Renewing The Song by Naltariel

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Unforgivable Sinner

Chapter 4: Unforgivable Sinner

 

"Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground… "

 

He usually liked the rainstorm. It was glorious and frightening, beautiful and breathtaking. He loved the lightning, thunder, and the tempest, even the merciless water pouring down from the sky. But not this time. The awesome force of nature was anything but pleasant to him right now. With a sigh, he cast a gaze through the window. It was dark. Anar should have risen sometime ago, but her presence was invisible behind the ominous clouds. The storm had noticeably abated since last night, but the heavy downpour made it impossible to go out. Daeron felt as if the weather had formed a conspiracy against him, to shut him inside the hut with someone who was his adversary, his kin’s slayer. Worst of all, his lengthy entrapment had caused him to like this Son of Feanor.

 

Maglor had told his entire story; from the time he swore the terrible oath until the first Kinslaying, from the renewal of the oath until the Sack of Sirion, from the moment he took Lúthien’s last descendants into his care until he lost the accursed jewel. Strangely, retelling the story did not aggravate the pain, instead it gave him a kind of relief he had never felt before. He did not care how Daeron would react to his story, whether he would forgive him, or curse him, or even kill him. He had stopped to care about his life in this land of exile for a long time. His life had ceased to have meaning since the Jewel was forever out of his reach. His life was now so lonely and hellish in its emptiness that even Mandos did not scare him anymore. At least there, he could be reunited with his family again. It bewildered even himself of why he never took the path of his eldest brother. Was it because he never had the courage to do so? Nay, it was not. Perhaps, because deep inside of him, a hope still existed. A hope for atonement and redemption. A hope for forgiveness. And who would be more appropriate to grant him just that than the one who was now sitting in front of him? The one whose kin he had slaughtered three times.

Having decided, he murmured his apology, "Forgive me."

 

"What did you just say?" Daeron blinked, awakening from his previous trance, and facing the Noldorin prince, who was unable to meet his eyes.

 

"Forgive me," Maglor repeated, more clearly than before, but more doubtful. How could he be forgiven? How could this Sindar whose people he had killed thrice forgive him?

 

"What for?" he asked again. Maglor's sudden change of attitude perplexed him greatly. He, who used to be proud and tall, now seemed to shrunken in his humility and shame.

 

"Forgive me, for I have murdered many of your kin," said Maglor with a choked voice.

 

Lighting tore up the night sky again and again, followed by frightening roars. But neither of them paid attention to the weather or worried about the modest wooden hut they were in, which started to quiver in the raging tempest.

 

Daeron was silent, surprised by the sudden apology. He did not know how to respond. Who was he to forgive him? One of the Sindar or Teleri, whose people he had slain? Who was he to represent his whole kin to judge him? And if he did, what would the forgiveness mean? A simple word, and the weight of their pain would be devaluated, their suffering would be in vain. How easy it was for this murderer to apologize, to beg for mercy which he had never granted to his victims! Nay, millennia of pain, myriad of tears and blood could not and must not be erased by a mere comforting sentence of ‘I forgive you’. Justice demanded more than a mere apology.

 

"I cannot forgive you." Daeron finally said, slowly but clearly. There was no rage in his voice, for he did not really hate this person. The affliction which this Son of Fëanor had brought to his kin had been far from him. He was not in Aman, nor was he at Doriath and Sirion when the kinslayings took place. He had been running at the time, running in remorse and self-pity, leaving his land and responsibilities to protect her. He too, was not a saint. Therefore, he had no right to condemn Maglor and all his deeds, who was after all his faithfulness to his oath and his father.

 

Maglor nodded in silence. He had expected the answer, though he wished his prediction had been wrong.

 

"It is not that I don’t want to forgive you. I just …can’t. I cannot stand for my kin to pass the proper judgement on you. And my forgiveness cannot undo the sufferings you have inflicted." The last sentence was acidly bitter, but Daeron spoke in such way as if he merely  stated out a fact. A fact no one could deny.

 

Now Maglor understood. Daeron did not withhold his reprieve; he could not. His transgressions were beyond redemption.

 

The weight of all his immeasurable guilt suddenly fell on his shoulders, crushing his spirit at once. He bit his lower lips and buried his face in his hands, ere sobbing desolately. Images of the past assaulted his mind. Images of the first Firstborn who fell on his feet by his sword. And the second, and the third. The faces of everyone he had killed. Their eyes, their blood, their screams, their burning bodies, their lifeless Hroar. The voice of the innocent earth crying out as she licked her first taste of blood. Blood of her inhabitants. The beautiful swan ships, as they were being robbed from their makers and burned to his father's laughter. The dead  bodies of his brothers, slain by Dior. Dior’s body. Corpses of children. The helpless fury mixed with fear in his sons' eyes, the most painful sight, which he could never forget. The very sight that had been haunting him for years, even after they grew to love him. A sight he wanted to vanquish forever - yet it stubbornly remained . The cruellest reminder that after all, he was not their true father, he was but a person who had driven their parents away, killed their people, and destroyed their kingdom. He was a Kinslayer. The word was engraved on his brow, in his hands, his heart, so deeply carved that nothing could erase it. Not the ocean, nor Time, nor he, nor the Valar, nor the person who sat in front of him. Nothing could, and nothing would. Nothing.

 

Behind them, the storm kept raging. The sky was crying and the sea was weeping, as if reflecting the tears that were shed by Iluvatar along with His mourning children.

 

(to be continued)

 

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Chapter End Notes

the quotation is from Genesis 4: 10. NIV.

Daeron’s reaction is inspired by an article I read long ago. About a NAZI soldier who begged forgiveness on his death bed to a Jewish. But the Jewish did not grant him that, for he thought he had no right to demean his people’s suffering by a word of comfort to someone who had tormented them beyond humanity.

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