Chapter 17 - Brothers and Kings

'Maitimo will need you. Be his right arm, as you were mine.'

That is what my father said to me before he died.


Middle Earth
Age of Trees 4997

Fëanor was gone, and now, so was Maedhros. In the span of a few weeks Maglor had become king. It was not a task he had ever imagined would fall to him, for the elves were immortal and death was a thing largely unheard of across the sea. But Maglor was fourth in line to kingship, and now that his fathers and brother were gone, it was he who wore the crown. The remaining sons of Fëanor were not all pleased with this turn of events.

Maglor knew he should not have been surprised, but still it angered him. This was his first command to them, and already his brothers were arguing.

"Father would not fall back!" Curufin shouted.

"I am not father," Maglor answered without raising his voice.

"Then you care not for the oath we swore," Caranthir accused of him.

Maglor glared at him, but continued to respond calmly. "The oath does not call on me to risk the lives of our people when we are yet vulnerable," he said. "An attack now would be the death of us all."

Celegorm spoke then, his voice leaden with scorn. "You think you know better than father, than Maitimo?"

Maglor rounded on Celegorm, his patience wearing thin. "I am still alive," Maglor answered pointedly, "and I told Maitimo it was a foolish plan to feign treat with Morgoth. He would not listen!"

"And yet he may still be alive, if Morgoth's messengers speak true," Celegorm said. "And you would leave him in torment!"

Maglor's anger boiled at his brother's accusation. "Maitimo is my brother, and I love him, but I cannot let that color my decision." He took a step closer to Celegorm. "A king must lead his people with his head, not his heart. That was father's folly."

"Or perhaps you care more for that crown than our brother's life," Curufin muttered.

That was the breaking point. Maglor had had enough of his brothers, and Curufin had taken the argument one step too far. Without so much as a warning, Maglor grabbed Curufin by his throat and slammed him into the tent pole. He held his younger brother fast, so that he struggled for breath. Neither Celegorm nor Caranthir moved to aid him, for they were stunned by their elder's actions. Never before had Maglor used physical violence against his brothers, and the sight was disturbing enough to cow them all.

"Have you something to say to me, Curufinwë?" Maglor hissed mere inches from his brother's face. Of all his brothers, Maglor trusted Curufin least. He was too much like their father for any great love to exist between them. And more importantly, Maglor knew that if he was to control Celegorm and Caranthir, he would need Curufin to submit first.

Curufin sputtered and Maglor loosened his grip so he could speak. "No," he gasped.

When Maglor was certain the defeat he saw in his brother's eyes was real, he released him and stepped away. "Good," Maglor barked. And then to the others, said, "Spread the word, we return to Mithrim, we need shelter and a place of strength from which to keep watch on our enemy." Curufin, Celegorm and Caranthir were not happy with the decision, but they obeyed his command.

After they departed, Maglor found himself alone with the Ambarussa. They had grown quiet since their father was killed and Maedhros taken. The pair were still very young by the measure of elves and had witnessed far too many horrors in a short span of time. They needed comfort and guidance, and Maglor was not certain he could offer them either. Still, he waited patiently for his youngest brothers to share their thoughts.

Amrod seated himself on a makeshift chair and Amras dropped to the floor beside him. They looked at each other briefly, before addressing Maglor.

"Maka," the two voices said in unison.

"Yes, Ambarussa," he replied.

"The Valar have truly forsaken us," Amrod said.

"Haven't they?" Amras completed.

Their question pained Maglor to the depths of his soul. He did not want to tell them the answer, or let it pass from his thoughts to the open air. But what could he say to them that would be a comfort? What did they need to hear? Maglor drew closer to his brothers. He laid one hand on Amrod's shoulder, and the other on Amras' head. "We do not need the Valar," he told them. "We have each other."

But the words sounded hollow, even to Maglor's ears.


Middle Earth
First Age 5

Despite Fingon's warnings, Maglor was not prepared for the sight of his brother. He was barely able to recognize the frail, wraith-like form as Maedhros. He was a corpse, all bone and sinew with cheeks and eyes sunken in. His flaming red hair, once so thick and vibrant, had thinned. Matted locks hung dull and limp around his face. Maglor was afraid to touch him, afraid that if he did so the figure would crumble to dust. But he had to touch him, had to know this was real, that the creature Fingon carried back with him from Angband was truly his brother.

Maglor sat upon the bed. He peered down at Maedhros and caressed his face. Maedhros stirred. His eyes fluttered open, but it was a long time before he recognized Maglor's face.

"Makalaurë," Maedhros said. His voice was coarse like gravel.

Any doubt Maglor had of the elf's identity vanished instantly from his mind when those eyes locked with his. "I'm here," Maglor said.

"Where?" Maedhros asked.

Maglor stroked his brother's matted hair. "At Mithrim," he said. "Findekáno brought you back to us."

Maedhros' eyes clouded at that. "Findekáno?"

Maglor could see the confusion in his brother's eyes and it was cause for great concern. Fingon had spent the last few weeks caring for Maedhros. He carried him all the way from Angband to their fortress on the lake. How could Maedhros not remember? "Yes," he said slowly. "He crossed the Halcaraxë with his father's people. He went in search of you. He cut you down from the mountain. Do you not remember?"

Maedhros' eyes moved to the ceiling. The effort required to recall anything was immense. "I heard … singing," he said at last. He lifted his hands to his head in an effort to focus, only to find his right limb bandaged and a length short. "My hand," he said.

Maglor's breath caught in his throat. Fingon had warned him of how he had been forced to free Maedhros. "It was the only way he could free you," Maglor said.

Maedhros' gaze returned to his brother. His eyes were focused now, fixed upon some nearly forgotten memory. He shook his head, ever so slightly. "Not the only way," he said.

Maglor swallowed hard. Fingon had told him that part, too – how Maedhros had begged him to end his life. "Maitimo," Maglor began, but Maedhros interrupted him.

"How long?" he asked.

Maglor's eyes grew dark. The shame of the answer brought tears to his eyes. "Near thirty-five years of the sun," he replied.

Maedhros' gaze turned inward. He remembered the rock, the lines he had drawn to measure time's passing. "I lost count," he said.

Maglor continued to stroke his brother's hair as his tears fell. "It does not matter now," he said. "You are here, and we will make you whole again."

The haunted expression on Maedhros' face said otherwise. "Never whole," Maedhros said, "never again."

Maglor shut his eyes and shook his head. "Do not say such things," he replied forcefully. "You will be King of the Noldor again."

Maedhros lifted his left hand to his brother's cheek and wiped away his tears. "No," he said to Maglor.

Maglor, startled by the contact, opened his eyes to find his brother watching him. "Why, no?" he asked.

"Cannot be king," Maedhros replied.

"Why not?" Maglor asked again.

Maedhros breathed a tired sigh and closed his eyes before he whispered, "The mountain. Pieces of me ... remain ... on the mountain." The effort of speaking drained him, and with those words, Maedhros drifted off to sleep.

Maglor's grief overwhelmed him and he wept over his brother's ravaged body deep into the night. "Forgive me," he repeated time and again, but despite his cries, Maglor believed in his heart that no one, not Maedhros or Ilúvatar, nor any spirit or Vala, had the power to grant him absolution.


The mood at Fingolfin's coronation celebration was cautiously optimistic. It was not surprising that Fingolfin's people rejoiced more enthusiastically than those who maintained loyalty to the sons of Fëanor. Curufin and Caranthir were still furious. They had argued long with their elder brothers over the matter, believing that Celegorm should reign if Maedhros and Maglor were not up to the task. Celegorm, himself, said nothing, and that alone spoke of the depths of his rage.

An hour or so into the reception Maglor found himself alone with Fingolfin. His uncle had come upon him while he was keeping a furtive eye on Maedhros, who sat now, speaking with Fingon. They had renewed their friendship in the long months of Maedhros' recovery and after all that had passed, Maglor thought it a blessing to see their friendship blossom again.

Fingolfin followed Maglor's gaze to his brother. "How is he?" he asked.

Maglor hesitated with his answer. He did not wish to betray his brother's secrets. "You have spoken to him ... my king." The last he added as an afterthought. Calling another 'king' would take some getting used to.

"How is he?" Fingolfin repeated. This time it was a command not a request, but the emotion in his uncle's voice told Maglor he asked out of concern.

Maglor watched his brother and Fingon laugh together. He could almost imagine the vision was one from their happy days in Valinor. It was a lie. They were not the same as before, Maedhros least of all. Maglor's older brother hid his pain well, too well, but it rose up time and again to consume him. Maedhros had told him more than once that there were pieces of himself he had lost forever, but Maglor had not wanted to believe him in the beginning. And yet, as time passed, Maglor began to realize the truth of it – Maedhros would never be whole again.

"He is ... shattered," Maglor answered after a time. "He could not keep the crown."

Fingolfin nodded. It was no less than Fingon had confided to him. "You could have kept it, Makalaurë," he said. "You ruled wisely in your brother's stead."

Maglor did not agree with either of his uncle's assertions. He shook his head. "Who will watch over Maitimo if I am king?"

Fingolfin heard all the many things Maglor left unspoken with that one question. He knew Maglor blamed himself for his brother's fate, and it was a burden Fingolfin did not believe his nephew should bear. He knew, also, that nothing he said would ease Maglor's pain, but he made the attempt anyway. "What happened to your brother is not your fault," he said.

Maglor laughed humorlessly in the face of his uncle and king. "There is no one else to blame," he said.

Fingolfin laid a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "There was no way you could have known he was alive or where to find him," he said.

Fingolfin spoke the truth of it, but it made Maglor's burden of guilt not one ounce lighter. "Findekáno did not wait for such knowledge," he replied.

Fingolfin glanced at Fingon instinctively. He had been furious when he learned his son set out for Angband without his knowledge. It had all ended well, but his heart still ached at the thought of losing his firstborn. "My son could just as easily have ended up in Morgoth's hands," he replied.

This truth, too, gave Maglor no comfort, for the dangers Fingon had faced should have been his. "It was my duty to save him," he said.

"No." Fingolfin's voice was firm. "As king, it was your duty to lead your people, to see to their safety. A king does not risk the lives of thousands for one ellon."

Maglor exhaled deeply. "I know," he said, his gaze falling once more on his brother, "that is why I cannot be king."


A/N: If you want to understand Maedhros' suffering from his POV read 35 Years of the Sun. It will explain what thirty-five years of torment has done to his mind.