No Fit Place by Independence1776

No Fit Place

Read No Fit Place

The land cracked and burned, sulfurous fumes wafting through the air as he stumbled away from Maglor, who Maedhros knew would head to the Sea.

 

*

 

Maedhros stared into the crack, the box with the Silmaril in his prosthetic hand. It hurt to hold, but it did not burn, not yet. It would when he touched the Silmaril. He deserved the pain for his failures— Eönwë had been right: all their deeds had come to naught.

 

*

 

Maedhros snarled as Men dragged him in front of Sauron’s seat. The room itself had a trough of fire running length-wise down it, providing light and heat, but leaving the corners in darkness; the shadows played tricks as they moved.

“Tell me, Maitimo, what did you expect to happen? Even Maglor abandoned you in the end. It was sheer happenstance I saw you and prevented you from throwing yourself into that chasm, though it was a pity the Silmaril fell regardless. You should thank me.”

“Never.”

Sauron glanced at the Men. “Drop him in the cell. He’ll regain his manners eventually.”

 

*

 

Sauron had him dragged him from his pit of a cell and dumped in front of his throne. The room hadn’t changed at all in the time he’d been locked down there, fed at intervals he couldn’t determine, though he knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of days. Maedhros stared defiantly up at him. “Do you think a lack of light is going to break me, bootlicker of Morgoth?”

The flame-haired Maia laughed. “Oh, I know you better than that. It didn’t break you before and I did not assume it would do so now, if only to spite me.”

“I have every reason to spite you.”

Sauron smiled. “Of course you do. But tell me, Maedhros, who knows you are here? After your crimes, who will care to come after you? There is no one.”

“My brother will. So will Elrond and Elros, maybe Dior’s twins if they’re in a magnanimous mood.”

His lips curved cruelly and his voice was threaded with power. “Oh, my Maitimo. Do you really think you can be forgiven? Just think what you’ve done! Think of all those dead children.”

 

*

 

Maedhros stared across the clearing. A chasm split it in two, gray smoke rising from the crack in the earth. The entire area smelled like sulfur and fire and all the trees were dead; it was no fit place for anyone to go. Yet Elrond had fled here and stopped only because the chasm was too wide to jump. Maedhros sheathed his sword and held up his hand to show it empty to the boy standing near the chasm’s edge. “Elrond, please! You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Liar!” The boy took another step back, not daring to take his eyes off Maedhros. “You killed Mother and you’ll kill me, too! Why couldn’t you have left us alone?”

“Elrond— you’ll fall in. Come to me and—“

Elrond shook his head. “You’re lying again. You’re not safe. You’ll never be safe.”

Maedhros took one step forward and Elrond stepped back and then to the side, only for the ground to crumble beneath him. “Elrond!”

Maedhros didn’t dare to look over the edge. When he returned to camp empty-handed, Elros screamed wordlessly at him and yanked away from Maglor’s grip on his wrist. He fled to the beach and ran along the water’s edge, drops of water splashing up as he did. He stumbled as a wave came in… and then dragged him into the deep. Undertow, made far stronger than normal by the storm raging just offshore. “Swim to the side, not toward me!”

Elros couldn’t manage that and sank below the waves as Maedhros watched. He trudged back to the camp and sank onto the log next to Maglor. “I couldn’t save either one. Just like I couldn’t save Eluréd and Elurín.”

 

*

 

How could they have? Maedhros’ breaths rose up in clouds from his mouth. How could Celegorm’s men have been so cruel as to leave two children out in the woods. And not just leave them, deliberately abandon them!

It was one thing to be a Kinslayer and another to do that. The twins should have been hostages, maybe even wards. Being left to die in the cold winter woods of Doriath was a fate that he wouldn’t have wished on them. Dying by a swift sword-stroke or an arrow would have been a mercy compared to the long, drawn-out agony of knowing that there was little to survive with and knowing that they had been left behind as punishment for their family’s failure to turn over the Silmaril and Celegorm’s death. No, he resolved. If the twins died, he would execute Celegorm’s men. Maybe even if the twins survived.

Maedhros caught a glimpse of color, too vibrant to be anything but clothing in the winter woods. He crept toward it, but not quietly enough. The child fled ahead of him, racing into the pines. “No, please! I’m not here to hurt you!” Maedhros called out. The child ignored him.

Not that he could blame the child. There was no concealing his armor, lack of right hand, and red hair. The child knew who he was and had no reason to believe Maedhros was coming to help him. Maedhros ran into the trees after him— and onto the edge of a cliff. Just in time to see the boy lose his balance and slip over the side. Maedhros raced to the end of the promontory and fell to his knees, sticking his arm down to the child hanging there. “Grab my hand!”

The child did… only to slip free. And fall screaming into the depths of the cold water of the Sirion. Maedhros knelt there for a moment, fixing the terrified expression in his mind. There was still a chance he could save the other child.

There was no chance, he found as he stepped back into the pines. The other twin lay on his back underneath a tree, pine needles half-heartedly pushed over him. He’d done his best to survive then, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d frozen to death.

Maedhros had failed them. They were dead because he hadn’t found them fast enough.

 

*

 

Maedhros didn’t struggle as the Men led him back to his cell. He couldn’t get Sauron’s cruel smile out of his mind… nor what had happened to the four children he’d tried to save. If only he’d been faster and saved Dior’s twins, then Elrond and Elros would have trusted him. Maybe. But them being alive would have meant he could have given Elrond and Elros to their own family, not a distant cousin they’d never met and had in fact been raised to fear and hate.

The Men pointed their swords at him to get him to climb down the unstable wooden ladder into the pit they called a cell, a ladder they drew up after he reached the bottom. The door clanged shut behind them, leaving him in darkness. The only light came through the gap between the door and floor of the room where the opening was. It wasn’t enough to see much of anything, only the mere outline of the pit opening. But the asymmetrical opening allowed him to orient himself inside his cell, which at least kept him from stumbling over the waste bucket.

Maedhros sank to the ground in the area he’d mentally labeled his bed, though it was just an empty patch of stone. He wrapped his tattered cloak about his shoulders and leaned his head against the wall. It was all his fault.

What would have happened if he’d been able to raise Dior’s twins? He didn’t know if they’d consider Maglor and him family— they’d have memories of their birth family— but maybe guardians. Maybe fond enough to speak for them to the newly orphaned sons of Elwing.

But it was of no matter. It didn’t happen. Elurín and Eluréd had died, so Elrond and Elros had to die, too. Even Amrod and Amras hadn’t survived Sirion. It seemed it was the fate of all those twins to die— die because of him. Nothing could stop that. He’d ordered his brothers to theirs deaths by attacking Sirion; he’d failed to prevent Eluréd and Elrond from falling to their deaths; Elurín from freezing to death; and Elros from drowning.

What had he done with his life? Nothing of worth, except giving up the kingship to Fingolfin. The Silmaril was in the earth, exactly as Mandos had foretold. His family was dead, save for Maglor who had abandoned him due to his failures. His friends were dead, as well as his followers. Of those alive who still knew him, there were none left that would speak for a Kinslayer. He was utterly alone in this world. No one knew he was here; no one would come to rescue him like Fingon had done. No one would care to.

He deserved to rot in this cell, but Sauron would not be content with that. Further tortures were coming. Only time would tell what they would be.

 

*

 

Elrond frowned. Three different people had stopped him during his walk home from the market to tell him that Elurín had returned from wherever the twins had been— and that he’d been accompanied by a cloaked and hooded person. If Maglor were to be anywhere in the settlement, it would be here, where he could safely hide. But his chambers were empty.

A knock sounded on the door and Elrond opened it to see one of Gil-galad’s messengers. She said, “His highness wants to see you in his office.”

Well, there was a worrisome hint of where Maglor had ended up. Had he even made it to Elrond’s chambers or had he been summarily arrested first? “Did he say why?”

The Sinda’s blue eyes glinted, though Elrond couldn’t tell if it was in humor or aggravation. Possibly both. “If you really need me to say, my lord, I will. But I’d thought you wouldn’t need the information.”

Definitely both.

Elrond cracked a smile. “No, I don’t.” He stepped into the hallway and locked the door behind himself. The messenger trotted off and Elrond went toward Gil-galad’s study. He knocked on the door. “It’s Elrond.”

“Enter,” Gil-galad said.

Elrond stepped into the room and hurriedly shut the door behind himself. Elurín was standing with his back to the fireplace, arms crossed. Elros stood next to him. Maglor, hood lowered, sat at Gil-galad’s desk. A bandage was wrapped around his right hand. And the Silmaril was nowhere in sight.

Elrond said, “What happened?”

“When?” Maglor said, exhaustion lacing his voice. “I tossed the Silmaril into the Sea; Maedhros dropped his into a chasm of the earth. The Oath is fulfilled. But that’s not why we’re here.”

Gil-galad’s lips thinned. “Elrond, Sauron has Maedhros.”

Elrond stared at him. “How?” He turned his head to look at Elurín. “How did you learn this?”

“We saw it,” Elurín said quietly. “Maedhros was about to throw himself into the chasm as well, and we would have stopped him, but Sauron showed up first. We’re fortunate he didn’t see us hiding in the trees.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going after him, of course,” Gil-galad said. “Did you think otherwise?”

Elrond hesitated. He knew Gil-galad would be willing, but it wasn’t a simple task to convince other Elves. “How many?”

“As many as we need,” the king said. “Sauron told Eönwë that he wanted a pardon. He clearly lied. We will not leave anyone in his custody, Maedhros especially. He has suffered enough.”

“Sauron needs to be taken into custody,” Maglor said. “He cannot be free to roam Middle-earth spreading deceit and deception and betrayal.”

“That is a matter for Eönwë to plan. Our primary goal to rescue Maedhros. Without an eagle this time, unfortunately,” Elros said.

Elurín said, “Sauron had a dozen Men with him and more are undoubtably wherever he is hiding. We should probably take a company with us, if not an entire battalion.”

“A company will be sufficient,” Gil-galad said mildly. “There are enough spies in the field that I know there are no groups of Men larger than three dozen. Sauron may gather them, but I suspect at this point their main goal is survival— and they saw enough of the war to know that allying with him is the opposite of that.”

“Those who remain loyal to him will be fanatics,” Maglor said. “We must be ready for that.”

“Indeed,” Elrond said.

 

*

 

Maedhros still didn’t know how long he’d been Sauron’s prisoner. He kept being fed; the waste bucket pulled up and replaced when necessary. The food was never anything substantial enough to sate him: a piece of hearty bread, usually some sort of fruit or vegetable, and sometimes a piece of cheese or slice of meat. A full canteen of boiled water always accompanied the meals and sometimes they were simply tossed into the cell. He hated the taste of boiled water, which was presumably why Sauron provided nothing else.

No one, not even Sauron, had talked to him since the first time he’d been pulled out of the pit and reminded of how badly he’d failed the children. Mental ruminations were just as dangerous as physical torture; he remembered that all too well. But unlike before, he didn’t have the oath or the thought of his family to sustain him.

He’d already been teetering on the edge of despair when Sauron prevented him from jumping into the chasm… the same chasm Elrond had fallen into. It was poetic justice, that the same abyss that had accidentally claimed the life of a child be allowed to claim his life in turn. But that had not happened.

Metal clanged as people shouted, muffled by the wooden door and stone. That sounded more like fighting than feasting. Had Sauron spurred on his Men to entertain him? Did he have another prisoner? Had some of his Men betrayed him? Had someone been challenged to a duel? He sighed and leaned his head back against the stone. He probably wouldn’t find out.

The wooden door burst open and light poured in. Maedhros briefly closed his eyes from the pain of the sudden light. Booted footsteps sounded above him and someone peered into the pit. “Hello down there!”

Maedhros scrambled to his feet. “Maglor? What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to rescue you. I left my harp with Gil-galad and I hope I don’t need a sword or an eagle to release you from your chains this time.”

Maedhros grinned despite himself. “Just the ladder will be fine.”

The ladder was lowered and Maedhros climbed up. Once on solid ground, his brother pulled him into a tight embrace after giving him a quick once-over. “Let me go, Maglor.”

“I thought we’d lost you for good this time.”

“How did you find me?” Maedhros looked through the doorway into the hallway as someone in full armor came down it. “I didn’t think there was any trace of me—“

“Elurín and Eluréd were in the trees watching when Sauron interfered with your suicide attempt,” Elrond said, stepping into view. “Elurín came to retrieve those who would follow while Eluréd trailed from a safe distance.”

Maedhros stared at him. “But all of you are dead.”

Elrond snorted and stepped closer to peer into Maedhros’ eyes. “Did you hit your head?” Maedhros shook his head. “Then who told you that?”

“Sauron.” As Maedhros said the name, it felt like shadows in his mind melted away, leaving behind the truth of the children— all of them alive— and the truth of what Sauron had done. “I’m going to kill him.”

“If you can figure out how to kill a Maia, please do,” Maglor said and handed Maedhros’ own sword and scabbard to him. “What did he convince you of?”

“That I’d been too slow to save Elurín and Eluréd, that Elrond jumped into a chasm, and Elros drowned in the Sea.”

“He was trying to break you,” Elrond said. He tilted his head toward the door. “There’s still fighting going on. We could use your help.”

“How long have I been gone?” Maedhros said as he followed Maglor through the hallway to the main hall of the small building, the sounds and smells of battle growing clearer.

“Three weeks,” Elrond said. “But we can talk about that later.”

Maedhros exchanged a bloodthirsty grin with Maglor as they reached the door leading outside, barely hanging on with one hinge. Maglor said, “After you, Maedhros.” His smile deepened and he stepped outside with sword drawn.

 

*

 

“I’m worried about Maedhros,” Elrond said in an undertone to Maglor. His foster father looked across the small wooden table at him and then into his mug. He poured himself more beer from the pitcher, though he didn’t drink any.

He finally said, “As am I. Eluréd and Elurín can’t keep him entirely out of trouble. We need to return to Lindon, I think. Staying out here in the forest isn’t good for any of us.”

Not when Elrond knew Maglor was torn between staying and fleeing into exile down the shore. Not when Maedhros had tried to commit suicide out of despair. Not when there was still unfinished business with Sauron, business that Eönwë better have a plan for by this time.

“You’ll be more or less imprisoned in Gil-galad’s guest house,” Elrond said. “Are you willing to accept that?” He knew Maglor would if it meant gaining support to go after Sauron. They’d been fortunate that no one wanted to leave an Elf in Sauron’s hands, no matter if said Elf was a Kinslayer or not. Going after a Maia… It could very easily become a suicide mission.

“I am. I know Maedhros will be… restive.” Maglor snorted. “At the very least, it means a few days of rest and good, solid food. He needs them. Beyond that… Gil-galad may be the High King, but we’re already Kinslayers and exiles by right. There isn’t much more he can do to us if we disobey him.”

“He’s wise enough that he won’t order you to not go after Sauron.”

“Good,” Maedhros said, striding across the cabin’s common room from the entry. “I can handle being confined in a large house for a few days while we work out the logistics.”

Maglor looked at him, hands wrapped around his mug. “Are you sure?”

Maedhros’ laugh was grim. “It’s very little different to being followed by Dior’s twins everywhere.”

“We saw what you were about to do and we’re not about to let you die on our watch,” Elurín said as they followed Maedhros into the cabin. “Though we cannot go with you against Sauron.”

Elrond blinked. “Whyever not?”

The twins glanced at each other. “Whispers in the wind,” Eluréd finally said. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

That was an aspect of their Maiarin heritage that Elrond was glad he didn’t have. Elros piped up from his position in the open cabin door. “Then we’re going to Lindon in the morning?”

“Yes,” Maedhros said firmly. “If we cannot make Gil-galad see sense— and we know he has some of it— then we will convince others. Surely not everyone in Lindon has become cowards.”

There was no arguing with Maedhros— or Maglor, for that matter— when they pulled out that line. They still didn’t care for the army of Elves that came from Aman, especially the Noldor who had followed Finarfin back to Eldamar and returned to fight several hundred years later when almost everyone had died. Elrond himself couldn’t help but agree they had a point. The Doom of the Noldor only stretched so far to cover the unwillingness of the Valar to help. They were supposed to care for the entirety of Arda, not just the Undying Lands.

But they had eventually stirred themselves. Now the Fëanorians yet again had to convince people that an Ainu was enough of a threat to hunt down— if Eönwë hadn’t yet come to that conclusion. Elrond rather expected he had.

 

*

 

Maedhros spun on his heel and strode across the room again. “Maglor and I will go after Sauron with or without your support. I simply assumed that you would wish to join us, to hunt down the person who has caused us so much suffering.”

“My duties are here,” Gil-galad said, gesturing at the detritus on his desk. “I am king, for better or worse. You may obey me or not at your pleasure, but I don’t expect to see either of you again if you choose this path of folly. He is too wily an enemy— and he will expect your pursuit. You and Maglor will die. No one here will learn of it unless Sauron sends word or Ulmo chooses to deliver the news that you have shown up in Mandos. Do you want to leave Eluréd, Elurín, and Elros waiting against hope for your return?”

Maedhros sat down heavily in the chair he’d been gestured to at the start of this awful conversation. Maglor had earlier informed him that only Elrond was willing to come with them. Elros had chosen mortality— a decision Maedhros couldn’t help but understand— and neither of Dior’s sons had changed their minds about being needed elsewhere or were all that fond of the House of Fëanor, despite Maedhros rescuing them from certain death in the woods of Doriath. The Second Kinslaying had, after all, been the reason they’d been out there in the first place. He still didn’t understand why Elrond and Elros were closer to Maglor and himself. He knew better than to ask Elros to send Men; they were too busy preparing for their departure to the island being created for them far West and South of the remnants of Beleriand. Now to have Gil-galad refuse to send the remnants of the Eldarin army… What had seemed so logical earlier was falling apart around him as people refused to comply with his plan. He should have expected it; the Union of Maedhros hadn’t worked as he had hoped, either.

“Then what would you have us do if you will not supply an army to back us up?” He let his voice turn a little wry.

Gil-galad’s lips twitched. “I simply want you to be smart about it. You will not be able to catch him; he has too much of a head start. Eönwë knows he is not trustworthy and did not mean his repentance. Birds of the air have been sent to spy. He needs people to verify their reports.”

“You want us to work with the—“

“Yes. Who else would you work with? Few Elves will step forward to help you in your mad quest.”

Maedhros laughed. “The Doom of the Noldor has ended, indeed. If that is the only way to ensure that Sauron troubles Middle-earth no more, then so be it.”

 

*

 

Maglor sat next to him on the log. Elrond lay on his bedroll on the other side of the small campfire, seemingly asleep. At least, Maedhros hoped he was; Elrond had third watch and true night had barely fallen.

“You may as well say whatever’s on your mind, Maglor.”

His younger brother sighed. “What if Sauron has vanished completely? What will you do if we do not verify the birds’ findings? I know what he saved you from.” Maglor looked down at the burn on his right hand. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“You won’t. That was a moment of folly that… Well, if Sauron hadn’t, Eluréd and Elurín would have stopped me. Despair is no place to exist and at that moment…” Maedhros sighed and looked up at the stars. Gil-Estel was not visible through the leafy trees hiding the horizon. “Even now, everything we did— it doesn’t matter that our deeds will be the matter of song until the last days of Arda. Not when we lost so much.”

“What else could we have done?” Maglor turned to look at him. “I regret the lives lost and the lands destroyed. I regret the Oath. But we could not stay in Aman waiting for the Valar to act. If we had done that, Beleriand would have been overrun. What would have been lost instead? No, Maedhros. What we did matters— and will matter until the final days of Arda. Songs are the least of it.”

Maedhros stared into the flames. “Going after Sauron now is a necessary thing. I dislike being the Valar’s tool in this, but what other option do they have? Beleriand and all of the other lands are gone. They can’t risk more climatic upheaval, not to mention lives lost. But how are we supposed to— The whole point Gil-galad refused to send an army with us is that we can’t defeat him head-on! There’s only three of us. What’s to say Sauron won’t ensnare all of us like he did me?”

“We know to expect it now.” Maglor’s lips quirked in a smile when Maedhros turned to look at him. “Besides, the birds will know and any water we’re near. If the Valar are truly our allies now, they’ll keep watch.”

“Then why use us at all?” Maedhros stared back into the fire, the heat pleasant in the cool night air.

“They know we won’t be satisfied with anything less than dealing vengeance ourselves. Our bloodthirsty nature aligns with their goals for now. Allies, Maedhros, not friends.”

 

*

 

“Sauron!” Maedhros strode out of the trees, sword in hand.

The flame-haired Maia jerked in surprise and turned to face him, dropping the cloth he used to wipe down his horse’s neck onto the ground. A slow smile spread across his face, though his gaze never left the sword. “Maitimo. I hadn’t dared hope to see you again.”

“Did you truly think I would exist under your enchantment forever?”

“I had hoped it would last longer,” Sauron said dourly. “Clearly it did not. Imagine how upset I was to learn that less than a day after I’d left that your brother rescued you.”

“Your imagination thrives on cruelty. Only you would save someone from suicide in order to torment them and drive them deeper into despair.”

“I was upset, Maitimo, that I didn’t have time to work on you further. I had such plans for you. None of them will come to fruition now. Such a pity.” He shifted his stance to one more stable for fighting. “What did you intend to do here today? You must know that you alone cannot win against me.”

Maedhros shrugged and sheathed his sword as a giant black Eagle dove from the sky and pierced Sauron’s body, picking him up and flying West with steady strokes. More Eagles joined the shapechanged Eöwnë as he flew out of sight, though it took longer for Sauron’s screams to fade into nothing.

“What will you do now?” Elrond said as he came to Maedhros’ side.

Maedhros glanced at Maglor, who’d crossed the clearing to calm Sauron’s spooked horse. “We haven’t quite yet decided,” he eventually said, even though he knew there was only one realistic option: exile.

 

*

 

Realistic it might be, but Elrond clearly didn’t care. “You can’t leave, not like this.”

Maglor raised an eyebrow at him. “Then like what?”

“You need to give your farewells to Elros first.” He paused. “Eluréd and Elurín would appreciate that as well.”

“If only so we don’t haunt their nightmares any more than we already do,” Maedhros muttered to the tree he leaned against. Elrond was proving as stubborn as any in the House of Finwë… though there was a pretty good chance it came from Lúthien instead. “Elrond is right, Maglor. We’ll return to the camp, say our farewells, and leave from there. Who knows, they might even supply us with everything we need for a good long while in order to make sure we don’t return.”

Maglor gave him an exasperated look and flung up his hands. “Fine! We’ll return to Lindon, make a report to Gil-galad that Elrond is perfectly capable of giving himself, and make everyone remember we’re alive. Yes, that sounds wonderful.” He strode off to his horse.

As Elrond— with a giant smile on his face— mounted his horse, Maedhros patted the tree he leaned against. “You might see us again; you may not. I won’t presume to understand anything at this point.”

 

*

 

Gil-galad looked between the two of them and then walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. He stared out of it and then and turned to face them. “Exile is indeed the deserved option. Yet there are people here who spoke for you. The First Age of the world is done and wounds have time to heal. The slain will return from Mandos.” He met each of their eyes. “Círdan said that you should have a chance to build anew. He wants you to work in his shipyards.”

Maglor laughed. “It’s folly.”

“I’d like to,” Maedhros said quietly. Hang logic. He wanted a chance to rest.

 

*

 

The work was difficult, not least because he’d never done any such thing before in his life. He was indeed ostracized by most Elves and Men, but Elros welcomed him unconditionally. Yet as difficult as the work was, it was satisfying. Círdan had been correct: rebuilding was a necessity.

 

*

 

“To family,” Maedhros said, raising his wine glass. Eluréd and Elurín rolled their eyes, but Maglor, Celebrimbor, Elrond, and Elros lifted theirs and drank deeply.