Even More About Maedhros by Himring

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The Stable-Master

Feanorians and horses: the story of Maedhros's stable-master.
Backstory for my OMC Celvandil, who had already appeared in several stories of the series.

A drabble sequence written for the Horse of a Different Colour Challenge at Tolkien Weekly.

Warnings for references to canonical violence, torture and suicide, and character death

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First Encounter

The first encounter between Maedhros and his future stable-master, in Valinor during the Time of the Trees.

 

After his first lesson, Maedhros carefully dismounted. The stable-boy waiting to have the reins of the tall chestnut handed to him to had to be the son of the owner. He seemed small to be handling such a large animal, but it was the prince his eyes were fixed on, round with awe.

'Thank you!' Maedhros said, smiling, trying to put him at his ease. 'My family travels a lot on foot, but now my father wants me to learn to ride. You look as if you know all about it and can give me a helpful hint or two!'

Celvandil drew himself up.

'The first rule is: Whatever happens, always get back on the horse!', he said, making his voice as deep as he could to quote his father.

'A good rule, that!' said Maedhros. 'I'll try and take it to heart!'

At first, Celvandil tried to be discreet, nursing the words that had passed between them to his chest. Wasn't he practically a member of the royal staff, now? But the next time he met his friends to play conkers, the secret spilled out. Soon they all knew he was teaching the grandson of their king to ride!

 

Alqualonde

Feanorian horses on stolen swan ships

Horses did not belong on ships. Most especially, horses did not belong on ships like these. Celvandil blind-folded the bay to coax him on board but the animal scented the violence and blood. It shied and turned at bay, almost trampling him. Dimly, it occurred to him that maybe he should not have brought his favourite horse on this expedition. Caught up in the action and the moment, he failed to ask, then, whether he should have been there himself.

Later he thought of the flight of the Noldor as a stampede, startled into motion, trampling people in its way.

 

First Ride

In Mithrim, after the rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim.

Celvandil is unable to speak with animals the way Prince Celegorm does, but for the most part the horses understand him well enough. After some thought, he chooses Allinte and has a good talk with her about things. Then they wait outside, he and the dapple-grey mare, until Maedhros emerges on Fingon's arm, discreetly supported by his cousin. Maedhros looks at the mare and then at Celvandil.

'The first rule is: Whatever happens, always get back on the horse,' he quotes, faintly. The corners of his mouth twitch a little. It is a mere ghost of Maedhros's old encouraging smile.

By the time Celvandil recognizes it, it is too late to respond, so they just get on with it. Between them, he and Fingon lift Maedhros cautiously into the saddle and then, slowly, they wend their way to the near grove to take a short turn along a path dappled with shivering leaves and the still-new Sunlight. All the way, Allinte, walking between them, mindful of her rider, is as good as gold. Maedhros says so, afterwards, leaning hard against her flank, too exhausted to stand. He places his hand on her withers and whispers his thanks into her mane.

 

Career Choice

In Himring. (Celvandil is now Maedhros's stable-master.)

'About the dun.'

'The dun?'

'Maglor's stallion--the one that won over the longest distance.'

'Ah yes, I've congratulated my brother on his victory.'

'You should ask to borrow him for a season, my lord. To improve our bloodlines...'

An unexpected silence.

'Ah, by the way. Speaking of which, Celvandil. I've been meaning to ask: Himring, stuck up on a high rock. Not so much scope here for a man of your talents? There would be more for you at the Gap. Or even--in Hithlum, with Fingon.'

News about the success of Fingon's riders against the dragon has recently reached them.

'My lord! I can see you're casting about for gifts to give your cousin along with that dwarven helmet. But I am not a gift! I cannot be given!'

Speaking as firmly as possible. Fingon's horses might be faster, Maglor's sturdier, but Celvandil has helped to build Himring with his own hands. He has a stake in this place and its people.

He hadn't guessed how much Maedhros shared his feelings on the matter until he see the relief on his lord's face.

'Ah, right. Good,' the lord of Himring says, 'I'll just ask my brother about the dun, then.'

 

A Dark Horse for a Dark Hour

After the Third Kinslaying

They might have been alone, he and the black horse, plodding through the night. He began to doubt whether he would ever find them again. Then the mist shifted and suddenly he came upon them, silent in the dark as ghosts unhoused, although--weren't they all dead or as good as dead already? They did not move or speak, merely watching him intently, and he felt a dull anger rise at the accusatory silence as he hovered, remaining ahorse, a few feet away. How dare they condemn him for treachery! Had they not all, all of them, betrayed Elvenkind heinously, three-times-kinslayers?

Still they did not move and he realized they were not condemning him, merely awaiting his final decision. Probably he was not the only one who had attempted to make Celebrimbor's choice and wavered. He had tracked them down--but so long as he remained mounted and separate, he could still change his mind again, turn around, seek out Gil-galad and repudiate all things Feanorian--or maybe take his black horse and hide out by himself in the woods, hoping against hope to be overlooked by the hordes of Angband.

But he made his choice--if it had truly been a choice--and dismounted.

'Where is...?' he asked but then Maedhros's hand closed gently on his wrist in warning.

Ceredir. Gone. Killed at Sirion.

He looked for Narye's face, already knowing he would have no comfort to offer for the loss of her cousin. He could not see her at first. They began to shift around him, and his gaze fell instead on children, two boys where none should be. He stared.

'Ah yes,' said Maglor. 'It looks as if they will be staying with us a little while.' His fingers hesitated over a small head, not quite touching black hair.

'This is Elrond.'

 

  Into White

During the end of the first Age, after the War of Wrath and Maedhros's death

'Take care, Celvandil', says Elrond, in his new healer's robes of pristine linen. He's worried.

Celvandil knows why. Morgoth may be defeated, but the sinking land is dangerous. Among the casualties, the number of Feanorians is high.

Celvandil does not think any have followed Maedhros into the flames, though, or been killed in revenge by Sindar. Robbed of both prince and purpose, it's easy to get careless. It's hard on Elrond, who takes both new and old responsibilities seriously.

'I will.'

Celvandil still has horses to take care of.

Almost everyone has fled Beleriand but a few Sindar stayed stubbornly in their homes, hoping the earthquakes would pass. Celvandil sympathizes. They wouldn't appreciate the comparison but he knows much about lost causes. This family would not be accepting help from a Noldo, let alone a Feanorian, if they weren't in dire straits.

In his arms the silver-haired girl he's carrying struggles, sobbing: 'Whitemane! Whitemane!'

Celvandil deposits her in the boat, rushes back, wrenches open the door to the stall. In panic, Whitemane knocks him aside and escapes just as the stable collapses.

Celvandil is pinned under a fallen rafter. He thinks his spine is probably broken. No use calling for help: soon, the water of the approaching tidal wave will be lapping among the wreckage.

'I'm sorry, Elrond.'

He had not meant to leave Maglor's fosterling, who has already lost too many in his short life, but somehow, he can't be too sorry. He imagines the silver-haired girl riding on Whitemane, joyously riding away into freedom. The image is so vivid; almost he can see them before his very eyes. Then everything empties into white.

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Chapter End Notes

These drabbles were written on Word Online, using the provided word count tool.
According to that measure they were all true drabbles, double drabbles or triple drabbles of 100 words each.
But some of them have fewer words according to other methods of counting.

Notes on individual sections:

First Encounter

Written for the prompt "Chestnut" for the Horse of a Different Colour Challenge

Alqualonde

The prompt was "bay".

First Ride

The Tolkien Weekly drabble prompt was "dappled".

Allinte, as well as Celvandil, is a previously existing OC of mine. She appeared in the story "Just and Equitable Government".

Career Choice

"That dwarven helmet" is the Dragon Helm of Dor-lomin, originally given by King Azaghal to Maedhros and then by Maedhros to his cousin Fingon, after Fingon and his riders had temporarily defeated the first dragon.

The prompt was: "horse of a different colour - dun".

A Dark Horse for a Dark Hour

The prompt was: "horse of a different colour--black".
Switched back to past tense here--I guess I was trying to keep a bit more distance between myself and the events of this one...

Into White

The prompt was "white". In the first drabble, "white" is represented by "pristine linen".
The phrase "(empties) into white" is an allusion to song lyrics by Cat Stevens.