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Spark - chapter 3Guilt

Turgon's voice was cold. It was always cold when Maedhros heard him speak, which was seldom. Fingolfin's and most of the others' were usually rather flat around him, even the healers'.

"His brother is at the gate."

Fingon turned from his chair at Maedhros' bed to look at his brother standing in the door. "Which of them?" he asked in surprise.

Turgon laughed without humour. "Does it matter?"

"It does. Can you imagine Caranthir walking through our camp? There'd be blood."

"It's Maglor. So there probably won't be blood. Not that he'd deserve it any less." Turgon's voice was dark with resentment. "Atar allowed him to pass. Mainly beca
Spark - final chapterBurden
The lake-shore lay under several inches of snow, the lake frozen and covered with a white blanket. Maedhros sat leaning against the trunk of a leafless willow, whose branches vanished into the ice, hung with glittering icicles like glass beads. The sinking sun threw long-fingered shadows across the icy lake and frozen fields, creeping behind the Mountains of Mithrim in the west, in what felt to Maedhros like a constant reminder that no hope would come from that direction.
He was wrapped in a warm cloak against the cold, his right arm in a sling to prevent him from jolting movements. The stump was still tender to the touch, but he knew that, in time, it would heal completely.
The lake lay to his right, the last rays of sunlight turning it into a glittering spectacle trying to catch his eye, but he was not looking at it. His gaze was to the northeast.
There, across the peaks of Ered Wethrin, lay Angband. The day had been grey and cloudy, so he could barely make out the moun
Spark - chapter 4Maimed

His broken shoulder was finally healing. The healers had expressed their amazement at the fact, but for Maedhros, it didn't bring that much of a change for the better. Progress and healing were still slow. He could turn his head without passing out from dizziness, and he found he could even move his right arm again, but it felt so strange, alien, and raw, that he mostly remained lying the way he was, still enduring them doing almost everything for him. And there was something else, a nagging fear of something unspoken. He had not had a look at his right hand in all this time.

"What aren't you telling me?" he finally found the courage
The Mirror Cracked'A blazing wave devours white shore,'
The poets muse on Feanor,
While they should wish him nothing more
Than swiftly falling ash.
In reckless words we forged our fate,
In white-hot script for cracking slate,
Each syllable the world's weight -
But gladly were we crushed.
I saw blood in the soft sea wrack;
Each sea-elf dead a mirror's crack
In our own faces staring back
From all the noble slain.
In Dior's blessed and empty face
I searched for us but found no trace.
The mirror shattered. Only grace
We bear no more stared back.
The waves closed over Elwing's head,
Dissolved the Light that silver bled
Into a face that held no dread;
So different from ourselves.
Not princes now, nor kings, but thieves,
And reckless as the falling leaves,
We take the Jewels and my heart grieves:
For all the world is stained.
For this the final Doom we bear:
In blood spilt red as Nelyo's hair;
The golden Vanyar lying there
Dead, even as our hearts.
The living Light is agony;
A shining, sharp finality:
A leap i
Spark - chapter 5Strength

"So… Fingon has told you."

"I found out on my own."

"We thought it would be best not to tell you until you… were stronger."

"That would have been quite a feat."

Maglor shot his older brother an almost anxious glance, not asking the next question: So how did you take it?

Maedhros was sitting up in bed again, propped up against pillows, as he had almost all the time since the previous day. His back, shoulder and arm weren't taking it well, but he was determined not to give up any hard-earned ground. Sitting up had meant having his right arm in plain sight for twenty-four hours. He had risen to the challenge, having spen
SparkAll light had failed.

There was only darkness. Darkness, and him, and the pain. The pain was the only thing that was not dark. When Maedhros closed his eyes, the pain even blocked out the darkness, drowning it, mostly red, sometimes white.

There were no stars; even they had failed. Maybe they were still there somewhere, above the reeking fumes and smokes of the furnaces of Angband. Maybe they were already gone. Maybe the world was already gone. He had no way of knowing. Sometimes, it would rain, but the rain was black and oily, and it stank. There was no clean thing left in the world. It burned in his eyes and in the many wounds upon his bo
Spark - chapter 2Words

Words and music. Two things that were so far removed that it took Maedhros a while to even realize they were there. His mind still did not understand them, but his heart did, at least in part. It recognized them as something to break through the endless cycle of painful heartbeats, and left him no say in the matter. He suddenly found that it had the music, and the words, as if it remembered them from a time long ago, though that seemed impossible. They came automatically, forcing themselves out of him with such strength that he couldn't hold them back. He sang the words, sang the music, without having any recollection of how to sing, o
AT: LostIt was Maglor’s begetting day. Caranthir looked around the camp and noticed how wrong the entire scene was.
Fingolfin was here, and Fingon too, but Aredhel was gone with Turgon.   
Caranthir saw Maedhros, who was sitting by Maglor and Fingon. That was the only right part of the entire scene, his oldest brothers together with Fingon, swapping stories and joking as they kept an eye on everyone else. Of course, that image of perfect rightness only lasted until Maedhros raised his arm, and then it shattered in a hundred memories of guilt and loss. The only thing that made it better was that Maedhros still had the two elves that were always at his side in Valinor.
The rest were harder to look at. Celegorm and Curufin were together with Celebrimbor. If he looked long enough, he could almost imagine the scene as it should be, Aredhel laughing as she darted forward to pick up Celebrimbor and toss him to Celegorm to catch, his sister-in-law laughing as she saw her son thrown thr
Protecting you- Tracks - Finyo says all of a sudden.
- Where? - I raise myself in the saddle and look around. - I don't see anything. And wh...
Finyo's face tenses and I catch his meaning at once.
- Orokar?
- Yes. - He is also staring ahead but not exactly at the snow, as if his gaze were sliding over the immaculate white surface.
I am  a little bewildered.
- Finyo, where is it? - without having agreed to do so, we both go on talking in a whisper.
- Under the snow. I can smell it.
I'm not as good a scout. Finyo is and he is already renowned for this skill. All I smell is leather and horse and fir and sometimes - when we come very close – the spicy
Fool's HopeDay after day, each evening he would stand gazing into the far distance, to the North Horizon where  the shadows of three great peaks were dimly seen before they would dissolve into the black sky, the background that came with night. Day after day, each day his thoughts would stray, wander to Maitimo, wonder how he was, wonder what he was thinking of.

Turukáno was not surprised, but he could not suppress the anxiety he felt for his older brother. Findekáno would hardly come to dine with them unless he was asked to, rather wandering by the lakeshore, waiting, Turukáno supposed, for someone who would not be released, who would not return. Even
Sonnet- Maedhros to Fingon(Warning for mild slash)

I met you as a child with plaited hair,
And wildness that I soon grew to adore.
Your ringing laughter echoed through the air
In joyous days when we did not know war.

Just when we felt our future was assured,
I lost you when our haven turned to black.
Through fire, ice, and shackles love endured-
You cut me out of hell and brought me back.

Since broken on the battlefield you lie,
What of my soul remains is now consumed
By guilt, for though I left you there to die,
My heart with yours will ever be entombed.

Without you, dearest cousin, lover, friend,
I may live on, but I will never mend.
It's not them...."It's not really them you hate, is it Feanor?" the words came surrounding him in the Halls. Desperately, he tried to avoid them. "Now, Feanor, you know you can't avoid me."

"Why can't I, Lord Namo?" Feanor said, dodging into another portion of the Halls.

"Because these are my halls, young one, and you won't be able to go much farther," Feanor just knew that Namo was taunting him with those words. Indeed, the second he tried to lose Namo again, he found his way blocked. There was no way to move any further. So, instead, he resolutely stared at the wall and decided to block anything Namo had to say from mind.

"So, Feanor, you're still decidi
Thoughts...They wondered about him, he knew that. They couldn't understand why such a smart man, a genius some of them called him, would be that alone, but still be happy about it. And they didn't know that he really wasn't happy, that it was all an act that he put on, his last and greatest performance.

He had lost everybody now, there was nobody left that he could hold on to, that he could watch. Elrond's sons had finally sailed with their grandfather earlier in the day, and he was now all alone. Of course, they had never known he was watching them, that they were all he had that kept him from completely losing himself in his thoughts, his thoughts th
The DownfallenCan you see the ships? There
beleaguered in the doldrums of the night
so white, so blue, so lost
staring down the thousand yards
look up, stare back, draw from
the light that stops all hearts
falls and spears like stars,
so can you hear the call, the cry
from out there in the endless, wayless sky?
Step out on the water, lift your arms
and touch with hands and feet those
shining stars.

Slam into the night-time splendour
of those great deceitful waters -
reach for the illusions of the stars
but stumble at the last,
there are no stars where
human hands may grasp,
may clutch and so defile
may drag onto their ships
like mermaid
Findecano Decides to...
It was relatively early when the knock on the door came. Maitimo called to his mother that he would get it, & opened it to reveal Findecáno. He cut off Maitimo's greeting:

"I've decided to become an artist."

He walked past Maitimo, who noticed he was carrying a bag. Drawing utensils stuck out of the pockets.

"This shall last a week," Maitimo muttered to himself. "During which time, he will drag me along with him."

Sure enough, Findecáno's voice came shouted back at him: "Come on, Maitimo!" The red head rolled his eyes & followed the voice to his own room, where Findecáno was dumping the contents of his bag onto Maitimo'
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Did He Not Come Here

:iconrilwenshadowflame:

Fëanor asks it of all of them. Each new soul to walk within the Halls of Mandos is sought out and given his questions. He is brilliant and he is driven, and not knowing is a thing he cannot bear.

Even those who've had no cause to wish him well answer when they see the look in his eyes, the need to know the answer to his questions.

"Where is Macalaurë, also called Maglor? How fares my son?"

Always, they do not know. And always, always, they look to Maedhros as they ask, "Did he not come here with you?"

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Did He Not Come Hereby ~RilwenShadowflame

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100-word drabble. Because Maglor's fate is hardest of all for those who wait for news that never seems to come. :(




Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion are property of Tolkien, not me, and I make no profit from this.
©2013 ~RilwenShadowflame
Category: Literature / Prose / Fiction / Fantasy / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

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:iconelenna-huntress:
Mood: Sadness ~Elenna-Huntress Jan 26, 2013
One rarely thinks of Feanor as a very caring father, considering what he drug his sons into. But I love the emotion conveyed in this scene, and the desperation to know what has happened to his last son.
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:iconrilwenshadowflame:
~RilwenShadowflame Feb 20, 2013
Aw, thanks. I've always considered Feanor to have a loving side to him - he did love his father "more than the light of Aman or the peerless work of his hands", after all. :)
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~ninquetari Jan 24, 2013
Beautiful. You convey so many emotions, motives and even history within these 100 words. A new and interesting view of Feanor.
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:iconrilwenshadowflame:
~RilwenShadowflame Feb 20, 2013
Thank you very much. :)
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