Fire and Worms by Tyelca

Chapter 1

The first time, they were told, no one knew what to do. Death was unknown; only once before had a fëa left a hröa in Valinor, and that had been voluntarily and the Vala had handled the remaining hröa. There had been a ceremony, they were told, but the hröa was gone; there was no memorial to remember Míriel Serinde after she had moved to Mandos’ Halls. None of them had any idea how to picture a corpse, a body devoid of life.

The second time, it was all too clear. Finwë’s body was broken and bloodied, and as their grandfather before them they experienced the immeasurable grief of losing someone they cared about for the first time. Again there was a ceremony; this time, following the ancient rituals from before the Eldar came to Aman, their father crafted a wooden vessel in which they put the body, and after it was closed the vessel was lowered in the ground so that even if Finwë’s fëa had left, his hröa would spread kindness and courage through the soil.

It was Tyelcormo who first commented on it, eyes dry and uncomprehending. “Why did they put Grandfather in the ground? There is rot there; after the wood has broken he will be consumed by the earth.” Fëanáro had sat him down and explained the reason, that what was taken from Arda would be returned to it just like the leaves after they’d fallen down, but none of them could really understand, and they saw from their father’s eyes that he too did not agree with the ancient practices. “What has the earth ever done for Grandfather that it may have him?” Carnistir asked, and his grief turned into anger, but he received no answer. After that, no more words were spoken on the subject and then things went too fast to really think about.

The third and fourth and fifth time inexplicably turned in the thousandth, and there was none who cared about them. The ships, they must get the ships, and that was all that mattered. Telerian bodies were thrown into the sea and easily disposed off, creating a walkway towards the harbor where the Swanships lay anchored. Maitimo gave a short thought to the departed souls, but he did not care enough to raise the matter.

They crossed the Great Sea and arrived in the new land, where they set the ships aflame. There was something beautiful about such wanton destruction, as Makalaurë put it wistfully. The other six already knew he was mentally composing and left him to his thoughts.

It wasn’t that much later when they fought their first real battle against the Enemy. Dagor-nuin-Giliath, they called it later, the Battle under the Stars, and they pressed on for many miles towards the Enemy’s fortress. There they fought again, in darkness under the heavy clouds of smoke the mountains emitted. Balrogs illuminated the battlefield when they cracked their whips, a red glow over red blood. Death was omnipresent, and even their father, the great Spirit of Fire, was not immune. He did not die immediately, but waiting for someone to go was almost worse than having them go at all. This time, they all cried, but even in his final moments Fëanáro offered words of comfort, while in between cursing the Enemy with his final breaths. Then he died; but instead of the emptiness that characterized the departure of fëa, small flames started to burn at the outermost limbs, and they slowly grew in size and temperature as they came closer to his heart and head. In the end, there was nothing left but ashes.

The silence that reigned then was not broken for a long time. “There is nothing left,” Curufinwë stated, though his words were barely recognizable as tears reshaped them. “Everything is gone,” Ambarussa agreed, and Ambarto added, “At least the worms can’t get to him now,” and to that they all nodded. To them, Fëanáro was the third one to die.

Much later, when Maitimo was returned from Angband’s heights and had sufficiently recovered, they found that they could not ignore the possibility of one of them dying any longer. So, when they found the courage to speak about the topic, they agreed that they did not want to disappear in flames; since it needn’t even be spoken aloud they did not prefer the rot of the ground either, there remained the question of what to do with their bodies if, not when, they were forced to go to Mandos. It was not an easy question, for even doing nothing eventually decided in favor of the worms.

It were the Ambarussa that eventually came with a solution. “We could not continue living without each other,” they were saying, “but what if we could keep each other close forever? Take up the essence?”

“What are you saying?” Maitimo asked sharply, but he was interested; Angband had been anything but kind to him, and there was little left that could shock him for he had seen all possible kinds of debauchery already. They all knew what the Ambarussa had proposed to do was forbidden, damning even, according to some, but they were already damned and Dispossessed. They did not care about others’ opinions of them and general consensus already painted them as monsters. So, the thought held a certain allure, for it not only offered an alternative to the worms and the flames, but it also ensured some kind of continued existence after death that was not confined to Mandos’ Halls. It was a freedom, a peace of mind they’d longed for ever since Finwë’s funeral. For a long time they let the matter rest.

Many years later they were forced to remember that long-ago conversation. They had known death was indiscriminating; yet when it came, it came completely unexpected. Three of them gone; three bodies, mutilated by arrows, swords and axes. They felt the pain of loss keenly and there was only one way to diminish it to bearable levels. Menegroth was done; in the middle of the throne room they bared the bodies on three tables. In death Carnistir’s face was peaceful, the frown that had marred Curufinwë’s features ever since Fëanáro died was gone and Tyelcormo had an innocent and honest smile on his face. Four, five, and six. They had cleaned their knifes and wore white garments. It didn’t matter they would soon turn red; sooner or later, everything did in Beleriand. The gates were locked and they were the only four people inside; they needed no witnesses for their ritual.

A cut over the torso bared the muscles underneath, and pressing down harder, the knife tore through those as well. Flesh was exposed to the hot and stuffy air, and the four remaining Fëanorians imagined they could hear bright laughter in the breeze. Eyes locked together, they honored first the strong, then the dark, then the skilled. Their fëa felt heavier, though whether that was due to carrying those of their three fallen brothers or yet another damnation, they couldn’t tell. The flesh did not have a particular taste, and for days they locked themselves inside as they devoured the departed.

When it was over, they opened the gates and did not speak a word about what happened inside. No one needed to know; and if their forces kept a little more distance than necessary, bowed a little deeper or left a little faster, then what did it matter?

The memories didn’t fade, even though they became less oppressive as time passed. But the Oath drove them on and a third Kinslaying was recorded in history, and the seventh and eighth death in Arda Marred came to be. Red blood the same color as the Ambarussa’s hair tasted like wine, and Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë slowly but surely got drunk as they enjoyed their private feast.

Then their uncle came to Beleriand after having turned his back on them and the cause once before. They met, and the expression of horror on Arafinwë’s face as they approached was memorable. By some stroke of luck they both survived the final war and the Silmarils were recovered; there was nothing preventing them from fulfilling their Oath, to make their brother’s deaths something more than in vain. Perhaps even to lighten the burden that weighted them down.

They clutched the burning Jewels close to their chest as they spurred their horses into a swift trot, eager to lay many miles between themselves and the Valinorean army encampment. The rode for days, only stopping to rest the horses. The Silmaril’s hot touch had penetrated the many layers of clothing and armor they wore, and a perfect scar now resided above their hearts. They had many scars and wore them with pride, but this one was special. They did not speak unless necessary and as the land spasmed they reached the Ered Luin mountain range. From high they looked out over Beleriand as it sundered, and Maitimo had a strange expression on his face, a mixture of determination and guilt. The mountains did not shake even as the earth opened beneath their roots and white-hot lava spilled out. Maitimo turned to Makalaurë. “I have fulfilled one Oath,” he said, “but I must break another, and so even my final act will be in defiance of the world. Do not forgive me for what I am about to do, for then you will find peace and I cannot let you fail Turco, Moryo, Curvo, Pityo and Telu.”

“Even if you do?” Makalaurë asked with a dry throat. He knew what the only brother he’d left was getting at and the Silmaril still burned in his hand. Maitimo grinned and there was madness in his eyes.

“I repay my debt the moment I owe it,” he said. “For my flesh is tainted by the Dark Lord; I cannot allow you to save Morgoth’s soul.” He looked down into the fire. “And anything is better than the worms,” he muttered to himself. He looked up again and gestured to the Silmaril Makalaurë still held. “Keep father safe,” he instructed and then stepped over the ledge. With dry eyes Makalaurë watched his brother fall down, and thought that the flames seemed remarkably Eldarin as they consumed his brother’s marred flesh. Perhaps his father was closer than he’d always thought…

He wanted to curse his brother, and did, but could find no fault in his logic, even though there was no reason to jump. Nine deaths. He turned his back on the destruction of Beleriand and looked east, where he would spent the rest of Arda’s years. For by choosing death, Maitimo had doomed him to live as there was no one left to not only take care of his fëa, but of those of his younger brothers as well.

He sighed, and walked towards eternity.