I Beg a Deep and Dreamless Sleep by JazTheBard

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Chapter 1

warning for suicidal thoughts and some unreality, gaslighting, and mentions of child abuse (it didn't actually happen, that's where the gaslighting comes in, but please don't read this if you think it could trigger you! stay safe!)

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Maedhros knew that the Elrond that stood before him was almost certainly a hallucination brought on by guilt. After all, he'd had this sort of vision before, many times.

 

 

(The first time, it had been his uncle Finarfin, telling him that he was to be forgiven and allowed to heal, that his adopted sons were waiting for him. Maedhros had believed it then.)

 

 

Nevertheless, he decided to treat the illusion as if it really were the person it claimed to be, as he always did, just in case. Only until it is proven false, he told himself.

 

"Greetings," he said, awkward as ever in his attempts to entice the shade into conversation. If he hadn't already been situated on the ground, he would have fallen to his knees at the sight of his former foster son's likeness, exactly how Maedhros had always thought Elrond would look as a grown elf.

 

The hallucination, acting likewise unsure of what to do, said, "Greetings."

 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair. Maedhros broke it, saying, "Why have you come here? To check that I have received my due punishment? I assure you that you may rest easy on that count." If Elrond really was here, dead, he probably needed that reassurance so that he could begin his healing, secure in the knowledge that his kidnapper was suffering in captivity as he once had.

 

Possibly-Elrond shook his head, a look of pity on his face. "No, the Valar sent me here for you. You are to be reembodied."

 

Definitely a hallucination, then. The real Elrond would never release him. Even if Maedhros were to be reembodied, an impossibility, Elrond and Elros would do anything in their power never to see him again, to not be forcibly reminded of their torment at his hand.

 

 

(Until the hallucinations of the peredhel twins started, Fingon had been the worst.

 

"I wonder," Fingon had mused, "if you hadn't gotten me killed, could I have stopped you from murdering all those innocent people?"

 

Maedhros could do nothing but sob at the sight of him.

 

"No," he had decided. "You chose to do that of your own free will, knowing that it was wrong. You would have taken a blade to me had I stood in your way.” He had sighed. “I can hardly recognize you, you know. You're no longer the person I loved under the light of the Trees, nor even the broken thing I taught myself to love out of pity when I rescued you."

 

He had leaned in close. "I should have killed you then. The world would have been a better place. Or perhaps just left you there -- you'd have broken soon enough, you were half-orc already, and you could hardly have done more damage as a servant of Morgoth than you did as yourself.")

 

 

In the present, Maedhros nodded in understanding. He knew how this script went: he'd be offered everything he wanted, every wish fulfilled, even those that would actively harm others, and if he accepted, the illusion would rescind it all. Whether he did or not, it would remind him of all his transgressions against whichever of his victims it appeared as, and leave as he sobbed into the floor begging for a more permanent death.

 

 

(At this point, he could recite every list of his faults and misdeeds relevant to each of his hallucinations word-perfect, as well as the tiny list of things he had done right:

 

1. Getting almost everyone he cared for killed before he could lead them into committing yet another great crime,

2. Sending the young twins away so that he could traumatize them no further, and

3. Dying in order to keep from causing anyone further harm.

 

He had done those things far too late, true, not until after causing irreparable damage and mostly for selfish reasons, but having done them was better than the alternative.)

 

 

The hallucination of Elrond smiled to see Maedhros so agreeable. "Come along, then, father. The world outside awaits us. Much evil has been defeated of late, and it is now a time of healing."

 

Maedhros winced.

 

 

(The visions did bring him news of the land of the living, though they occasionally contradicted the previous ones. He'd once seen an illusion of Elrond alive, after a false Elros had said he'd been killed by Maglor while trying to bring him to face trial. He knew thus that only some of his visitors could be real, but not which ones.

 

The only visions he knew for certain to be false were the ones that treated him kindly or spoke of events in the wrong timeframe, and even then some of their news might be true. Beyond that, he could not distinguish his hallucinations from real visitors.)

 

If this truly was a time of healing, perhaps Maedhros could hope to be thrown into the Void soon, that the twins could heal from their trauma in the complete absence of their captor. If evil was being ended, it followed that he ought to be ended as part of it.

 

Maedhros stood to accept this new torture.

 

 

(The first vision of the twins had nearly destroyed him. He had thought they were really there, dead, which was of course his fault. He had already killed everyone who had ever loved him, a short enough list, and had moved on to those he himself loved.

 

They had blamed him, too. "We were cursed from the moment you stole us away," Elrond had spat. "We were killed because of you. It makes me sick to think I ever called the two of you family, though it was the only way for me to survive as your prisoner. You would have murdered us had we not played at being the happy family you wanted."

 

Elros had continued for him, "If only you had killed us that day at the Havens! More innocent blood on your hands would hardly have made a difference for you, and spared us a lifetime of misery. Even when you released us, when you cast us aside, we never knew peace again."

 

They had left at some point, while he couldn't see for crying. He still wasn't sure if that particular vision was false.)

 

 

"It is not a time of healing for me," said Maedhros. "I am to remain here until I am cast into the everlasting darkness, or until the breaking of the world. The consequences of my actions have been clear."

 

The hallucination frowned and said, "Mandos is meant to be a place where the soul can restore itself. I do not deny that you have done wrong, but no restitution can you make by staying here forever."

 

Maedhros shook his head. This was a new script, but similar enough to the others. He could adjust.

 

"I cannot believe that the people I have harmed would allow me to return, even to make amends. Dead, I can hurt no one." The illusion opened its mouth to speak, but Maedhros cut it off, saying, "But enough. How have you fared since my death? And Elros as well, I see he is not with you."

 

 

(It was a reasonable question. The news the hallucinations brought varied wildly, but he was always desperate to hear tell of his sons. His remaining brother, too, if the vision was of someone who might know what became of him.

 

The worse ones told him that one or both of the young twins were dead. The better ones said they lived -- with permanent damage to their minds and souls that Maedhros and Maglor had inflicted, of course, but they lived.

 

Many told him that the twins had suffered from their association with him, that they were mistrusted or seen as tainted. That was realistic; Maedhros held it likely to be true. But one in particular haunted him:

 

Elros and Elrond were dead, that had been clear, and had appeared to have suffered great mistreatment, being far too thin and covered in dirt and cuts and bruises.

 

At first, Maedhros had thought that this was something he had done to them himself, though he could not recall ever injuring them, or perhaps Maglor had done it, but they had told him otherwise.

 

"Gil-Galad would not have us," Elros had said with tears running down his face. "Because you forced us to pretend at being family, people assumed you had raised us. That we were loyal to you, that you cared about us."

 

"They would have nothing to do with the children you called your sons," had said Elrond. "We were shunned by all, friendless. And when you killed yourself, they thought our tears of relief were in fact of mourning."

 

"So they left us to fend for ourselves, as you did to our own uncles, all because we were your victims and you had insisted on pretending otherwise."

 

Elrond had quieted almost to a whisper. "We begged them, you know. We have gotten very good at pleading for our lives. We tried to explain what you had done, but to no avail. Some said you must have broken our minds to make us believe ourselves your sons -- that we were so damaged, killing us would be a mercy. I begin to think they may have been right about all of it.")

 

"I have fared well," said Elrond. "I wed Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel, and with her have two sons and a daughter, though our daughter chose to become mortal to be with her love." Elrond had done well indeed, then, for a child raised by kinslayers. Maedhros hadn't known that other half-elves could take Lúthien's path, though. Was that really possible or just a detail made up by his subconscious? "You shall be glad, I am sure, to hear that I found Maglor where he wandered by the shore, and brought him with me to Aman." This was a happier vision than most, then; Elrond was happy and safe, with one of his tormentors dead and the other brought to the Valar's justice.

 

"And Elros?"

 

The hallucination's face turned sorrowful. "He, too, chose to be counted among Men, as such is the choice of the peredhil. But he founded a great kingdom and lived a long, full life."

 

And Elrond would never see him again, not until the world was remade. This was what Maedhros had wrought: an eternal separation of brothers whose only fault was their ill fate to be his victims. Even dead, he could not keep from causing pain; the damage he had done festered deep.

 

 

(There had only been one hallucination worse than the twins themselves.

 

Maglor had appeared in a cell near his, close enough to talk. "I was killed in vengeance for my deeds, though I know not which of them. I admit that I did not try to stop it; I found it just," he had said.

 

"What happened to the children? Are they content now with their kin, do they know that we are safely dead and no longer a threat?" Maedhros had asked.

 

Maglor had looked upon him with mingled pity and horror. "Maedhros, do you not remember? We killed them."

 

He could almost remember the life leaving their eyes.)

 

 

"I am sorry," said Maedhros, as if that could possibly express the depth of his guilt and sorrow. At least this vision did not say he had killed Elros personally, though both the outcome and the blame remained the same.

 

Elrond looked down. "It was a long time ago," he said softly. "I have lost much in the millennia since I last saw you, but so too have I gained much. And I have not lost you."

 

Maedhros could see the double meaning in those words. This false Elrond claimed to want him back with him, to be grateful that Maedhros could be returned to him. The truth was that the memory of Maedhros had been haunting the twins even after his death, leading to Elros's decision to take the Gift of Men. They had not lost him. Unfortunately.

 

Would it really hurt, though, thought Maedhros, to believe it, just a little? To believe that they could find some measure of happiness and success once I removed myself from the picture?

 

 

(He had received worse news of the young twins. For example, that of a Gil-Galad who had only received one of them.

 

"The child hardly speaks," he had said. "We do not even know which of the twins he is. I doubt if he knows himself. He is terrified."

 

Maedhros had felt the leaden remorse, his constant companion, turn once again to living guilt.

 

"He is compliant, I will grant you that. How could he fail to be, when you made an example of his brother? Tell me, Maedhros, did you even give the child you killed a proper grave?")

 

 

No. He couldn't let himself believe any of it. He knew he had condemned the twins from the moment he took them prisoner, and pretending otherwise was wrong. There was no point in dragging out this farce.

 

"Can we please move on to the part of this torture where you rescind your offer of mercy? I have no intention of taking it; I have learned my lesson," said Maedhros, as calmly and casually as he could. "You may as well proceed with the enumeration of my many crimes against you, and your boundless hatred for me. I will not pretend I do not deserve it."

 

"Your crimes against me?" the hallucination asked in Elrond's voice. There was something strange in its tone -- he would have said incredulity if that had made any sense -- but Maedhros knew where to go from here. The practiced words, recited to many illusions and whispered to himself while alone as a reminder, came easily to his tongue.

 

"I killed your people at Sirion, and drove your mother to what I thought was her death. Upon finding out otherwise, I kidnapped you and Elros and proceeded to hold you hostage for years. I separated you from your parents almost permanently. I kept the two of you captive, chasing you down when you ran, even after the ransom I desired was beyond my reach. I mistreated you cruelly in so many ways that I cannot now remember them all. I knew that I was hurting you both by my actions and continued nonetheless."

 

He swallowed. This part never got any easier. "Though the exact memory has faded from my mind, I know that I ordered the two of you to pretend to love me, and my brother, as your fathers. I understand that you only played along out of a wish to survive your captivity, and that any memory of mine that paints us as a family was born of my delusion and your fear. I broke you to my will through untold cruelty and abuse throughout the years of your imprisonment, and ruined your lives many times over."

 

That was the end of the usual recitation, but he had a new wrongdoing to add to it: "I inflicted such trauma on you both that there was nothing in all of Arda that could heal you, and I know that Elros chose to move beyond the circles of the world to escape at last from my influence, from the place where my soul still resided. I understand that I caused you to be forever separated from your brother. For these crimes I cannot be absolved."

 

Elrond seemed shocked by his faithful recounting of his deeds. Why? "You cannot recall some of those events you describe for they did not occur! Your wrongs against me personally were few, and fewer still were intentional. Elros's choice was his own, and he was happy. We both forgave you long ago," said the hallucination with his son's voice, looking for all the world as if he meant it. "We called you our fathers of our own free will, as you raised us with love and care. No abuse did we suffer at your hands. My presence is not meant to torture you, father, but to help you."

 

 

(There had been a vision of Eärendil once, one who had, understandably, condemned Maedhros for his wrongs against his family.

 

In the wake of the mariner's fury, Maedhros had curled tremblingly into himself. "But please, what news of my sons?" he had begged, before realizing his mistake.

 

"Your sons? Aye, for so they call themselves! They name the two of you father," he had spat disgustedly, eyes blazing, "and will speak no word against you. They have been unquestioningly obedient. Truly, you molded them well."

 

Maedhros had felt sick.

 

"How long did it take you to break my children? How deep are the scars on their fëar? Even still they refuse to call you by name for fear that someone shall hurt them. I doubt they shall ever heal from what you have done.")

 

 

Maedhros pleaded, "I have heard these false words before, from the hundreds of illusions that came before you. I was only selfish enough to believe them once; I know for fact my transgressions against my victim whose face you wear. You offer me the love of one whom I wrongfully called son -- he would not call me father, not in his right mind. To fulfill what you promise would require you to hurt him. I do not wish to cause further harm." Even dead had he hurt the children he had no right to love.

 

 

(Every time! Every time he found himself imagining what could be if he accepted and the vision proved true, even when he tried to stop himself from thinking of it.

 

To walk through the Blessed Realm as he had thought he never would again, to speak to the family he had left behind so long ago. To make amends for his wrongdoings, to have his son by his side once more.

 

But every time since the first, he managed to remind himself of the truth. No member of his family would have him, if they would even admit to being his relatives; his presence would only ever hurt the people around him, even had he not been cursed.

 

And yes, if he accepted, his son would be there. The person he had hurt most. The illusions claimed Elrond would forgive him and name himself Maedhros’s son out of love, as he once had done out of fear for his life.

 

And somewhere, deep down, the real Elrond who hated him would be once again in the hell of his childhood, forced by magic or torture to watch himself as he could not help but call his captor father.

 

Maedhros could not do that to him.)

 

 

"But I am no vision, nor victim!" cried the Elrond-mimic, stepping closer. When had the bars of his cell disappeared? "I tell you that I am your son, and that those members of our family still living are even now awaiting us outside Mandos. Maglor is there, my other foster father, with your mother, and my wife is there with my sons, your grandsons. Come with me!"

 

Maedhros backed away, towards the still-solid wall. "Please, I beg of you, cease! I know now that the offer from the first vision was a test, and that I failed. I was weak and desperate and should have known better than to believe I could be forgiven, should have thought of the consequences. But have I not proved since then that I now understand? Have I not turned down every other vision that came to entice me to jeopardize others by choosing to return? Have I not refused a thousand times over that which I have no right to? My willingness to face final justice has not wavered, I will accept any punishment the Valar choose to give me, but please, stop pretending at mercy!"

 

The world froze for a moment.

 

And then, as time started up once again, Elrond said softly, "Look at me, father."

 

Maedhros, hesitatingly, met his son's eyes, and found himself swept away as a great stream of memories flooded his mind: the twins, scared of thunder and coming to him for comfort -- Maglor singing lullabies by the fire as the children insisted they were not tired -- the terrible day they had gotten lost, the relief when they saw his red hair through the trees -- a pair of gifts at a Mannishly young coming-of-age celebration -- fatherly pride at their every achievement, their answering pride at his words of approval -- the pain of separation, even knowing it to be safest -- days spent trying in vain to teach mathematics -- and two pairs of brothers, a family of four in a field of wildflowers, clumsily braiding each other's hair.

 

And even greater than all those scenes, all those years of fond memories, was the overwhelming feeling of love. Love that painted every image he saw in brightest color, love that filled in every gap in the river of thought, love unwavering through all ravages of grief and time.

 

Tears ran down Maedhros's face. He opened his arms unconsciously, unable to tear his gaze away, and abruptly had the breath knocked out of him as Elrond ran into his embrace.

 

"I missed you," said Elrond.

 

Maedhros gave a small, tentative smile, though Elrond could not see it. "I missed you too," he murmured. "I am sorry for distressing you so. A great number of hallucinations have visited to torment me over the years, and they all were very adamant about what they claimed to have happened. They managed to convince me of most of it, warping my own recollection. I had forgotten much." A thought struck him. "How long has it been?"

 

Elrond pulled back a bit to speak more easily. "Over six and a half thousand years. And you need not worry for your memory; I believe it shall return as you heal."

 

"Really? It has felt much longer than that, and yet I find myself surprised how short my time here has been."

 

"Do you believe now that I am truly here? For I would reunite you with the rest of our family, if you be willing."

 

"Yes, yes to both. No illusion has yet been substantial enough to touch, nor could any use ósanwe, and I would like nothing more than to see those others I loved and left behind so long ago." Maedhros took Elrond's face in his hands and placed a kiss upon his brow. "You are indeed my son. I am only sorry I could not see so earlier."

 

"Come with me, then, and once again walk under the sun. Long have I wished for you to be a part of my family as you had been before," said Elrond, offering his hand.

 

"For so long, any such sentiment was sure to be a cruel joke, but now..." Maedhros took the offered hand. "Even now do I begin to remember you, as you truly are, and myself, as well."

 

Elrond smiled and the walls melted away.

 

Instead of a small and lonely cell, they found themselves on a path stretching far into the distance, towards a glimmer of light.

 

As they walked along slowly, Elrond took the opportunity to catch Maedhros up on millennia of history.

 

Tales were told of Lindon, of the great lands east of the Ered Luin, of Númenor at its height, and the light brightened all the while. The story of the Second Age unfolded, with all its joy and sorrow, from the craftsmanship of Khazad-dûm to the wild beauty of Greenwood the Great, from Celebrimbor's death at the hands of Sauron to the downfall of Númenor.

 

It was at that point when they had to pause in their journey for a time. Both held each other and wept once again, for even the most perfect happiness beforehand can do little to soften the initial blow of grief. Loss can only be healed from after the fact.

 

Wiping tears from his eyes, Maedhros noticed something on the ground: a small flower by the side of the path.

 

"Look," said he, "a daffodil!" For so it was: a flower of forgiveness and rebirth, growing at the feet of one finally starting to believe he could be redeemed.

 

He pulled himself together, then, and they continued.

 

As Elrond told of the Last Alliance (a rather familiar idea that, like so many things, only worked when Elrond did it), Maedhros saw another two flowers by the side of the road.

 

By the time his son started explaining what Hobbits were, the flowers were everywhere, and the light was near enough to resemble early morning. It appeared as the mouth of a cave does to one in the dark, glow and color without any real visibility, but they both knew it must be the exit. They moved on, still hand in hand.

 

The light dazzled their eyes as they waded through daffodils, the path overgrown long ago, and Elrond told of Arwen's wedding.

 

The very moment he caught up to the present, father and son reached the light, bright as day. Closing their eyes, they took one more step...

 

...and found themselves greeted by a great cry of joy in voices both familiar and new, calling their names and welcoming them home.

 

Maedhros felt the sun on his face, his hand clasped tight in his son's, the daffodils swaying in the wind, and for a moment could hardly bear the overwhelming wonder of being alive and loved.

 

Maedhros opened his eyes.