For the Which Story Should I Write Contest
A/N: This is the first of several first chapters to stories I might write. I haven't decided which one(s) to continue yet, as I'm hoping for input from those of you reading, as to what you think of them and which ones you'd most like to see continued. If you like it and want it continued, tell me so.
All potential stories to pick from will have 'For the Which Story Should I Write Contest', at the top.
To Break An Oath
Chapter One: Blame the Tent Pegs
Sneaking into camp proved easier than Maglor had thought it might. They had already passed the guards, and were nearly to the Vanyar section of the encampment. Maglor looked up at his brother beside him. Maedhros was an imposing figure even hunched over, his bright hair smeared with dark mud, and both it, and the stump of his wrist hidden inside an equally muddy cloak. He was a darker shadow against the shadow of the night. Maglor shivered. Something would go wrong, he just knew it.
It was a tent peg, and some rope, of all things. How very unpoetic.
Maedhros tripped over it, falling with a clatter into a set of pots and pans left out to dry.
Suddenly everyone around was looking at them. "Are you hurt?" asked an elf in Ingwion's livery, reaching out to help him up. Maedhros jerked away, ducking behind Maglor as he rose, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The elf's eyes widened at the sight.
"No, no, I'm unharmed," said Maedhros, bowing his head to hide his face.
"You'll have to pardon him, we've but recently come into camp and he suffered much in the war." said Maglor. "Easy there," said Maglor, putting a hand on his brother's arm as Maedhros released the sword. "There are no orcs here."
"You're Exiles, aren't you?" said another elf in Arafinwe's livery. He looked vaguely familiar to Maglor, though Maglor couldn't place him. He peered at Maglor, who ducked his head further inside his own hood. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"I doubt it," said Maglor. "I spent much of my time in Aman in the north."
"No, I'm sure I've seen you before. Weren't you one of Elemmire's friends? The one with the superb bass singing voice. What's your name?"
Maglor froze. Of all the times to run into a fan…
"Do you know if we're anywhere near the Exile's section?" asked Maedhros in a hopeful tone of voice.
"That's over the far side of the camp! You must be completely lost. Let me give you a hand in finding the way." said the Vanya elf.
Maglor winced at the unfortunate pun, but said, "If you could just tell us the direction…"
"No, let me show you the way." He continued in a lower voice. "Your friend seems a little unstable. I wouldn't want any misunderstanding to happen. Someone could get hurt."
They started in the direction of the Exile's section. Hopefully Maedhros would find a way to be rid of this overly-helpful soul without anyone having to die. Bloody silmarils. Their shining light, and the terrible oath, was leading them straight to another killing, and their own deaths.
They were nearly to the Exile's section when they came to a set of latrines, and Maedhros said he needed to pee.
"I should probably use it as well," said Maglor, taking the hint. "Thank you very much for escorting us. I know where we are now. I can see young Gil-galad's banner on the big rise on the left, next to the lantern."
The elf nodded. "Well, I shall let you go then," he said. "I hope you and your friend will find peace on Tol Eressea."
Maglor gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes, and thanked him, knowing that such would not be their fate. They entered the latrine. Just in case anyone was listening, both of them used it. Then they left, heading towards the Vanyar section of camp. A shadow detached itself from a nearby pavilion, resolving itself into the elf of Arafinwe's army they'd seen earlier. They both tensed.
"Funny," said the elf. "I thought you were looking for the Exile's section. You're going the wrong way, Maccalaure Feanarion."
A couple of elves turned to stare at them, and more ran out of the tents, weapons in hand.
Someone reached for Maedhros' hood, only to be punched in the stomach, then knocked flat by a kick to the knee.
A couple of people screamed.
Maglor drew his sword, and spun so he was back to back with his brother, whose hood had flown back, revealing mud-caked hair that gleamed copper in the torchlight wherever the caked mud had fallen off. "On my mark, run left," whispered Maedhros.
Inside Maglor, something snapped. He reached for his brother's hand and twisted it roughly. The sword fell from Maedhros' hand, clanging as it hit the ground.
Maedros looked at him with eyes full of shocked betrayal. "Stop!" bellowed Maglor, dropping his own sword to the ground. "We surrender to the justice of the Valar." Sudden silence fell.
A/N: Replies to people not logged in:
suryaruc: I see Sauron as being a control freak. He has a psychological need to be in charge, and have control over everything and everyone around him. By untidy, he means it's out of his control, and people are choosing things he wouldn't choose. I'm glad you like Gil-galad. My version of him is partly an effort to figure out what a genuinely good leader would look like under those circumstances, and what his experiences and the choices he's had to make have done to him.
Guest: I have already done a Mary Sue parody set you might enjoy. It's called 'The Many Fates of Mary Sue'.