes slipped closed.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Fire, fire, he could not escape it! It followed him everywhere he went, from his mother's and brother's hair, to Losgar, to his father burning in his own light. Ash coated his throat as he stumbled around looking for a way out of the flames.
Help! Please, anyone!
"TELVO!"
No… that couldn't be him, his brother had burned on the ships centuries ago… hadn't he?
There was so much fire, all around him, flames reaching for the sky…
Is this how it had felt for his little brother?
"HELP!"
He could barely breathe.
"PLEASE!"
He couldn't leave them, whoever it was. He had to get everyone out, make sure they were safe. But this was not Losgar, and there was no sea nearby to turn to rain, so he had no way to extinguish the flames around him.
Unless…
He knew fire. It had followed him and his brothers all his life, had forced him to learn its destructive song through its own will, though he had never used it for his own gain.
He listened now, feeling its rhythm and melody… and struck up a tune of his own.
Even though his voice cracked, even though he ended up with a hacking cough only a few seconds in, the effect was immediate. The discord from his song mixing with that of the fire caused some of the surrounding flames to lessen, but the fire's song was still stronger.
"HELP! ANYBODY!"
Maglor grit his teeth and continued, putting all his focus into keeping the discord and not allowing himself to slip into the beating rhythm of the flames.
He didn't stop when he found the boy, lost in the flames, or when they reached the edge of the battlefield. Even when his brother found them, he kept humming, protecting them.
He only stopped when he was far enough away that the fire's song was a distant whisper, and his world faded to black.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Sharp as the swords and knives he carried, Maglor had honed his skill in song, turning it into another weapon to wield. It cut down any in his way as efficiently as any blade. None that stood between him and the fulfillment of the Oath stood a chance of hearing it.
Mighty Singer, indeed.
But now… Maglor felt lost. No amount of Song would comfort these two elflings. They had been taught to fear his voice, warned of the power it held, and they flinched any time he opened his mouth even to just speak.
"It's okay," he murmured, and they flinched back again, eyes wide and clutching at each other tightly. He swallowed back the guilt that ate away at his stomach. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."
One of them glared at him, and he recoiled, shocked by the coldness in the boy's eyes. "You already did!"
He pulled away from his brother to show the gash that ran across the still-crying boy's leg. "You hurt my brother!"
So many had been hurt, had been killed at Maglor's hand. By his voice. He reeled back; all he had ever done since he learned it could be a weapon was use it as one, and that thought sickened him to his core.
His voice, and his music, that had been heard by thousands of people on the shores of Aman, that used to be a thing of beauty, was now as ugly as the orc filth that roamed the wilds of the land. How had he allowed that to happen? What had happened to sweet, caring Káno?
"Can I- Will you- will you let me try?" The glaring boy frowned at him, and Maglor kept his eyes on the crying one's leg. "Would you let me heal it?"
He didn't even know if he could. He had never tried, preferring to keep away from the infirmaries and healing tents to avoid the scent of blood, and rot, and the herbs they used. They reminded him too much of-
The crying one tugged at the frowning boy's hand and nodded, and the frowning boy begrudgingly moved aside. Maglor watched him as he shifted closer to where the boys sat.
What song could he use? He knew none, other than ones for war, or to counter an already existing song, or to help his brother sleep…
It's like at Losgar, he thought, old memories stirring. Only this time, I have no flames to put out. I am soothing the heat of the day, and helping the flowers to grow.
By the time he was finished, you could hardly even see the scar.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Maglor stared out across the sea, silent, unmoving. The roaring of the waves crashing into the crumbling cliffs below filled his ears. The wind whipped at his face.
He felt none of it, lost in a sea of numbness.
Lost.
He had lost everything.
His scream broke through the spell. Large chunks of the cliffside fell away, the sea's destructive song made all the more stronger with the addition of his voice, and Maglor fell to his knees as a tremor ran through the earth. He choked on the ash flittering in the breeze, reminded of Losgar, of the Gap, of the kinslayings, and he screamed again. He choked again, and screamed, and remembered that the fire of the earth had taken the last of his brothers from him.
Screaming fell into sobbing. An Oath he had sworn, and naught but ruin, on himself, on those he loved, on the world, had come of it. There was no Song he could sing to heal it all. No Song could undo his past mistakes.
Perhaps others could learn from them.
Golden rays of light from the setting sun filtered through the clouds, and it reminded him of a home that had once been and never would be again. Of six chaotic, loving brothers, a caring father, and a wonderful mother. Of sheet music on a stand, illuminated by the gentle glow of Laurelin's light streaming through an open window. Nelyo was listening, just down the hall as he had ever been. Nelyo was always listening.
No matter how far away he was.
His fingers strummed the first notes of the Noldolantë on his harp.