Crime and Punishment
A/N: Many thanks to my sister Alu for giving me the ideas used in this story. It wouldn't exist without her. Please note: the turkey joke used in the story refers to the popular myth that turkeys look to the sky with their mouths open when it rains, causing them to drown.
"This time we're sure to succeed, my sons!" said Fëanor in a loud whisper.
"What's he on about this time?" asked Amrod and Amras together.
"Who knows," muttered Curufin. Then, louder, he said, "What plan have you in mind now, Father?"
Fëanor had a slightly manic grin on his face. "This plan is a surefire way to get out of the Halls," he said. "Which of you boys looks most like me?"
The seven sons of Fëanor glanced around at one another. They had a silent debate using facial expressions, eyebrow lifts, and juts of the chin. Finally, they all pushed Maglor forward.
"He does," said all the brothers but Maglor.
"But I was a close runner-up," Caranthir added.
Fëanor ignored them and grabbed Maglor. "All right, my boy, this is the plan…" He whispered in Maglor's ear for a long while. Eventually, he pulled back, grinning more manically than before.
"Have you got all that?" he asked.
Maglor nodded uncertainly. "I think so, Father."
"Good. Now, braid your hair."
Maglor braided his usually-loose hair and traded his sparsely-decorated outer robe with his father's gold-embroidered one. Fëanor shook out his long hair and made it look as messy as possible. Maglor tended to look like one of those eccentric musician types, and Fëanor wanted to be convincing.
"Now," he said, pushing Maglor toward a slightly bored-looking Mandos, "let him have it!"
Maglor strode toward Mandos in a purposeful way.
"Wow, he looks like Father," Maedhros said, impressed.
"I demand that you let me go!" shouted Maglor. He looked strangely small next to the Vala, who was twice his height.
Mandos didn't even bother to look down. "No dice, Fëanor."
"How dare you refuse me?" Maglor yelled, stamping a foot.
"Easily."
Caranthir smirked. "He acts like Father, too."
While Maglor diverted Mandos' attention from the entrance to the Halls, which weren't that far from where they stood, Fëanor was slowly inching his way toward the tall doors. He could hear his son shouting his head off at Mandos, who was becoming slowly but surely quite irritated. Fëanor had just touched the doorknob when Mandos furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously.
"Give it up, Maglor," he said.
Maglor's face took on an expression of deepest indignation. "You dare to mistake me for my son?" he demanded.
Mandos rolled his eyes. "I wasn't mistaking your identity; I was pointing out the obvious."
"I'll have you know that I am the great Fëanor, son of – "
"Oh, do be quiet, you little imbecile," said Mandos.
Maglor shut up.
His brothers broke into giggle fits that they promptly muffled behind their hands. Maglor shot them a dark glare.
Mandos pretended to ignore them. "Fëanor, come away from that door."
Fëanor pretended to ignore him.
"Fëanor…"
Fëanor continued to pretend. He grabbed the doorknob.
"Fëanor, get over here now, or I'm casting you into the void!"
Fëanor was at Mandos' side in less than two seconds.
"Good boy," Mandos said, smirking. Then he looked back at Maglor. "What are you two trying to do? Escape again?"
Maglor looked lost. "Uh…um…uh…A-April Fool!" he shouted, grinning as manically as Fëanor usually did.
Mandos stared at him. "It's March 12th, Maglor."
"I know," Maglor said. "We were practicing!"
"Get out of here, Maglor," Mandos murmured.
Maglor saluted. "Sir, yes, sir!" He went and sat down by his brothers.
"Brilliant job, brother dear," said Maedhros sarcastically.
"Oh, sure, laugh at the only one who was willing to do Father's bidding!" exclaimed Maglor. "Even if it is Father's fault I was hit by that stupid human vehicle and killed rather than playing the harp in Valinor for all of eternity!"
"What was it you were hit by, again?" asked Maedhros, sardonically thoughtful. "A truck, was it?"
"A diesel truck!" cried Maglor. "And I can assure you, they're plenty hard to run away from! I tried!"
"Perhaps if you worked out once or twice in your life, you would have been strong enough to."
Maglor pushed up his sleeves.
"Don't even bother, little brother," Maedhros said tauntingly. "I'm by far the strongest of all of you."
"Oh, yes," laughed Amras. "Strong enough to throw yourself off a cliff!"
"Well, at least I didn't get torched by my own father and ended up possessing my twin!" shouted Maedhros.
"That wasn't my fault!" protested Amras.
"Oh, sure, justify yourself, you twin-possessor!" taunted Maedhros.
"I love my sons," Fëanor said, watching from the sidelines of the blazing argument.
"I'm sure you do," Mandos replied. "I just wish one of them could have turned out like their mother."
"Maglor did," Fëanor pointed out. "That's why he was the only one who was stupid enough to say I was wrong, stupid enough to throw the Silmaril into the ocean, and stupid enough to walk out in front of that diesel truck. Nerdanel never was all that bright."
"Not to mention the April Fools' joke."
"Ah, yes, that too."
The argument between the boys continued. Unexpectedly, Daeron pranced past.
"I love Luthien!" he sang.
"We know," said Fëanor and Mandos together. Daeron was forever singing of his love for the long-dead Elf-maid-turned-mortal. Then, to Fëanor's immense annoyance, Mandos opened the doors to the Halls and let Daeron prance through.
"Have fun in the twenty-first century!" called Mandos after him.
"You're sure she'll be there?" Daeron called back.
"Oh, yes!"
"Thanks!"
As Mandos closed the door, Fëanor asked, "Is she really?"
"No, but I had to get rid of him somehow."
"I see," Fëanor said. "But I annoy you, too, don't I? Doesn't the amount of irritation I bring you merit getting kicked out of the Halls?"
"Actually, I keep you here for kicks."
"You're a master of cruelty."
"I know."
Fëanor huffily sat with his sons at their perch near the Halls, just in case there was some tiny chance of them getting away.
A while later, the doors were flung open once more and in stepped a blonde Elf.
"Oh, hello, Glorfindel," said Mandos, barely looking up.
"Hello! I like to smile!" Glorfindel fairly bounced into the Halls, his golden hair glimmering and his robes shining. His fëa, like those of Fëanor and his sons, still had the light of the Trees about it.
"We know," muttered the eight descendents of Finwe.
"You finally died again, you idiot?" asked Maglor bitterly.
Glorfindel nodded excitedly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a friend of mine," he said, a grin still plastered across his face. Mandos grabbed him, however, and held him there as Fëanor advanced toward the Balrog-slayer.
"What do you mean, died again?" demanded Fëanor.
"The first time he died, it was at the hands – or rather, whip – of a Balrog. He got off for good behavior, though, and this is the first time he's died since," explained Mandos.
Fëanor had turned scarlet. "You let Mr. Happypants get a second chance, but you couldn't send me back?" he roared at the Vala.
"Pretty much, yeah," Mandos replied, examining his fingernails.
"How'd he go this time?" asked Maedhros.
Mandos took a list from his pocket and examined it a moment. "Says he got hit by a diesel truck."
Maglor looked supremely triumphant. "See that? Even the Balrog-slayer can get hit by a diesel truck!"
"Yes, but he probably didn't even have enough time to get away," Maedhros said.
"We shall see," Maglor replied, eyes narrowed. "Glorfindel?"
Glorfindel, who was still standing beside Mandos, very happily twiddling his thumbs, looked up at the harpist. "Yes?"
"Did you get very far away from the truck before it hit you?"
"Didn't get a chance to run! I was saying good morning to the birds, and then all of a sudden I was roadkill!" He paused. "Is that all you needed?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Always glad to help!" Glorfindel dashed off down the hallway.
Fëanor gave Mandos the darkest look he could muster – which was extremely dark – but the Vala smiled serenely at him.
"How long ago did you send him back?" asked Amrod as Maglor sank, pouting, back onto the bench beside a smirking Maedhros.
"Oh, about four centuries ago," Mandos said.
"It's remarkable that he lived that long," Caranthir said, shaking his head.
"Not really," Mandos replied. "He was like that in Gondolin, too, and he managed well enough until the Balrog came along."
They watched as Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain squeezed out the last bit of water in his robes. He was cursed to always be in water, or so it seemed, because he had been falling into one fountain or another since he'd gotten to the Halls. That's what had just happened, and he had finally, after a good half hour, managed to wring all the water out. The one good thing about this was that he was getting better at wringing clothes.
"Finally!" he cried, his arms spread out exuberantly. Just then, Glorfindel saw him, gave a loud whoop of joy, and dived at him, and sent Ecthelion sprawling back into the fountain. The sons of Fëanor all collapsed into fits of giggles as Ecthelion slapped Glorfindel soundly across the face. Glorfindel didn't seem to care; he simply jumped out of the fountain and ran down the corridor shouting something about his long-lost father.
"How long has Ecthelion been here?" asked Fëanor.
"Well, the first time he was here, he'd been drowned in the Fountain of Gondolin after killing one of the Balrogs. He couldn't get out because his armor was too heavy."
Fëanor gave a very audible snort of laughter.
"I sent him back after a few centuries. He came back just about twenty human years ago."
"How'd he die that time?"
"He drowned in the shower."
Maedhros gaped. "Is that possible?"
Maglor started laughing hysterically. "It is if you're a turkey!"
Maedhros started laughing just as hard as Maglor. Then suddenly he stopped. "What's a turkey?"
FIN