Rise Again From Ashes by Independence1776

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Chapter 1

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I looked at the Elder King in shock. My dreadful oath was forgiven? My crimes, my sins? Every terrible act I had committed, every person I had killed, everything? It couldn't be true. No one could be that forgiving, that merciful.

“Oh, Child, there is so much you do not know and do not understand,” Manwë said. “We have watched and heard you these millennia, waiting for the proper time in which to bring you home.”

“Never doubt,” Varda said, “that we grieved for you, Maglor.”

I ducked my head again, ashamed, but noting what Varda had not said. Grief was not the same as love.

“But it flows from it, Fëanorion. For can there be grief without love, without compassion, without caring?”

I froze at her words, staring at the stones on the ground before me, slowly brightening from a deep gray to a softer one in the growing light. I didn't deserve their love.

“Dear Child, we have always loved you and always will. Although your actions grieve us, that does not mean we stopped loving you. Eru, more than all others, loves you. If that is so, how can we do differently?”

I met Manwë's eyes. “I know not, my lord. But I do not understand how you can do so knowing my crimes.”

“Why is Elrond Peredhel standing watch, waiting for you?”

“Because he cares for me,” I whispered, lowering my head again. “Because I raised him as a child, and he has not forgotten my kindness.”

“Do you start to understand now, Maglor?” Varda asked.

“I begin to, my lady.”

No one spoke for several minutes. I did not look up, even when the sun crested the horizon and bathed us all in light. I studied the worn stones in front of me, trying not to look at my faintly scarred right hand: the hand that had thrown the Silmaril into the Sea; the hands that had committed so many wrongs. The hands that belonged to the person who deserved neither mercy nor kindness.

“What is to become of me?” I finally asked, breaking the soft silence, still not looking up.

“Stand, Maglor Fëanorion. Stand and face judgement,” Manwë declared.

Exhausted, I did so, standing straight with the last remnants of pride I had. I would not shame the Eldar by refusing to face my punishment with dignity. I had done enough to them.

I did not look behind me at the soft approach of a set of footsteps. I smiled slightly, grateful for Elrond's support, though he had been unable to enter the Máhanaxar until now. The Lord of Mandos stood and I gulped, remembering far too well the last time I had seen him and the Curse he had spoken.

“Maglor Fëanorion, this is your judgement, your doom,” Námo intoned. “Thou shall remain in Valinor until world's end. Thou shall not return to Arda Marred, no matter your desires. Thou will be stripped of all titles and shall not be allowed to receive oaths of fealty.

“Thou shall abide in the House of Elrond as the least of his people. Thou shall not wander beyond his borders unless thou hast permission and two warriors escorting you.

“Thou shall not carry or handle weapons. Thou shall not provoke fights. Thou shall not respond to those who attempt to provoke you. If self-defense is needed, cause minimal harm and escape at first opportunity. Thou shall do nothing to cause a disturbance of the peace of Valinor. Thou shall behave with respect, even to those thou feel are undeserving. If, for any reason, we doubt your sincerity and actions, thou shall once again come before us.”

I nodded and said, “I shall abide by these strictures.”

The Elder King nodded in satisfaction and dismissed us. Elrond moved alongside and we bowed deeply, turned around, and walked slowly out of the Máhanaxar. Once we left the Ring of Doom, I lost the iron control I had over my body and started shaking. Elrond gently touched me on the shoulder, but I shook his hand off, ignoring the concerned look. I drew in a deep breath and let it out, regaining control. We made our slow way to the inn we had eaten a swift supper at last evening, when we had first arrived in the Elven city surrounding Valimar. We now walked silently through the crowded streets, few people paying attention to us, whether out of malice or some other reason, I could not tell.

When we reached the inn, I followed Elrond silently up the stairs, too exhausted to even contemplate eating. My foster son-- now my liege lord-- studied me and nodded toward my room. I raised an eyebrow, but he said, “You need to rest, Father. If needed, I will drug you.”

I snorted, headed into my room, and closed the door behind me. I examined the sparse room, noting the window opposite the entry that would give me an opportunity to escape if need be. The bed was against the far wall, a desk next to it, and a low chest of drawers-- all made of cherry-- against the wall to my immediate right. The floor had a couple of blue throw rugs on it, but the hardwood gleamed softly in the morning light. A door opposite the bed led into a small bathing room and I was gratified to see a shower. At least that much had remained the same-- there were only so many ways to wash a body. I returned to the room, closed the curtain, and grabbed a sleeping garment out of one of my bags. After a brief shower, I crawled into bed.

I wasn't sure if I would be able to fall asleep, given my memories of the night. I had not expected mercy, had barely dared to hope for it. But I knew that I could no longer run and hide. It had been time to take responsibility for my actions. It had been time to return.

And with that thought still running through my mind, for the first time since I swore the Oath, I fell asleep without fear.

* * * * *

I woke up to a dark room, light barely filtering through the curtain. I frowned and then remembered this room faced east so little sun would reach it come late afternoon. Had I truly slept that long? I stretched, got out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and padded into the bathroom to get ready for supper. I looked in the mirror after I dressed and shook my head. I still looked exhausted, even after eight hours of sleep. Then again, no Elf I had met before-- save Father-- had undergone a trial in the Máhanaxar, though his had not been near as lengthy. I left the bathroom and reached my door just as someone knocked on it. I opened it and smiled at Elrond.

“Do you think you can handle eating in the common room?”

I nodded and said, “I'll have to face the Eldar eventually. Better now before they know I am here, unless word has already spread?”

“I have heard nothing-- yet.”

I half-smiled and followed my foster son down the stairs to the entrance to the dining area. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I had willingly returned to Valinor to face judgement by the Valar. Walking into a crowded room should not be harder. But it was. The Valar had forgiven me. That did not mean the same was true of the Elves. But the innkeeper led us to a secluded table, where I hoped I could eat in relative peace. As we walked through the room, I noticed people of all races, both men and woman as well as a couple of children. I took my seat facing the wall, refusing to risk being recognized.

As the room grew more and more crowded, however, it swiftly became clear that word of my trial and pardon had been promulgated, as the majority of the conversations were about it.

“That's right-- I heard the Valar pardoned him. I can't imagine why.”

“He should have been disembodied and thrown into the Halls of Mandos.”

“It's been thousand of years-- can we forgive him?”

“He killed me, and the only thing I want from him is a sincere apology.”

“Well, I want him removed from Valinor. He stayed on Middle-earth for millennia; he can stay there for millennia more.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, ignoring Elrond's look. I couldn't stay there. What if I was spotted? I opened my eyes and said, “May I please be excused?”

Elrond shook his head and said, “You will attract too much attention. Furthermore, given that the last time you ate was a day ago, as a healer, I am not going to let you leave this table until you eat something.”

I raised an eyebrow and said, “I wasn't aware you were my mother.”

“No-- just a concerned son.”

I smiled and picked up my fork again, though I didn't resume eating my pork and steamed vegetables until Elrond lifted an eyebrow of his own. After I finished, I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and tried to keep control of my emotions while listening to the various conversations, most of which were still about me. I should have left when I had the chance.

Some time later, I opened my eyes when someone started singing softly, barely heard over the conversations. I looked around and spotted the Elf seated near the bar, a small harp on his lap. At first, I didn't recognize or understand any of the songs, all of them obviously having been composed since I left Valinor. Then the Noldo started singing the song I wrote all those millennia ago, after the Kinslayings: the Noldolantë. The room grew quiet and still, and I looked around.

Most of the Elves had tears in their eyes, and a couple were openly crying, something which I found both surprising and gratifying, given the age of the song. Eventually, a couple of Noldor sitting at a small table by the window started singing as well. I glanced at my lord, who was looking steadily at me, an unreadable expression on his face. I looked back out into the room, not wanting to meet his gaze.

Midway through the song, though, I finally gave in to the impulse that had been building since the song began. I began to sing, softly at first but quickly growing in confidence and volume. At first, few paid attention to me except those nearest, but my voice carried to the far corners of the room, filled with sorrow and regret. Just a verse later, the minstrel stopped singing, though he kept playing. The rest of the room grew silent.

When I finished the song, I put my head in my arms and wept.

The room remained silent and then the minstrel started singing again, a more cheerful song. No one said anything, but turned back to their conversations, leaving me to my grief. Elrond simply placed a hand on my shoulder before quickly withdrawing it. After I could cry no more, I asked Elrond if I could be excused, and this time, I was. I quickly wiped my face on a napkin and headed to the doorway. Just as I reached it, the minstrel finished the song and turned to me.

“Please, sir. I have not heard anyone sing like you. What is your name and who was your teacher?”

Softly, I answered, “My teachers were many, and no one person taught me everything I know. As for my name, it is Maglor Fëanorion.”

And rather than answer further questions, I slipped out of the room and up the stairs, ignoring the momentary silence and then the burst of noise that came from the dining hall.