Voices of the Departed by heget

Chapter 1

After the meeting with between the various branches of the Finwions, where the middle sons of Fëanor had stirred trouble between themselves and the children of Finarfin, forcing Maedhros to lose face and rebuke their rude and rash words, Maglor sought his siblings. In the darkness between the tents he found his brothers. With the lanterns for illumination sparsely lit and widely spaced, it was only their silhouettes, but that was enough. Maglor, who had always been the ones to fetch them for baths and chores and dinner, could tell every sound of his brothers’ footsteps. Before they could react, Maglor accosted them, halting their joking words and light step. His face exerted a fury that recalled the finest rage of the Spirit of Fire. “Where is Tyelkormo?” he snarled, his voice lowering into registers not naturally his, the words in Quenya, their set aside mother tongue. No one else was nearby, and Maglor wanted to ensure that his brothers would listen. “Never mind,” he spat, “Off with his dog. He is not the ring-leader in this insubordination. You may pass this message on to him when you see him.”

Caranthir and Curufin flinched and adverted their eyes, as much from the voice that so perfectly echoed memories of childhood disappointment as from the way their older brother crowded them against the canvas of the far tent. Though Maglor had been the one to mimic their mother’s family in face and features even more than their copper-haired eldest, right now his pale brown eyes blazed like the vengeful ghost of their father. Even Caranthir forgot that he long overshadowed Maglor now in both height and weight as he cringed.

“Insubordination?” Curufin questioned churlishly, hating how he felt like he was twenty again, losing time that could have been spent composing or back in the forge working on projects now be wasted having to explain to Maglor why the twins were missing and hunting for the youngest two. Trying to convince his brother that it was not his fault, but when Maglor loomed and spoke in their parent’s voice it felt that way. Maglor was not either Fëanor or his mother, had no right to twist his words so and make Curufin feel small and useless. “If Nelya wants to abase himself before our half-uncle and cousins, our duty is to remind them of the pride and rightful position of the eldest princes of the Noldor.” He could feel Caranthir at his side about to join in with support when suddenly everything was pain. All air of his lungs violently expelled. The back of his head and body bounced against the canvas of the tent and then was pinned there.

When Curufin opened his eyes he saw that his brother Maglor had one hand each around his and Caranthir’s throats, pressing them against the pale canvas, fingers digging into their windpipes. It was difficult to breathe, and pain squeezed tears from the corners of his eyes. He had forgotten how strong Maglor's hands were. Curufin rolled his eyes to see Maglor leaning close, his face between those of his younger brothers. The iron fingers tightened.

“Listen carefully, baby brothers, and remember I still have two hands which which to deal with you.” Maglor’s voice was no longer his, and Curufin shivered as black spots started to flicker before him. “Oaths you swore, of loyalty to this family and its head as well, to follow his lead and obey his commands. To keep each other safe. If you cared so much for our pride and position, you would not second-guess every move your brother makes. You would not flaunt your defiance and upset your elders. You would not do this to Maitimo after what he has been through, what he has sacrificed for you.”

Had it been his father’s voice that Maglor wore as he recalled the promises of loyalty and love, Curufin thought, it would have been terrible and cruel. But Maglor chose the deepest blow, for the voice he borrowed was one that had never stepped onto these Hinder Shores, one Curufin had not heard in many long years and had done his best to block the memories of. He could hear Caranthir’s wretched sobs as the sounds of Nerdanel’s disappointed voice hissed in the dark. Curufin collapsed at the reminder of her, of how he knew he could not face his mother and explain what had happened to his family, what they had suffered and the choices they had wrought. The hand around his throat retreated, and instead he felt the weight of his big brother resting between them, a far gentler hand atop his head stroking away the tears.

“Do not disappoint me again,” Maglor said, and this time it was Nelyafinwë’s shattered whisper the day they brought him home, that piteous soft sound when their eldest brother had recovered enough to be moved from the Nolofinwion camp after the rescue. Now the brothers’ tears began in earnest, the hot pits of shame and uncertain fear.

“We must not show divisions between us,” Maglor murmured, stroking his brothers’ hair, the comforting voice all his own. “In the end all we have are each other.”

Chapter End Notes

Tyelkormo = Celegorm

Nelyafinwë, Maitimo = Maedhros

In general I dislike using the Quenya forms of characters' names unless the work is set in Valinor during the Time of the Two Trees, and even then I'd go with the more familiar published names. For this story, the plot coupled with the insular attitudes of the Fëanorians demanded some use.

Maglor's ability to mimic voices is a common fanon.