The Wake by MithLuin

The Wake

Read The Wake

Maglor stopped his twin sons before they went into their room one night. "Tomorrow, we remain in these rooms."

"Why?" Elros asked in surprise.

"An…observance," Maglor answered. He would say no more. Elros and Elrond discussed it after the lights had been put out, but they could not guess what it might be. There was no holiday on the morrow, not even a Dwarvish or Mannish one, as far as they knew. They were in the dark, and would have to wait to see what the day would hold.

The next morning, they dressed in comfortable clothing; a simple tunic and soft leggings. It seemed reasonable, since they would not be going out, but they debated donning something more formal.

"An observance sounds like it could be official, a formal occasion," Elrond said.

"But then Maglor would have told us what to wear," Elros argued.

"I suppose we could change, if we had to," Elrond conceded.

When they entered the common room, they found Maglor waiting for them. He was not wearing his normal clothing, but nothing fancy, either. The door to Maedhros’ room was shut. "Do you know what today is?" Maglor asked quietly. They shook their heads. The best they had come up with the night before was Roccondur's begetting day, but that seemed unlikely. "On this day four yéni ago, our Father was killed. Today, we remember his life and death, and hope for his release from Mandos."

On the table was a lamp they had seen only once before…in Maedhros’ trunk. They sat in silence, waiting. Soon, Maedhros joined them. "Do they know what today is?" he asked Maglor, who nodded. "Four yéni have passed, five hundred and seventy six swift years of the Sun, but still we remember the day we lost our Father."

Elros feared they would be expected to sit in silence all day, while their Uncles were lost in memories. But then there came a knock at the door, and Maglor opened to allow food to be brought in. At least they would be allowed to eat, Elros thought with relief. As they ate, Maglor and Maedhros spoke of their childhood, recalling long-forgotten memories of their family.

"Curufin was the only one Father would tolerate in his forge while he worked," Maedhros remarked, carefully cutting a fruit into even slices. "He had no patience for errors, and the rest of us made many."

Maglor mused for a bit. "I was hopeless, I know, but Caranthir was not bad. If only he had not inherited Father’s temper, he would have been a master in his own right."

Maedhros nodded. "He always approved of your penmanship, though."

"That is only because I copied his own so well!" Maglor laughed depreciatingly. "Yours was much better."

"Not anymore," Maedhros said, and they lapsed back into silence.

Elrond could almost feel the ghosts in the room. He had never met Curufin or Caranthir, but he felt as though he would recognize them from the stories he had heard over the past twelve years. A yén was twelve times that long, though. Would he still be alive a yén from now, to remember Fëanor and his sons? He shivered.

When they had finished eating, Maglor stood and walked a few paces, stretching. "The years run so swiftly in these Hither Lands, and yet seem longer for all of that. Four yéni is a long time in this place."

"Much has happened in the passing years," Maedhros agreed. "When it was but three yéni after Father’s death, all of our brothers gathered at Himring. Though Fingolfin the High King spoke of war, the Battle of Sudden Flame was yet fifty years distant. The Leaguer held firm, and our riders patrolled Ardgalen."

"And a yén before that, we had never seen Men and thought the peace would last indefinitely," Maglor claimed.

"Nay, that was the year Glaurung was first revealed. Even in that long peace, we had constant reminders of war. We were ever vigilant."

Maglor looked at his sons, and finally realized they were not part of these memories. "But come! We are talking like old women before a tale-fire, remembering stories without sharing them. Elrond, Elros, what do you know of the death of Fëanor?"

The twins exchanged a wary glance. "Only what we have been told. But…those who told us were not there." Elrond volunteered this much, afraid to say something wrong to the sons of the dead elf.

"When first we arrived in Middle Earth," Maedhros began, "our path was lit only by starlight and by the lanterns and torches that we carried." He unconsciously glanced at the lamp on the table. "We journeyed inland, going east, but we had no real sense of direction except to avoid crossing the mountain ranges. Thus we made our first permanent camp to the north of Lake Mithrim when we met the wall of the Ered Wethrin."

"Our Father sent out scouts," Maglor continued, "many of whom returned, but still we did not know where Morgoth was nor what forces he had gathered so hastily (as we thought then)."

"And so we were taken at unawares when the orc-host descened from the mountains onto our camp. It was the first time we had seen orcs," Maedhros said, his face twisting in distaste. "Still, they were as untried in battle as we were, and far more timid. Once the element of surprise wore off, we routed them and beat them back over the mountains with little loss."

As the morning wore on, they recounted the battle, and the young men listened with rapt attention.

"Now, some of our scouts from the south returned with news of another host of orcs moving to join those we were fighting," Maglor took up the story again. "Wishing to prevent the two hosts from joining, Celegorm took all the riders he could muster and went south to meet them with Amrod and Amras."

"It was a slaughter," Maedhros said with satisfaction. "The orcs could not endure our swords. But…orcs are not the only servants Morgoth possesses," he said quietly. "We had pushed them back over the mountains, and most of our warriors were content, but Father led the vanguard to pursue the orcs who were fleeing across the plain. We tarried to slay those who had fled south into the woods on the mountain slopes. We dealt with them swiftly, but when we re-emerged from the forest, we were disturbed to see Father’s banner well beyond the vanguard, who had inexplicably been bogged down. Alarmed, we drew together all the host we could in haste. Our numbers would have been too few, but Curufin bethought him of his horn, and blew it for all he was worth. When we were again ordered, we charged the plain, soon reaching the vanguard and discovering their difficulty. The orcs had rallied and turned at bay, with fresh reinforcements – we knew not from whence they came. We overwhelmed the orcs, and quickly sought Father. But his banner was no longer aloft."

Maedhros’ face betrayed nothing, but his voice shook. Maglor looked at him quickly, and continued the story. "The orcs had harried him, but he thought little of that. If it had only been orcs…his guard would not have been felled. But…there were Balrogs, and Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs was there, though we knew him not at that time. All who stood with Father were slain, and he fought on alone, not heeding his wounds. In great fear, we charged the demons, and they withdrew when they saw the strength of the host at our back. Father swayed on his feet, bleeding freely from many wounds. Maedhros caught him before he fell, and bore him back towards the Ered Wethrin. Caranthir ordered the retreat, and the warriors who had followed us onto the plain gathered the dead and wounded and followed us back towards the West. Many of those who had died were among the most loyal to our House."

Maedhros seemed calm now. "If Father had been like other Kings, they would have been counselors. But he never asked for counsel, and indeed he would not head counsel that was given to him. Still, they were sorely missed in the days that followed."

"As we reached the mountain pass," Maglor continued, "we were joined by our younger brothers who rode up from victory in the south. They had met our messengers upon the way and knew the news was dire. We reassured Father that we were all with him, and that we would get him back safely to the encampment. He grimaced in pain, for now that the battle was over, the fight seemed to have burned out of him. He no longer looked fey. But he nodded for us to attempt the mountain pass, so we eased him as best we could, and began the climb. At first, he seemed to be doing well, and we thought that if any elf could recuperate from such grievous wounds, it was him. But as we climbed higher, his breath came in shallow gasps and rattled in his chest. Before we reached the top, he motioned for us to stop. We laid down his…his bier, and he looked out over the plain of battle." Maglor lapsed into silence.

"I will never forget his face in that moment," Maedhros said quietly, staring unseeingly in front of him. "His eyes were kindled with flame, brighter…brighter even than the faces of the Valar." Elrond and Elros looked alarmed, and Maedhros turned to face them. "Nay, no one in Middle Earth would dare say such a thing, but I say it because I have seen the Valar, and it is true. It may be that if I ever saw the faces of the Valar in battle, I would judge differently. But there is only one Vala I have seen in his wrath, and we no longer count him as one of the Valar." Maedhros shook his head, trying to dispel the cloud of doom that had settled on the room. "This tale is grim to remember, and must be grim to hear, as well. None of us could endure his face in that moment, so we all of us looked away. Until…until he spoke. No longer was his voice rasping. It was as strong as it had been before the battle. We knew he was expending what strength he had left. Thrice he cursed Morgoth. He bid us renew our Oath, and when we had, as fervently as the first time, but with no joy, he took my hand and clasped it one last time. Knowledge was written in his face – he saw the end of this War, of that I am certain. But he did not speak again."

Then Maglor told how his body had vanished like smoke and fine ash when his spirit fled, and of the long walk back down the mountain as each of them struggled with their anger and grief…and fear. They were now alone, bereft of Father and leader, in an alien land.

In this way the morning wore on, and food was again brought. Elros and Elrond were relieved that during the meal, the reminiscing moved on to their life in Beleriand. Hunts, feasts, jests, fights, jokes – all were recounted seemingly at random, for the thread connecting the stories was invisible to those who were listening. At one point, when the food was cleared away and they sat drinking, Maedhros took off his copper circlet and passed it to his brother’s sons.

"This was made by Curufin after we removed to East Beleriand," he explained. "To replace one that I…lost. He knew I had always liked copper, but now it is the only ornament I wear."

"Unlike Maglor, who has a different necklace for every season," quipped Elros, who seemed at ease.

Maedhros merely smiled; Maglor fingered his current pendant – an eight-rayed silver star with a black stone set in the center. "And what is wrong with that?" he asked.

"Nothing at all," Elrond reassured him. "It makes more sense that storing them in a box and never wearing them."

"Ah, our Father would have disagreed with you," Maedhros said. "If you wear something all of the time, people grow accustomed to it and no longer notice it. Adornment should be used sparingly, so that it will achieve the desired effect when you do reveal it."

"Then it is good he does not wear his diamonds very often," Elros said in mock seriousness; they all laughed.

Maedhros and Maglor spoke of Formenos as the afternoon progressed, and the days of gathering darkness even in Aman itself. It was in this way that their mother was named. When the twins enquired why she had not been mentioned earlier, Maglor explained.

"Our mother yet lives, as far as we know. No news comes from Valinor, not even in dreams, so we cannot be sure. But today is to remember the dead of our family. What you have to understand is that our Mother and Father were…estranged. So it does not seem right to remember her on the anniversary of his death."

But even so, Maglor began to sing a lament for the fall of the House of Fëanor, beginning with the deaths of Finwë and Míriel, and continuing with the feud that divided Fëanor from his half-brothers, to the deaths of his sons. The lament of Nerdanel who had lost a husband and seven sons was not absent from his song. Before he finished, he was openly weeping, and the eyes of the others were full of tears. When Maglor brought his song to a close, Maedhros stood suddenly and turned his back on them, clenching his fist at his side.

"And all of it – all of it! – rests at the feet of Morgoth. He has much to answer for," he said with feeling.

"Surely…surely the death of Míriel þerindë had nought to do with him," Elros offered tentatively, when the others did not speak.

Maedhros spun around, and they saw the face he had hid from them – whether it was grief or anger was hard to tell, but his eyes blazed with fire, not tears. "Think you not?" he said softly. "Do you think the One would have sent Father as he was if there was no need for an Enemy of Morgoth? Nay, I do not exaggerate – he has had a hand in all the griefs of my House. It was Dior who slew Celegorm, but why was Celegorm in Nargothrond rather than in East Beleriand, as I had planned? He was driven there by the hosts of Morgoth when our leaguer broke. Morgoth delights in playing others’ weaknesses, so it never looks as though he is to blame, at first glance. Have you thought about why orcs are such evil, despicable creatures? They are a mockery of his children. He – " Here, Maedhros shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I will speak no more of this today. I have thought too long of Morgoth’s wrongs. Today, I want to remember Father."

They each fell into their own thoughts, and the silence was not broken until the evening meal was brought. Just as before, the conversations while they ate were focused on pleasant memories. Elros was surprised to learn that some of the stunts that he and Elrond had pulled off were very similar to things Amrod and Amras had done. Even having a single name – for the Fëanorean twins, it was Ambarussa. For him and Elrond, it was Peredhil. "Do we remind you of them?" he asked, as the meal ended.

"You do not look like them," Maedhros said quickly. "Their hair was not so dark as yours."

Maglor was more thoughtful. "Like and unlike. You have very different personalities, and yet, you share some of their experiences. They were the youngest, even among the cousins, so as children they always were trying to tag along. And they were partners in everything. You two have been the only children here, as well, so some of the things you do…."

"Originally, this was their hilltop fortress," Maedhros said abruptly. "The whole place is full of memories of them. You are here, living in their room, and you are twins – you cannot help but remind us! But we would never mistake you for them."

Elros was not sure if that was the answer he wanted.

"Forgive me, but the day I lost my youngest brothers was the day I found you," Maglor said quietly.

"You mean they…" Elrond began.

Maglor nodded. "They paid the price for the betrayal of your first family."

Elros had a horrible thought. "Were…were all of your brothers killed by elves?"

Maedhros nodded, flush with shame for the first time that day. "You cannot do what we have done without paying a heavy price," he said hoarsely.

"But…why? Why have you done such things?" Elros could not picture his father and uncle as the ruthless killers he knew they were.

Maedhros bowed his head and did not answer. It was Maglor who responded. "Because of today. Because we have honored our Father’s final wish and not abandoned our Oath. You must understand – we had no choice."

Elros shivered at that answer, though he did not know why it sounded so ominous. But Elrond leapt to his feet. "Then we want no part in your Oath! Your Father is not our true daeradar. I am Elrond, son of Eärendil of Gondolin and Elwing of Doriath!"

Maglor looked at him sharply and would have responded, but Maedhros looked up, and the room froze. He looked at Elrond with piercingly dead eyes. "Son of Eärendil, your father and mother would never have met, save for what we did in Doriath. Eärendil was not at the Havens when we arrived, and he has not returned to claim you." There was no compassion in his voice as he went on inexorably. "But no elf may share in our Oath. No warrior in this fortress has taken it, nor would my brother permit anyone to speak the words of our Oath in your presence, under penalty of death. You will indeed have no part in the Oath of the Sons of Fëanor, son of Maglor."

Looking at the intensity of Maedhros’ eyes, Elrond began to understand what it meant for him to be the oldest son of Fëanor. He felt himself drowning, but he could not look away. It was not until Maedhros dropped his eyes that Elrond found himself free to move again. He dropped bonelessly into his chair, and his vision went black.

When he returned to himself, he looked up, seeking Maglor’s face. Seeing pain there, he whispered, "Father, forgive me. I do not set at naught the love and care you have shown my brother and me."

For his part, Maglor answered, "I cannot escape my past, and it is only right that it upsets you. The day I took you in I knew that you might one day grow to hate me. But I did not know how difficult it would prove when this day came. I have dreaded this since you asked about the Havens. Never…" The voice of Maglor, which never faltered, wavered. "Never forget that you were born at the Havens of Sirion, son of Eärendil and Elwing. For now, our Oath pits us only against Morgoth, and it is to be hoped that no new grief will divide us from the remaining elves."

Elros listened to this exchange in shock. He had not meant to stir up such things when he asked his innocent question about the twins. It was clear that Uncle Maedhros felt guilt for the deaths of his own five brothers, and that Maglor regretted the awful things they had done. But he had the uncomfortable feeling that, given a second chance, they would not have done anything differently. Maglor’s plea that they had no choice rang in his mind. What was the use of being a Prince of the Noldor if that meant everyone was your enemy? He resolved that he would always call Maglor his father, in gratitude for his fostering, but that he would never refer to himself or Elrond as a ‘son of Maglor;’ they were sons of Eärendil, and Fëanoreans by adoption only.

"We will remain loyal warriors," he said aloud. Maedhros looked up at him, and nodded once, before looking down again. The silence that descended in the room was uncomfortable, but Maglor roused himself and poured wine for each of them. Elrond sipped his gratefully.

Maglor departed into his room, and returned with a harp. He began to play softly, but did not sing. After a time, Maedhros looked up, recognizing the tune of the Noldolantë. His face was softer now, and no longer burned with the intensity it had such a short time before. Elros had still not made up his mind whether it had been anger, grief, or shame, though he was glad that Maedhros still considered him and his brother to be family. He was…a dangerous elf, in many ways.

Elrond did not look up at any of them. When he finished playing, Maglor refilled all of their goblets. He then raised his own. "To Fëanor our Father, greatest of the Noldor, who fell four yéni ago today. May his spirit be at peace." They all drank once.

Then Maedhros added, "For the younger sons of Fëanor, who are not here to remember his life and death, may their spirits find peace as well." They drank again.

"For the eldest sons of Fëanor," Elrond said unexpectedly, "who commemorate his life and cherish his memory. May they find peace in Middle Earth." He and Elros drank, while the older elves hesitated. They did drink, though.

"You’ve left no one for me," Elros said petulantly. With that, the tension broke, a bubble that had grown too large and finally burst.

With a smile, Maglor said, "To my sons, who have brought me peace and joy." He and Maedhros drank, and now it was Elrond and Elros’ turn to pause awkwardly.

Elros drank, and Elrond moved to, but he had to upend his cup as it was nearly empty. The others laughed, and he flushed. "I did not know you were going to drink to us!" he complained.

Maglor reached to refill the goblets one more time. "You surprised us, as well. Usually we just drink to Father."

"It is different this time," Maedhros agreed. "Quieter. I haven’t had to break up any fights yet."

"That is because Elrond and Elros are still in awe of you, and dare not bait one another when you are around," Maglor teased.

Elros looked indignant. "What are you saying?"

"That you and your brother are well-behaved, unlike the trouble-making rapscallions we celebrated with last time," Maedhros answered unexpectedly.

Elros looked at Elrond in confusion. Had they forgotten his outburst already? Or were their dead brothers really that…noisy? On a sudden impulse, he raised his refilled cup. "For family, both present and far away, may we always cherish them in our hearts." The others drank in approval.

"No more toasting, or we’ll need to call for more wine!" Maedhros admonished, but he was smiling.

"Oh no," Maglor suggested. "We have enough for a few more toasts apiece, easily."

They drank all the wine that night, and Elrond and Elros sought out their beds soon afterwards. Maedhros and Maglor stayed up long into the night, with the ghosts of the past for company.

---

Chapter End Notes

Again, I did not mark this AU, but the entire premise (that they would have something like a Wake on the Anniversaries) is of course my own invention.  My only defense is that I tried not to contradict canon. 

Elrond and Elros should be about 17 years old here.  It could be argued that the Anniversary in question would fall closer to their 22nd year.  But Fëanor died before the rising of the Sun, so there is some question of exact timing.  Regardless, in this story, it is before the War of Wrath. 

I have gone with Amrod and Amras dying at the Havens, just because I like the symmetry of that version.  A yén is 144 years; yéni is the plural. 

No beta; I am sure it shows.