#drew this for feanorian week but it's too late now

[navyinks]

when your mother takes away your harp and tells you to play with your baby brothers instead, pick a dangerous activity so she doesn’t ask you a second time

#the silmarillion #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #joke's on maglor because celegorm is actually having the time of his life right now #caranthir learns from a very young age this family is crazy #drew this for feanorian week but it's too late now #sighs a lot i really thought today was tuesday #i guess the good news is that i have one day less to endure until the weekend #tolkienverse things

[mythopoeticreality]

Barleycorn

Feanorian week day 1: Maedhros. 

Inspired partially by my own head canons about elves and murder ballads and partially by listening to this song way, way, way, way too many times xD

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287723

The sun beat hot. The air smelled sweet. The swing of the scythe in his hand a rhythm he soon became lost in. It was work, just as hard as any round of sparring upon the Elf Lord’s training grounds, but work he found he liked better. Honest work, good work, work that provided for the act of living. He preferred scythe-work to sword-work, in truth. Always had. He’d never wanted to get dragged into this damnable war, after all.

But sometimes, it seemed, the sword-work was necessary. In order to live free. In order to ensure that the scythe-work could still continue.

Amlach shook his head, sweeping the scythe through his crop once more. Song carried across the field --  There were a few men that had followed him northwards to enter the Elf Lord’s service. They did not number the thousand that followed Bereg to the south, but he did not begrudge them that. He had been given a homestead and the opportunity to regain his Honor, and as of now -- as he and the other men working to bring in the harvest cut down the grain -- there were other things to take up his attention.

“There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try…”

He couldn’t say at which point he’d begun humming along, even less could he say how long he’d been at it before the dusty thunder of horse’s hooves reached his ears. Only that he’d been taking a moment, mopping his brow and slicking back the sweat-heavy strands of hair from his eyes. He picked his head up, stopped leaning against his scythe and stood straighter, turning to see that looming shadow on the horizon growing into the full-formed shape of a man. 

No.

Elf. 

The way the sunlight struck off of that fox’s pelt of red hair? Amlach would recognize that anywhere. 

He turned and strode off towards the edge of the field, stopping just as the Elf Lord drew his horse to a halt. He made for an imposing figure fair enough, even more so upon the back of that great beast, and Amlach had to crane his neck up to meet that sword-steel gaze of his, cast in shadow by the sun hiding behind his head. Even so, Amlach’s brows quirked upwards and his voice was an easy drawl as he spoke. 

“You come here yourself? And what do I owe this honor to, milord?”

Maedhros tilted his head back. Was silent for a moment before he swung himself down from his beast. The Elf Lord was often like that. Quiet, thoughtful, careful in choosing which words he did speak. Amlach could appreciate that in the elf. Nearly as much as he could appreciate the wry smile that touched just faintly at Maedhros’s lips, revealed as his feet settled upon the ground.

“Wild fancy it would seem.” Maedhros sighed, his gaze turning out over the barley fields of the homestead he’d granted his vassal.

“Oh, aye lord?”Amlach snorted. “You’ve never seemed the type.”

“And yet…” He shook his head. “You would not believe the Rumors that reach my ears as of late.” He made a gesture for Amlach to walk with him, to follow as Maedhros began drawing off, towards the Stables, leading his horse behind him. Much to his Chagrin, Amlach found he was falling into step.  The sweet smell of crushed grasses rose up around the two of them as they walked on, scattered bits of barley covering the dirt paths that snaked their way over the homestead.

“And yet you seem to.” the man pointed out, “Or atleast enough that you are here, now.”

There was a long pause then as Maedhros fixed the man with a flat look. The voices of the men in the field floated in to fill the silence. Amlach met that gaze in full, only lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

Maedhros gave a sharp snort, rolling his eyes as he shook his head, turning his gaze back out ahead. 

“Well, are you going to make me ask then?” 

“A patrol from Himring came up this way not a few weeks ago, you will remember that yes?”

“I remember something of the sort.” Amlach paused, stopping in his tracks and narrowing his gaze, “Is there...any particular reason why you are repeating to me information I already know?”

This time there was a sigh, and with his hand still holding onto his horse’s reigns, Maedhros raked up his fingers through his hair. “Truth to tell?” He asked, “I feel I must set the scene for you, else you would think me as mad as I feel for saying it.”

“Which is to say, “ Amlach responded, “You are stalling.”

Another of those flat looks as Lord Maedhros’s tongue clicked against his teeth. He shook his head. “Amlach. What would you say if I told you I have come this way in order to investigate reports of human sacrifice occurring in this area?”

Amlach stopped. Amlach starred. Amlach burst out laughing as the words well and truly sank in, for what else could he do? It all sounded so absurd! It was only as Maedhros continued staring him down, his face bearing not a trace of humor, that Amlach stopped, blinking at the Elf Lord.

“Oh...oh gods… you are serious aren’t you?”

“I would not be here, Amlach,were I not.” Maedhros sighed, “I would get no peace until I came!” He pushed on ahead again, towards the wide wooden building who’s gaping maw stood open, just ahead.  “My men tell me of songs they heard sung among these fields. Of a man still living while being cut down at the knee. Being tied and bound, and pricked through with pitchforks...Imagine…” The last word said as Maedhros ducked his head out of the stables to meet the eyes of a staring Amlach.

Oh, no they couldn’t think... Slowly, as birdsong and the voices of the men from the field began filtering in to fill in once more the void of silence left by the dropped conversation of Elf Lord and Vassal, a smirk began to creep across Amlach’s features.

“My Lord, how good would you say the Taliska spoken by these elves of yours was?” He called after Maedhros as he darted inside the stables. 

“Adequate.” Maedhros replied, “Nothing to write back to Valinor to tell their mothers of, certainly…”

More silence. Again, the voices of the men came drifting through, like ghosts on the wind, beneath the sounds of Maedhros untacking his horse.

“...So they've wheeled him around and around the field till they've come unto a barn. And here they've kept their solemn word concerning Barleycorn. They've hired men with the crab tree sticks to split him skin from bone, And the miller has served him worse than that, for he's ground him between two stones…”

“My lord…” Amlach ventured, “How good would you say your own Taliska is?” And more yet, your understanding of my people…

Maedhros glanced up and over his shoulder, a smirk curling at his lips, and if Amlach did not know better, he would have said  an almost mischievous spark lighting the elf’s eyes.  “Good enough to say that I have had a very long ride, Amlach, and I feel the least I am owed is a cup of Ser Barleycorn’s blood, for all he has put me through these past few days.”

Amlach grinned. He knew there was a reason why he liked this elf.

#feanorianweek #Maedhros #Silmarillion #fic

[erudammit]

Fëanorian Week - Maglor (I’m Elrond)

Summary: First meetings in Middle-Earth are never ideal. Maglor’s first meeting with Elrond and Elros certainly isn’t.

Length: 1,120 words

Characters: Maëdhros, Maglor, Elrond, Elros

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Dysfunctional Family, Angst

Fëanorian Week Prompts: Elrond & Elros

He kneeled in the bloody grass, cleaning his sword with mechanical movements and trying not to gag. Oh Eru. Maglor slid it back into the sheath. Oh eru, oh eru, oh eru. Amras was gone; Maglor himself had seen the killing blow being delivered just before Eärendil had escaped. Oheruoheruoheru- a weak cough drew Maglor’s attention.

Behind a scarred tree trunk, an elleth stumbled to her feet. Blood stained the side of the tunic and scratches and bruises marred her torso, but she didn’t appear to be mortally wounded. At her side, two terrified twins stood, holding hands with white knuckles and quivering slightly. Blood trailed from the nose of the one wearing a blue overcoat. Maglor recognized the three as the wife and children of the silmaril thief. The three didn’t appear to have noticed him.

A red-haired elf strode past him, perhaps to confront the broken family, but Maglor clamped a hand over his brother’s shoulder. Maedhros jerked, seeming surprised to see the other, as if he hadn’t noticed him, but only gave him a nod before before trying to turn back. Maglor held him fast, ignoring the growl that his brother emitted.

“Don’t,” he said, softly enough to avoid alerting Eärendil’s spouse and children. “He’s gotten away with the silmaril. We’ve lost.” Maedhros spun to survey the boats, and visibly sagged.

“No,” Maedhros breathed.

“I’m sorry, brother-”

“No!” Maedhros surged forwards, as if to fight the sea, but he fell to his knees. Gripping the grass as if the world had turned upside down and he didn’t want to tumble into the sky, a wordless yell escaped him, But to say that it was a yell would be gratuitous. It was a whine, a growl, a groan, and a sob all at once. Maedhros’s scream choked off, and he began to cry.

Elwing stumbled forwards, noting the presence of the two Feanorians but not truly comprehending it. Her sons followed.

The sea parted, and for several moments, Maglor wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating; the battle-adrenaline was still running through his veins, after all. But no. A Vala, a Vala that Maglor had heard many legends about, walked up the sandy strip of exposed land, his white robe damp and clinging to his skin. His dark hair fell ragged and unkempt yet glossy, several dark green highlights catching light of the setting sun. When he stepped onto the land, water flowed as if from underneath his feet and washed away the bloodstains. Elwing fell to her knees as Ulmo approached, his expression unreadable as the elleth lowered her head with a dry sob. Behind him, the two walls of water merged, and the prow of a white ship appeared from the line of the horizon. It was proud and gleaming white, like the boats of the Teleri, but the bow was not shaped like a swan’s neck, rather, it tapered to a delicate point.

The hull of the boat bumped against the shore, and Ulmo vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, sea mist spreading through the air. Elwing, as if in a trance, waded through the shallow water, the liquid lapping at her ankles, pulling herself over the edge of the boat and landing inside. Though, as she turned to help her sons into the boat, still not speaking, Maedhros darted forwards with a wordless cry, snagging the backs of their tunics and hauling them out of arm's reach. Elwing made to get out of the boat, but it was too late, and it was already drifting away on its purposeful course. She yelled several things that Maglor couldn’t interpret, and the twins fought fiercely reaching for their mother with tears in their eyes.

“Maedhros!” Maglor rebuked, rushing forwards as if to return the young elven children. He held the taller one by the shoulders, but paused, only realizing that it was too late. He stood there helplessly for a few moments before turning to Maedhros. “Brother!”

“Eärendil gets what he fought for,” the redhead snarled, “nothing more!”

“Maedhros!” Maglor released the child, and the young elf stumbled to his brother, tears streaming from his eyes. “Can you not think for yourself?! Acting on spite will get you nowhere!” Maedhros’s lip curled away from his teeth, and he snarled. The shorter twin jerked away from from the redhead’s hands. “Fine,” he bit out, unsheathing his sword and turning to the two boys. Maglor winced at the sight of sharp steel and almost immediately bit out a sharp, ‘no’.

Maedhros’s sword dropped immediately- he seemed like he had been expecting the protest- and he turned to his brother. “Decide!”

“Maedhros!” Maglor snapped, his eyes narrowed. “What in Mordor are we supposed to do!?” He motioned to the quivering boys. Maedhros groaned.

“Kill them or keep them.”

Maglor hauled the two to their feet, avoiding eye contact, and shoved them into his brother’s arms. “Keep them. And they are your damn responsibility!”

Maedhros growled again, shooting a glare at Maglor. “I’m going to check if there’s anything left of our camp,” he said, shoving the boys back at Maglor. “If you don’t like them, then go ahead and kill them. You’d do the both of us a favor.”

He stalked off and Maglor groaned once his brother was safely out of earshot. He sunk to his knees and buried his face in his hands, ignoring the young elves in front of him. A small hand landed on his shoulder, and the Feanorian glanced up to see the taller of the two boys. The kid looked scared out of his mind and his hand trembled slightly where it rested, but he seemed determination.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“No,” Maglor laughed harshly.

“I’m not either,” said the kid. Maglor paused.

“Oh?”

“Ada and Nana left, you see,” the kid’s earnesty was rather endearing. Strangely enough, he appeared completely at ease with the corpses surrounding them.

“I know.”

“And now it’s just me and my brother.”

The clearing lapsed into silence.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Maglor eventually asked. He almost regretted doing so when the kid’s face practically lit up.

“He’s Elros, and I’m Elrond.” Elrond probably would have jabbered on for a good long while, but Maedhros had returned with a scowl.

“Camp’s ransacked,” he announced. Maglor groaned.

“Are the horses still hidden in the clearing?”

“One of them was loosened- purposely or not, I don’t know- but yeah, there are a good number still.”

“Saddle tw- three.”

“Did that,” Maedhros grumbled. “Take those two and follow me. We need to get somewhere safe; blood attracts too many denizens.”

Maglor motioned the two to their feet and they practically tripped over one another trying to hurry after the two. They weren’t half bad, though.

#feanorianweek #elrond #elros #maedhros #maglor #the silmarillion #angst #feanorian week 2k17