audio; forward-dated to post-feast

[silmarils]

[ his arrival hadn't been graceful by any stretch of the imagination. in fact, mostly it had been a blur. his first conscious memories are of fire, burning alive as the silmaril sears through his hand and the flames take him. smoke lingers in the air around him, and there are voices, and the flames are gone and he is still here--

he doesn't remember, exactly, what had happened after that, but the beautiful rooms he's been given are destroyed, and his throat is raw, the echo of a shriek still caught there, and his only good hand burns and burns. he can't do this, can't do this, can't do this can't do this can't can't can't can'tcan'tcan't--

time. moments or hours or years, who is he to tell? these are not the halls, he knows, he's been denied even death. and there is laughter, soft, sly, purring at his ear. that voice will ever be with him, spreading its rot through his veins, flexing its claws against his heart-- until poison pumps through it, until it's darkness alone sustaining him. that voice, which had spoken to him when he'd lain shattered and barely comprehending.

kinslayer, it murmurs, and a void opens beneath maedhros, and he cannot remember-- kinslayer, what hast thou wrought for thyself? these are the fruits of thy labour. a deathless existence, an oath forever unfulfilled. family slain, people scattered, a legacy of destruction.

he grasps for something, anything, struggling through the mire of his mind: his hand clenches, fresh pain drowning out the whisper. he is in unfamiliar rooms, an unfamiliar place, and there had been creatures, strange creatures, and--

--and?

feverish eyes land on the locket, discarded and opened at his feet. speak, he remembers. speak, and he might be heard. but is there anyone, anyone at all, that he would wish to speak to?

if this is where the cursed sons of feanor are taken when denied death, then-- ]


I-- [ the voice is a harsh croak, as if its owner's throat has been stripped raw by screaming. even so.. even so, there may be something familiar in it. maedhros takes a trembling breath through his nose, curled and shaking, scorched and bleeding hand curled almost white-knuckled around the locket. but even so, there's only his voice to judge. ] --I seek the sons of Feanor, should they be here.

[ with a quiet snap, he shuts the locket and ends the message. ]

Comments

[bythewaves]

[ That voice, he knows that voice, it was the first he heard, other than mother and father, the voice that teased and comforted and encouraged, the voice he hears most often in his dreams - scolding, cajoling, reminding, weeping.

The locket flips on to Maglor's face, still too pale, still a little translucent but oh, he knows that voice - is he dreaming again? But he thought he dreamed Celegorm, and no, his brother lives again. He thought he dreamed mother and father too, and see, it was not a dream. He does not know if he should curse or bless the rulers, fumbling to open the locket as swiftly as he may ]

Nyelo? Brother? Maedhros is that you? Oh my brother, where are you? Where are you, tell me and I will come to you.

[silmarils]

[ --ah. it makes sense to think that makalaure had followed him, whether into the flames or in some other manner. maedhros had abandoned him. he.. remembers that, remembers being overtaken by the despair.

he squeezes his eyes shut, feels the edges of the locket cutting into the ruined flesh of his hand. ]

.. Is this real? [ he laughs, a short, sharp, harsh sound, bitter and ugly with disuse. ] I do not know. A room. A strange place. I cannot-- [ he bites off whatever he might have wished to say, struggling to find strength again. ] .. There were creatures.

[bythewaves]

Nyelo, Neylo! [ it is almost a prayer, the cry of the child he had been once, the brother who watched him fall ] Yes. It is real, let it be real, oh my brother you are returned to me! Or if not this is nightmare from which there is no awakening, a dream where my lost ones are found, and I do not want to wake.

[ It is him, it is, oh, and Maglor trembles, visibly fighting for composure (his Light flickers erratically, heart still not settled, responding to his surging emotions) ]

The castle, you must be in the Unseelie castle. [ Maglor's hand, scarred over (still fresh, those burns, and they will never truly heal), presses against the locket, as if to reach through and he almost sobs ] Moonrise tonight - I can come to you then, they... I was gifted with a ring that allows me to travel vast distances by moonlight, to wheresoever I have already been. There are orcs there, I know, they will not attack within the bounds of the castle.

[silmarils]

[ unseelie..? the name drifts through him, familiar in some way, even as he struggles to comprehend what his brother is saying. travel by moonlight..?

the mere mention of orcs is like ice water to his face, though, and he can't help the trembling gasp. his control is nowhere to be found. he can't hide, his usual masks all dashed, splintered to nothing. if there are orcs here-- (rough voices, rough hands against his skin, crude blades parting flesh from bone)--then does that mean..

no. no, no, no, no, surely not, there's no way, it's not possible--

vaguely, he's aware that he's struggling to draw a full breath, vision black at the edges. control, he needs control.

he thrusts the locket from him to try to hide his reaction, to muffle the sound of his panicked breathing. ]

How-- [ control, maedhros. ] How have we come to be here?

[Video]

[sculptor_of_aman]

[Nerdanel seems disbelieving as she looks into the locket, hearing the voice of her eldest.]

Mai-- Maitimo? Have you come as well?

Two of your brothers are here. And myself.

voice;

[silmarils]

[ that voice comes, that beloved image, and he nearly throws the locket from himself in denial. no, no, it isn't possible. of all people in the world, she had not earned a place in whatever hell this might be, save.. perhaps by virtue of being mother of the feanorians.

this is a trick. she cannot be here. ]

Do not call me that. [ he spits the words, poison in his tone, all but snarling. ] That is not my name, and you are not her.

[sculptor_of_aman]

Maitimo. Russandol. Nelyafinwë. Why do you doubt your mother, yonya?

[silmarils]

That is not my name! [ it isn't a shout, because even though he knows this cannot possibly be her, even the sound of her voice weakens what little will he has left to him. ] Maitimo died on Thangorodrim. [ they'd mocked him with the name, even as they'd carved his flesh, branded it, done-- things, such terrible things--

he struggles to draw a breath, suddenly, dizzy and furious. ]

My mother has done nothing to deserve the fate of her cursed sons.

audio;

[digophelia]

[ How many brothers did Maglor say that he had? Seven? She knows it is quite a bit, even by her age's standards. Maybe luck will have it that this was the one that Feanor was originally looking for. ]

Hello, sir. I know of at least one. I'm afraid one isn't amongst us any longer.

audio;

[silmarils]

[ it's a stranger's voice, and that alone helps him to focus, to struggle through the fog. he's never heard this voice, so it must surely be real.

a breath. two. find control. ]

.. His name. [ a pause, struggling to remember something like grace. ] My lady, forgive me for rough manners. [ another breath, trying not to shake apart. ] The manner of my arrival here was.. tumultuous. [ and he's evidently utterly mad, so there's that. but that doesn't seem entirely polite to mention. ]

audio;

[digophelia]

You needn't apologize, sir. The conditions of arriving in this world are to be less than desired, after all.

[ More importantly, she understands as a sibling, orphaned or not. Alice is in a good mood so therefore fairly calm. ]

I know of a Maglor and formerly Celegorm. Mister Maglor and I share the same court as well as, well.

Their father.

audio;

[silmarils]

This.. 'world'..

[ he trails off, but he doesn't have the energy to give it the thought it deserves. not right now.

at least this means that maglor is real, that he isn't a hallucination. and what does she mean, 'formerly'?

his jaw clenches at the mention of their father, though, pressing his fist against his mouth to keep a shriek from escaping. their father, their father had been there, or is there, and a part of him longs for a fond glance or a kind word, and the darker part of him wants to tear the life from his body again, himself. ]

.. Celegorm is elsewhere? [ he can't ask about feanor. he can't. ]

voice;

[thebreakingwave]

I knew Celegorm and feel lucky to have called him a friend.

voice;

[silmarils]

[ he knows now that his brother has been killed. his death had been fitting, at least-- the sons of feanor live and die by the sword, and that will never change.

still, it allows something in his chest to unclench, knowing that there are people who remember his brother fondly. they are kinslayers and dispossessed, but there is more to them than the oath, no matter how much it devours. ]

.. Thank you. I am.. gladdened to know that he had companionship here.

voice;

[thebreakingwave]

I had the pleasure of going hunting with him and the honour to stay with him on his last night and up to the end. If there's anything I can do, just ask.

voice;

[silmarils]

[ he's silent for several long moments, but at last he murmurs out a soft noise. ] .. You have my thanks, then, that he was not alone at the last. [ he seems to consider something, but finally clears his throat slightly, wincing to himself at the burn. ] I am his eldest brother, Maedhros. May I ask your name?

NOT HERE just creepin on this post »

[firith]

[ He's going to invest in the fairy version of Cillet Bang to deal with all these Feanorians, yo. ]

NOT HERE

[silmarils]

[ ]

voice;

[somethingprecious]

Feanor? [Vaguely familiar, but he can't place where he remembers it from.] I'm sorry, but they might not be here. This world is large and it's uncertain as to who may be here and who may not.

voice;

[silmarils]

[ it seems strange, for someone to sound so puzzled by his father's name. strange, and also a kind of relief. ]

I have discovered that two of my brothers were present. One yet remains. [ a pause, and he hates himself for needing to ask, but after a moment, he speaks up again, hesitant and quiet. ] .. You do not know the name 'Feanor'? Are you, perhaps, someone who hails from this.. 'world'?

voice;

[somethingprecious]

Oh! Wonderful. I mean, wonderful that you have found two of your brothers- arriving here alone isn't ideal for anyone, but I am glad you could find your family.

[The question makes him pause.] The name is familiar to me, but I can't remember much beyond that. I am from Middle Earth - [Which he has a pretty good guess that this person is too. Hm.] My name is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.

voice;

[silmarils]

[ there's something about this bilbo's tone that's so no-nonsense and sensible that he can't help the tiny quirk of his mouth. it's.. refreshing. it helps him focus on something other than-- well, everything else going on in his existence right now. ]

I fear that I have not heard of a place called the Shire, Master Baggins. Well-met regardless, though. I am Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor.

audio

[inafadingcrown]

[And the voice that answers is soft, quiet, almost hesitant.]

And if a daughter of Finarfin should answer?

audio

[silmarils]

[ the silence that follows her voice is enough to deafen him. he hadn't expected-- ]

Artanis. [ grief threatens to spill through his tone, and he strangles it back viciously. he has no right to miss her. ] Makalaure did not mention that you were here.

audio

[inafadingcrown]

Yet here I am. [Her own tone is carefully controlled, what grief there is pushed back to the edges- present, but distant.] I arrived here at much the same time as Makalaure, I believe.