Hello everyone!

this one shot is a bit special because it takes place in the universe of Headwinds, a fan fiction on which I'm currently working and which hasn't been posted yet. It'll take place from the late Second Age to mid Third Age, so mostly a Lord of the Rings timeline. That's why I posted this story in the LOTR section and not in the Silmarillion. It'll be a story centered on Thranduil and an original character I created for the occasion.

Aftermath is here to introduce this original character. I'm rather proud of this text, so I wanted to share it with you. Annelin is the daughter of Maglor, second son of Fëanor. Tolkien, in his not published in the History of Middle Earth, wrote that Maglor was married to an unknown elfe. So I imagined a child born from this union. I have to admit that I'm writing Headwinds mainly for my own enjoyment (I love playing with the idea of a couple between Thranduil and a fëanorian, don't judge), but I hope some of you will enjoy reading this story.

The few lines of dialogue in this fic are in quenya, you'll find the translation at the end of the story, plus further historical notes on events and names which can help you if you haven't read the Silmarillion. This story contains graphic depiction of violence, death, blood and the manifestation of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If you're not comfortable with those things, please take care of yourself.

Enjoy your reading and feel free to drop a review, it'll be much appreciated.

Timeline: First Age, following the Second Kinslaying in Doriath

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence, death, suicide, PTSd

Disclaimer: Middle Earth (characters, languages, places, etc) belongs to JRR Tolkien and his

oOo

Himring, Eastern Beleriand

Year 506, First Age

The sky was gray over Himring, a cover of clouds so tick that one could wonder if the sun was even shining beyond. Annelin was standing by the window of her room, looking at the busy elves in the courtyard down below, without really seeing them. A cold wind was blowing, entering the room, but the elleth could not care less. She was now used to the harsh climate of that region.

They had been riding with hast for the most part of the previous days, letting behind them what had been, until no so long ago, the underground city of Menegroth. As soon as they had reached the last remaining Fëanorian stronghold, Annelin had locked herself in her room. She knew her help to put order in their ranks or heal the wounded would have been welcome, she yet could not face the guilt filled eyes of the members of her house. Not when they reflected her own guilt.

Images appeared before her eyes, and she could not stop them. Images of a burning city, of terrified elves running in all directions to escape the Fëanorians who had come to invade their home. She could see herself, leading a small group of soldiers, walking the corridors of the Doriathrin capital, seeking for that treasure which was once more denied to them. She remembered her kin, killing on behalf of an oath they had not sworn themselves, but led by the loyalty for the Lords of their House and, even maybe, out of loyalty for Fëanor, that ellon who had been their King for a brief time of their eternity. That king they had followed to Middle Earth of which they knew nothing at the time.

But aside the terrified people of Doriath, what Annelin could not forget was herself. Herself piercing with her sword any elf, man, woman or child, who dared to confront them, who stood between their troops and what was rightfully theirs. Empowered by her uncle Celegorm's speech, about their duty to claim what belonged to them, that treasure for which so many of them had already lost their lives, she had followed. Because she could not understand why they kept denying them the Silmaril. Did not they understand the longer they would refuse, greater the wrath of the Sons of Fëanor would be and would cost lives?

And that was what happened. A new massacre had been perpetrated, many lives taken. Once again the jewel had escaped them. Such a waste of lives which would never be given back, so many existences cut short with their blades and arrows. All this out of a desire to possess which had no equal.

As the state of pure chock following the attack had started to fade, Annelin did not like what she discovered instead. She had not found rest ever since, for every time she closed her eyes images of death flooded her mind, and a whistling voice repeated endlessly: «It is your fault, your doing; you killed them. All of them». Those words echoed in her mind, in a haunting litany, accompanied by waves of self-disgust so strong they became physically painful. She often had to repress tearless sobs and spasms of pain, as if her spirit could not bear to remain in a body which had perpetrated such atrocities.

And the blood… all that blood, red and tick, flooding the main square of Menegroth. That blood reminded her of a distant memory, blood like the one who had covered the streets of Alqualondë and stained the water of the fountains with morbid purple. She did not take part to the First Kinslaying, she was far too young, still thirty years away from her majority. But her eyes remembered all those corpses, all that filthy scarlet enshrouding the silver hair of the Teleri in a contrast which still made her sick to the stomach, even centuries later. She remembered the air was reeking of death, even if elven corpses did not rot like the bodies of mortal men. Death floated everywhere around them, while, surrounded by the members of the host of Fingolfin she had joined after her father, uncles and grand-father's departure, trying to reunite with the Fêanorians in the port of Alqualondë. Nothing could be heard but a complete and imperious silence. Even the noise of the waves had stopped, as if nature itself did not dare to make a sound before the atrocity of that vision. And Annelin, only aged seventy years at the time, did not understand. Death was an unfamiliar concept for those who, like herself, were born and raised in Aman, in the Blessed Realm where no shadow had ever entered before the destruction of the Two Trees and the murder of her great-grandfather Finwë at the hand of Morgoth.

Since, she had grown up and got through many battles and losses. She had almost become accustomed to death. A bit too accustomed, maybe. She had killed, too. She still remembered the first enemy she had slain, it was an orc of Morgoth, a servant of evil. But that memory was still vivid because she had grown in the peace of Valinor, believing that each life counted. However, war and the will to survive had hardened her heart.

That time was different, though. She had killed other elves, her kin. She yet had held no gruge against the inhabitants of Doriath. She had gone there, once before, to visit her cousin Artanis, now known as Galadriel. And the doriathrin had greeted her, if with a bit of mistrust, with only good intentions in their hearts. Even King Thingol had received her, despite of her family's deeds and the slaying of the Teleri, Thingol's distant relatives. She had let herself be convinced though, by the vengeful folly of her clan, and had taken part to that battle. Now that folly had passed, she realized the tragedy of their acts.

It was true the Fëanorians were known to be quick to anger, revenge and violence, especially the direct descendants of Fëanor, like Annelin. But she had believed, given that she had not sworn that cursed oath which had been tormenting her father and her uncles for all those years, that the thirst to possess the Silmarils would spare her. She did not want the jewels for herself. She had only vague memories of them, at the time they all lived in Valinor and when, on rare occasions, her grandfather wore and displayed his most priced creations. A part of her wished to lay eyes on the Silmarils once again, to see the last remains of the light of Telperion and Laurelin. Her heart lingered for that light the sun and the moon could never equal. However, what she desired above all things was that someone gave the jewels back to them, to forever appease the call of the oath which tortured her father. She knew that each elven life he took was for the sake of that promise. He had been against the idea of attacking Doriath. He had never recovered from the events in Alqualondë, even more than his brothers because his wife, Annelin's mother, was born among the Teleri. But Celegorm had eventually convinced Maglor. He had convinced them all. And Annelin had followed, as she had always followed her father, no matter the battles he fought. Because Annelin was loyal. Too loyal, beyond reason. Like everything her blood kin did, she acted with passion, without restrain. And now that she was experiencing that guilt and that distaste of herself, she wanted it all to stop.

Let those cursed jewels be destroyed. Or given back to them. But she wanted it all to stop.

She noticed she started sobbing again only when one spasm, especially painful, turned her stomach upside down. She gritted her teeth, trying not to be overwhelmed by tears. She did not have the right to cry. Not when she was one of the causes for all those deaths. She had of course lost a lot today, the deaths of her uncles Celegorm, Curufin and Carantir was another blow to her family. She yet could not let herself cry. Even if it hurt.

Annelin was suddenly brought back to reality when she heard knocks at her door. She angrily wiped away the treacherous tears that had escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, and she allowed her visitor to enter. She realized her voice was hoarse with sobs.

The door opened, and Annelin saw her father on the threshold of the room. Maglor had traded his armor for a tunic and pants that had seen better days. His long black hair was pulled in a long braid in his back, and his gray eyes were devoid of the flame that usually burned in there. Dark circles underlined his gaze, and Annelin could immediately perceive the weight of the emotions which troubled him. Pain, grief and guilt vied for first place in his heart. And all those feelings, Annelin had noticed them all. Because she knew him by heart.

They remained there in silence, not knowing how to react in front of the other. Annelin saw her father clenching his fists in restrained anger, and she wondered where that anger came from. Was it directed at himself, to have dragged her in all that mess, only because she was his daughter? She knew her father had always blamed himself for all that she had to bear since they left Aman; Alqualondë, where she lost family members on her mother's side, the war against Morgoth… She was sometimes angry with him. Often, even. Those past years especially, when she had seen him drift away from her. She had even hated him, in a way.

And at that instant, after what they had just gone through, she no longer knew what to think. Her father was her world, the only true family she had left there in Middle Earth, when she might never be able to go back to Valinor and see her mother again. There were days she hated him, for following Fëanor, for taking that cursed oath. She resented him for being so weak in front of the Silmarils, because of which they were there now.

And yet, there she remained. When her cousin Celebrimbor had repudiated his father Curufin and his affiliations with the House of Fëanor, she still felt pride to be part of that great line of the Noldor, the greatest before the madness of her grandfather put an end to their glory.

Annelin eventually looked away, no longer bearing neither the torment in her father's silver eyes, nore the turmoil raging inside her. Should she yell at him? Should she comfort him after he lost three of his brothers? Or should she show him only cold anger, an icy resentment and keep him away from her, so what just happened would never happen again? SO she would never be involved in the meaningless and endless quest for the Silmarils?

Should she leave? But where to go?

Once more, grief washed over her. She was no longer in control of her body or feelings. It was maybe the way her fëa coped with all that guilt. Maybe it was the only way to express that maelstrom of emotions which overwhelmed her. She had heard men saying the Eldar felt everything more strongly. It could be true. They could die from grief, after all.

«Anna…»

Her father just whispered the name, his voice broken. For one moment, she could not believe it was the same voice, powerful and strong, who had given orders during the battles ofBeleriand. It was no longer the voice of a lord, a prince. It was the voice of a broken elf, bending over the weight of grief and guilt. It was no longer Maglor Fëanorion, known for his bravery. It was no longer Kanafinwë, Prince of the Noldor, who had gifted the court of Tirion with his enchanting song and his unsurpassed talent for music. It was an ellon who had seen and committed to much atrocities. But an ellon who was still standing.

«Selman mana?»

Why? It was the first word that had come to her mind. It was the question she asked, but which was not intended for anyone in particular. Not for herself, not for her father. Not, even, for the Valar. Because she both knew and did not knew the answer. Because she could find a dozen reasons; the Oath of Fëanor, the legendary pride of the Noldor, her loyalty to her father. But none of them could justify what they had done.

«Selman mana, Atto?»

Her voice broke in a sob this time, and she felt like the little girl who, centuries ago, had asked her mother the same question, right after the destruction of the Two Trees and the murder of her great-grandfather. After Fëanor had taken Maglor from them, that husband and father whom they loved more than anything, even if Annelin had ended up joining him, to the utter chagrin of Lindearië. It was the same question she had asked her father when she was a bit older, after her beloved uncle Maedhros had been released from Thangorodrim. After all the suffering he had endured at the hand of Morgoth. In vain.

She asked this same question again, because she had not yet found a satisfactory answer. And because, deep down, despite her misplaced pride, she was still that little girl in need of the warmth of a parental embrace, to forget the pain of the outside world for a while, protected by the love of her father.

Maglor had crossed the distance which still separated him from his daughter, before holding her in his arms. Annelin initially tried to push him away because, despite of her need for comfort, she was angry with him. It was his fault, after all. It was all his fault. Her father tried to held her closer, but she struggled, hitting his chest with her clenched fists, with the strength of despair. And she was repeating the same question over and over again; why, why, why?

She eventually let go, let all the pain and grief wash over her, and she wept in her father's arms, like she had not done in centuries. And Maglor cried, too, before the distress of what he hold dearest in the world, his daughter, the only remaining part of his wife on that side of the sea.

He whispered in her hair, in answer to Annelin's never ending whys: «Anin absene. Anin absene, yelia.»

Forgive me. Forgive me, my daughter.

oOo

Translations:

Annelin: sindarized version of her mother name in Quenya, Annalindë. It means gift of song.

Silmarils: three jewels forged by Fëanor and containing the last light of the Two Trees of Valinor, which had been destroyed before the First Age. Morgoth stole them and brought them back to Middle Earth. Fëanor and his seven sons, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Carantir, Curufin, Amrod and Amrath swore the Oath of Fëanor, on Eru's name they promised to take back the Silmarils, even if they had to fight against other creatures, either elves, valar, maïar or anyone else.

Aman: western continent where Valinor/The Undying Lands are located.

Melkor: original name of Morgoth, first Dark Lord and master of Sauron.

Fëanaro (quenya) : Feänor's mother name, meaning Spirit of Fire.

Fëa (Q): soul or spirit. In Tolkien's legendarium, the fëa of an elf is immortal, their spirit bound to Arda (Earth) as their whoa (body) could be killed or faded away after a very long time. A new body was given to the elves who died, their fëa went to the Hall of Mandos with the souls of the deads and they would be renbodied and live ever after in Valinor.

Anna (Q): Annelin's nickname after her quenya name Annalindë, used by her family and close relatives.

Elleth (sindarin): female elf

Ellon (s) male elf

Selman mana (Q): why?

Atto (Q): daddy

Lindearië (Q): Maglor's wife and Annelin's mother, her name means music of the sea. She is from the people of the Teleri.

Laurelin and Telperion are the two Trees of Valinor that illuminated Arda before the rise of the sun and moon. Middle Earth only knew the light of the stars, but the elves living in the Undying Lands with the Valar lived in the golden light of Laurelin and the silver light of Telperion, this light was blessed and loved by all the inhabitants of Valinor. Morgoth destroyed the two trees, the Noldor fled from Valinor back to ME and the sun and the moon were born from the last fruit of Laurelin and the last flower of Telperion.

The teleri are one of the three people of the elves that awoke on the shores of lake Cuiviénen during the Years of the Trees. They were the largest of the three people and some of them remained behind during the migration of the Eldar to Valinor. Some later became the Nandor (or the wood elves) and lived in the Second and Third Age in Greenwood and Lórien. Some others who passed the Misty Mountains became the sindar, from which Celeborn, Amdír, Oropher and Thranduil came from. Some more stopped at the shores of Beleriand, becoming the falathrim or the people of Círdan who later lived in Lindon and the Gray Havens. The rest reached Valinor and established the city of Alqualondë. It was where the first kinslaying took place. The Noldor, led by Fëanor, arrived and demanded from the Teleri they gave their ships to allow them passage to Middle Earth. The teleri refused, things escalated, noldor tried to steal the ships, teleri shooted them in ripost and the noldor drew their swords to defend themselves and killed many teleri in the prossess. In the middle of that mess, other noldor arrived, led by Fingolfin, and joined Fëanor's host, believing the teleri were the attackers. Then Fëanor's followers took the ships, crossed the sea and arrived to Middle Earth. Fëanor ordered the ships to be burned, forcing Fingolfin's host still in Aman to cross the Helcaraxë or the desert of grinding ice, you can imagine with this name that the place wasn't nice.