A/N Something I wrote long time ago and was meaning to do more with it-not expecting to do more for any of my work in the near future. "What if Fingon got captured too or died?" Who knows, might start a new trend.
It was a fool's errand.
No one never expected it to succeed once they figured out what Fingon had done. He said nothing to anyone, merely vanished, after he learned what became of his cousin.
Fingolfin took in a shuddering breath to keep himself together. Five months, five months…and nothing. Something was nagging at the back of his head so hard he thought he would kill himself. He had lost enough already: must he lose his eldest too?
"It is just, for our rebellion," Fingolfin murmured to the air and bowed his head. "But please show mercy! Show me how we can be set on the right path again!" His voice got quieter, "Please return my son to me."
Someone walked into the chamber and the second son of Finwë turned his head wearily. There stood his daughter with tears in her eyes.
"A-atar," she said brokenly. "You have to see this."
Fingolfin immediately rose and rushed by his daughter. Standing outside he heard murmurs and some weeping in the settlement. Turgon stood numbly before the horse and he held something in his hands. The remaining son of Fingolfin slowly looked up at his father.
Turgon said nothing and held out the bundle: hair, cloth, and the harp. All bloodstained.
Fingolfin felt his entire being go numb and his feet developed minds of their own. He took the bundle and held it close ere he fell to his knees and wept his heart out, repeating his dead son's name.
Unease grew in Maglor's heart the longer they sat in council. It was more of being in each other's presence than actually discussing anything. But the remaining five sons of Fëanor had heard the news two days ago.
Fingon was most likely dead; along with Maedhros…or being tormented right now in the bowels of Angband.
Maglor felt overwhelming guilt flood through his soul as his fingers fidgeted under the table. How he wished he could have been there to dissuade his cousin that he did not have to go. That Maedhros is probably dead, and that Fingon was going on a suicide mission. But the love and loyalty Maglor's older brother and cousin shared…he envied Fingon; envied Maedhros and hated himself. He did not possess that undying loyalty…when he should have.
There was commotion outside and Caranthir and Celegorm slipped out to investigate. Amras and Curufin were left in the chamber, but Maglor took no comfort in their company. All the second-eldest could think about was what was happening outside.
Caranthir and Celegorm barged right back in. "Ñolofinwë's elite are right outside our gate." The dark-one said loudly.
Maglor looked up, and he kept his anxiety out of his voice. "What do they want?"
"Want?!" Celegorm barked. "They are here to apprehend you!"
Everyone else stilled in the room, and Maglor pressed his fingers into his knees as if that would stop the shaking. So, his fears were true.
Fingolfin was seeking retribution.
Curufin jumped on the argument. "A rather dangerous move on our uncle's part. He is committing treason to want to lay hands on the king!"
'Have we not already committed treason enough?' Maglor thought.
"His whole host supports this," Caranthir said angrily. "What do they hope to achieve: to become the brutes that took our father and brother, and Ñolofinwë's heir?"
'Yet we caused them more pain than they did us…' Maglor continued his musings.
"If they want a bloodshed, then I say we give it to them," Curufin rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"That cannot be the answer," Amras finally said.
"What other answer is there? We are not surrendering the king to them for the death of an idiot-"
"Do not dare speak of Findekáno that way," Maglor said dangerously and slammed his hands on the table as he arose in his full glory.
The rest of his brothers turned to him. Curufin growled lowly. "Forgive me my rashness, though they will not get what they seek with us here."
"It is not for you to decide," Maglor bit out.
Celegorm sputtered. "Why would you willingly go with these ruffians? Do you not understand what our uncle might do to you?"
"What they desire of me is fair payment for the blood on our hands: the blood of their people that we had ripped from them for coercing them into following us, and then throwing them to the mercy of the ice." Maglor gripped the edge of the table as he fought to keep himself in control. "Findekáno's loyalty to our brother…none of us understand. They have lost more than we have, and they want payment of the debt we desperately owe them." Maglor sighed. "I have not been a good king anyway."
"None of us are suited either," Caranthir hissed. "But they will become as low as we are if you let this happen. Another shift of the crown will cause too much turbulence."
"I will demand my own retribution if you go and they slay you," Celegorm declared, borderline a promise. "Why not keep the bloodshed to a minimum instead of leaving us to clean up your mess."
Maglor smiled a cold smile and shook his head. "None of you get it…None of us will have the crown when I am done."
Everyone but Amras became alarmed.
"You do not mean-" Caranthir began.
"Oh yes, I do," Maglor answered tiredly. "You will all be under our uncle's rule whether I am dead or not."
"This is madness," Curufin cried out. "It is a dishonor to our father!"
"He is dead," Maglor snapped. "And I do not care what some disrespect might do to his dead soul: I am the heir, and I decide what we do with our inheritance. We are not capable enough to fight our enemy, and if our closest ally chooses to rebel against us when we so desperately need unity, where would we be then?" He shook his head and took the crown off, letting it clatter against the hard surface of the table. "I can at least show our lord the respect he deserves for the price we forced him to pay. I can at least respect what Findekáno attempted that which we did not. For if he had succeeded, we would have our brother back. And to be fair, that is more than we ever deserve."
Maglor challenged with his eyes that the others would speak up again. They did not, for his message was clear and they became subdued. Curufin looked away while Caranthir seemed disappointed, and Celegorm was livid.
The regent sighed and picked up the crown, but he did not place it on his head again. "Come Amras, you are the only one I can trust that will not lose his head when I face our uncle."
The redhead looked saddened and very confused by the whole thing, but he obeyed without comment.
"I expect no slaughter nor rebellion from any of you, no matter what happens. That is my last decree." Maglor warned and exited the chamber.
What was once five, now remained three, and the fierier tempered sons were left bewildered and hurt.
The elite only ordered that he come quietly and were not too fond of Amras coming. But the red-head said it was at the order of the king. The guards did not want to test their luck any further, as the rest of Fëanor's host was watching, and tensions were even higher. Though seeing Maglor calm and collected stayed their hand, even though they did not like it one bit, and feared what might happen at the hand of Finwë's second son.
They approached the house, but they were not permitted in.
"He cannot go any further than this," one of them gestured to Amras grimly.
Maglor frowned. "My brother is only here to witness this meeting. He will not cause any trouble-"
"How can we trust him not to lose his temper like the rest of your lot?"
Amras stepped in finally. "I would not trust myself either…this far has been enough." He looked to Maglor. "If I may have a few words with my lord before you go in."
Maglor turned his eyes to the guard, the intensity of the stare drowning out any appearance of pleading. Much to the regent-king's relief, the elite stepped away out of earshot to let the two brothers alone.
Amras' disposition began to crumble. "I do not think I can handle losing three brothers…" he looked at Maglor seeking answers, an expression of "why?" written all over. "Are you sure this is the answer?"
"It is the only answer that is clear to me on such short notice," Maglor answered in a low subdued voice. "Any more delay will only stir hesitation and greater strife. We cannot afford that." He sighed, placing a hand on the twin's shoulder. "I am not Maitimo…and I am not father either. I suppose my patience can finally be a blessing to us now, even if it is painful."
Amras wrapped his arms around his brother. "I love you, Maka…I wish it did not have to end this way."
Maglor returned the hug, blinking back some of the tears. "I love you too, and the others, even though they do not see that right now."
Amras withdrew as the elite approached again. The redhead stood outside the circle as Maglor was surrounded. The great doors opened, and the procession went in, leaving the twin to anticipate what would happen and to beseech whatever mercy could be found on their condemned household.
Maglor kept his outward calm about him while his heart throbbed in his chest. The crown felt slick in his hand the more he worried. The last time they had met with Fingolfin was months ago, to help get his people back on their feet with whatever few resources they could spare. The short amount of time it took for Fingolfin's host to establish themselves on their side of the lake stilled Maglor into inaction.
And now he was going to pay for that inaction.
Before Maglor could fully register where he was, he found himself in the meeting hall. The table had been removed, and Fingolfin sat in his great chair surrounded by Turgon and Aredhel. Maglor expected Fingon's widow to be there, but he understood why Síwen may not have wanted to be present.
The second son of Fëanor had no time to think of what to say or to do, save for one. With his eyes cast to the ground, he got on his knees.
"Why now this sudden act of reverence?" Fingolfin's voice sounded coldly in the hall. "You were perfectly content to remain in your settlement undisturbed once you were sound of mind that we would not die."
Maglor said nothing.
Fingolfin narrowed his eyes. "And the regent is at a loss for words. Allow me to help you, as you have so kindly helped us." He said tightly. "I am holding you accountable for all the misfortune that has fallen upon my people, as your father is not here to hold that responsibility. How do you plead?"
Maglor's heart pounded and he twisted the crown in his hand. "I will not seek to defend any shred of innocence I may have left, or that of my house. But if it please my lord that he shows mercy to even the undeserving…" He set the jeweled headpiece on the ground before him. "Do what you will with me, that the debt will be paid, but let not your wrath fall upon my family and people."
Fingolfin stood up. "Is that all you have to offer me?" He asked dangerously as he stepped closer. "The crown stained with the blood of the innocent? And how, will that restore all the lives you have taken, abandoned, SLAUGHTERED!"
Maglor gripped the rug and shut his eyes and Fingolfin kicked the headpiece across the floor.
"I regret ever making that oath to my brother: that where he went that I would follow." Fingolfin's voice was raised. "Had I seen what carnage would result, what devastation would come upon us for our folly, I would have left him to the mercy of the Valar." The second son of Finwë stood before Maglor, whom by now had pressed his forehead into the floor in fear. "And all you have to offer me is lordship of the damned."
"I offer my life before my lord," Maglor pleaded into the floor. "I have indeed robbed you of those precious to you and to your people, and though my blood cannot cover the sea of thousands, let it appease you!" He dared to lift his head up. "Let not your wrath ruin what you too have come so far-"
Fingolfin scoffed. "I will have no part in this war for those jewels. Not after this."
"And let the dark one laugh at our division? Not only would my house be made further fools, but so would yours. Let not your wrath destroy whatever unity that can still be salvaged. My life, the crown-whatever you demand, but do not let our hosts fall into a war of their own!"
Maglor stiffened when he felt the cold touch of a blade press against his jugular. This was it… 'Eru, please have mercy on my corrupted soul.'
"I would have your blood and that of the remaining brothers to fulfill the debt," Fingolfin said lowly. "You have no backbone, Makalaurë-you should be ashamed."
Maglor did feel ashamed, and the solitary tear that ran down his face testified of it.
The blade was removed, and Maglor looked up in shock and apprehension. Fingolfin still regarded him with a hard and cold expression. "But that gullibility as well as your sound mind is your only redeeming qualities. I almost pity you, that your father never appreciated that as much as he should have."
Maglor shrunk back a little at the memories: the looks of disappointment and lack of enthusiasm for the vocation Maglor chose to pursue.
"I feel like you were coerced into this whole disaster like the rest of us. And for one such as you, it is a waste to be with the animals."
Maglor wanted to deny that. He had willingly gone on this sojourn. Foolishly perhaps, but when he swore that oath in Tirion, he had committed to it from start to end. But to say that now would ruin everything…and so he stayed silent.
Fingolfin returned the blade to its sheathe. "I accept your treaty for peace and your abdication. However, I demand one last thing of you."
"Whatever will please my lord," Maglor whispered meekly.
"You will renounce all kinship to that of Fëanáro and swear fealty to my house. You will be as a son to me. As he has robbed me of my eldest, it would be fair that I take his living one in return."
Maglor's heart stopped and he felt woozy. To renounce kinship with his blood-kin? Surely that was an atrocity like the oath! But he felt disgusted with what he had done, and if he was honest with himself, being associated with kinslayers also was an abhorrence. But he loved his brothers more than himself, and that would be a betrayal…Amras would not be able to handle it.
"It is this or your life and the others, Makalaurë." Fingolfin warned.
Maglor had fully gotten on the floor as the humiliation and struggle was too much and he wept. He deserved this. It would have happened eventually, and it would have been far worse than this. He deserved death; he admitted that. But if he and his brothers were sentenced to death, even if they deserved it, who was to say what the rest of their people would do in response. The hosts would indeed split, and that was not something he wanted to leave behind.
They were already laughing stocks, so why make it worse.
"M-my lord…h-has d-dealt mercifully with his servant." Maglor croaked out.
There. He had done it.
Fingolfin stepped away and Maglor heard more people enter. "Bring in Ambarussa, so that he may be a witness for those that followed Fëanáro and announce these new decrees."
Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin fretted as the night dragged on. Amras had not returned, and Celegorm threatened to start a revolt if Amras was also slain. The thought of Maglor being dead broke their hearts. They simply could not understand why he had given into the demands so easily, when their father…Maedhros, would have put up a fight.
Had they not lost enough already? Why would Maglor give them more grief to deal with?
"That is it," Celegorm finally snapped. "I am going over there."
"Oh no," Caranthir hissed. "You had distinct orders not to cause them grief."
"Now you are going to be the reasonable one?" Celegorm questioned harshly. "Might I remind you, now I am the heir to this broken house, and you get to obey my word."
"You have no respect for the dead do you?" Curufin butted in. "Can you at least do that?"
"Brothers…"
The three hot-heads shut up and relief instantly fell on their faces seeing Amras. But the twin looked reserved and uncertain; as if he was afraid of them when he should be able to trust them. His entire world seemed crushed.
"What of Makalaurë?" Caranthir was the one to inquire, in an uncharacteristically soft voice.
Amras' voice hitched. "He is alive."
Befuddlement crossed the others' faces.
"And?" Celegorm uttered impatiently.
"Uncle Ñolofinwë accepted the kingship, and that he will not wage war on us…and neither shall we on him." Amras said slowly and sadly. "He made Maka swear fealty to him and renounce kinship to our house, otherwise Ñolofinwë would have had us all slaughtered for retribution."
The fact stunned the three, and they each took it silently. Celegorm slowly sat down in a nearby chair; his expression hard. Caranthir's own disposition cracked into shock, while Curufin visibly seemed saddened.
"Are we still…allowed to see him?" Celegorm asked in a whisper.
Amras shook his head. "We are not…as he is being held in custody in whatever makeshift prison they can make right now. I…I am the only one that can go to him, but only if Ñolofinwë permits it."
There was a long silence.
"This reminds me when father lost his mind after Finwë's murder." Caranthir murmured. "Except it is the madness of a father over the death of his son."
There were nods of reluctant agreement.
Celegorm sighed. "What do we do now?"