Necessary Sacrifices by Ithilwen

Chapter 1

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Necessary Sacrifices

The autumn evening was frosty, and normally the warmth and light of the small fire in the hearth would have been welcome. But as Maglor entered the snug cabin, he winced at the harsh shadows the cheerful flame cast within the room, for the flickering light cruelly highlighted the gaunt face of his elder brother, who sat quietly gazing at the fire, apparently lost in dreams. By the Valar, it’s been over two months now, and yet he still looks so frail. How long will it take for him to completely heal? he wondered. The Quendi were generally quick to recover from injuries, but Maedhros had been very close to death from exposure and starvation by the time Fingon had rescued him. His recovery so far had been slow, and although he had now resumed his rightful role as the heir of Fëanor and leader of their people, to Maglor’s loving eye his brother still seemed wan and tired. The neatly bandaged stump of his right wrist was a sad reminder that not all of Maedhros’s physical wounds could be healed. Maglor only prayed that the same would not be true of the mental wounds his brother had suffered, for it seemed to him that Maedhros’s once bright spirit had been dimmed following his torment. He hoped fervently that when his brother recovered his physical vitality, his former ebullience would also return.

Maglor reached down and gently shook his sleeping brother’s shoulder. “Russandol, I’m sorry to wake you, but the message you’ve been waiting for has arrived.”

Maedhros, roused from his dream, looked up at his brother and smiled. “So our courier has finally returned. What reply does our uncle send to me?”

“He has agreed to your request for a formal meeting between the House of Fëanor and the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, to take place in their camp in five days.” Maglor glared at the letter in his hand as if it offended him. “Of course, he would insist the meeting take place in his encampment.”

“Certainly,” Maedhros laughed. “He’s trying to prove a point – after all, he always has been ambitious.”

“You should insist that it be held here.”

“What, and risk offending our dear uncle? No, send a reply in the morning – tell him that I agree with his plans, and our delegation will be arriving at his settlement on the evening before the meeting.”

“No! If you won’t insist on holding the meeting here, then it should be postponed. Listen to me, Russandol, you’re not yet well - ”

“Well enough to ride a horse around the lakeshore.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard, too soon. You need more time to rest and heal. Please, don’t do this! The meeting can wait.”

Maedhros reached out with his left hand and gently grabbed Maglor’s arm. “No, little brother, it can’t, and you know that as well as I do. It’s been five years since Fingolfin’s host crossed the ice, so you told me, and until Fingon brought me home their mood was so hostile that you were lucky to avoid open warfare between our two peoples. All those years wasted, during which Morgoth has been able to plot unhindered! Fingon’s rescue of me may have softened our people’s mood towards Uncle’s followers, but I doubt that it has done much to improve their view of us – Father betrayed them, after all. No, we Noldor can’t afford to be divided. We need the help of Fingolfin’s people if we are going to succeed in fulfilling our oath, and they want vengeance against Morgoth almost as much as we do. It’s time to end this rift – for all our sakes. We will be at Fingolfin’s encampment five days from now even if I have to be tied onto the horse like a sack of grain. Send the message in the morning.”

“Sometimes you can be just as stubborn as Father was.”

“Good. I’m glad I managed to inherit at least one of his traits, even if only one of his more annoying ones.”

Maglor stared intently at his brother, startled by the touch of bitterness in his tone. “What do you mean by that comment?”

“Oh, Maglor, do you think I don’t realize what a disappointment I was to our parents?”

“That’s not true! Maedhros, Father and Mother loved you.”

“I know that. I didn’t say they didn’t love me, I said that I was a disappointment to them. And it’s true. Look at me – the eldest son of the great Fëanor, and yet I have none of his gifts. I’m no scholar or craftsman, unlike Curufin, and unlike you, I haven’t managed to inherit any of Mother’s artistic talents either. The eldest grandchild of Finwë couldn’t even manage the proper hair color2 .No, Father may have loved me, but I’m not the son he would have chosen as his heir. Curufin, or Caranthir perhaps – but not me. Not me.”

“Maedhros,” Maglor said, very gently, “you do have gifts, even if you can’t see them yourself. You’ve spent your entire life under Father’s shadow, trying to live up to his expectations of you as his heir. The rest of us were more fortunate; we didn’t have that pressure to deal with. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve inherited his skills or measured up to his expectations. Neither he nor Mother had any right to expect those things of you. You need to discover what your own talents are, now that you’re free to exercise them. I’m certain you will do well as the leader of our House.”

“For all our sakes, I hope so. But how am I going to function as the head of our House when I can’t manage even the simplest tasks on my own? Why should our people follow a commander who can’t even dress himself?”

“It’s going to take time and practice for you to learn how to do things one-handed, that’s all. Right now, it’s your wits we need – and I’ll be here, and so will your other brothers, to help you with the physical things until you can manage them on you own. Stop being so hard on yourself, Russandol.”

“I hate feeling so helpless.” Maedhros turned away from his brother’s gaze, staring intently into the fire.

“I know.” Maglor softly stroked the side of his brother’s face. “Give yourself time, brother. Have you eaten this evening?”

“Yes. Celegorm came by earlier to help me.”

“Good. I know it’s early, but I think you should try to sleep now – you look exhausted. Let me help you get ready for bed.” Maedhros swayed as he stood up from the chair, and Maglor moved close to his side, ready to catch him if he should stumble. As they walked towards the bed, Maedhros asked, “Will you be the one staying with me tonight?”

“Yes.” Maglor eased his brother onto the bed, reached down to tug his boots off, then helped Maedhros remove the rest of his clothing. “Would you like me to get my harp? The music might help you fall asleep more easily,” he said as Maedhros curled up under the soft blankets.

“No, that’s not necessary, but thank you for offering. Please remember to send the courier to Fingolfin’s camp first thing in the morning.”

“I will.”

“Maglor, I’m also going to need a complete inventory of all the material goods in our people’s possession – especially the number of horses – before we leave for the meeting. Have someone begin preparing it tomorrow; I’ll want to see the final list as soon as possible.”

“Why do you need an inventory?”

“That’s my secret for now. Just see that one is made quickly, please.”

“Of course, brother. I don’t know for certain what you’re planning to do, but I think I can guess. Softening our uncle’s mood by offering some aid to his people just might work; he’ll be reluctant to press his claim to the high kingship too strenuously if he knows he has something important to lose by doing so, like your gift of supplies. I told you that if you follow your instincts, you’ll do well. Father would be proud of you.”

“No, he wouldn’t be,” Maedhros said softly, and he shivered slightly. “He wouldn’t be proud at all. But from now on the decisions are mine to make, not his.”

“Hush. Go to sleep now,” Maglor said, gently stroking his brother’s russet hair. He watched as Maedhros’s eyes slowly became unfocused. Once he was certain that his brother had slipped back into dreams, Maglor walked over to the hearth and, after finding a fresh piece of paper, sat down and began composing a formal acceptance to Fingolfin’s proposal to be sent with the courier at dawn.

* * * * * * *

The journey to the northern shore of Mithrim had been uneventful but slow. The delegation was larger than Maglor had expected, for in addition to all of his brothers Maedhros chose several more men “to serve as independent witnesses for our people to the events of this council.” The party had set an easy pace out of concern for Maedhros, and consequently took two days to travel a distance that could ordinarily be covered in one very long day’s ride. Maedhros had insisted on unfurling the standard of Fëanor on the second day of their journey, and Maglor noted the hostility that flared in the eyes of many of Fingolfin’s people when they caught sight of the proud banner and recognized the sons of Fëanor riding beneath it. They were met at the edge of the encampment by their cousins Angrod and Aegnor, who greeted them coolly but civilly, and by Fingon. Fingolfin himself was nowhere to be seen. The Fëanorans had kept to themselves throughout the evening, remaining in the tents they had raised on the edge of Fingolfin’s settlement. Maedhros had been tense and unusually quiet, and even a brief visit with his beloved cousin Fingon had done little to draw him out. He was obviously brooding over the upcoming meeting with Fingolfin, and his brothers’ encouragement and reassurances only seemed to depress his spirits further. But when Maglor went to check on his brother in the morning, he found that Maedhros’s bleak mood appeared to have passed during the night. He seemed calmer, and the anxious look that had been in his eyes the previous evening had been replaced by a quiet resolve. And as Maglor had entered the tent, he had been surprised to see his youngest brother Amras, who had stayed with Maedhros during the night, braiding Maedhros’s hair.

“I was beginning to think you had given up on your hair entirely. This is the first time you’ve let any of us help you with it since you were brought back to us,” Maglor said.

“This is the first time it’s mattered. I’m also planning to wear my copper circlet. Since I stand on behalf of our House today, I need to look the part – it wouldn’t do to have our people represented by someone unkempt. I want them all to remember it is Fëanor’s son who is speaking.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you with our arrogant uncle – it should be a memorable confrontation,” Amras said as he continued to plait Maedhros’s thick russet hair.

“I think I can safely promise that none of you will ever forget the sight,” Maedhros replied.

* * * * * * *

“Is it time?” Maedhros looked up from the papers he was reviewing and folded them neatly as Maglor pulled the tent flap open. “Nearly,” Maglor said. “It’s a bit of a walk to the site – Fingon says Fingolfin’s hall is at the opposite end of the camp, so we should leave now if we don’t want to be late.” Maedhros quickly sealed the folded papers with wax, and after exiting the tent, gave them to Fingon. “Let’s go,” he told his cousin. “Your father is no doubt already waiting for us.”

As the delegation, escorted by Fingon, passed through the camp, Maglor was struck by the contrast in their appearance compared to that of his cousin. The Fëanorans were all dressed in fine garments while Fingon’s clothing, though serviceable, was relatively plain and had clearly seen much wear. The buildings in the settlement were well-constructed, but the large hall they were ushered into contained little other than furniture which had clearly been built from local wood; obviously Fingolfin’s host, being limited to what they could carry on their backs or pull on simple sledges, had been unable to bring many possessions with them during the brutal crossing over the ice from Araman. Jewelry, however, was light and small enough to carry easily, and the brows of his cousins were decorated by silver and gold circlets set with gems that glittered almost as brightly as the cold gleam in their eyes. Turgon, whose wife had been lost on the ice, seemed the most hostile, but nearly all of his cousins appeared remote if not openly angry. Their uncle Fingolfin sat in a large chair raised up on a low platform at the end of the hall, his expression unreadable.

Maedhros stepped forward to greet the assembly, his elegant appearance and proud bearing somewhat undercut by the way his clothing hung on his too-thin frame. “Greetings to the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin from the House of Fëanor. I thank you for agreeing to this meeting, for the followers of Finwë have been sundered one from the other for far too long. United were the Noldor when Finwë lead them forth on the great journey from these lands into the West; united should we be now upon our return to our ancestral home. It is time to close the breach separating the descendants of Míriel and Indis and become one people again.”

“Why should we wish reconciliation with traitors and -” Turgon began to say angrily, but a sharp look from his father silenced him. “Desirable it might be to accomplish such a reunion, but the quarrel between the House of Fëanor and the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin is not lightly placed aside,” said Fingolfin, “and I deem it is your House that is chiefly responsible for our division, and thus must bear the principle burden of ending it. How do you propose we begin this task?”

“I propose we begin it thus.” And Maedhros stepped up to the foot of the platform on which Fingolfin’s chair stood and, to the astonishment of Maglor and his brothers, dropped to his knees before their uncle and hung his head like a penitent. “In the name of my House, I apologize for our cruel betrayal of your people, our kin whom we abandoned in Araman without just cause. I would beg forgiveness from the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin for our treacherous act, though I and my House deserve it not. And though I cannot undo the harms inflicted by my House on your people, I can and will act to ease the condition of those who were fortunate enough to survive the journey across the Helcaraxë. For it is not just that we, who arrived on these shores by riding in comfort upon stolen ships, should prosper from our theft while those whose arrival was achieved only with pain and the expenditure of much blood remain in privation. I have therefore given to Lord Fingon a list of the goods to be transferred to your encampment following the conclusion of this meeting; know that they will remain yours whether you accept my apology or no.”

“On behalf of the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, I accept your apology, and grant my forgiveness to your House for its desertion of my people in Araman,” Fingolfin said gravely, and Maedhros raised his head and gazed into his uncle’s eyes.

“I thank you, Lord Fingolfin. There remains yet one area of contention between our peoples, namely the question of the kingship of the Noldor, which following the death of Finwë did by right of birth pass to my father Fëanor. As the eldest son of my father, many would hold that the kingship now passes from my father to me. But I say otherwise, and do now renounce any claim I may possess to it in favor of you. For if there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise. The House of Fëanor now swears its loyalty and allegiance to Fingolfin, the rightful High King of the Noldor.”

When he heard his brother utter those words, Maglor realized what he had to do and, reluctantly, bent his knee before his uncle; after a brief moment, his younger brothers followed his lead. What differences the younger sons of Fëanor had with their eldest brother would have to be aired later in private, and Maglor was certain that several of his brothers would definitely be doing so, for Caranthir’s face was slightly flushed and Curufin’s hands were knotted into tight fists. In public, however, they could not afford to dispute their elder brother’s authority, and both Caranthir and Curufin knew it. So they knelt and acknowledged their hated uncle’s authority over them as the now-undisputed king of their people.

Once the Fëanoran delegation had bowed to him, Fingolfin rose from his seat and stated, “Let the differences that formerly divided our Houses be forgotten. The Noldor stand as one people again!” He then stepped down to help Maedhros back onto his feet, whispering into his ear as he did so, and with that act the tension in the hall broke and people began move about and converse. Maglor soon found himself caught up in a crowd, for as he moved towards his brother’s side, so did most of his cousins, who were all speaking to Maedhros simultaneously, expressing happiness at seeing him alive and recovering and praising him for his words to Fingolfin. When he reached his brother’s side, Maedhros smiled at him, but Maglor could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he reached out to him with his remaining hand. Maglor smiled back and took his brother’s hand. “Our uncle has invited our family to dine with him and our cousins tonight, brother,” Maedhros said as Maglor stepped next to him. “We’ll need to send someone back to fetch your harp; everyone is looking forward to hearing you play, or so I’ve been told,” he said, glancing over towards Fingon and Angrod. “I’ve already told our uncle that we’d be there,” Maedhros said quickly, giving his brother a stern look as he sensed Maglor’s unvoiced objections.

“I’ll send someone to get it now,” Maglor replied, acknowledging defeat, “and tell our brothers about the invitation.” And warn them, he thought to himself as he walked away, that the consequences of any misbehavior on their part tonight will be painful – I will make sure of that.

When Maglor had finished speaking with his younger brothers, Fingolfin beckoned him over to one side of the hall. “I am concerned about my eldest nephew,” he said quietly, glancing towards Maedhros. “He is still pale, and far too thin.”

“He is not as recovered as he tries to appear,” Maglor stated, and stared coldly at his uncle. “He certainly isn’t ready to be attending feasts.”

“I am sorry, but it is necessary. Our family must show that we have reconciled our differences before we can expect our followers to do so. I will see that the evening ends early, to avoid tiring him too badly, and I trust that you will also look out for him.”

“I intend to,” Maglor replied.

* * * * * * *

“Have you gone mad?” Caranthir roared. “How could you humiliate our family so, and surrender everything that Father treasured? Our pride, our position as the greatest of Finwë’s descendents, the kingship that Father had struggled so hard to hold onto, fighting against the schemes of his presumptuous half-brothers, and that he passed on to you – you tossed it all away as if it meant nothing to you.”

At least he managed to wait until we returned to our tents before attacking our brother; I suppose it was too much to hope that he would postpone his tirade until we returned to our own settlement, Maglor thought as he watched his younger brother shout furiously at Maedhros. They had just returned from their evening with Fingolfin and their cousins, and while his younger brothers had managed to hold their anger in check during the festivities and pretended for the sake of family unity to be in accordance with their brother’s decisions, Maglor knew they were seething inside, and Caranthir had never been hesitant about expressing his feelings. Celegorm and Curufin also appeared enraged, but seemed content to let their most volatile brother do the shouting for now, while Amrod and Amras appeared more puzzled and disappointed than angry. While he too did not fully approve of his brother’s actions or completely understand his reasons for choosing them, Maglor approved of this blatant disregard for their eldest brother’s rightful authority even less. Gently questioning his actions and politely requesting an explanation would be one thing, but Caranthir was greatly overstepping his bounds with this outburst.

“And it’s not enough for you to merely shame us all in front of our relations – no, you choose to impoverish our House as well! You gave away more than half of our goods, and nearly all of our horses. Our House should be preeminent among the Noldor, but your acts have reduced us to the least of our people. If Father could have foreseen your actions today, he would have disinherited you to prevent this betrayal of your family!” Caranthir shouted.

Until that point Maedhros had remained silent, standing motionless with his back towards his brothers and staring impassively at the tent wall while Caranthir raged. Now he turned to face them, and Maglor saw the smoldering fire burning in his normally temperate brother’s eyes and realized the depth of Maedhros’s own anger with them. When he began to speak, though, Maedhros’s voice was even and controlled, indeed almost cold. “But Father was not a seer, and he did not disinherit me. And thus when he died I became the head of our House and assumed the authority that goes with that position. I, Maedhros – not you, Caranthir, nor any of my other brothers. I choose the course of action for our House, not you, and you have no right to question my decisions or my authority to make them. And I owe no one an explanation for them, not even you. What actions I choose to take I choose for good reason, and if you disagree with my choices you are free to renounce your ties to our family and leave it. Otherwise I expect your obedience, and to be addressed with a civil tongue. Now go, before I am forced to summon one of the aids to throw you out.”

“You wouldn’t dare -” Caranthir sputtered, stepping back slightly, his eyes wide with shock.

“Would I not, brother?” Maedhros replied evenly. “Out. All of you. Now.”

Maglor placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, hoping to forestall any additional rash words that would escalate the situation, for he could see in Maedhros’s eyes that his brother was not bluffing. “Come, you’ve had your say. Let’s give our brother some peace, Caranthir.” Caranthir spun around and abruptly walked out of the tent, followed by the rest of his brothers. Once outside, Caranthir muttered “How dare he - ”

“How dare you speak to him like that!” Maglor replied angrily. “Who do you think you are? However much you may disapprove of our brother’s decisions, you have no right to abuse him as you did. You need to remember your place, Caranthir, and learn to hold your tongue.” Caranthir scowled, but made no response.

“But Caranthir is right to be angry, our brother’s actions today have crippled our House,” said Curufin. “He’s impoverished our people and given away our rightful authority! Why?”

“Perhaps if you had asked politely for his reasons, he might have told them to you. You won’t get an explanation now,” said Maglor. “What’s done is done. We can’t reverse the past and we can’t refuse to accept the pronouncements our brother made so publicly, lest we ourselves bring dishonor to our House. Like it or not, Fingolfin is now the High King and the House of Fingolfin preeminent among the Noldor. We shall simply have to adjust to it.”

“You may adjust to it, brother,” replied Caranthir, “but I won’t.” And he turned and stalked off to his own tent, followed by Celegorm and Curufin. Amrod and Amras remained behind, looking back towards Maedhros’s tent.

“Why do you think he did it, brother?” Amras asked Maglor. “You’re closer to him than the rest of us are – why do you think he abased himself so publicly? I thought he had more pride than that. I guess I was wrong. Father would have been ashamed of him today – Caranthir was right about that, at least.”

“Does it matter what Father would have thought? He’s in Mandos now,” Maglor replied. “As to why – our brother obviously felt it was necessary. Why I can only guess at, and I’d rather not, not tonight. It’s late, and I’m tired. It’s time to call it a night.”

“Who is going to stay to help him tonight?” asked Amrod. “We’d all agreed earlier that it would be me, but right now I don’t think he’ll let any of us in.”

“It’s probably best if I try,” Maglor said. “As you said, I’ve always been the closest to him of all of us – perhaps he’ll take pity on me and let me stay inside where it’s warm rather than throwing me out to sleep in the cold. Although I doubt it.”

* * * * * * *

When Maglor opened the tent flap, he saw that his brother was sitting on one of the bedrolls, staring fixedly at the ground. He looked up as Maglor entered quietly, and Maglor could still see the anger in his brother’s face. He could also see that his brother was exhausted. Too upset to sleep, I suspect, thanks to Caranthir’s insolence, he thought.

“I told you to leave. Get out, now!” Maedhros said.

“Russandol, please. I didn’t come to fight with you. Don’t take your anger at Caranthir out on me.”

“Oh, it’s not just Caranthir I’m angry with, brother. He was doing the shouting, but the rest of you were just as guilty of challenging my judgment – you merely condemned me with your eyes instead of your tongues. Right now I don’t want to be with any of you. Get out.”

Maglor stepped over to where his brother was sitting and sat down next to him, careful not to touch him. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I don’t fully understand why you chose to do what you did today, Russandol, but I’m not questioning your judgment, or your right to make those decisions for our House. Help me to understand, that’s all I ask.”

Maedhros looked down at the ground again and sighed. “I knew that our oh-so-proud younger brothers wouldn’t see the reasons for my actions today, or accept them even if I tried to explain – that’s why I told no one of my plans for the meeting. I wasn’t going to risk having those plans sabotaged by rash words or deeds before I could put everything into motion. But you – I expected that you wouldn’t need such explanations.” After a pause, Maedhros looked up into his brother’s eyes and asked, very soberly, “Tell me, brother – do you want revenge for Father’s death and Grandfather’s murder? When you swore Father’s oath to regain the Silmarils, did you mean what you said?”

“Of course I meant it! How could you think I didn’t? I loved our father and grandfather, just as you did. And the Silmarils belong to our family by right.”

“I ask because it’s easy to simply say the words, quite another thing to actually mean them. ‘Whatever the price, we will regain what is ours,’ Father once said to us – well now you know the price, or at least the first installment. The kingship, the pride and preeminence of the House of Fëanor, a humiliating public apology – that is the price of our oath.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I told you before, we need Fingolfin’s people to have any chance of bringing down Morgoth. I’ve seen the might of Angband, brother.” Maedhros looked away briefly, and Maglor saw a deep shudder pass through his brother’s body; when Maedhros again turned to face his brother his face appeared haunted, but his voice was strong and even as he resumed speaking. “Our people are valiant, but too few – in an open contest with Morgoth they would surely be destroyed, or suffer yet worse fates. Father should have held the kingship uncontested by right, but even when we left Valinor most of the Noldor were marching under our uncle Fingolfin’s banner. And despite all the deaths they suffered during the crossing they still outnumber our forces by more than three to one. We need their strength to prevail.”

“Had Father not burned the ships, perhaps I could have successfully challenged our uncle’s leadership. I don’t know. But I do know that I wasn’t the one who gave the kingship of our people to Fingolfin; Father did that all by himself when he abandoned the majority of the Noldor in Araman rather than returning for them as he had said that we would do. The House of Fëanor betrayed them – why should they follow us now? It doesn’t matter that I am not Fëanor – I’m his son, and sons reflect their fathers after all, or so most would say. I had a choice to make: I could claim the kingship, and see our people remain divided and our quest fail, or I could renounce my claim and do what was necessary to reunify our people, and give us a chance of victory – for which Fingolfin will take the credit. Pride or vengeance; that was the choice. And I choose vengeance,” Maedhros said, clenching his remaining hand into a tight fist as an expression of mingled anguish and rage came over him. “I will see Morgoth destroyed for what he has done to our family.” For what he has done to you, Maglor realized, stunned by the raw fury he now heard in his normally gentle brother’s voice. Carefully, he reached out and placed his arm around his brother’s shoulders and drew him close, then held him tightly until he felt Maedhros slowly relax.

“I understand now why you believed you needed to renounce your claim to the kingship and apologize for Father’s destruction of the ships, even though you had nothing to do with that act,” Maglor continued quietly, arm still wrapped around his brother. “But why choose that manner of doing it? Why did you practically grovel in front of our uncle and cousins? Surely a more dignified approach would have worked just as well; it certainly would have been easier for our brothers to accept.”

“Not if the Noldor were to be reunited in heart as well as in words. Don’t you see?” Maedhros replied. “Or perhaps you don’t – I don’t know how much you’ve spoken with Fingon during those few visits he made to our camp to see me. Maglor, our uncle and cousins are – or were – furious with us. Not just with Father, but with us too. Put yourself in their place – if we had been betrayed by Fingolfin, and you had endured that miserable journey across the Helcaraxë, if you had watched your family suffer and seen some of them die, would you have accepted a coolly-delivered apology from Fingon? Would such an apology ease the anger you’d have in your heart? No, I don’t think so. So I gave them more than mere words – I gave them our pride and our wealth; a real apology that actually cost us something to deliver. Even that may not be enough for some of them. How many horses and jewels do you think it will take to make Turgon forget Elenwë? But it’s the best that I can do. And even if we didn’t need their help to fulfill our oath I’d still have apologized that way, because they deserved it; I at least am ashamed of the way Father treated them. And so are most of our people. They’ll give their loyalty to Fingolfin as High King out of guilt, if for no other reason.”

“Our brothers won’t. And Caranthir in particular has never gotten along with most of our cousins,” Maglor warned.

“They won’t have to give their loyalty to our uncle, just to me. I’ll be the one to handle the interactions between the High King and our House, after all. But I’m afraid that the quick tempers of some of our brothers may prove a problem. Perhaps we can settle our family somewhere out of the way, so they won’t need to have much contact with our cousins. In any case, I’m not going to let their tempers interfere with achieving our goal,” Maedhros said gravely. “We will regain the Silmarils and we will see Morgoth brought to ruin, regardless of the cost. I swear it, brother. And I keep my oaths.”

“I know you do,” Maglor replied. “And I’m confident that we’ll prevail in the end. But not this evening! It’s very late, and you look worn out. Let me stay with you tonight, Russandol.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be right for me to throw my favorite brother out to sleep on the frozen ground,” Maedhros said ruefully as they both stood up and he began to awkwardly open the bedroll with his left hand. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you earlier, Maglor. You didn’t deserve that. Promise me you’ll stay – not just tonight, but for all the days to come, until this is ended. I’m going to need your help.”

“I’m glad to hear you finally admit that,” Maglor laughed as he began to prepare his own bed. “Of course I’ll stay. Until this is over and the Silmarils are in our hands, I’ll remain beside you. Now let me help you with your clothes. You need to get some sleep now – we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

There Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him... His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been. ...And the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged. For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree.
Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the overlordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin... (Quenta Silmarillion)

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Chapter End Notes

Russandol – “Copper-top”; an affectionate nickname given to Maedhros by his family in acknowledgement of his reddish-brown hair. See The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12), p. 353

Both Finwë and Fëanor had black hair; Maedhros’s reddish hair was inherited from his mother. See The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12), pp.353 (Maedhros) and 357 (footnote 19 – Finwë’s hair).

According to early drafts of the Quenta Silmarillion, Maedhros gave back to Fingolfin all the goods that his people had loaded on the ships, and which they therefore had lost when they were left stranded in Araman; the Grey Annals also states that the Noldor brought horses from Aman to Middle Earth on the ships as well, many of which Maedhros gave to Fingolfin in atonement for the burning of the ships. See The War of the Jewels (History of Middle Earth, vol. 11), pp.38, 115, and117.

There is some discrepancy in Tolkien’s writings regarding the timing of Maedhros’s apology and renunciation of the kingship. In the Grey Annals (History of Middle Earth, vol.11), Maedhros apologizes and renounces the kingship at the council of the Noldorin lords held at Mithrim, nearly two years after his rescue by Fingon. The Silmarillion does not give a date for the apology and renunciation, but the text implies it happens soon after Maedhros’s rescue, and before the council is held. I have chosen to follow The Silmarillion chronology in this story, because it seems unlikely to me that the Noldor could have become a unified people in the two years prior to the council of Mithrim (as both texts claim they were), without first having the issue of the kingship settled, and without Fingolfin’s followers receiving an apology for Fëanor’s burning of the ships at Losgar.