Written in the Starlight by Rhapsody

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Words Left Unspoken

Special thanks to our wonderful beta's Lydia and Spaceweavil!

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A storm is looming, Maglor mused and turned northward, where the clouds were packed together on the horizon. The shades of green that had always marked the circle of Melian seemed darker than before. Something was bound to happen; a dark feeling swept over him when the Fëanorian fixed his eyes on the Forests of Doriath.

“What ill fate lies on this realm?” he wondered aloud.

“Maglor, why are you not at the fire?” His brother approached him from behind. In the far distance, a pack of wolves howled and the eerie silence returned, but it left them both unaffected. Wolves were something they had grown used to while holding their lands up north, and most often they announced that the dark troops were moving again.

“Something is looming, Curufin. I cannot tell what it is.” Maglor turned to face his younger brother, whose eyes mirrored his discontentment. “How are the others?”

“I cannot rest, not after Maedhros’ sudden outburst. There is only one option left,” Curufin said with a forlorn sigh. “I should, maybe we should, if it was not for...”

“Caranthir could not have known. This betrayal went unseen. But Ulfang and his sons can no longer betray us, and do not forget the faithfulness and sacrifices of Bór’s men.” Maglor tried to hide his irritation and mustered a friendly smile. “We survived, Curufin. We all did. Morgoth knows this. We cannot dwell in the past too long.”

“Maedhros has made an art of not talking to Caranthir,” Curufin answered softly. “Neither does Caranthir want to discuss it, but sometimes I fear that this treachery of Men will rip us apart, even years after the battle.”

“Only fell words and dishonesty toward each other shall part us, Curufin. Are we not his sons? Did we not all vow to him that we would succeed? Maedhros will speak again, but you have to understand that losing his lands and stronghold was a severe blow. This should have been his masterpiece and yet it fell to pieces.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. “Bëor’s men have shielded us for now,” Maglor continued. “These past years, we have wandered around long enough to let our wounds heal. And here in Estolad there is a certain peace. But you and I know that tempers cannot be contained for long if we force our brethren into a pattern that does not fit them. Remember, little brother.” The bard’s eyes shone fiercely for a moment. “Not all is lost.”

“Why are we here then?” Curufin’s onyx eyes remained locked on his brother. “Why did the two of you want to return north? Why do you not admit that you want to reclaim our Silmaril from the Sindarin king?” The last words were laden with a hidden threat, a threat Maglor knew all too well.

“You have followed us blindly into battle, Curufin. Do not question us now. Go and see that Celegorm stops complaining before it gives those wolves the idea to come here for a meal.”

Maglor waited for Curufin to leave and hoped that his words would calm his three most fiery brothers. Talking about the Oath and the remaining Silmaril would satisfy them for now, while he and his brother Maedhros tried to stage a campaign to regain their lands, if not the power that belonged to them. Maybe they could achieve this if a new alliance could be forged between the remaining Edain lords and elven houses. In his own bitter wording, Caranthir had again vowed to no longer trust the Edain. Amrod and Amras still believed in their ties with the House of Bëor, and their faith seemed unaffected. It was Celegorm’s brooding that concerned Maglor the most. It was unlike him to be this silent, but Maglor knew that his younger brother was quite content to remain this close to Doriath.

Maglor chuckled, hearing Curufin in the distance telling Celegorm to be quiet, and felt compelled to return to his brothers, but still, something coming from Dorthonion begged for his attention. Both Celegorm and Curufin might know a pass in those mountains to reconquer their home, but then, Maglor mused, maybe trying to forge an alliance with Thingol and Melian would seem a wise strategic move. About this, he concluded, he should consult Maedhros first, because who would treat with them right now, this close to the Sindar?

~*~

“No!” Disbelief was the mask that graced Mablung’s face.

“Yes! I am absolutely certain. The singer has not left, and one of his brothers joined him. He was still there when I left to report this,” the solemn march warden continued. “We doubled the watch there with your leave. It seemed the best thing to do.”

After so many years, they had returned, such blissful years when the King Thingol grew less restless, Mablung thought. Although the Queen Melian seemed to know more, she never spoke about it unless she deemed it to be the right moment. The dour consequences of the Nirnaeth had left deep scars in every kingdom, and many thought that the sons of Fëanor would never be seen again, given the losses they suffered. Never underestimate a Noldo, Mablung thought. “Show me.”

Mablung followed the warden to the eastern side of Doriath. Once they had approached the riverbank, both knelt down, shielded by the thicket. There, Mablung saw Maglor standing, his arms loosely folded across his chest, dressed in grey and a tattered dark blue cape. His sword was hanging on his belt. The sword, Mablung knew, was praised in legends and battlefield stories. The intense gaze of this most tempered Fëanorian concerned him greatly. Silently, he cursed the absence of Beleg, who had left Mablung to take over all the tasks of defending these lands. But now, with this obvious threat at the doorstep, Mablung cursed Beleg’s decision to find the stubborn Edain outlaw, the offspring of Húrin. Suddenly, another of Thingol’s archenemies joined his brother. The brothers stood there talking quietly, as if the realm they were observing was already theirs to govern.

“Triple the watch; follow them if they move from this side of the riverbank. I want to have a full account if more of the brothers surface. And I would be very interested if you catch them arguing.” The warden bowed, and Mablung took his leave, his heart heavy to report this to his lord and lady. More than ever, Mablung felt the need to have Beleg by his side, especially with this doom looming.

~* ~

Maedhros looked at the sky after a resounding crack of thunder echoed through the river vale. Just like Maglor, he sometimes found it hard to be amongst his own brothers after his failure during the fifth battle against Morgoth. Years of planning and forging bonds, and whenever he caught the stare of Caranthir, who most often quickly averted his eyes, the memory of the treason surfaced. He knew his outburst earlier today had been unfair, realizing that there was naught he could have done. It was Curufin’s sudden departure from the campfire that surprised him the most. Maglor had been restless the whole day, but he was used to his brother’s sudden need for silence. Curufin, on the other hand, always sought his brothers’ presence, preferably Celegorm’s, whose face seemed to be etched with sourness of late. What was hidden in his speech that made Curufin walk away from the campfire? Was it something he had said that had ignited his driving need to fulfill the Oath? Maedhros recited his words in his head but could not find any motive. Celegorm huddled in his cloak and muttered about the sudden change of weather, after which Curufin relented and spoke about his wish to be in the arms of a generous elleth. Amrod and Amras had left the small camp after Maglor walked away; they had just returned with some hares.

They had wandered for nearly twelve years, but with the bitter taste of defeat, Maedhros’ life’s work seemed like yesterday. It surprised him that Maglor had not rebuked his harsh words aimed at Caranthir. Sometimes, his brother seemed an enigma to him. They all missed a place they could call home, regarding which he had let them all down. Just as the downpour started, Maglor returned and gestured toward him. This did not go unnoticed by the others, who quickly rose as well.

“What say you, Maglor? Do you deem it to be the right time to send word to Thingol?” Celegorm immediately started but caught the icy glare of the elder.

“We have sworn more than to reclaim the Silmarils, Celegorm,” Maglor replied. “But another thought came to me.”

“You wish to venture north of here, do you not?” Maedhros stepped forward. He had seen this look on Maglor’s face before. It was the same defiant look as when Maglor had been forced to give up his lands after Glaurung had scorched them and left many of Maglor’s people dead.

“We have sworn to father that we would reclaim them!” Celegorm snarled, clenching his fists.

“We also swore to lay siege to Morgoth!” Maglor retorted fiercely. “Do not make me remind you of this!”

After an afternoon of silence, it was Caranthir who spoke, his voice cynical as he tossed twigs into the fire. “Then, Kano, what is your grand plan?”

Before Maglor could answer, Maedhros replied. “To reclaim our stronghold, is it not? To regain a firm control of our position and besiege Morgoth once more.” A fire burned strongly within him, rekindled by the smile of Maglor. “Ah! Revenge, and to reclaim our own home again.” With his fist clenched, Maedhros continued, “Two Silmarils are worth more than the one that is in Greycloak’s hands. Do you not wish to regain them all Turko? Are you not thirsty to reclaim what was ours and show the might of the sons of Fëanor once again?”

“How?” Celegorm snarled. “What allies are left? Doriath would be an easy target. Curufin and I know its weaknesses well. Nay! I would say Thingol should be punished for his audacity.”

Curufin looked back and forth, trying to weigh what appealed more to him. Ah, yes, revenge on Thingol and his kin would be bittersweet. But what would happen after that? They would still have no home to return to. But another siege of Angband… If they succeeded… “I would say,” he answered carefully, “that we should trust our brothers once more. With the might of those two jewels, they might return the remaining one more eagerly. Think of it, brother. Utter victory would be ours and our position restored.”

“Aye,” Caranthir said. “Aye, I will go with you. My limbs have grown weary because of the waiting.” The Ambarussa nodded their approval of Caranthir’s words.

“The pass of Anglon; we need to regain control over it. We might not be able to regain control at once, but we can at least see how firm Morgoth’s hold is,” Maedhros concluded.

“We will prepare the horses.” Amrod smiled, eager to have a purpose again.

“Maedhros, a word with you please,” Maglor said and walked away from the fire.

Maedhros felt irritation starting to surface inside him as he followed his younger brother to the river. It was absolutely not to his liking that Maglor had slowly taken over command of the family since their flight, but then, Maedhros admitted, he had failed to give support to his brothers, fully consumed by his own failures. Yet it was a side of Maglor he had not seen often, only when his brother excelled in his skills and felt forced to show them openly. Stopping for a while, Maedhros stared at his brother’s back, as if all had become clear to him at that very moment. Most saw him as a simple bard, present during battles for the morale of the men, but Maglor had always been more than that. Suddenly, Maedhros recalled Maglor defending his position on the Angfaulith, issuing orders and making sure his banner would remain in everyone’s sight. Never before had he seen his brother like that, commanding all attention to him before his murderous glance fell on Uldor. At that definitive hour, Maedhros lost his weapons and it was his brother who offered him a short reprieve. It was also his own brother who had subtly placed him back into his position, regrouping the Noldorin and Dwarven armies, while Bór and his sons naturally followed Maglor’s command and slew Ulfang’s sons to claim revenge for the broken trust.

The simple bard indeed. Maedhros smiled with the faith his brother rekindled, and he resumed his walk. He found Maglor facing north, his hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword.

“We need to reclaim Himlad,” Maglor started straight away, and his eyes fell upon his brother. “I know we take a gamble with Curufin and Celegorm this close to Doriath, but we are not certain how the Himring fares under his command.”

“So, you are saying that the fortress is lost to us?” Maedhros asked with curiosity.

“We need the shelter from the mountains, and we will create a buffer between the enemy and Doriath. Thingol is a fool if he does not allow us to settle there again. The lands are well known to our brothers, so that works to our advantage as well.” Maglor suddenly clasped his brother’s arm. “Yes, his behavior worries me also. But if we wander, he might take initiative on his own, reasoning that being one of seven weakens him, while, deep down, he knows it isn’t so. I have seen him like this before, and it was hard enough for me to control his temper back then.”

Maedhros nodded, knowing exactly what his brother was talking about. Many criticized Maglor for not saving his brother from the walls of Thangodrim, but little did they know about the power struggle within his own house at that very moment. Celegorm felt that the command of the house should have come to him, being the more adept and strategic leader, but Maglor held his position, enlisting Fingon’s aid in secret. Never after that they argued about it, but Maedhros knew the price his brother had paid for this was costly.

“Good!” Maglor spoke suddenly. “Thingol will soon know we are here; see.” He pointed to the other side of the river. “I think they have doubled the guard at the very least. It should keep him occupied for a while. If we ride fast, we can reach Himlad late this afternoon, and I want to see how adept the march wardens are if we ride along the Northern border.”

Chuckling in response, Maedhros added, “You are sometimes too wicked: first making the king uneasy and then offering a treaty.”

Maglor smiled at his brother. “There is always a price attached to having our family jewel in your keeping. We can’t kidnap his daughter this time, which is a pity. A marriage might temper his mood.”

A generous laugh escaped Maedhros lips, and both felt their lifelong bond renewed with the trust they had in each other for so many yens. Maglor clapped his brother on the back, and both joined the twins to prepare their own horses for departure.

~*~

“They are gone.” This simple statement interrupted Mablung’s work.

“That is impossible!” Mablung just gathered all the reports from his captains before he sought out the king to tell him about this sudden turn of events.

“They are truly gone. Maybe a half a day ago. The traces lead northward,” the now nervous warden responded, clenching his fists behind his back.

“How is it that no one noticed their departure?” A task so simple, and now they had disappeared out of sight. When he woke up this morning, Mablung had felt that it would be an awkward day.

“We know that the singer talked to the eldest, but there was no argument between them. What’s more,” the warden added, “there was no sign of any enmity between them, and we concluded that they knew they were being watched. Maybe they gave up, Sire, and left these lands.”

“Then, my friend, you have never seen a true Noldo in your life,” Mablung replied sarcastically and started to unroll a map of the kingdom and the surrounding lands on the table. Sighing deeply, Mablung started to figure out all the possible routes they could have taken. “Now, where could you have possibly gone off to?”

~*~

Following Curufin’s and Maedhros’ lead, Maglor rode silently next to Celegorm, patiently waiting for his brother to start questioning traveling to the lands he had once so proudly ruled. Often, Maglor wanted to be the one to start the discussion, but Celegorm bore a smile on his face that made it hard for Maglor to determine exactly what his brother was thinking.

Celegorm answered with a glance and knew that, with just one simple word, he could either start a fight or confirm to Maglor that he actually agreed to the plans explained before they had departed. To him, it always seemed that Maglor could read him like no one else and yet never truly let him know how much he knew. Masks were Maglor’s specialty. Celegorm saw the brother he had once known during the peaceful years in Aman, leaving him to wonder at how well his brother could hide his emotions where he could not. The group’s formation changed when the twins took over the lead, and Curufin reined in his horse to wedge himself between the two of them. Maedhros and Caranthir said nothing, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Maglor knew both needed the time to find common ground again, joining them while both clung onto their remarkable stubbornness.

“So when are you going to finally admit we are not riding north to reclaim Himring, as Maedhros believes?” Curufin spoke nonchalantly, causing Celegorm to chuckle. Maglor remained silent for a while, and Curufin answered for him. “I hope this plan of yours works, Maglor. I do not feel like being beaten twice in such a short time.”

“As I told you, we need allies, Curufin.” The curious glare of Celegorm did not escape his attention. “He might have severed us from our kin this time, but the bonds are still there,” Maglor answered, as the three did not follow the pace the twins set, creating a space between the others to discuss the matter peacefully.

“And where do you think we can find those allies? Orodreth? Turgon? Círdan?” Celegorm shot Maglor a cynical look.

“How about Melian and Thingol?” Maglor answered simply, causing the other two to burst into laughter. Once the sound had drifted away on the wind, both noted that Maglor kept his face straight in deep earnest.

“Ah yes! Thingol will welcome us with open arms; Orodreth will organize a big welcome back feast for us!” Celegorm shook his head. “What were you to Maedhros on Himring, Maglor? His court jester?”

Maglor halted his horse in clear offence. The clouds burst open once again, and ice-cold rain poured down on them. “You might see me as a simple singer little brother, but I warn you, do not make the same mistake again. I know you see us as simple pieces on a chess board, while you think you can play your own game, but even this can turn against you.” Maglor paused. “The two of you have made forming alliances a hard task for us, and I strongly suggest you do not get in our way this time.”

Staring at the back of his elder brother, Curufin nudged his horse to follow and glanced at Celegorm. “It might be very interesting to see how this plan will unfold. Our house has already fallen from grace, so how much worse can it possibly get?” Celegorm shook his head and wondered if all that his elder brothers wanted to reforge could not be simply achieved by one single assault on Doriath. But then, he realized, they needed more men at arms to invade Doriath, for it was not a simple thing to do.

~*~

“Orcs.” Amras left his horse in his brother’s care to study the ground. “The tracks are just about a day old, heading west. They are traveling in organized groups.” Rising to his full height again, he continued to study the tracks. “They came from the pass of Anglon. I think they will reach Nan Dungortheb by sunrise.”

“How many of them?” Maedhros asked and noted the three remaining brothers joining their small band.

“I would say about thirty.”

“I can’t really imagine that Thingol would feel safe now, knowing that we are this close to his realm and that there is a host of orcs paying a visit as well,” Maglor quietly concluded.

“We could, of course, as a courtesy, take care of this group.” Maedhros searched for Caranthir’s eyes, offering him this silent challenge.

“We could. It has been a while since my blade cut an orc’s head off.”

The remaining five stared at them both, trying to conceal their smirks. “If the two of you would be so kind as to leave some more for the rest of us, I think we can indeed do the old king a favor.” Curufin’s dark eyes sparkled at the thought of being engaged in battle.

“Of course, we leave none alive.” Caranthir unsheathed his sword and studied it closely to spot any dents before sheathing it again. “So, you will have to hurry to keep up with us if you want to share this utmost pleasure.” No words or further gestures were needed to emphasize the fragile bond that had kept them together for so many years and that felt restored with the prospect of meeting steel upon steel.

~*~

With her elbows placed on the windowsill, Melian sat in a comfortable wooden chair, her head resting on her entwined hands. Her gaze was fixed upon the stone stairs that led from the upper garden of the royal palace of Menegroth to the gate, which was hidden from her sight behind the wall. She watched as two sentinels paced the marble sidewalk, her eyes following their every step. The two warriors, unaware that the queen watched them, talked quietly, laughing from time to time. Melian sighed. As the day began to wane, an unsettling feeling overcame her. She lifted her eyes to the sky, which seemed to hang just above the battlements. A storm would soon come; she knew it. She had foreseen and heard the clamor of thunder for days, and it only increased her misgiving.

“My Lady?”

Melian turned toward the door to see the king standing there. Thingol smiled at his wife and reached out, walking over to the chair. She took his hand, squeezing the fingers lightly. Thingol bent his head and placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

“My Lord?” she asked. “Is the council finished?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he answered, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her gently to him. She smiled again and leaned against his body, her head nestling into the richly decorated fabric of his robe. “At last,” the king murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head.

“My Lord.” Melian pulled back. “You are too generous.”

Thingol chuckled softly. “No, I missed my wife.”

Melian gave him a heedful look. Freeing herself from his embrace, she turned to the window once more, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the rim of the neckline of her gown. A small sigh escaped her lips.

“You are perturbed, my Lady.” Thingol took her by the shoulders and stood in front of her.

“So are you, my Lord.” She pointed to the two sentinels, who had begun the next round of their patrol.

The king looked out of the window. “Mablung has not returned. But, my Lady,” he kissed her hand again, “let us not disturb this evening further with our troubles. Let us enjoy it.” Thingol led her back to the middle of the room. He retrieved a soft woolen coat that lay on a stool beside a small table and draped it over her shoulders.

“It will be raining soon, my Lord.” She pretended she didn’t want to leave her bedchamber.

His fingertips brushed her hair and neck as he asked, “Are we afraid of the rain? Let us go to the garden. May the freshness of the air ease our troubled minds.”

“Very well, my Lord.” She let out a quiet laugh. Thingol offered her his arm.

The hallway glimmered with thousands of candles, which cast a soft light on the walls. The flames seemed to dance and rejoice in their reflection in the polished stones. The distant echo of steps was the only sound in the corridor. Thingol and Melian walked slowly down the hall to a broad stairway that turned into a large alley and led straight to the central part of the palace. The sentinels that the king and queen passed by stood motionlessly at their posts. As they strode through the gates and stepped onto the small bridge, a gentle breeze caressed their faces. Dusk had barely fallen, and the air was filled with a multitude of scents. It seemed that everything around was preparing to sleep peacefully; even the birds’ songs in the gardens were muffled and quieter that usual. Thingol gazed at his wife while her sight wandered between the trees and the high hedges of the lower garden.

She is so beautiful. He smiled to himself, his hand stroking her forearm.

Melian dropped her eyes, watching his fingers, and then looked at his smiling face. “You have not changed, my Lord.”

“Why should I?”

“Everything has. Even the air is not the same,” she answered, her words flowing in the space of the garden and sinking into the pool quietly shimmering nearby.

Thingol knew the distant, mysterious look on her face; the strange light that ignited her eyes; and the subtle tone of her voice, as if she was singing. Ever so wise and thoughtful, she usually had an eager listener in him. It wasn’t different this time; however, the king didn’t wish to discuss the certain matter he supposed she wanted to. But he didn’t suspect that she had an entirely different plan.

“You shouldn’t have given him that dreadful blade, my Lord,” Melian said in a soft voice.

“My Lady?” His surprise was displayed in the tone of his words.

“You shouldn’t have let him take that sword.” She stopped walking.

“He would have taken it despite my wishes,” he replied. “You know this as well as I do.”

As the first drops of rain fell on the grass and the stony paths in the garden, the royal couple made their way to the summerhouse. Melian sat on the bench, while Thingol stood watching the rain, his hands clasped behind his back. They remained in silence for a long moment before the king spoke. “It concerns me greatly that he hasn’t come back yet.”

“It is not all that troubles you, though.”

“No, my Queen.” He gave her a quick, apologetic look.

“You do not need to apologize, my Lord.” Melian smiled and stood up. Stepping beside him and resting both hands on his shoulders, she gently kneaded his tired muscles.

Thingol uttered a gasp of pain and pleasure.

“I might melt standing here, my beloved, if you continue,” he chuckled, looking over his shoulder.

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “This is my aim, my love.”

Suddenly, her fingers stopped, and the king felt her tension. “What is it, Melian?”

“The storm is brewing in the west.” She shivered. “His destiny will soon be decided.”

“What do you see?” the king insisted.

“The dark... Have no fear though, my King. Fate is blind, and so is justice, yet...”

Hasty footsteps and the clear sound of hooves banging on the stony roads distracted them both. Melian turned toward the main bridge that led from the gate to the palace. As she focused her sight on the farther end of the bridge, a group of sentinels came into view, running straight for the palace. Their obvious hurry made Melian shudder. Thingol looked at her then took several steps toward the exit. Stopping on the first step of a small stairway, he saw Mablung talk to the sentinels, then gestured to the three wardens, who quickly obeyed his order and dismounted. A sentinel came to stand beside the wardens’ horses and held the reins. Thingol drew his brows together. Melian put one hand on his shoulder as she lifted her gaze to his face.

“Unexpected visitors, my Lord,” she whispered.

“Aye.” He nodded.

“It seems, though we had wished for a peaceful evening, it will be no longer,” Melian supplied.

“Yes, my Queen. Shall we?”

With no more words, he offered her his arm, and they descended down the stairway to the garden, making their way back to the palace. As soon as they reached a narrow, smaller bridge, the sentinels noticed them and gave Mablung a sign. The captain bade them farewell with a short bow. Just as he turned toward the royal couple, Thingol realized that the captain was angry and perturbed. His eyes shadowed by his drawn brows, his face bore a look that betrayed a great concern. The king stopped and accepted the greeting as Mablung came out onto the bridge and knelt on one knee with his hand over his heart. Thingol felt Melian’s fingers squeeze his forearm.

“You may stand up, Captain,” the king suggested with a small gesture of his hand.

Mablung straightened, yet his face didn’t change as he spoke. “My Lord; my Lady.”

“Mablung, we expect you are here to share unfortunate news.”

“Yes, Your Highnesses,” Mablung confirmed.

“Speak plainly, Captain.” Thingol looked over Mablung’s shoulder at the sentinels and wardens that awaited the captain on the main bridge.

“Thank you. I received the word from the latest shift of our wardens. A large host of orcs wandered along the girdle in the woods of Neldoreth. Their scouts sought the border to make a swift entrance,” Mablung related. “A skirmish occurred. Our wardens managed to slay one group, but the other escaped, heading further northward.”

“Is this all what concerns you so much, Mablung?” the king asked.

“No, my Lord.”

“Say on,” Thingol insisted.

“No sign of Beleg,” Melian broke in with a long sigh.

“No, my Queen,” Mablung confirmed, dropping his gaze to the ground for a moment; then he straightened and reported, “Your Highnesses, I am here to bring other news. Our scouts informed me that the sons of... Fëanor were seen not very far from Doriath’s eastern marches.”

“The Fëanorians?” Thingol couldn’t believe his ears. “Again, they are threatening my realm!”

Melian put her hand on his shoulder with all the gentleness she was capable of offering him at that moment. It seemed that the evening would be interrupted more that she had imagined. She knew the king would summon another council to analyze what they had just been told. As always, the heirs of the proud Noldo would be announced as public enemies of the people of the Hidden Kingdom. The jewel and its doom again would disturb an already delicate peace in the realm of the Sindar.