The Return (scrapped)

[tinni.livejournal.com]

These are chapters from a fic I was writing but have since decided to scrap. It's related to By the Sea Shore, as in the events in the by the sea shores is part of the same storyline/event chain as this one. I hope that makes sense. Sorry for all the confusion.


Prologue
Lake Town

He moved like a wraith, unseen, unfelt save for the chill that travelled down the spine of those who were near, thanks to the void like black cloak that covered him from head to toe. It was with the aid of the cloak that he had entered Lake Town unmarked till he chose to drop his hood in the cover of shadow and step forward into the light and entered the inn to acquire lodging for the night and a good hearty meal.

His entrance created a bit of a stir. He was not the kind of man who could go in and out without being noticed. He had tremendous presence that ensured people would look up and take notice and they did. Including a small contingent from Mirkwood, that included their Prince Legolas, there to make merry with their neighbours and drink to the mutual prosperity of Lake Town and the elven realm of Greenwood the great.

They flicked a casual glance at the stranger, the stranger whose presence they could not ignore and than they stared, with open mouthed astonishment. The stranger was tall, tall with locks of shining silver with the face of an elf but the broad masculine warrior body seen only among men and rarely among elves. The man who spoke softly in a voice with a rich timber, asking the inn keeper if there was a room available, if he could rent it for the night and what could he get for dinner, asking if the food could be brought to his room, throwing down more pieces of gold than was needed for the food and board before he turned away.

It was then that for a brief moment his silver-grey eyes met those of Legolas. Legolas shot to his feet as the stranger took a mug of Lake Town mead and headed for the stairs that led to the rooms the inn let out. At Legolas’s approach he paused with his back to the Mirkwood prince and asked softly, “Can I help you?”

“You… you are a half-elf,” declared Legolas in a stunned voice too soft for mortal ears “Are you… a son of Dior?” demanded Legolas.

“Elured,” replied the silver haired man, “well met…”

“Legolas, I am Legolas of the Greenwoods, my lord,” replied Legolas with deep reverence in his voice.

Elured laughed at that but did not proceed further with the conversation and continued on his way. Legolas stood a moment in indecision, but Elured had made it clear he did not wish to converse further with him and something about Elured prevented him from pressing him further. So after staring fixedly at Elured’s retreating back Legolas returned to his companions, wondering if he had truly just seen one of the lost sons of Dior or if he was having a drunken hallucination.

“Legolas… was he…” began one of his companions and Legolas knew that he had not been dreaming.

“Yes” whispered Legolas, “Yes…” and once again turned his eyes towards the stairs.

***
The room Elured had rented for the night was not luxurious or even comfortable. The room was cramped, with bare walking space between the bed, the table and the chair. There was no way Elured could actually sit on the chair so he settled to throwing his cloak on it. He then carefully took off his backpack and put it gently on the ground. It was made of the same enchanted material as his cloak but while the cloak was woven to render him invisible should he so wish the backpack had an entirely different purpose. It was designed to be small and remain small but hold a great deal. Not that Elured carried a great deal. The majority of the space in this backpack was taken up by his disassembled weapon, the Ristariw. He never assembled it unless he felt his fists would not be enough for him to win and those times where rare and far between. The remaining space was taken up by a book bound in mithral, a few set of clothing and his wife’s take on Lembas.

His wife… how he missed her… he took out the mitral bound book, one of a linked pair, his wife had the other. Whatever she wrote in hers he could read and whatever he wrote in his she could read the next time she read her book. He ran his hand down the exquisitely crafted cover; the design was the symbol of her house. It was warm to the touch. Elured grinned for that meant that his wife had written something new in the book. Eagerly he opened the book and began to read.

Beloved let me thank you again for doing this for me, for my family. The nobility of your soul never ceases to amaze me for a lesser man would not walk unflinching into the fierily unknown that is the heart of Arda marred for a man who had cost him everything. Thank you again and know that I am well, as is our son. We both miss you terrible. I hope this business is concluded swiftly for all our shakes… to that end I have some information for you or rather I have a riddling verse for you.

They gather, gather together
The sword, the harp,
The balrog, the silmaril
They come for one to lives
They come for one to suffers
Through the Black Pit he can be reached
But not through the gates that friendship keeps
But the secret door that Aule made
That only the ancients can open

I will not insult your intelligence by telling you who the sword, the harp, the balrog and the silmaril are. The ‘Black Pit’ is undoubtedly The mines of Moria, it was a enclave of dwarves. It is over run by orcs now and rumour has it that Mornmagor and his band may also be hold up in there, I know you bear no love for Mornmagor but perhaps… perhaps he could help you conclude your quest sooner and than, than you can return to me…

Listen to me! It was I who sent you on this quest yet my heart bleeds to be away from you. Stay safe my love. Stay safe.

Elured sighed, Mornmagor the Oathbreaker was a scheming creature filled with his own agendas. Elured did not want to deal with him now or ever but if that’s what it took to end his quests soonest so he could return to his wife and child than so be it, but first he had to find the door that Aule made. He sighed again and detached a specially designed pen from the seams of the book and wrote his own entry into the book.

My dearest Ereaelen, thank me not for what I am doing for it is nothing. He became my family the day we bound ourselves in the holy vows of matrimony and I will do anything to bring peace to my family. But do you know when the participants in this tale will appear or where for that matter? Let me know as soon as you learn of something. In the meantime I will do what I can and even cooperate with Mornmagor if I believe that oathbreaker can be trusted. But I do not look forward to it.

I am currently in an inn in a township called Lake Town near the great forest of Greenwood. Greenwood is now generally referred to as Mirkwood. Apparently there is an evil fortress called Dol Guldur in the southern part of the forest where dwells a powerful necromancer. This necromancer was been unleashing a steady stream of orcs, spiders and other creatures of malice and fear into the forest. I wonder if this necromancer is Sauron. If it is for his sake I hope he stays out of my way. I will not be held responsible for what happens to him should be met. It has been a long time since Ristariw last tasted the blood of a Maia and it hungers.

Elured paused feeling an intense anger boiling in the pit of his stomach as he though of Sauron the deceiver. He took a moment to calm himself down. It was not his destiny to stop Sauron, he reminded himself, at least it would not be his lot to stop Sauron until and unless the corrupted Maia conquered the west utterly and bent his thought towards the east with the mind to bring the remaining free people living far in the east under his sway. Than it would be Elured’s duty to stop him and he would, he did not fear Sauron. He had no reason to. Three times in the past he had faced Morgoth’s former servant and all three times Sauron had been utterly humiliated at the hands of Elured.

It was after the last time that Sauron withdrew complete from the Far East where Elured dwelt and came to the west and befriend Celebrimbor and the elves of Eregion. It was true that he had not encountered Sauron since the latter made the one ring that his wife kept warning him about but it did not much signify. The concept of failure was not part of Elured’s psyche. Sufficiently calm Elured continued with his writing.

I have met a very interesting elf here. His name is Legolas. He seems to be a mixture of Sindar and Nandor. He guessed who I was without difficulty and immediately addressed me with a type reverence I have not heard since the fall of Doriath. He revered me as the son of Dior, grandson of Luthien and great grandson of Elu Thingol. He revered me as one who resembles the great king Thingol in face if nothing else. It was certainly different. It has been so long since anyone has revered me for my lineage alone… I do not know how I feel about it. I suppose… I suppose there is something to be said about being revered for my noble blood instead for spilling more blood in a year than my great grandsire did the entirety of his long, long life…

Elured paused as angry words began to appear below his paragraph. Clearly his wife was reading what he wrote as he was writing it. She chided him,

Do not speak such rubbish! People revere you because you protect them. They love you because you are noble. Elured the very fact that you are married to me shows the depth of your nobility and your capacity to forgive! Stop doubting yourself. As for Legolas, he is the son of Thranduil who was the son of Oropher who I believe was a close kin of your mother Nimloth. Oropher is dead. Thranduil should be the king of the elves of Greenwood or should I say Mirkwood…

It took awhile for Elured to remember exactly who Oropher was, but than it had been a long, long time. He wrote back to his wife one brief sentence before someone knocked on his doors and he had to shut the book.

Oropher was my mother’s brother. Stay safe my love, my dinner is hear and I am starving!

***
TBC

Characters I have made up:
Mornmagor – Sindarin elvish meaning Black Swordsmen
Ereaelen – Should be Quenya elvish meaning Sea star

All other characters belong to Tolkien.

Elvish terms translation:
Ristariw – cutting edge



Chapter 1
Lake Town

After he had eaten and slept a little, Elured returned to the main hall of the inn searching for Legolas. He found the Sindar archer still sitting in the centre most table of the now mostly empty inn with his companion in deep contemplation. Elured hesitated a little, unwilling to interrupt their reverie needlessly. It so happened that Legolas looked up and spying him once again shot to his feet, as did his companions and all of them bowed to Elured deeply.

Elured smiled at the Prince and approached them, “Well met again Legolas. Forgive my earlier coldness and allow me to plead my fatigue from a long journey as my excuse for my rudeness.”

“Think… think nothing of it my lord prince,” said Legolas, still feeling as he was having a waking dream.

“Please just call me Elured. Doriath is long gone and I have long been just Elured.”

“Doriath maybe gone, but you are still the prince of all Sindar,” replied one of Legolas’s companions and all the elves nodded solemnly.

“But, but how is it that you still live?” wondered Legolas, “I… I was told that a single drop of mortal blood renders a person mortal and it is only by the explicit intervention of the Valar can the fate of a half-elf be that of an elf.”

“Who told you this?” asked Elured with a soft amused smile playing on this lips.

“Elrohir son of Elrond son of Elwing,” Legolas replied, “Elrohir also told me that mortality was the greatest gift Illuvatar bestowed on the race of men and that is why the choice to be mortal was extended to children of Elrond even thought the descended of Elros had to be bound by the choice of their forefather. That is the doom of the half-elf.”

Elured laughed at that, “No that is the doom of the line of Earendil. In the land where I dwell now there are many half-elves and thou it is less frequent now, still the union between an elf and a mortal usually goes unremarked. Now all those who are born of such unions are destined to die and their souls destined to leave the confines of Ea. They do not however age as other men do but remain forever young till their souls wearing of this world leave it for the next,” explained Elured, “Now how long it takes for a half-elf to pine to be free of the cares of this world is another matter entirely. Most do not care to see beyond a century. Others… others endure and enduring being the key word here, till they discharge some duty or complete some task, but theirs is not a lot to be envied but pitied for by the end they are but husks of what they once were.”

Elured turned his face towards the east but his gaze was inwards as if he was seeing something in his minds eyes that lay to the east, “My wife, who knows a thing or two about the working of Arda and Ea, tells me that my soul will not weary of this world till the end of the world. She tells me, my brother and I are destined to play some role during the end of days, but if by some chance I fell in battle than my soul would go to where the souls of men go.”

“So you see,” he focused on Legolas once again, “The mortal blood of my grandsire Beren ensured that my fate is the same as those of mortal men, while my sister Elwing’s choice made it so that her fate will be that of elves. If her body were to be destroyed than she could be remade, I cannot. Yet Elwing’s future beyond the end of this world is uncertain, she may not have anything, but my ultimate fate lies beyond the confines of Ea, that I am sure.”

Silence followed Elured’s explanation as the Mirkwood elves sat contemplating his words. Finally Legolas spoke but choice not to discuss Elured’s mortality further, “You said you were married. May I ask her name?” asked Legolas.

“Ereaelen Kasumi,” replied Elured.

Legolas blinked, “Ereaelen is an elvish name. Kasumi is not. So is she a half-elf.”

“Not really,” replied Elured cryptically, “It is common for elves of the east to take a name in the tongue of men. Indeed half-elves usually only have one name depending with whom they choose to dwell. If they choose to dwell among men they take a mannish name, if the choose to dwell among elves they take an elvish name. ”

Legolas did not press, although he longed to know how someone can ‘not really’ be a half-elf, but instead turned the talk towards the west, more specifically to Oropher and Thranduil and all that they had done since they fall of Doriath. The conversation stretched well into the night and indeed the light of the new dawn was spreading across the sky when Legolas mastered the courage to ask, “What… what befall after the fall of Doriath? All we know is that the followers of the sons of Feanor left you and Elurin to die in the woods.”

“Actually they dropped my brother and I into the den of a wolf,” replied Elured indifferently, although this garnered a started gasp from his companions. “The den had but one she-wolf and she was morning the loss of her cubs and her mate. She took us for her own and sheltered and nurtured us for weeks till Daeron found us. He took us and our mother-wolf and began a long trek to the east. In Daeron’s mind the east from whence all elves came was safer than the west from whence the cursed Noldor had come to blight the peace of Middle-Earth,” a shadow passed over, “Much took place during our long journey. During it we saw the highest peaks that the children of Eru could reach and the lowest of lows that one could fall. We all learned a bit about ourselves and ended the journey suffering the loss the wolf fate made our mother but gaining… gaining things that will hopefully prove enough to protect our homes for ages uncounted.”

“What did you gain?” wondered Legolas, “If you don’t mind me asking that is,” he added.

Elured smiled a grim smile, “Self-knowledge for a start and… well the other more material gain is not easily explained. Better we wait for a day that you can see it in action.”

Legolas nodded, “I hope that day comes soon than.”

At that Elured’s face darkened, “Do not wish that!” he chastised, “For any day that baths Ristariw in its light is a day of woe indeed.”

“Ristariw” repeated Legolas as if he was commenting the name into memory, “I see…” Legolas did not need Elured to tell him that Ristariw was a weapon and given the expression on Elured’s face and his reluctance to talk about it, it was probably a very fell weapon. This disturbed Legolas but he said nothing more on the matter.

After a marked pause Elured continued, “Our journey ended when we met a woman who bid us follow and led us to the eastern most coast of Middle-Earth that was blocked from the rest of Middle-Earth by and extensive mountain range. It was a strange, strange land. For in the mountain range there were heavily wooded valleys where dwelt elves, elves who opted to remain in the east by the waters of waking rather than follow the exodus east. Who had than spread far and wide but did not escape the darkness the followed the return of Morgoth and had in the end followed a great river to its source and had remade their homes near the source of the river. They held themselves loyal to Ulmo, whom they believed to be the only Valar that truly understand what it means to be a child of Eru.”

Again Elured turned his face towards the east, “When these elves began their journey to the source of the river they brought with them one tribe of men. The only tribe that did not escape into forgetfulness from the deed that darkened the hearts of men but faced it head on and accepted it as something that could not be undone but something that should remembered for all times. During their journey many half-elves had come into being and most opted to settle with their mortal kin along the coast but when the number of men had increased so that the land along the coast, hemmed in as it was by the mountain range proved to be insufficient many of their folks charted a course across what is perhaps the Arda’s most turbulent stretch of sea to an island that had always been seen on the horizon and there most of their made their homes. These days elves still hold the mountain, all who dwell along the coast have some measure of elvish blood but most who dwell across the brief stretch of sea on the fertile island have little to no elvish blood in their veins. But all of them are linked together with ancient oaths and know that they if they do not stand together against the darkness that have always sought to swallow them whole than they will all fall.”

Silence followed this discourse. At last Legolas broke it with a question asked in a tone of plea, “Will you… will you come with us to my father’s Halls? He often speaks of you. I believe you were playmates back in Doriath and it would sooth his heart to see you again.”

Elured thought for a moment, “I will if only to see Thranduil again, but I would also like to speak with your scouts and trackers if I may. For you see I am searching for something. I am not sure what form this... something exists in, but I will know it when I find it,” Elured’s responded cryptically.

Once again Legolas found that there were so, so many questions he could ask but in the end none of those questions could be asked because Elured did not want to answer them, “My prince the resources of Greenwood are at your disposal. Though our library is not as great as that of the house of Elrond they are still full of woodland lore and extensive maps of this region and our scouts are second to none! I am sure we can help you find whatever it is you are seeking.”

“Thank you,” said Elured, genuinely grateful.

***
Amen

When Fingon the Valiant had been told that it was time for him to leave the halls of Mandos, he had dropped to his knees and begged Mandos to not let him out. Mandos had demanded why and Fingon’s answer was simply, “I haven’t found Maedhros yet!”

In his ever even and ever indifferent tone Mandos had replied, “He is not coming to my halls, there is not reason for you remain here. You have learnt and repented as much as you can while remaining in my halls. For your repentance and learning to continue you must leave my halls,” the finality in Mandos’s tone broke Fingon’s heart.

But still Fingon the Valiant persisted, “But if Maedhros is not here where is he!” it was than that cold fear gripped him, “Not… can… is there truly an everlasting darkness to which Maedhros has been damned? But… but… why him and not his brothers or even his father? All are here, save for Maedhros, Maglor and Caranthir! Maglor still lives and Caranthir refused your summon did Maedhros refuse your summon as well?”

“I never summoned him,” was Mandos’s cryptically reply, “if you would learn more of what befell the one you hold more precious than your very existence than leave my hall and go to Formenos. There you will fine one who will tell you all that you seek to know,” Mandos told him, “I will wait for you in the Ring of Doom to hear your plea when you discovered what it is that you have plead for.”

Fingon had not known what else to say. Suddenly he was eager to leave the halls of Mandos and leave he did, finally waking in the gardens of Lorien to be greeted with hugs and kisses from his mother, his father and his brother and son. Fingolfin was back, Turgon was back and so was Gil-galad and they were glad to see him back. Fingon had returned their love and affection in equal parts. He had missed them, terribly so. Yet even in the company of his family, so long separated, he found no peace for he was wild to know what had befallen Maedhros, thou his heart warned that he really did not want to know where Maedhros was.

It was some time before he could bend his feet towards Formenos the fortress Feanor had built during his exile from Tirion. A fortress he had assumed would be abandoned and lifeless… it had not been so. Indeed the fortress was teaming with life and light. For those who had followed Feanor and his sons and had been reborn had made Formenos their home, still loyal to the House of Feanor despite all that had happened but wiser now for all that had happened. Never again would they follow any lord blindly.

They had welcomed him warmly and bid him stay as long as he will but they had not been forthcoming about Maedhros, nor had they been keen to tell him who now led them. He did not understand the secrecy but all thoughts of what the re-embodied follows of Feanor might be hiding fled his mind when he found what he sought on the third night of his stay in Formenos.

He had been tossing and turning in his darkened room. Unable to sleep but reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed for the air around him felt as cold as the Helcaraxë, which was absurd.

There was a soft sigh from one corner of his dark room and a chill went down his spine as he realised he was not alone. “That is not an absurd thought,” came a lyrical feminine voice, “My mother’s body was poisoned by the essence of Morgoth that still floats out there in the void while she still bore me inside of her. Some of that poison has flowed into me and… I consciously and unconsciously can suck up the heat from my surrounding… heat and cold being the domain of Morgoth,” she sighed again slightly bitterly.

Fingon started to get up and reach for the lamp near them. But she stayed him, “I do not think it is very wise for you to look upon me.”

Fingon was confused, “I am sorry. I… I do not follow. Who… who are you?”

She laughed, “That is not important,” she assured him, “But what I have to tell you is. So listen closely. Maedhros is not dead.”

“What! What do you mean!” demanded Fingon, “He… he jumped into a pit of fire with the silmaril!”

“Yes but that did not kill him and he still lives floating in a river of molten magma. He’s hair has been burnt off long ago, his skin also has been burnt and charred but he is not dead. For he cannot die like… like that, because of the spell Morgoth wove around him to keep him alive for forty years hanging from Thangorodrim, starving, thirsty, forever close to death but never actually dying. Everybody thought that the spell was broken when you severed his hand, believing that the shock was enough to undo Morgoth’s fell spell but… it is still in effect and so Maedhros had endured millenniums of torment in the fiery core of Arda.”

Horrified beyond speech, Fingon remained silent. The girl too remained silent, waiting for him to speak, so say something anything. “How could the Valar allow this to happen?” he demanded.

“Some who lost their lives to the kinslayings may say that eldest son of Feanor was getting his just desert.”

“No! Nothing Maedhros has done justifies this!” roared Fingon.

“That is what you believe,” she countered.

“Is that not what you believe?” challenged Fingon.

“I am not unbiased,” was her non-committal reply, “But what I think does not matter. What matters is what you are willing to do. Are you willing to risk another stay in Mandos to free him? What would you give to bring him back to Aman?”

“Everything!” declared Fingon with out hesitation, “I do not care if I remain forever in the halls of Mandos. I cannot… I cannot…” tears welled up and choked him.

“Well than, let me tell you a riddle,” and so she began,

They gather, gather together
The sword, the harp,
The balrog, the silmaril
They come for one to lives
They come for one to suffers
Through the Black Pit he can be reached
But not through the gates that friendship keeps
But the secret door that Aule made
That only the ancients can open

“What does it mean?” wondered Fingon through his tears.

“That Maedhors can be reached through the mines that the Elves of the Middle-Earth called Moria, but only if you enter Moria through the “secret door that Aule made” and that four people will be going after him, each for their own reasons. You are without a doubt the sword, his brother Maglor should be the harp and the silmaril… well I think that is Gil-galad but I cannot be sure.”

“And the Balrog?” wondered Fingon.

“That would be the Elured son of Dior,” replied the girl, “The only one who can break the spell that keeps Maedhros chained. But he can do so by using his weapon, the Ristariw, to suck Maedhros’s soul out of his body and if he does that than Maedhros’s soul will be stuck inside the dark heart of Ristariw till that weapon is broken. That will not happen till Elured dies and he is not destined to die till the end of days.”

“Well Fingon the Valiant,” said the girl, “these are the ends to this tale. If Elured reaches Maedhros first then he will suck up his soul into the Ristariw and call it mercy. If Maglor reaches Maedhros first he will fish his brother out of the magma and take him back to the east where he dwells and there get him what healing he can but Maedhros will find no peace or the healing he needs and he will forever suffer because his brother loves him enough to keep him close but not enough to do what is best for him. I do not know what the Silmaril intends to do, if it is indeed Gil-galad as I suspect it to be than probably his objective would be to find a way to break Morgoth’s spell and send Maedhros to the halls of Mandos, where he can both heal and repent they way he should have in ages long past.”

“But there is a fourth way, they way I am to take,” said Fingon.

“You can aid any of the other if that is what you desire. Just as the others might abandon their own goals and support someone else, but there is indeed a fourth way. You can bring the still alive Maedhros to the halls of Nienna, the lady of tears. Many tears has she shed for Maedhros the tall and all the tears were gathered together into a hallowed pool. It will heal Maedhros in body and dull the wounds of his soul. He will not be whole, he will never be whole but he will not be dead. By far the happiest outcome you can have.”

“Than that is the outcome that will come to pass,” said Fingon with determination.

“Easier said than done, for one thing Elured does not fail,” and with that she left. Leaving Fingon alone and contemplating all that he had to do.

***
TBC

Elvish terms translation:
Ristariw – cutting edge



Chapter 2
Aman

“Well Fingon the Valiant,” said the girl, “these are the ends to this tale. If Elured reaches Maedhros first then he will suck up his soul into the Ristariw and call it mercy. If Maglor reaches Maedhros first he will fish his brother out of the magma and take him back to the east where he dwells and there get him what healing he can but Maedhros will find no peace or the healing he needs and he will forever suffer because his brother loves him enough to keep him close but not enough to do what is best for him. I do not know what the Silmaril intends to do, if it is indeed Gil-galad as I suspect it to be than probably his objective would be to find a way to break Morgoth’s spell and send Maedhros to the halls of Mandos, where he can both heal and repent they way he should have in ages long past.”

“But there is a fourth way, they way I am to take,” said Fingon.

“You can aid any of the other if that is what you desire. Just as the others might abandon their own goals and support someone else, but there is indeed a fourth way. You can bring the still alive Maedhros to the halls of Nienna, the lady of tears. Many tears has she shed for the Maedhros the tall and all the tears were gathered together into a hallowed pool. It will heal Maedhros in body and dull the wounds of his soul. He will not be whole, he will never be whole but he will not be dead. By far the happiest outcome you can have.”

“Than that is the outcome that will come to pass,” said Fingon with determination.

“Easier said than done, for one thing Elured does not fail,” and with that she left. Leaving Fingon alone and contemplating all that he had to do.

Yet he had questions, lots of questions and the quickest way to get them answered was to confront that girl. Jumping out of bed he bolted out the door. His room had been at one end of a long hallway, so there was only one direction the girl could have gone. Indeed Fingon though he say a deep blue cloak disappear around the corner. Forgetting propriety, Fingon raced down the hall. Determine to catch the girl in the blue cloak.

The hall ways of Formenos where perpetually lit with what looked like modified versions of Feanorian lamps. Unlike other Feanorian lamps, which contained a fine network of crystals, each of which shone with a brilliant blue light of its own, these had single golden crystal at its heart that gave out a pale yellow light that was at once bright and smoothing. These lights were every where in Tirion, Taniquetil and even Alqualondë, Fingon had noticed. He also noticed that these lights wax and waned in response to the sun and other ambient light in the area where they were located. This was something the Feanorian lamps did not do.


Fingon came to an abrupt halt half-way down the hall. An absurd idea had awoke in his mind. But there could be no other explanation. No Noldor had ever understood the workings of a Feanorian lamp. Indeed very few elves and Maia under stood the working of any of Feanor’s creations. The only ones who could where his sons and his grandson, it seemed to be an innate ability they possessed. Where they could touch one of his father’s creations and know how it was created and how to modify it or remake it completely. Others could only replicate.

That the lights were a Feanorian creation there could be no doubt. The star of Feanor was visible enough, worked as it had been into the motif of the light fixture. But who was left of the house of Feanor to create this or anything for that matter. Could it be whoever was now the lord of Formenos was the inventor of this light? But if the new lord of Formenos was scion of the house of Feanor than from which branch came that fruit? All were hacked off save for Maglor…

“My Lord Fingon,” came the meek voice that Fingon recognised as belonging to Arahir, of old the most loyal squire of Maedhros himself. He had fallen during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, same as Fingon. But Arahir, who was born in exile and died before the second kin slaying had no black mark against his name unless his utter devotion to Maedhros the Kinslayer could be considered one, so he had been leased soon after entering the halls of Mandos. Who did he serve now, the new lord of Formenos?

“Yes,” replied Fingon.

“My lord I was wondering if all is well with you. Why do you wonder the halls in the dead of the night?” he wondered.

“Just now a girl visited me in my room and revealed to what became of Lord Maedhros. Did you know he still lived?” Fingon asked as he fixed the other elf with a hard steady gaze.

Arahir’s face well and deep grief suffused it, “Everybody here knows about it. Everybody knows that the battlelines have been drawn and who has taken what side. They all think they know what is best for Lord Maedhros. No one speaks of asking him what he wants!” complained Arahir.

“That’s because he might well asked to be left to suffer in the chasm of fire and that is not going to happen,” said a feminine voice that reminded Fingon of the sea, deep with a music all its own.

Both he and Arahir turned to the figure standing at the end of the hallway. Then Fingon stared, his jaw falling open and refused to shut. For the elf who stood before them looked so much like Maedhros that Fingon could well have believed his beloved cousin stood before him. Yet it was not so. This elf was female and her eyes did not hold the light of the tree. But it did hold the fire of Feanor and suddenly Fingon knew she was the one who wrought the lamps that adorned the hallway and that she was the one who now led the elves of Formenos.
***
Mirkwood

When the scouts had told Thranduil that Legolas was just half an hour away and had with him a special guest, he had felt an intense curiosity come over him. For his scouts saw no addition to the party. Indeed when Legolas finally entered the throne room, his party was not visible larger.

“Well my son,” wondered Thranduil, “Where is this special guest of whom you sent word?”

“O come Thranduil! Did you not always boast that your nose was as good as Huan’s and you would have been able to sniff out Luthien, wearing her enchanted cloak, even as Huan had?”

For a moment Thranduil sat in stunned silence, “I know that voice,” he said at last, “But I cannot place it. Verily it conjures to my mind the memories of Doriath, long buried under the burden of years.”

Elured laughed and throw back the hood of his enchanted cloak, at once breaking the spell of invisibility, “Can you place it now, Thranduil?” he wondered.

“Elured!” cried Thranduil, “What sorcery is this?”

“No Sorcery, just the favour of the Valar and Illuvatar,” replied Elured, “Or so I would like to think!”

“Clearly there is a tale here,” said Thranduil, still grappling with his surprise.

“There is indeed,” replied Elured, “Thou I can shorten it considerably but not going into the details.”

Thranduil laughed, “Nay my friend, I hope I can still call you that, when we in the family parlour after the dinner I will beg you to tell me all. I care not how long the tale lasts. I am sure neither will the Sons of Elrond, who arrived this morning.”

Legolas’s face brightened at the knowledge that his dearest friend where here, “That is great news!” he declared, “they have often talked about what it would be like to meet another set of Half-elven twins,” he told Elured, “It is a pity Elurin cannot be here.”

“O he may yet make an appearance before the tasks that brings me to the west is complete. So the sons of Elrond may yet get their wish,” said Elured. “I myself am also eager to meet the sons of Elrond. I have always been curious about how sisters’ son and grandsons have turned out. Afterall Maglor has had such a hand in Elrond’s making.”

At the comment both Thranduil and Legolas looked concerned. How much of a grudge did Elured bear the Noldor, they wondered. Thranduil ventured uncomfortably, “I do not think the childhood Maglor gave Elrond… had much of an impact.”

“I doubt that very much,” replied Elured, an amused smiled pasted on his face, “He is not a man who leave little impact,” he smiled a ruefully, “It seems to be the trait of the House of Feanor.”

There was another surprised silence, before Legolas wondered, “Have you met Maglor since the fall of Doriath?”

Elured blinked and than laughed, “Forgive me; I had forgotten I had not told you yet. My wife, Ereaelen, is the eldest daughter of Maglor.”
***
Aman

Ereaelen regarded Fingon as if he was an abstract problem and she had no desire to solve, but could not safely disregard. It was a look Maedhros often wore, especially when he was forced to deal with the transgressions of his less diplomatic brothers. It had never been directed at Fingon himself and for that he was now relieved. It gave him something with which he could distinguish the daughter of Maglor from Maedhros. It was proving a difficult task, despite Ereaelen’s femineity.

After a pause, Fingon was finally able to speak, “You can only be Maglor’s daughter for I know no other descended of Feanor who could have sired you.”

“Ereaelen,” she identified herself, “Forgive me, Lord Fingon, for not welcoming you properly to Formenos, but I have myself just returned to the fortress.”

“Think nothing….” Fingon trailed off as he became fixated on her hair, the beautiful vibrant red…

Ereaelen sighed and focus her fiery eyes on Arahir, “And what would you do, Arahir, if Lord Maedhros asked to be left in his torment?”

Arahir, winched and lowered his eyes to the ground, “I would,” he began, his voice choking with tears, “I would do as he bid, for he is my Lord and Master.”

“How loyal of you,” comment Ereaelen indifferently, “I suppose it is an infinitely good thing, Maedhros is not my Lord and Master.”

“Perhaps it is,” said Fingon, having recovered himself once again, “But part do you play in this strange riddle and who was that girl who visited me just now.”

“The girl was my youngest sister, Silmarelen. By now she would have left the fortress and returned to the Halls of Mandos,” Ereaelen informed him calmly.

“Halls of Mandos…” repeated Fingon in utter confusion.

“The Lady Silmarelen was born cursed,” whispered Arahir, “She can’t dwell for long outside the halls of Mandos. Her body starts to break down. The Maia of Lord Lorien are constantly tending to her body, so that her soul may inhabit it for a time each season,” he explained.

“That’s terrible,” exclaimed Fingon. Arahir nodded but his face bore the look of a man resigned to fate.

“Did my sister let you see her face?” wondered Ereaelen. Fingon shook his head. “She took a great risk to tell you what she did. Her body had all but broken down. Had she allowed you to see her… well I doubt it would have been a sight you could have ever forgotten and for all the wrong reasons.”

“Why did she have to take such a risk?” demanded Fingon, sudden suspicion rising in his heart, “Why could she not trust that you would have told me, what she did?”

“Because I would not have told you,” answered Ereaelen simply. “You cannot help my uncle. You can only get in the way.”

Fingon abruptly became very angry, “Then who can?” he demanded, “Maglor? Who seeks to keep his brother beside him despite what it may cost! Or perhaps you have thrown your support behind Elured, the Sinda prince for revenge!”

“My husband is not out for revenge. In fact, the only reason he is undertaking this quests is because I asked him to,” replied Ereaelen calmly. Fingon was stunned speechless.
***



Chapter 3
Mirkwood

Elured had never been praised for his choice of bride, or his bride for the husband she had chosen. Maglor upon learning his eldest daughter’s choice had threatened her with all sorts of things ranging from withholding family heirlooms to being imprisoned in the most impregnable fortress. Elured himself had incurred the wrath of the Avari and the derision of the few Teleri who had escaped into the east one time or another during the reign of Morgoth. Even his own twin advised him to think better of it and Daeron viewed it as an utter betrayal.

The reason for this nearly universal opposition were numerous and almost all of them justified. To begin with, Elured’s sanity was held together by the barest of threads at the best of time; more then once he had descended into the depths of madness and turned against those he loved best. Both Maglor and Elurin knew it was only a matter of time till Elured once again fell prey to the raging spirit of the balrog that he harboured within himself. Ereaelen could not but be hurt by Elured’s insanity. Daeron, who had never witnessed first hand the horror Elured was capable of wrecking, objected to the match, along with the other Teleri, on the grounds of Ereaelen being Maglor’s daughter and being grossly underage at the time when they first declared their intention to be bound together in the fetters of matrimony. The Avari objected to both her age and her lineage but only because they did not think it proper that her mother’s blood should mingle with those of mere elves more then it already had. The Avari had most vehemently objected to the bride Maglor had chosen.

Neither Elured nor Ereaelen paid much attention to what other people said and did not pay any attention to even their own families in the present occasion. They married and their family had little to do but accept it, the wider world followed shortly after, if only because the world had not ended in revulsion as some had expected it to. That is not to say that Elured was not perpetually justifying his choice.

So it was that when Elured sat down to dinner with the Mirkwood royal family, he mentally prepared himself for a lot of questions regarding his wife and her father and everything else. However, it was not Thranduil’s desire to force his guest to communicate. The woodland king could not but help notice Elured going into slightly defensive posture when he told them who his wife was. It was clear that Elured did not wise to speak about his wife and Thranduil had no desire to force him to talk about something he did not, even though the king and his sons were burning with curiosity.

The talk during the dinner focused on the Doriath that Thranduil and Elured remembered. They also talked a little bit about Elrond and his twin sons; just before the twin themselves joined them. The twins, being much fatigued by their journey had slept longer then they intended and joined the family just as the main course was being served.

“We are really so…” Elladan began to apologise but the words died on his lips as he caught sight of Elured.

***
Aman

Everything about Ereaelen showed Fingon that she did not want to deal with him. After the initial meeting, she had began to treat him with cold civility. She had asked him to break fast with her but maintained an almost uncivil silence during it. After it was over, she asked him about his family and friends in a general way. But Fingon was no interested in retelling what she must already know as well as himself. He was more curious about her.

“How does the granddaughter of Feanor end up wedded to the grandson of Luthien?” asked Fingon at the first convenient instance.

“O in the usual way that such unions are apt of happen,” replied Ereaelen, “He saw me, he liked me, he claimed me as repatriation for all the wrongs my family had done to him and his family; as much my father could do nothing but grant my hand to him in marriage and so here I am.”

“You are not telling the truth,” said Fingon after a pause.

“I am not lying,” she replied indifferently.

“I do not wish to play games,” Fingon insisted, “I just want a straight answer. How did you end up wedded to Elured? Who is your mother? How did you end up in Valinor? Do you have any siblings besides Silmarelen? Do not answer me if you think I am being impertinent. But do not play games with me,” he snapped.

“You are being impertinent,” replied Ereaelen, “but I guess there is no harm in answering SOME of your questions. I am the eldest of three children. My sister Narelen was born between myself and Silmarelen. My mother was… a vassal of Ulmo. It is because of her I and my sisters are allowed to dwell in Valinor. We are allowed to journey back to middle earth to be with your father for a time. But, as I am sure you have deduced, there are strict rules governing what we can and cannot do while we are in Middle-earth.”

“You mother is maia,” stated Fingon with some surprise.

“No,” was her curt reply.

Fingon waited for her to elaborate. She did not. Fingon decided to leave it alone, “You still haven’t told me how you ended up married to Elured.”

“Can you not guess?” wondered Ereaelen airily.

Fingon growled his frustration and gave up the topic. At least some of his questions were answered. Besides, it was high time he began focusing on Maedhros. It seemed to Fingon that the critical thing to do was to find away to get to Middle-Earth. This was something he could not do without the blessing of the Valar. So the first thing he had to do was go the ring of doom and through himself on the mercy of the velar and hope they grant him passage to Middle-Earth. As for the rest… that will have to be worked out once he actually get’s to Middle-Earth.




And that's pretty much all I wrote...