Comes the Dawn by Ithilwen

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Comes the Dawn

Chapter 1

All his days sorrow and grief are his occupation; even at night his mind is not at rest.

I do not know how to describe this place. There is nothing here to see - it is not light, or dark, just grey everywhere I turn. There are no sounds, no smells, nothing to touch or taste. I dimly sense the presence of others, but they are not close, and the touch of their thoughts on my mind feels alien - I do not know these souls, they were strangers to me in life. The only presence I recognize is Mandos, who has brought me here to his domain to face his judgement. The Vala feels even more overpowering now, here in his own realm, than he did in Beleriand, and at the thought of facing his wrath I once more grow afraid. But to my surprise he simply asks me, "Do you wish to meet your kin now, Maedhros?"

My kin! For a moment I feel my spirit lighten. Most of those I loved in life have already come to these Halls, long ago - now I can at last be reunited with them, if I wish. My high-spirited brother Celegorm, clever Curufin, bold Caranthir, my mischievous youngest brothers Amrod and Amras - all here, I remember suddenly, because I failed in my duty as Head of our House to protect them. Fingon, my cousin - dead because of me. My father - I disappointed him during his life, and betrayed him after his death when I yielded the kingship and dispossessed our House. How can I ever face his anger? My grandfather Finwë, the most beloved of our people - what must he think of me, his first grandchild, who slaughtered so many of those very people he lead and loved so well? I feel a shadow fall over me; "No," I reply to Mandos, "I do not want to meet them now."

For a brief instant, I sense ...something - disappointment?, sorrow? - in the Vala's thoughts, but it passes too quickly for me to identify the feeling with certainty. But Mandos merely replies, "Very well. Remain here then, or roam as you will, should you prefer. You will find you cannot leave the Halls, but within them you are free to go where you wish. I will return later, and we will talk." And then I feel his presence beginning to withdraw; quickly, I ask "Mandos?"

"What is it you wish, little one?"

"Am I not to be judged?" I ask hesitantly.

"Your judgment began when you entered my halls; it will conclude when you leave them." Mandos replied. He must have sensed my confusion, for he continued, "Do you have another question?"

I am almost afraid to ask, but there is no point in postponing the inevitable. "And my punishment? Surely I am to be punished for my crimes?"

"Do you wish to be punished?" he asks.

"No," I reply weakly, "but I deserve to be."

"And how will punishing you undo the harms you have caused?" Mandos responds. "For now, I deem you are not to be punished. You must find another way to cope with your feelings of guilt, Maedhros, for I will not help you purge yourself of them in that fashion. Perhaps you should begin by reflecting on your life - all of your life."

And then he withdrew, and I found myself alone, with only my thoughts as bleak company.

*******

There is no sense of time here. No day or night passes in this place, and without flesh there is no growth of hunger or thirst to mark the hours, no onset of fatigue or need for bodily rest. Although without a body I do not truly sleep, I do indeed dream, as there is little else to do; my mind continually drifts into memories, and I relive my incarnate life in fragments, a moment here, a season there. Dreaming also provides an escape from the constant dull ache I feel when awake - as a bare fëa, I yearn for my lost house, marred though my hröa was by its absent hand, and a part of me continually protests this nakedness. At least in dreams I once more have form, phantom though it may be, and I can trick myself into believing I am housed again, even if only for a little while. But the price for this relief is high; for whatever reason I am drawn, not to my happiest memories, which would seem most appropriate to offset the dreariness of these Halls, but to my most painful ones. The horrible hours following the death of the Trees and my grandfather Finwë. Alqualondë, its harbor red with blood, and the bodies of the slain mariners floating in the water. Losgar, and fire. My torture at Morgoth's hands, and the long agony on Thangorodrim. The moment when I first saw my bandaged wrist and knew that I was forever crippled. My first stirrings of sexual desire, at the lake of Mithrim, when to my horror I found my love for Fingon changing from innocent affection into something strange and monstrous. The Nirnaeth, and the sickening sights of the battlefield, and the day I learned of my cousin's death. Doriath, and Sirion. The Silmaril burning my hand. No matter how hard I try to dream of pleasant things, my thoughts inevitably turn to distressing events. I think back on the first time I viewed the beauty of the Trees, and suddenly the Silmaril is once more scorching my hand, its terrible light shining in the night. I start to dream of Himring in the fall, remembering the crisp air and the beauty of the foliage, and then the red leaves on the ground become pools of blood, I am besieged again on the plain of Anfauglith, surrounded by orcs and traitorous men, Maglor near my side cutting down Ulfang. I hurt, whether awake and yearning for my body, or dreaming and trapped in nightmares of my past. Help me, please! I finally scream silently, I can bear no more of this! But of course, that is not true - for there is no way to escape it. I cannot flee into death, for I am dead already. I now understand why Mandos will not punish me - he does not need to.

To my surprise, my call is quickly answered; I hear a voice calling me out of yet another tormenting dream. "Little one, what is wrong?" It is Mandos; his presence surrounds me, somehow soothing. "I hurt," I reply, and then I suddenly feel ashamed of my weakness - a grown man, once a lord among my people, and I cried out like a child! "I'm sorry, my lord, I will not disturb you again..."

"Are your memories the source of your pain?" Mandos replies. "Which ones are causing you such anguish, Maedhros?" But I am too ashamed to reply - how can I speak of my failures to this lordly being? I cannot bear the thought of exposing my innermost self, with all its weaknesses and failings, to anyone, so I remain mute. "Little one, I cannot aid you if you stay silent," Mandos eventually continues. "You will continue to suffer until you choose to allow me to help you. A guilty conscience cannot be easily evaded. I know it is frightening, but you must speak with others if you are to learn, and grow, and eventually heal."

"I...I cannot. Forgive me." I reply.

"If that is your choice, then I will respect it," Mandos responds sadly, and slowly begins to withdraw. I feel the dull ache setting in again, all the harder to bear after the temporary relief the Vala's presence had provided; if I attempt to flee into dreams again, I realize I will soon find myself trapped within yet another nightmare. Desperately, I call out, "Wait!" When Mandos pauses, I force myself to continue, "I...I was remembering Alqualondë..."

And so it begins.

*******

It is a terrible thing to be questioned by a Vala. Neither Mandos nor Nienna are cruel; indeed, they seem to go out of their way to be gentle. But they insist that their queries be answered; if I refuse, they simply ask the same question again, and again, and again, over and over until in weariness I give in and reply. And unhoused, my fëa is open to them, so they can perceive a lie. It is fruitless to attempt to evade an unwelcome question by responding with a falsehood, for then they simply become more persistent in their questioning, or else they abandon me to the pain of my memories until I become desperate enough to respond truthfully.

And so often the response to my answer is yet another question, and they lead my mind in circles, until I am too confused to know what to think. Once, when speaking to Nienna about my sufferings as a prisoner of Morgoth, I blame myself for my plight; had I not been so foolish as to attempt negotiations with him, I say, I would never been captured in the first place. Nienna replies, "Is Elwing to blame for the deaths of the people of the Havens?" "No, of course not!" I respond, indignant. "But had she surrendered the Silmaril, your attack would never have taken place," she replies. Angry now, I say, "That does not justify what I did there; you cannot blame her for my evil actions, which I alone chose!" "If Elwing bears no guilt for your actions at Sirion, then how do you bear guilt for Morgoth's actions at Angband? He alone decided to do what he did, in putting you to torment; how are you in any way responsible for his choices?" Nienna quietly replies, then withdraws, leaving me to ponder her words; surely there must be a flaw in her argument somewhere, but I cannot find it.

Mandos asks if I enjoyed myself when I was killing the people of Doriath and Sirion. "Of course not!" I reply, horrified, "It sickened me." Then why did I do it, if not for pleasure, he asks me. Ashamed, I finally admit to him, after much prodding, that I was afraid; I had thought myself bound by my oath, and had been too frightened to break it. And yet I regard myself as evil, Mandos responds, and not simply as a coward. Why? "Because my actions at Doriath and Sirion were evil," I respond. "Then only evil people can commit evil actions? Your cousin Fingon is evil then?" Mandos asks me. "How dare you accuse Fingon of being evil!" I reply in fury. "Fingon is one of the finest Elves ever to live -" "And yet he murdered innocents in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë," Mandos interrupts, "and the deliberate killing of an innocent person is evil. Either he is evil, Maedhros, or it is possible for evil actions to be committed by those who are not in themselves evil beings. In which case, perhaps you are not evil either, but merely one who has committed evil acts, like Fingon."

My thoughts often become so snarled I do not know what to believe. I was a simple warrior in life; it seems in death I am now expected to become a sage. I pray that I will someday find a path out of this confusion.

*******

Nienna has asked me why I do not seek out my cousin Fingon. I told her that I am afraid, and so I am. I was the cause of his death, after all, and I committed so much evil during my incarnate life - there is no way he can know these things and still care for me. I have loved him for so long, and so deeply - I do not know how I will bear it if he rejects me. But Nienna insists that I speak with him, and in here the commands of the Valar must be obeyed. So I will seek him out, and tell him that I love him, and pray for the strength to bear his rejection, for surely he does not love me.

*******

He does!?!

*******

Fingon does not understand why I blame myself for his death. "Russandol, I knew the risks when I agreed to fight," he tells me. "Why do you insist on blaming yourself for other people's decisions? I am responsible for my choices, cousin, not you."

"But I talked you into it..." I begin, but my cousin stops me. "And if you had not," he replies, "and Morgoth had eventually launched another offensive, and I fell then, you would have blamed yourself for not convincing me to fight. Russandol, you damn yourself either way, over events you do not control in any case. Why are you always so hard on yourself?" Fingon asks me gently. I do not reply, for I do not know the answer myself.

*******

I think Fingon senses that I have not been entirely open with him; he keeps questioning me about why I took his death so badly, for I, in an unguarded moment, foolishly let slip that I nearly joined him here in Mandos when I heard the news. I have told my cousin that I love him, but that is all I said. How I loved him in life I have kept to myself, for in this place there is no desire (that is of the flesh, and we who dwell here have none), only love alone, and have the Valar not told me that in the end all love is the same, a reflection of our Creator's love of his creation? Why distress my cousin by revealing something that no longer matters? But a part of me insists that it does matter, that I am once again behaving as a coward, too afraid of Fingon's reaction to tell him the truth. Finally I force myself to tell him the secret which I never willingly revealed to anyone during my life.

He is silent for a long while; when he finally speaks, I cringe, but his thoughts are sorrowful, not angry. "Oh, Maedhros," he says softly, "I am so sorry." He pauses for a moment, then continues, "That is why you withdrew from me during those months at Mithrim, isn't it? Why you went to Himring."

"Yes," I reply. "I am sorry if I hurt you, but I couldn't bear it any longer - to be constantly near you, desiring you, and knowing that you felt nothing for me but cousinly affection, that your heart belonged to Lendeirien, and always would. Being with you was a torment - but being away from your side was not much better, in the end."

"I thought it was something I had said, or done," Fingon replies. "I'm sorry, Maedhros. I did - I do, I mean - love you, just not in that way. You will always be very dear to me, but my wife is the only person I have ever desired."

"I know," I reply sadly. "I remember how happy you were when you first told me about her, and I am glad she gives you joy. No one chooses where his heart will rest; yours chose Lendeirien, and mine chose you, and only Ilúvatar knows why, in the end."

"Why did you decide to tell me this?" Fingon asks. "I know you were afraid of what I would say - I felt you try to pull away from me. Why tell me now, after keeping it secret for so long?"

"Because you asked what I was hiding, and you have a right to know the truth," I reply. "I could never tell you when we were both alive, I was too much a coward for that." I feel Fingon stir in protest, and quickly continue, "No, it's true, I was a coward, and my failure to face my fears lead me in the end to ruin. But now my confession no longer matters - in here my love for you is pure, untainted by a desire you cannot reciprocate. And soon you will be released from this place to rejoin your wife and son, who still live, and I would not have you live the rest of your life without knowing the true depth of my feelings for you. Remember me fondly when you rejoin the world of the living, cousin."

"You speak as though you are certain you will never be released, Russandol! Has Mandos told you that that is to be your fate?" Fingon asks.

"No," I reply quietly, "he does not need to."

*******

Chapter 2

The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning...

Love justice, you who judge the earth...

Fingon did leave the Halls eventually, as I had known he would, and once more I find myself alone, save for the time I must spend with the Valar. I have slowly come to face some unpleasant truths about myself - the way I have always run from emotional pain instead of facing it, the way I have wallowed in guilt, blaming myself for everything terrible that happened to me and to my family, whether I was actually responsible for it or not, the way I closed myself off from those who loved me, refusing to listen to them when they tried to help me. When I look at myself, I do not like what I see. But I must know myself, Mandos says, if I am to change myself. He also says I am still missing things, that there are several important aspects of myself I do not yet perceive. Given what I have discovered so far, I am not sure I want to learn them.

Before Nienna forced me to join Fingon, I was content to be solitary, with only the Valar for occasional company. Now that he is gone, I feel vaguely discontented when they leave me alone to dream. Could it be that I am lonely?

*******

Mandos asks me why I swore my father's oath in the first place - did I value the Silmarils so highly? I tell him that I did not value them at all, but that is only half a truth, and I know it; when I looked upon them I saw not merely beautiful jewels, but my father's heart's desire, the things he loved above all else, and I valued them for his sake. Mandos must sense that I am withholding something from him, for he repeats the question, and this time his voice is stern and cold. I am almost too frightened to reply; finally, I force myself to answer - I swore the oath to please my father, I say, who was in such pain, and because he expected it of me. How did I know what he expected, Mandos replies, did Fëanor tell me this? No, I reply, but I was his eldest child, his heir, duty-bound to follow my father in all things.

But in fact I had not followed my father's example in all things, Mandos states. I did not become a craftsman, or a scholar; did Fëanor not expect his heir to achieve excellence in these endeavors, as he himself had? Did I care so little about my father's happiness that I would refuse to take up his beloved pursuits? Was I such an ungrateful son?

"No!" I reply desperately, "that's not true! I was never ungrateful, I loved him, I tried so hard to make him happy, and to be what he wanted me to be!" "And yet you failed him, Maedhros" Mandos replies, "you produced no crafts or scholarship of note - why not, if you love him as you claim?" "Because I couldn't," I respond in anguish, "try as I might, I have no talent for such things. I wanted to be a great craftsman or artist, I know I disappointed him, I wasn't what he wanted for a son, but I tried my best, I tried to follow his example and keep his word, to bring honor to our House, and get his beloved jewels back, as he would have wanted me to do..."

We who are confined to the Halls have no bodies, and therefore shed no tears, but that does not mean that we cannot weep. I cry for a long, long, time, while Mandos comforts me. Finally, when I am calmer, he says to me, "All your life, Maedhros, you have tried to live up to the expectations of Fëanor, without regard to whether those expectations were reasonable. Not accomplishing something you were never created to do is no failure; if your father was unable to love you for the person you are, the fault lay in him, not in you. Little one, in your desperate attempts to please him, and become what you thought he wished you to be, you only succeeded in harming yourself. The oath was your father's; it never should have been yours."

*******

What new things have I learned about myself, Mandos has asked me. I remember that he had previously stated that there were several aspects of my character I did not yet perceive; at the time, I did not realize what little sense of self-worth I have, or how desperately I desire the good opinions of others, or how proud I am. But when I mention these things, Mandos remains silent for a time before speaking.

"Little one, I told you that you still had things to learn about yourself. I did not say those things were necessarily negative, yet that is all you have noticed. When you think about yourself, do you truly see nothing positive?"

I am suddenly ashamed, for he is right; when I consider my nature, it is generally only the undesirable traits I notice. Mandos says such self-denigration is a habit I need to break. I tell him I will try.

*******

My dreams are changing. More and more often I find that I am dreaming of my family, during the years we spent in peace in Valinor. My younger brothers, when they were still happy, Celegorm returning after a successful hunt, Curufin covered in soot after a day spent working on some project at our father's forge, the twins first learning to ride. Grandfather, the crown of our people on his raven hair, standing tall and proud before the Valar at a festival. Father rushing into the house at day's end like a windstorm, eager to show Nerdanel and us what wonders he'd wrought that day; or patiently teaching me my letters, his large hand wrapping around my smaller one, showing me how to hold the pen, helping me make the brushstrokes.

I still dream of Alqualondë, and Doriath, and especially Sirion, but less frequently, and the dreams themselves are less distressing than they once were; mostly, they just make me sad. I think I will never stop dreaming about those terrible events, but as I have come to understand (at least in part) why I acted as I did then, I feel less despair and self-loathing, and more honest remorse. I cannot undo what I did, and I can never atone for it, for what is sufficient atonement for murder? But I can accept that Mandos' judgment of me is correct; I am merely an imperfect man who once did monstrous deeds. I do not have to continue to see myself as a monster merely because I once acted like one - I am no longer that person. It will be hard, but I can choose to be other than what I was.

I think perhaps it is time for me to rejoin my kin.

*******

My reunion with my family is bittersweet; I did not know how I would feel when I actually met them (especially my father), but I find I am actually happy to be with them again. Their reactions are more mixed - a mixture of happiness and distress, for until now they did not know that I had died. My grandfather is much as he always was. My brothers, especially Celegorm and Curufin, are more subdued then they were in life; I suppose that should be no surprise, for surely the same can be said about me. We share a common bond now, of folly and regret, which ironically serves to knit us together in death even more strongly than our shared blood did in life.

Father seems much changed. Fëanáro, the Spirit of Fire, burns now with a softer flame. Perhaps it is the result of seeing his sons join him here, one after another, forcing the realization that for all his unquenchable drive and strength of will, he has limits, and the Valar were ultimately right - his people never could prevail against Morgoth. Perhaps it comes from the knowledge that the once-mighty Noldor have been so diminished - we will never again be what we once were, in the long years when the Trees lit Aman, and our people's skills were unsurpassed. Or perhaps it is merely the product of the protracted anguish of a craftsman no longer able to shape and build, a scholar no longer free to observe and experiment and record. I was afraid I would be angry with him, remembering how he drove me during his life to achieve his goals and live up to his expectations, and how he shaped my view of myself. But to my surprise, I find what I feel is not anger, but pity. The father who stands before me is not the awesome presence of my childhood - indeed, that person almost certainly never existed, save inside my mind - but merely a man, fallible and flawed, who has seen his greatest triumphs turned to ash.

I tell him that one of his Silmarils now shines in the sky, brighter and more beautiful than even the mightiest of Varda's stars. He seems pleased.

*******

For a long time now, I have been content here with my family. We have shared the same dreams, and talked among ourselves of the old days while the ages lengthen. But increasingly I find myself thinking about the one brother who is not with us - Maglor, whom I last saw weeping on the shore of a coastline that no longer exists. I keep remembering how cruel I was to him in the end, how I compelled him to commit atrocities he alone of all of us would have been wise enough to forego, if I had only left him in peace. He had regretted swearing our vain oath almost immediately, and it was only my pain and my fear and my foolish, misplaced pride that held him to it. He loved me, and I used his love to lead him into ruin. I deeply regret my cruelty now, and it breaks my heart to think of him alone, the last of our family left alive, believing that in the end I, his beloved elder brother, had hated him.

I know it is wrong for me to ask about him, for the living and the dead exist in separate spheres. The world of the living, and the happenings there, are not my concern so long as I dwell here in these Halls. But eventually I seek out Mandos anyway, knowing that my act is folly, and not caring.

"You are troubled, Maedhros?" he asks me when I finally find him.

"Yes," I reply. "I keep thinking about my brother Maglor. I need to know that he is all right."

"He is still living; you are dead. He is no longer your concern."

"Of course he's still my concern!" I say. "He always will be; he's my brother, after all. I am worried about him. Please, my lord, I need to know that he is well. Just tell me that much, and I will be content."

Mandos does not answer, but I refuse to leave. After a long while, he finally speaks again, but what he says next takes me completely by surprise. "Maedhros, would you join your brother if you could?"

"Of course... What do you mean, 'if I could'? I am to be confined here, with the others of my family, until the ending of Arda, am I not?" I say in surprise.

"Did I declare to you that that was to be your fate, little one?" Mandos answers. "No," I replied, embarrassed; once again I have made an assumption based on the worst possible interpretation of my nature, that I am too flawed to ever be released. Or rather, I initially made that assumption when I was first brought here, and never reconsidered it; I just continued to assume that I would remain confined until the end of Time, and never thought to ask Mandos what his final judgment was likely to be.

"I have long considered your fate, Maedhros, and am now ready to render my final judgment. You may be released from my Halls now, provided that you are willing to seek out your brother, who now dwells in Aman. Will you go to him?"

"Yes. Please, my lord Mandos, release me - I wish to be with Maglor again," I reply, hardly able to believe what I have heard.

"Very well, little one. Go now, and do not delay - go straight to Maglor, once you are free." Mandos instructs me. "I will," I promise him. "Thank you."

And then the world suddenly tilts, and after that I remember nothing.

*******

Chapter 3

It's warm, and I feel something soft against me. There's a sweet scent. Confused, I open my eyes - and realize that I have a hröa again. The softness, and the scent - I'm lying face down on a bed of soft grass and clover, it must be summer, the sun is warming me. I start to sit up, pushing myself up with my hands. Hands! I have two hands! I suddenly stop and look at my right hand in wonder, scarcely believing it is real, watching in awe while I bend and flex the fingers. I feel a tear fall on my cheek. "Manwë and Varda, thank you," I whisper. "Mandos, thank you."

"I've always enjoyed watching you returnees wake up," I hear a voice beside me say. "You always seem so surprised, even though you know you've been released. I wonder - did you feel the same way when you first entered the world?" I turn to find the owner of the voice, and see Irmo, the Vala whom we also call Lórien after his gardens, watching me with a look of curiosity and amusement on his face. "Yes, you are in Lórien, Maedhros. Let me help you up."

As he reaches over and grasps my arm, helping me rise to my feet, I realize suddenly that I am naked, and blush. Seeing my discomfort, Irmo laughs. "You were naked when you first entered the world of the living, Maedhros - it is only fitting that you should return to it the same way. There is no need to be embarrassed. Come - I have some clothing for you over here."

I dress quickly, then turn to face the Vala. "Thank you, Lord Irmo," I say. "I am grateful for you help. Mandos told me to find my brother Maglor as soon as I was released. Do you know where I need to go?"

"He dwells on Tol Eressëa, with the other Noldor who returned from Beleriand. I will accompany you to the harbor, where you can book passage."

As we walk through Aman, I realize that Elven memory is not nearly so accurate as I once believed. For once the first shock of awakening has worn off, I find that everything appears somehow less vivid than I remembered it being. Of course, I think to myself, you never saw Aman lit by the sun, only by the Trees - naturally it looks different under such different light. But the sun also seems dimmer than my memories make it out to be, and the sky less blue. The gardens and orchards are drab in comparison to the ones that have long grown in my mind. I realize that being incarnate again is going to require some adjustments.

I set sail in the early afternoon, bound for Avallónë, now the main port on Tol Eressëa. So far I have not met anyone I know, but as we approach the harbor docks I realize that on Tol Eressëa the odds that I will be recognized are far higher. I do not wish a meeting with anyone save Maglor yet, and surely there are many who would not welcome a son of Fëanor to this island, not after my actions in my prior life - never mind that Mandos has deemed me fit to be released. I decide to keep my hood up, claiming that the afternoon breeze coming off the ocean is chilly - which, in truth, it is.

When I inquire in Avallónë as to where I might find Maglor son of Fëanor, I realize that my decision to keep my identity secret was a wise one; from the dark looks that several of the townspeople give me, it is clear that not everything from the past is forgotten and forgiven. But I persist, and am soon told that my brother Maglor and his wife Aurel dwell far outside of town, near the estate of Lord Elrond.

Aurel, his wife! Elrond, his foster-son! Belatedly, I realize what a fool I was, to assume that he would still be alone after his return here. I do not even know how long he has been back in Aman, I suddenly remember; he could have been dwelling here for ages, perfectly content with his small family. What right do I have to come into his life now, and disturb whatever equilibrium he has managed to find? I almost turn back, but I remember my promise to Mandos - a promise that must be kept. With a now-heavy heart, I head out of Avallónë on the road I am told leads to Elrond's estate, and Maglor's home.

It is growing late by the time I finally reach my brother's small house, and to my dismay, there is no one home. I do not know what to do next, so I decide to wait for a while, to see if perhaps he or his wife will return. But no one comes, and the stars have come out when I decide that there is nothing else left to do - I must go to Elrond's estate and inquire there. I remember the sullen boy my little brother lovingly raised, and how he made it clear, through his utter disregard of me, that my presence was unwelcome, when I was forced at last to return to my brother's house in the Ered Luin. No, I would not willingly meet with Elrond again, for I have already caused him enough pain, but it appears that if I am to find Maglor I now have no choice. As I walk, I find myself idly wondering - whatever happened to his brother Elros?

My father's Silmaril has nearly set by the time I set out, and when I reach the home of Elrond it is late indeed. I was not sure whether anyone would still be awake when I arrived there, but it is a bright night, with the moon riding high in the summer sky, the kind of night my people love to celebrate, and I hear the faint sounds of singing and laughter from far away as I approach. Good - I will not be disturbing anyone. As I grow nearer, the sounds steadily increase in volume; clearly, there are many people here, and I once again hesitate, checking to see that my hood is drawn up high. It is only my sworn promise to Mandos that gives me the strength of will to continue forward. I finally reach the gate, and as I stop to unlatch it, I suddenly hear a voice soaring over the others, singing a song of praise to Varda. I would know that voice anywhere - it is my brother's.

I stand silently, listening to Maglor sing. It is the loveliest thing I have experienced in this pale world, more beautiful even then I remember it being so long ago, during the days of our bliss under the Treelight, before our world and our lives fell into ruin. I ache at the sound of it, and feel the tears running silently down my cheeks, and I do not know why I weep. I wait until he falls silent, then, after wiping my face with my sleeve, approach the courtyard of the house.

I am spotted before I arrive, by a tall man with dark hair and bright grey eyes, who inquires as to my identity and business. "I apologize for intruding," I reply quietly. "I have come seeking Maglor son of Fëanor."

"My father's foster-father rarely receives visitors," the man replies, "but I will tell him you are here, and let him decide whether he wishes to speak with you. What name shall I give him to go with my message?"

I hesitate for a second, then answer, "Russandol."

"Very well. You may come inside, if you like, or -"

"Thank you, but I prefer to wait here," I reply. He nods, and returns to the courtyard. As I wait, I find I am growing increasingly nervous. What am I going to say to him? How am I even going to begin to apologize for the harm I caused him? Perhaps he will not want to see me at all. I now regret my conversation with Mandos - it would have been far better for me to have remained in the Halls, leaving my brother here in peace, but it is too late to change my decision. Now I can only be patient, and see how Maglor reacts.

I do not have long to wait. A tall form comes running out of the courtyard, and almost before I realize what is happening I suddenly find myself enveloped by my brother. Maglor has practically thrown himself on me, almost knocking me off my feet, and then I feel his arms around me, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. I return his fierce embrace, marveling at the solid feel of him in my arms, the scent of his skin, the softness of his glossy black hair brushing against my cheek as my hood slides backwards. He feels so real. After so long insubstantial, I had almost forgotten what it feels like to hold another person, or be held by one.

Finally, after a long moment, I feel his arms slowly loosen; it takes an effort of will to slacken mine, for I find that after our long separation I do not want to let him go, lest I lose him again. He steps back slightly and reaches up to pull my hood, which had slipped, completely down to reveal my full face. When I meet his gaze, I see a mixture of disbelief and wonder in his sparkling eyes. "You've come back! You've really come back! Oh, Russandol - I've waited so long for this day, I was afraid I'd never see you again. Tell me you're real."

"I'm real, little brother," I say, smiling now, "I came as soon as I could. I've missed you, too."

"Come - let's go back into the courtyard. Everyone will be so pleased to see you..." Maglor has his hand on my arm, and is trying to get me to walk with him back into the garden, where the festivities are still in progress. But with his words I think of Elrond as a young man, and the veiled hostility in his gaze, and picture myself surrounded by strangers with bright, hard eyes and lovely faces, so cold, hear their voices whispering "That's Maedhros, the Kinslayer..." I know my thoughts are foolish - Maglor is welcomed here, and I am his brother, newly released from the Halls of Mandos; I will certainly be tolerated, and perhaps even warmly accepted. But at this moment I find I am not quite ready to face the company of strangers yet; I'd much rather spend time with my brother alone. Surely it would not hurt to have an hour or so in private with Maglor before I am forced to re-enter society?

"Please, Maglor, I'd really rather not. Couldn't we walk for a bit instead, just the two of us? It's been so long since we were together last; I don't really feel like sharing you with anyone else just yet."

Maglor stares at me for a moment, concerned; I must have let my alarm show on my face. It's been a long time since I have had to guard facial expressions; I realize I am out of practice. "I promise, little brother - I'll come in later. I'd just like a chance to talk with you for a little while first," I reassure him.

"I am going to hold you to that promise, Russandol," he replies firmly. "You're going to have to get used to being around other people again; this is as good a time to start as any, indeed better than most."

"Point taken," I laugh, "I see that some things don't change over the ages - you're still determined to watch out for me, whether I need it or not."

"And you do," Maglor replies with a smile. "Wait here; I will be back in a few minutes." He turns and heads inside the courtyard; after a brief interval I see him emerge carrying a small basket. "I've made our excuses to Aurel and Elrond, and told them we will be joining them later for breakfast. Now, let's find a place where we can go and chat for a bit. There's a nice scenic spot not far from here, overlooking the sea - we can sit there and watch the sun rise, if you'd like."

"Yes," I reply, my mind flashing back to the last sunrise I witnessed, that horrible dawn when I'd killed myself to escape the pain of the Silmaril in my hand and the regret in my heart. My old life ended with the dawn; it seems fitting that my new life should begin with one. I'll watch the sun rise, and then return with Maglor to meet his wife Aurel, and Elrond and his household, and begin the long process of starting over. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

We walk for a while in companionable silence, my brother slightly ahead, leading the way. Finally I ask him, "How long has it been since you returned to Aman?"

"Not long - a few hundred years of the sun," he replies quietly. "Do you know how many ages have passed since the night we held the Silmarils, Maedhros?"

"No," I reply, "and right now I don't want to know. Far too many, that you had to spend wandering alone and in pain, and all because of my foolishness." Maglor stops for a moment, looking at me strangely. "How did you know that I -" he begins; I quickly reply, "Mandos foresaw it, that morning on the shore, and told me. He said that you would be in Ulmo's care. I wasn't willing to leave with him until I knew you would be safe. I tried to tell you I loved you, before I went, but you couldn't hear me."

He starts walking again, faster now. "No, I couldn't hear you. I thought I felt... something, but I wasn't sure, later, that what I had felt was real. That was you?"

"Yes, little brother, that was me," I answer softly; we walk the rest of the way in silence.

The lookout is indeed lovely, with a clear view of the ocean not far below. The first hint of dawn can be seen on the horizon, the faintest brightening of the sky, the slightest fading of the easternmost stars. My brother and I sit down on the soft grass, side by side, to watch the sky. "What's in the basket?" I ask him, remembering the small hamper he'd been carrying.

"Some bread and cheese, and a little wine," Maglor replies, "not too much to spoil our appetite for breakfast, but I thought you might be hungry. Knowing you, you haven't eaten dinner."

I laugh. "Actually, I haven't eaten at all." Maglor just stares for a moment, bemused, then replies, "You mean that you haven't eaten anything today? I told you that you need looking after, Russandol."

"And who better to do it than you?" I answer, as he opens the basket and removes the bread. "Maglor, I want you to know I do appreciate everything you've done for me. I love you, little brother, and I am so sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I tried to tell myself otherwise, after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: I tried to believe I hated you, and the way I treated you then was unconscionable, but I found in the end I was lying to myself. Please forgive me."

"I forgave you then, Maedhros; I knew you were in pain. Can you forgive me for what I did to you, frightening you into staying alive rather than letting you go when you first learned of Fingon's death?"

"There's nothing to forgive, little brother. All you did was speak to me; it was my choice to stay. You are in no way responsible for my cowardice."

"Russandol, you are not a coward -" Maglor starts to say, indignant, but I interrupt him.

"Yes," I reply, "Yes, I was. I was not brave enough to break our evil oath, but you were. I simply wouldn't let you do it."

I watch as my brother suddenly decides to struggle with the wine bottle, obviously wanting to let the subject drop. "Here, let me help you with that." As I reach out to grasp the bottle, I see Maglor start; following his gaze, I realize he is looking in shock at my right hand. "It startled me, too," I laugh. "But for all that it looks the same, it is a new body, after all. I guess the Valar were feeling merciful, and decided that nearly 600 years without my hand was enough."

"Of course they're merciful; you're here, after all," he replies, laughing, as he starts to cut the cheese.

"I don't follow you, Maglor."

"Well, rumor has it that Mandos once told our mother that none of her sons would be released before the end of Arda. But the Valar let me return to Aman eventually, and even though I wasn't dead, I am guilty of the same crimes that you committed, after all. I couldn't believe that they'd keep you in Mandos forever, not considering everything you'd suffered, while letting me remain free - it wouldn't be fair. So I never stopped praying, or hoping - and here you are now. I always knew that foolish story wasn't true."

And with my brother's words, I suddenly understand. Mandos is known for his strict sense of justice, true - but is justice wholly unleavened by mercy really justice at all? As I pour the wine, I give a silent prayer of thanks that I, who have no right to ask for any mercy after my cruel deeds, should be granted so much of it. And then I sit in companionable silence with my brother, eating bread and cheese and drinking wine, and waiting to watch the sun rise for the final time over the weary and faded lands of Arda Marred.

The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.

Finis

---

Chapter End Notes

The italicized line at the beginning of chapter 1 is Ecclesiastes 2:23 (The Bible).

The first italicized line at the beginning of chapter 2 (The heart of the wise...) is from Ecclesiastes 7:4 (The Bible).

The second italicized line at the beginning of chapter 2 (Love justice, you who judge the earth...) is from Wisdom 1:1 (The Bible).

The final italicized lines in chapter 3 are the concluding lines of Walden, by Henry David Thoreau.

The Halls of Mandos: My impressions of what occurs to elven spirits in the Halls of Mandos, and what it feels like for an elf to be a disembodied soul, are largely derived from discussions in The History of Middle Earthseries, especially the following passages: "Laws and Customs among the Eldar", Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), pp. 218-219 and 222-223; "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth", Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), pp. 361-363; and "Glorfindel", The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, volume 12), p. 380.

Sexual desire as being primarily physical: "...Marriage is chiefly of the body, for it is achieved by bodily union... And the union of bodies in marriage is unique, and no other union resembles it. Whereas the union of fëar in marriage differs from other unions of love and friendship not so much in kind as in its closeness and permanence..." From Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), p. 226.

I have no idea how Maglor eventually returned to Tol Eressëa; for two very different ideas about how his redemption might have occurred, check out Deborah's lovely story "In the Seventh Age" and Jilian Baade's delightful story-in-progress "Wanderer".

The subject of fading: Exactly how elves and Arda fade is not clear in Tolkien's writings. In some places, he seems to indicate that all elves will eventually dwell in intangible bodies, the substance of their physical forms having slowly been consumed by their spirits (see especially Note 7 in "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth", Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), pp. 342-343). In other writings, though, he implies that the physical fading process is limited to elves who remain in Middle Earth, although all elves, regardless of where they live, will gradually grow weary in spirit over time (see "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth", Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), pp. 364; and "Myths Transformed", Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10), p. 427). I chose to go with the latter idea, as it seems to fit the idea of Aman as a type of elf paradise better (and because it's hard to imagine cities filled with intangible people!). However, I did try to hint that near the end of time the world itself is tired and "lessened" in some way from what it once was; Maedhros wasn't imagining things when he thought the sun was brighter, and the sky bluer, back in the First Age - they were.