I'm typing this right after posting ch. 3, and working without a draft, so you all can imagine the quality. Ugh.

Let's get this over with….

Dark Chest of Wonders, Chapter Four: In Case You Forgot, We Killed The Elf

"Dark chest of wonders/Seen through the eyes…"

It was very dark.

That was Maedhros's first thought after hitting the ground.

It was also very quiet.

That was the second.

The third was: I don't believe this. I died again!

You, my son, are a singularly talented individual. I applaud your individuality and mock your unwisdom. Apparently Fëanor felt similarly about what had happened…or Maedhros supposed had happened. But if he was dead….where was he now?

He blinked sand out of his eyes, but the smooth surface under his hands was not beach, the blank blackness all around was not the ocean view, the chilling silence was not the sounds of a furious battle being waged. He remembered throwing his sword at the giant creature, remembered being picked up and tossed around, remembered with aching clarity the searing agony of being immolated and dashed on the ground (fire again, am I cursed to always die surrounded by flames? Truly, Father, were you named Feanaro by my grandmother)(Don't blame me for your own ineptitude!)…yet he could not make the memories add up to being plunged into darkness. So…he had to have died.

He still had a body, still had his right hand, could feel no burns on his flesh as he ran his fingers across his face and wiggled his feet to see if they were still there. Gathering his senses, he found he could stand. Yet still all was in darkness. Had he been blinded and deafened only? No, no, then he would still feel the grains of sand beneath his fingers. He was dead then, definitely and unequivocally, despite his still seeming to have a body.

"So where am I?" he asked aloud.

"Back in Mandos," a voice behind him replied, and as Namo swept into the room Maedhros found his faculty of sight restored. The Vala bowed his head, seemingly sorrowful. "Think not that you are invincible, Nelyafinwe."

"I don't," Maedhros half-snapped, adding "Lord Namo," when he realized to whom he was speaking so rudely. "So I have left the world again. Such a fate seems strangely fitting. I bend my family's Curse only to find it remains self-fulfilling."

Any curse you feel you have created through your own ineptitude! Fëanor began to continue, then stopped abruptly as Namo swung his hooded head around.

"Ah, yes, Curufinwe. Come with me."

I am not a chattel you can flippantly---

"I said COME WITH ME."

Maedhros cried aloud as pain seared across his forehead; clapping a hand to his head he stumbled backwards as if pushed. Opening his eyes and wiping away sudden tears, he saw his father—freed from imprisonment within his brain—pick himself up off of the ground and, grudgingly, be led away by the Judge. Watching their retreating figures, he felt a pang of—regret? Fear? Dread? What would the Valar do to Fëanor? Would they punish him somehow for his second rebellion? And what about Maedhros himself, the unwitting host? Would the son be punished yet again for the sins of the father?

"Like a yoke around my neck," he muttered grumpily, "weighing me down yet always pulling me back to him." Sighing heavily and determining that, as usual, he could do nothing to change the situation, Maedhros sat down, placed his head between his hands.

What if they take him away? What if I never see him again?

"Good riddance to him, then," he muttered stubbornly, but his heart pleaded otherwise. Life—death—without his father? He had borne the legacy for so long. To be free of it, really free, with his father gone forever—it should be liberating. Yet it weighed him down, turned his soul to sluggish lead within his breast.

"Why?" he asked himself. "He's been nothing but a bother these past few days. Had he not intervened, much would have gone better. Maglor might have agreed to come…" yet that thought led to another, a vision of himself just before the second meeting of his group, of himself having to nearly drag his father down the hall to the conference room. As he watched the two figures in his mind, strangely detached and impassive, he found himself admiring not the forceful figure but the rebel, refusing to bow to what he agreed with not.

And watching his father refuse to redeem himself, Maedhros understood.

o0o

When Namo returned with Fëanor in tow, the two found Maedhros in the same position, eyes unfocused and far away.

"The others," he said, standing as he saw them approach. "Are they—"

"Struggling," replied the Vala. "Yet they have devised a plan…" his voice trailed off. Then, suddenly, vehemently, Namo did something neither Elf expected, that no one in all of Arda would have ever believed.

He swore.

"Relapse!" he bellowed shortly afterward, as Maedhros stared blankly and Fëanor closed his jaw, hoping no one had seen it drop. "How could he—"

Turning, he surveyed Maedhros. "I believe you had best know this."

"I concur," the stunned elf mumbled dazedly, eyes wide. Then he forced himself to focus. "What has transpired?"

"They have defeated the demon. Yet in so doing, Lucemon has transformed himself into a being of such great evil that—"

Namo was cut off as Fëanor laughed, a barking, derisive half-snort. "So even your grand plans can have unforeseen consequences, can they? Yet I have long known that one was not to be trusted. You are receiving only what you deserve."

"As did those who chose to follow you, Curufinwe," intoned the Vala, apparently trying to make up for his earlier break in dignity. "Your comrades shall not be capable of handling this themselves. I had best intervene…"

"No," said Maedhros.

Both stared at him: jaw clenched, eyes set, a hidden fire simmering within, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "What mean you?" asked Namo. "They cannot—"

"We—my companions and I--are in our unfortunate situation because we chose to fall. If we are to redeem ourselves, it must be through our choices as well. This is where I erred, Father, when I coerced you into joining me in this brotherhood. I cannot force you to tear the veil from your eyes, nor should I." He smiled. "This I realized as I sat there waiting. Yes, I still believe you fell, and yes, through my decisions I fell with you and for you. Yet it was my choice. And, should Time turn back its ever-flowing streams, I could not make any other decision. You have damned me forever, Father, and many times I disobeyed your commands of my own free will, and many times I have in the secrecy of my chambers cursed you along with myself. Yet you are still my father, my leader. And I…I still love you."

This confession merited not a single whit on Fëanor's face. "And how does this aid your compatriots?" he asked unfeelingly. "How do you propose to save them? With your love? Ha!" He sneered.

"I mean that, if we are to triumph, we must do so without truly divine intervention. Therefore, Lord Namo, if anyone is to be sent, send me. For I am one of them, their leader, and I have let them down. For the sake of my own glory, I sacrificed myself, and I beg of you, give me another chance. Let not the Valar redeem us. Let us do it ourselves, lest the results not be complete." He bowed and drew his sword. "And if I die this time, let it be for forever."

Namo, head bowed, considered this. "I understand and agree. Yet you have done your share. I shall consider this a test."

He pointed not at Maedhros but at Fëanor. "I shall send Curufinwe. Should you succeed, though the Curse on your House holds, you shall not be punished for your second infraction."

"What!" Fëanor exclaimed as he slowly faded from view. Maedhros smiled again, only a bit wryly this time. For some reason, he felt the Vala had somehow missed the point.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

a/n: I know, I know. What can Fëanor do that the others can't? Wait and see. Ken still has, remember, that handy pair of goggles, and Raistlin knows how to fight dragons. That's all I'm going to say.

Sorry this one wasn't funny, and sorry Namo was so OOC.

Oh! I almost forgot! Soon I shall be publishing to the Internet a Recovering webcomic, "Perfect World," about six of the guys stuck in an American high school with Fëanor's wife, Raistlin's ex-girlfriend, and a rather irate former goddess of absolute evil.

I also can't decide if I'm going to do both parts of "Worlds Apart" on here. The first part kind of has gotten swallowed by the webcomic. How much would everyone care if I pared down the cast a bit? And who should go? It makes me so sad to say it, but the cast is getting ridiculous. There's too many people to do good character interactions. Waah.

Keep reading; the grand finale of this is coming soon!