Chapter Four
"When the trumpets of war end,
when the cries of victory ascend.
When winds rise across the Western sea,
when the lost one once more becomes free.
Two souls a hero reborn shall arise,
strong he will be and wise.
Elven blood mixed with magic's heart,
restore the lost and bring back the start.
For all shall look upon the city on the hill,
Elven hope that can strengthen Hope's will.
Side by side with Death he'll stand,
the beacon of hope, a beacon planned,"
..
..
Maedhros watches silently from his comfortable perch as he observed the aftermath of the invasion that the goblins of the mountains made. The Elves are milling about looking for familiar faces of their friends and kin. Every now and then cries of disbelief and sorrow echo on the empty walls of the mountains that surround them as many receive the news that the ones they are searching for had already passed into Mandos' Halls.
They may have achieved victory, but as the old saying says: "In war, there is no such thing as victors," applies very well. Despite the win of the elves over their attackers, the victory was soured with how much dead they have attained also in return. Nearly every family except for his had a member numbered among the dead; and many more are maimed badly that needs immediate attention if they wish to live the day.
As for Maedhros, he had sat here since the rising of the sun in isolation. Not because the Elves down below hate him, no. It's the simple fact that he's different. Long stubborn experience of two lives had taught him that such an issue tends to have negative results for him. When he's Harry Potter, being a wizard made him hated by his aunt and uncle; after that being the Boy-Who-Lived turned his life into a nightmare controlled by Fate. When he's Maedhros on the other hand in his first life, he was the eldest son of Feanor, judged by his heritage and his act alone making him stand out in the spotlight despite his evil deeds that resulted to the end of his life. Fate had governed both lives and neither one wanted a repeat of it.
Despite that fact though, the warrior and the soldier in him from both lives understood that if he did not do what he did last night; there would no Elves lost in this valley. This is the reason why he had hidden his magic in the first place even from his parents. Of course he knew that he is capable of wielding it. All the necessary skills and knowledge from both lives retained in him after all. He just hid it out of fear.
"Looking so deep from the end of a waterfall can lead you to uncertain answers young one,"
The young elfling nearly jumps out of his skin as he notices the giant eagle perched on the branches of the tree he is sitting at. He blinks as he looks at the bird. For someone so large, he balances very well on the think branches his claws are gripping without effort. Of course he knows who it is. The greyish feathers and the silver linings at his edges give credence.
"You're Thorondor," Maedhros exclaims earning him the equivalent of a smile from the Great Eagle of Manwe.
"It always pleases me to see younglings like you being so familiar with their history. Tell me young one, what is it that places you in such a thoughtful mood?" asks the Great Eagle making Maedhros sweat.
"N-nothing, I'm just mourning the people that passed away you know,"
"Hmmm, I've seen many seasons come and go since the beginning of this world youngling. I've seen joy and despair in equal measures. What I saw in your face is no expression of despair but rather one of thought. Those people down below, you don't mourn them, instead you are worried about something else, something greater that overrides the sadness of the Firstborn instead, at least for the moment,"
Maedhros gulps at the piercing eye of the Eagle. Thorondor after all is right. He is worried about his magic and the divide it will cause between him and his family, his people. He worries about how they will see him now, not as the innocent elfling that grew up with them but something else. Normally of course if to be taken into account his previous age, he would simply brush it off. Maedhros however is a newly reborn elf and with it comes all the privileges of being a child and its backdraws. That means worrying about being part of a family.
"You're right," Maedhros sighs looking down at the family. "I am worried. I am worried about how they would see me after what I did last night. Will they still accept me? Will I still be part of a family? Or would I be ostracized like before?"
"You're a reborn elf aren't you?" the large Eagle points out, one piercing yellow eye pinning at him.
A small smirk only appears at the small elf's face giving the youthful visage the look of a veteran that had seen way too many years to his liking. "No and yes, two souls in the body of one, one the best, one the worst,"
"I see. If you would humor this old eagle young one, might I ask who are you in your previou-," a mighty gust of wind blows from the West creating a small gale in the area that the two are perching on cutting off whatever Thorondor is about to speak.
With human ears, it might be nothing more than a random blow of wind. The ears of the Eldar though are more precise. Even as young as he is, Maedhros clearly hears barely heard words with the wind, though it is obvious it is not for him as the old eagle's poise becomes ramrod straight as both eyes of his eyes widen with a glint of understanding.
"Ahhh I see, now I understand," the old eagle sighs as the wind slowly returns to normal. "Your path is willed by fate little on. You have the attention of the Elder King and many more. Even Death has a stake on you for reasons I know not,"
"The Elder King? Manwe Sullimo himself?" asks Maedhros, both souls feeling a sinking feeling inside. They had been happy with their current life and both does not desire to be on the spotlight once more.
"Do not utter such names carelessly little elfling for names have power and some deserve respect when they leave our lips," chides the old eagle.
"Sorry,"
A grim smile appears on the weathered beak. "Fret not young one for not all taken noticed by fate leads to ill. What you do with your life, how you do it marks the path that you are going to take. As it is, I have a message for you from those responsible for making you, you,"
"Okay," Maedhros nods at the Eagle to go on.
Thorondor chuckles at that. "Look at you young one. Where others would have been standing in anticipation or worry, instead you sit there awaiting the words of the West as if it's just another day to you,"
"Oh trust me, I'm scared sir Eagle. I'm just very good at hiding it," Maedhros admits earning him another laugh from the ancient animal.
"Very well, then listen and listen well little one for this is the message of the Elder King to you. Remember well the city set on a hill of grass. Remember the white peaked mountains blazing like morning jewels that greet the sunset. Remember the silent sentinels that stand unmoving and the power that secrecy holds. Remember Tirion upon Tuna from which you are born and where the deathless live. Remember young one the seven gates and the four horns that greet the sunset. Remember the waves of the sea bashing unto the rocks and the voice of the herald of the ocean. Destiny calls you forth and then fate shall be on your hands. Use these words as your guide for the coming darkness is near and the strength of the Firstborn as it is cannot defeat it. However remember too well this warning as it was once given. Once you achieve all that you set forth to do, love not too much the works of your hands for the hope of the Elves lies in the sea. From this day henceforth the power of Ulmo will once more be present and so will the valor of the Eagles till what Destiny decrees come to pass," the eagle finishes.
Maedhros only blinks at the cryptic words. For a moment the Harry Potter part of his soul wants nothing more than to bemoan the concept of mystery and destiny (remembering too well a very hated old fraud as a Divination Master), but pauses as he feels it.
A pressurized feeling rising from his other half as if something is rising is deep inside him. You get that feeling as if you're meaningfully trying to hold your breathe? That is what he feels. For a moment he tries to stop it, fear of the unknown and all that. However it doesn't hurt. It is almost as if a mother's touch and for a split second his guard fell.
Like a tidal wave, the feeling overwhelms him and he stiffens ramrod as a statue as the feeling courses through him empowering every nerve and muscle in his body. If one would look outside though, they would have seen the elfling's eyes turn milky white as his eyes face the heavens.
Visions flood his unseeing eyes showing him the white city standing on a hill that greets the dawn with the sound of silver trumpets. Around it the white peaks of the snows of the mountains gleam like gems of starlight blazing with white fire. This is a city made by the Deathless with countless pools and streams, gems and precious stones unnumbered that they are scattered like pebbles on the ground. Riches of iron, steel, stone, marble and bronze that can only be achieved by skill of hands mastered through centuries. A city so rich and full of song and life, whose people fear no darkness and live according to his own will and selfless deeds. This is Tirion upon Tuna, the home of the Elves at the West whose name is only whispered in song and legend by the Exiles here at Middle-Earth.
A deep longing fills Maedhros heart at this. He wants this, a place of safety and fortification but one of beauty and grace where his kin can live in peace. He does not want them to live in peace only though, no. He wants them to also prosper, to bring life and hope to the world around them as Eru Illuvatar intended the Elves to be. They have the strength of will and character, the vigor, the wisdom to sustain this world. Theirs is the responsibility of endurance, and by Eru if not Maedhros or Harry is his name, both lives had been the epitome of endurance and valor.
"So you know what to do young one?" the old Eagle asks looking at him in concern. It is not everyday after all that even Great Eagles such as Thorondor see an elfling change his eyes into white and start convulsing on the ground.
"Yes, yes I do," the Reincarnate simply replies standing up tall (for a child), his entire being full of resolution and strength. Something akin of a song echo inside his heart and it is as if a fire has been lit inside him giving him drive and resolve. The fear that plagued him before with his magic now gone and washed away.
He now had a goal and Maedhros would fulfill it by any means necessary.
….
Maglor's deft fingers thrum the ends of the harp finishing with a beautiful lullaby of a song. Ever since he can remember, he had been singing songs of sorrow and tiredness ever since he had left Valinor after that dreadful oath he took with his father and brothers.
Now, today is no different as he watches the surviving Elves return their dead to the Earth that bore them. Of course as the greatest musician in the world (and the pseudo-leader of the colony), it is up for Maglor to put up the last of the funeral rites as tradition by the Firstborn. It doesn't mean that he has to enjoy it. This is probably the longest he had been in one place since the War of Wrath and each face lain on the ground is a face that Maglor is familiar with. That one is a soldier and he loves to poke the other sentries, that one is a mother of two, that one is singer like him, that one is another soldier who is as brave as he is reckless. All of them dead, many a life that should have been spent centuries singing on the forests or in the fields.
A calloused but soft hand intertwines with his bringing Maglor back to the present as he turns to look at Theririen, his wife who smiles softly at him. The son of Feanor only grasps her fingers in return with silent thanks. Despite the sorrow that surrounds him, Maglor is just thankful that both his child and his wife is alive and alright. Many, had not been so lucky as he is.
Speaking of which, Maglor sighs as the last of the mourners finish their last rites before heading to the campfire where a council had been called to discuss the next step that the small settlement would do. Of course it is not only them present. Despite their losess, there has never been a gathering of Elves in this part of the land ever since the fall of Numenor. Apparently the recent news of the invasion of the Goblin King has galvanized the small homesteads around the area into action. While the defeat of the Goblin King after all is good news with the small tribes warring on one another for the absent seat of power, there is still that lingering fear that some of the more ambitious chiefs might start attacking small groups of Elves to showcase their strength to the rest. Thus the gathering of Elves here bringing with them the safety that only numbers will provide. There's also the small fact that the land around the mountains are wide valleys giving very little terrain and defensive cover in the event of a larger attack.
Of course as a Noldo and an Eldar (the Elves who went to Aman and returned for the War on Beleriand), as usual it fell to Maglor to organize these rowdy groups into a single group. Easier said than done unfortunately. Years of independence with no king and no sole ruler to govern them had given these Elves enough ego and pride that everyone wants to have their opinions known. For being the Firstborn they are acting more like little children compared to their wise and learned kin across the West. It is however quite a sight seeing Vanyar, Noldor, Teleri, all three elven kin sitting with one another without prejudice like their kin at the West.
Of course it is not that easy seeing that everyone wants to strangle one another at the moment.
"And this is why we should move on! These goblins will not dare follow us across the mountains to the East where greener pastures await!"
"Fool! You cannot possibly be saying that we take our chances on the unknown lands! Word from our kin down south is that there is nothing there but desert, sand and heat. No greener pastures!"
"Aye and there be Easterlings too! Savages and murderers the lot of them! We should look down South and flee these lands before the goblins get us!"
"And what? Beg the Kingdom of Arnor to let us settle as part of their subjects? We are here before they are , some of us are old even before they are born,"
"That's a reason why you need to be replaced. You are old and a fool and we need new ideas for this decision of ours,"
"Why you little-,"
"ENOUGH!" Maglor's voice boom across the gathered leaders of the Elves making them all shut up. Maglor after all is well-known both in valor and in reputation.
"You are acting like a pack of RABID DOGS! SIT DOWN ALL OF YOU!" he insinuates each word making the gathered Elves flinch before hastily regaining their seats with a lot of scraping of their provided chairs.
Taking some dry twigs off to the side, Maglor threw it at the fire at the middle of everyone sending sparks flying as it catches aflame. "This is why fellowmen of mine is why we can never defeat the goblins on their own ground,"
"You cannot be possibly be suggesting-," one tries to interrupt only to squeak into silence at the glare that the musician throws at him.
"I am not suggesting anything…yet at least," continues Maglor. "In our current situation we only have two choices. We either stay here and hope for the best that our numbers be enough to deter any raiding party or we go south and try to find our kin, the last of the Eldar gathering into the rumors of the Hidden Valley of Rivendell,"
"Can't we fight?" asks one of the younger chieftain. "We have the numbers and the men. We also have you, Maglor Feanorian, survivor and veteran of the war of wrath. Surely with you leading us, these goblins won't be an issue for us all any longer," he ends with many nods from the younger chiefs.
Maglor only gives the young man a wry smile. It is always the young generation who is foolhardy, having the energy but lacking the wisdom that only experience and age can give.
"While I am honored by your trust in me, I am afraid that such an option is not available to us. As skilled as I am with the sword, there is only one of me. Much of us here are unarmed and many of the wandering kindreds have women and children. Yes, there is enough of us but not enough of us to fight and win. No offense to the skill of course of those who bear arms. That is the painful fact though. If we ever choose to make a stand then many of those under our care will suffer,"
"So you would have us run South Maglor?" asks one of the chiefs, this one a Noldo.
"No," everyone pauses in confusion and surprise as out of the gloom from the side of the campfire walked a very familiar elfling who had become famous overnight. Every eye at the gathering immediately dote on him in attention and no small amount of wonder.
"Hey, isn't that the little elfing that drove off the goblins before?" one of the younger chiefs asked earning him a bonk in the head from the elf beside him.
Maglor however stands up as he approaches his son with a stern visage. "Maedhros you shouldn't be here. This is a meeting of chiefs. I thought you are with your Nana,"
"Sorry Ada," the small being chirped. "However I am here with something that I guess that all of you want, no….need to hear,"
"We can spare a few minutes to listen to your son Maglor. It is obvious that we are so far from an agreement at the moment. At least it would give us time to cool some of the hot heads that is in attendance here," one of the chiefs chides causing more than one chuckle to be heard from the gathered Elves with more than one mumbling that he is not a "hot head".
"Very well, Maedhros come and sit beside me and we'll listen to what you want to say," Maglor indicates the wooden stump beside his.
…..
Harry James Potter does not like crowds, period. He hated the spotlight, he hated being the center of attention; and as a result of that is not a great public speaker. Maedhros Feanorian however is the opposite. Being the eldest brother of seven whose moods are more like firecrackers, it is impossible not to learn patience and self-control. Also being the leader of the people following them during the War of Beleriand, he has to be charismatic and a great orator. Most people tend to forget that he is the one who banded together the Union of Maedhros, the greatest Alliance ever made between Men, Dwarves and Elves before the Fall of Beleriand.
It is thanks to this skill that Maedhros is able to pull the courage to stand with all the judgemental looks that the Elves gave him. Harry has the knowledge and the wisdom on what to do. Maedhros is the drive that is the push to give such wisdom the first step to fulfillment.
Of course he knows that the only reason they are even giving him the floor is because of the magic he wrought before. If not for that, these older Elves would not give him an elfling the time of day.
"My fellow Elves, I know that you are all here for the purpose of one reason and one reason alone, safety. As much as we want to pretend to, the days of peace on these once peaceful mountains that we have are over. Death is upon our doorsteps and we barely survived it last time. As such the choices that are open to us are two, run or fight. If we run, we risk losing this beautiful land which we have called home for years. Not only that. With us gone, the goblins will sure pillage and burn anything living as they are wont to do. If we fight however, of course it is inevitable that some of us may lose our lives. As such I have a proposal where we can both stay and at the same time fight off these wicked loving mountain dwellers off,"
At the silent nods being given around him, Maedhros wastes no time projecting the image of the city that the old eagle imparted unto him into the minds of the gathered Elves. Unused to magic, or more correctly mind arts; such a thing as passive legilemency easily tear through their minds literally stamping the picture he projected alongside the feelings he felt when he sees it the first time in their brains. If one would look at the gathered chiefs now, it would have been a funny sight watching thirty or so Elves looking like they're having a seizure as they remain on whatever positions they are in before the mental transfer.
It takes only a few seconds of silence before the first of the Elves begin to recover pulling themselves together. Maedhros can't help but be impressed. Legilimency is not something that first timers can recover fast. Even mature wizards back home need chocolate and cold water to shake off the feelings for a few minutes. Here though, the Elves seem to simply wave it off as they massaged their temples.
"You can use magic?" the youngest of the Chiefs asked only to bonked again on the head by the one beside him.
"You've heard what he did with the Goblins last night didn't you? That should be obvious,"
"Sorry," he replies only sheepishly as the rest of the group finally come about, some looking worse for wear while the more ancient ones are simply massaging their temples.
"You are touched by those who live in the utmost West youngling. Tell me, what is your name?" asks the eldest Elf on the group.
"Maedhros," the reborn elf and human replies proudly.
A knowing gleam simply shines on his eyes. "Ahh, no wonder. You bear a powerful name. One as powerful as your father. It is a name that is both hated and loved by many, one tempered by grief, sorrow and fate. I pray for your sake that you not share your namesake's fate,"
"I will not. Whatever doom I will face in the future, it would be by my hand and my hand alone," replies the Elfling certainly. "Now what say all of you? You have seen what I seen, all of it. Will you help me?"
The Elves only laughed at that. "Young one only a fool would dare disobey the will of the Valar that live on the utmost West. Yes, we will build this city that you have shown us. At least that will give some of our youngsters something to do,"
A round of protests come from the younger chiefs making Maedhros internally smile at that. The Eldar, the Elves that went to the West may had grown wiser in their learnings there under the feet of the Valar. It however prevented them from making their own path making them more like their teachers, wise but sad, powerful but sorrowful, ever concerned with the future of the world and what fate may one day bring. Not so the Dark Elves, or the Moriquendi, as they are called by those in the West; They are the ones who remained behind ever since the birth of the Firstborn. The Moriquendi are more like humans, concerning themselves not of the future or whatever fate or doom that it might bring, no. They live more like humans, one day at a time and enjoying the world about them. There is laughter and song, and despite being lesser in wisdom of the world, they have the wisdom of life and the world around them.
"So, shall we build this city?" Maedhros proclaims as best as he could(despite his squeaky voice).
"Aye, we shall. Even if it takes many setting suns, yes we will build this vision of yours young one," the lead Chief says with a nod.
At his words, Maedhros can't help but smirk. Now the Harry Potter part of him with knowledge of the twenty-first century has the opportunity to shine.
"I believe that it will not take as long as you might think Chief. We have after all, magic on our side,"
….
There are few times in life that Maglor kinda felt useless. The death of Elros of old age, the death of his brothers and father, the death of his people; all of these he bore through the years. However as he sits there on their former ruined home watching his five seasons of an Elfling old taking the "Census" from the rather overexcited Elves who is eagerly asking the little one about what a census is and the purpose of a census and its benefits; that is what exactly he feels.
"Loved one, are you alright?" the rich melody of Theririen's voice is followed by her well-worked hands rubbing his arms.
Maglor only sighs as he watches the small figure of his son explain like a preacher atop of a podium to the gathered Elves what in the Valar's name a "census" is. Taking the hands of his wife, he squeezes it for comfort.
"Our little boy is all so grown up. Here I am wracking my brains what to teach him the next decade or so and there he goes and ruins it all over without knowing,"
"He is the reincarnation of your brother right?" Theririen asks. "Is your brother that…..independent or wise when he's growing up?"
"No, never," answers Maglor. "Maedhros despite being called the fiery spirit of our brethren, is probably the most gentle of us all except for me. He is more like our mother than our father, always thinking first before leaping. He's always the obedient one while Curufin is the one who is more like our father,"
"It is almost hard imagining you to be the calm one. I've seen you fight Maglor and the Light of Aman shines brightly within your fea(soul),"
"Right, I guess it does," sighs Maglor watching as the group nods like donkeys to the explanation of his son.
"I can't help but wonder why Maedhros had been chosen to be reborn to Middle-Earth though. It was too short of a time after his first death," adds Maglor.
"Isn't that a good thing?" asks Theririen. "I do not understand the ways of the Valar, but maybe they know something that we don't when they released your brother from the Halls of Mandos,"
"Maybe… I know Elves who died at least a millennia before and still unable to return. I'm not sad of course, I'm grateful love. I just can't help but think you know. Our son, is like a more reckless version of my brother but at the same time more polished one,"
"Have you at least tried showing him the poses that he would take on learning the way of the sword? I heard your brother is one of the best in the old days. As a reincarnate it should be easy for him to recall the old instincts," points out Theririen.
Maglor can't help but snort at that. "My brother when he still has his right hand can thrash any warrior even back at Aman. Not even our father can defeat him in a straight up duel. He became even deadlier with his left when he lost his right. Our son however cannot even the practice blade right,"
"And is that… a good thing or a bad thing?" asks Theririen looking at their son outside.
Maglor barks a laugh at her words. "If I am hurrying him to be a warrior then it's a bad thing. I am however wanting him to have his childhood," he looks outside smiling as the group of Elves, some whose age are centuries and millenias old cheer like children instead of their old age by a joke from his son.
"I am willing to give him the childhood he has now however. Fighting can wait and he always has that magic of his to protect him until at least he's old enough where I can ring his head like a bell,"
"And us," adds Theririen.
"Aye, and us," nods Maglor in agreement as the watch the sun slowly dip down the horizon .
