Code Red by Scribe of Mirrormere  

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White Light

A little bit of incest in the beginning, in case it’s not your cup of tea 💕

Calm and steady was the night. Maglor slid down next to Gildor who was keeping watch while softly humming through an ocarina; he placed his entwined hands upon his lap.

“What they said about me,” Maglor began slowly, “about being a traitor and a kinslayer…it’s all true.”

Gildor set down the ocarina slowly, his gaze never once breaking away from the ever-blue horizon.

“I am well aware of what sort of man I have bonded my soul to,” he said. “He is kind of heart, prideful and a little vain, but also passionate and mighty in voice and song-making. The fire of his father also burns through him. Whatever you tell me will likely not startle me.”

With a sigh, Maglor went on into his story, of his imprisonment in Angband and of his deal with Morgoth. Being of the House of Finrod, Gildor was bound to have heard tidings of his previous affairs, but he was, as Maglor expected, frustratingly forgiving.

“Aye, you were foolish,” Gildor said calmly, “but many weaker than yourself would have cracked far sooner. Do we blame the one who crushes the egg in their hand or the egg who gives in to the pressure?”

“Gildor…you’re being ridiculous…”

“Perhaps because I find it impossible to be fully reasonable when it comes to you, my love…”

He swept his cloak over him and beckoned him into their private cabin. With lips that left trails of healing fire, he burned away some of the ills wrought by the Dark Power of the North.

Deep into their lovemaking, Maglor looked up in time to spot a pair of eyes watching. Gasping, he gripped Gildor’s shoulders, all thought of his spouse gone.

“Is something the matter, love?” he asked.

Smiling faintly, Maglor swept a finger past his lips while humming a tune, and after a few moments Gildor slouched in his hands, fast asleep. He set him down gingerly on the bed beside him.

“Do forgive me, Gildor,” he whispered. Throwing on a robe, he stepped out and tracked down the owner of the eyes. He hadn’t made it a few paces away when he spotted him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he flung him against the wall, not caring if they had disturbed another sleeper.

“What’s the meaning of this, Curvo?” Maglor demanded. He folded his arms together, shivering slightly in the cold.

“Oh, nothing, brother dearest,” Curufin said with a sly smile. “So, you have reunited with your husband…”

“And what of it? We are wedded, as you well know. You’ve always been strange about our bond, despite you yourself being wed to another…”

“Ah, it’s just…we’ve known one another since forever…”

“Of course. We’re brothers, Curvo.”

“This matters not.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

Suddenly grabbing his arms, Curufin pushed Maglor against the wall of the cabin. “You know what it is, brother. We’ve sinned beyond measure in our lives. What’s one more act of sin to add against our name?” He swept in closer until their noses were touching. “What I can offer you is far more than that Finrod ass-kissing buffoon.”

“Curvo!” Maglor gasped, but he was starting to feel the heat, his body awakening even moments after his last ordeal with Gildor. But he shouldn’t—this was not right even for them. Their father would be so disappointed…

“Come on…your body, mind, and soul craves me,” Curufin purred. “I can feel every fiber of you pulsating with need…give in…”

“Curvo…”

And that was when the two felt eyes on them. Turning their heads to their left, they saw Eöl and Rôg standing by the corner. Eöl was pressed against the cabin walls mirroring Maglor’s position; it seemed Rôg had been pursuing him with a similar proposal when they had taken notice of the two brothers.

They had witnessed the whole ordeal. Cackling, Rôg shifted and leaned one elbow on Eöl’s shoulder, sneering at the two.

“So, that’s how it is in that family,” Rôg said.

“The last time I saw Valinor, the entire land was shrouded in darkness,” Aredhel said. They sat out on the deck, watching as the ship slowly inched them closer to their destination. “The light of the Two Trees was taken away, and all that was left was the everlasting dark. Thinking back, it had driven us into madness. Most of the elves rallied around my uncle Fëanor to seek out Morgoth and take the light back, which were in the Silmarils he had taken.

“Looking out now, I can see the land surrounded by sunlight. Doubt it’s anything like the days of the Two Trees, but at least we’ll be safe.”

Eöl smiled sadly. It was some time since he and Rôg had caught the Fëanorians in a compromising position. He was all too glad for the escape route all the same, considering what ordeal he and his old friend were about to get into. “I wish the place was still under darkness.”

Aredhel punched him on the arm. “Of course you’d say that!”

Eöl chuckled lightly. “There is beauty in the night, and the light of the sickle moon is a rare charm very few appreciate.”

“I guess I can see your point,” Aredhel said, peering up. “When all is dark save for that little shining sliver, it reminds you that there’s still light, still hope, in the world.”

Eöl smiled. “You get me.”

Aredhel giggled. “I still think you should behold the light of Valinor in its old glory days. Don’t knock it ’til you try it, as they say!”

“Who says that?” Eöl asked as Aredhel jumped to her feet, grinning from ear to ear.

“This mad elf in Valinor named Mahtan,” Aredhel said. “He too was a smith. I think you’d get along. Anyhow, I’m checking up on my aunt!”

She ran off, and as Eöl watched her leave, his gaze fell on a small shadow by the door leading out of the deck.

“You again,” Eöl said flatly as Curufin emerged. Saying nothing at first, the elf placed a hand on the railing of the ship as he peered out.

“You’re an incredible elvensmith from what I have heard,” Curufin began. “The dwarves would have business with none other.”

Eöl scoffed. “Not that it matters now. We’re both very far from home.”

Curufin tensed. “You’re a lord of a people who seemed happy in Nan Elmoth.”

Eöl stilled. “Why do you bring them up? It pains me still what has come to pass—”

“And yet you’ve never wed.”

Eöl stared at Curufin. “What are you—”

“You’re handsome. Your skills at forging might even rival my father’s. You even have Rôg, Lord of the Hammer of Wrath, throwing himself at your feet. My cousin Aredhel is right there, a companion and yet never once do you regard her as anything more than a friend. Did you ever…”

“Who can think of romance during a time like this?” Eöl said as he stood up, mirroring Aredhel from earlier. “I do believe Lady Meleth is making something special tonight. You are welcome to join if you wish.”

And with that he too left.

Curufin watched Eöl’s retreat form, his heart heavy in his chest. How he despised the man over the years, and yet deep down…

Maglor. Eöl.

He knew not what his heart desired more. There sat a void he could not seem to fill.

After traveling for what seemed like an eternity, at last the glow of Valinor greeted them. A line of Teleri elves stood around the pier to welcome them in. Círdan had been in close contact with them throughout the entire journey by dove, assuring them that none on board had come with ill intention (he left out the part of Maglor’s participation on the fall of Gondolin.)

Among the greeters was a woman who Aredhel recognized. Dressed in a long raiment of soft silvers, lavender, and ocean blue, Queen Eärwen raised her long arms, her white shawl and diadem sparkling along with the ocean. It left Aredhel, Galadriel, and Idril weeping with joy.

“Welcome, welcome!” Eärwen said, her voice merry and bright, rising like the tide in song. “We humbly receive you to Valinor where it is safe and warm!”

“Yes, yes,” said the man next to her. He bowed, his crown golden and catching the sunlight, his robes like the ocean with tiny sparkling shell-like adornments. King Finarfin raised his hands as his mouth stretched with sunlike warmth. “Welcome to Valinor, dearest friends, where it is safe and warm!”

As they later learned, Finarfin had taken up the mantle of the king of Valinor after Fëanor and Fingolfin had left, which only made sense. They were taken to his seaside castle—his one of many castles in Valinor—situated not too far from the pier. The party bathed, glad for a chance to clean off the gunk from the diseased world, and put on proper clothes. Eöl, hesitant to part with his galvorn armor, washed them and placed them back on, but he accepted robes of night-sky black adorned with tiny diamonds glimmering like stars.

Aredhel put on a white dress. Now that they were out of danger, she did not feel the red coat was needed for now, and hopefully not ever again.

An entire banquet hall was set up for the new guests, laden with food of every kind imaginable. Aredhel wasn’t certain if she could eat much after living on rations for so long, but she managed to get three helpings of everything.

“I can’t stop eating!” Idril complained. “Everything’s so good!”

Lalwen, Meleth, and Lúthien agreed by nodding their heads, all with cheeks pumped with nutrients.

Rôg was shoveling food into his mouth like it was a totally new concept.

“We are honored that you are enjoying the humble meals we have provided,” Eärwen chuckled.

“Humble?” Meleth said, meeting Lúthien’s gaze. “This? Oh my!”

“Perhaps the Noldor aren’t so bad after all!” Rôg proclaimed as he threw an arm around Curufin’s neck and gave him a squeeze. “No wonder why yer so chummy with all, even your closest of kin!”

Maglor gave a tiny gasp and met his husband’s gaze; he quickly looked away. Aredhel wondered what that was all about. Next to her Eöl cracked a tiny grin, but it was gone in an instance.

“Please, let the meats and berries and roots and wine nourish your bodies, hearts, and soul,” King Finarfin said. “We have provided beds for our esteemed guests. Tomorrow you will get to reunite with the people who you miss most.”

Aredhel’s heart leapt. She would get to see her mother again? And so soon?!

“You do not need us in quarantine?” Lúthien asked.

Eärwen chuckled. “Do not worry, my dear. Ulmo King of the Sea has ensured the waters would purify your hröa of all ills.”

“Does my mother know I am coming to see her in the morrow?” Aredhel asked.

“I have sent envoys to notify everyone’s living relatives,” King Finarfin said. “You must understand, I had to wait until I could verify for myself who had made it back to the shores of Valinor.”

“Yes. I see. Thank you.” Frowning into her plate, Aredhel next asked, “Um…what of my father and your brother?”

“Fingolfin was among the first to fall when Endor was encased with that strange shadow,” Finarfin said. “I heard tidings that he has reached the Halls of Mandos, but in time he will be healed and released, as well as all who had met a similar fate.”

Aredhel gave a nod. “Of course. Couldn’t imagine him surviving and not running into him at this point.”

“Sounds like your father was a mighty man,” Eöl said.

“Yes. He was considered the proudest, most steadfast, and most valiant of all of the Noldor,” Aredhel said. “My uncle Fëanor had all of the creative fire in him, but my father was more of an immovable earth.”

“And that would leave the king loyal and lofty,” Eöl said with a little chuckle.

After the meal they were taken to their rooms in the castle. A staircase from their rooms led to the very top on the roof where they could watch the stars and peer out to all of Valinor. Aredhel spent some quiet time there, breathing in the crisp fresh scent of the heavenly realms of the Undying Lands as she took in the sea and then the land far ahead.

On the way back, Aredhel passed by her cousin Galadriel and Lord Celeborn who was rubbing his wife’s back and whispering something to her.

How lovely it was to see them like this, together and cozied up, Aredhel thought with a smile. Giving them privacy, she made for her room. Slipping into a nightgown, she brushed her hair and decided on a loose braid for the night. Sighing, she smiled again and took it all in. The night was so calm and silent with the sweet scent of something floral in the distance.

Home.

Safe.

They were all safe. She snuggled under the covers and peered out the window, smiling endlessly to herself. They were all safe and warm.

The morning brought forth a further fracturing of the party. Círdan and the other shipwrights stayed behind to mingle and integrate with the Teleri elves of Alqualondë. Galadriel also stayed behind to be with her mother, and with her would be Celeborn. Lúthien would be accompanying Galadriel as she did not know where else to go, for Valinor was not Lúthien’s birthplace.

Upon hearing about Amarië, Galadriel wished to visit her at some point as well.

“I feel I owe it to her,” Galadriel explained to Aredhel before they parted ways. “She had waited for Finrod for so long. I must bring the grave news to her.” She made plans to meet her together with Gildor.

Lalwen was returning back to Elemmírë her wife. She joked to Aredhel that she wasn’t sure if her wife would even greet her warmly after running off without so much as a goodbye.

“I’m sure she misses you,” Aredhel said. “Even if she might be mad at you, if I had to guess, the pain of separation might spark back the love when she sees you.”

“What a wise thing to say!” Lalwen said, brightening up. “Guess I will see if absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and if love really will conquer all. See you later, beautiful one.”

Maglor was also planning on seeing Elemmírë. She was his mentor and first music teacher when he was growing up in Valinor. Being reminded of her, he bowed his head in shame.

“Do you think she might see right through me?” he said. “I fear my music may not be what it once was.”

“All crafts wax and wane,” Eöl said. “You hit a rough patch. Perhaps being in the energy of another creative soul, in this blessed realm, will spark your music back to life.”

Maglor’s smile was faint but genuine. “You speak from experience. I almost forgot, you were imprisoned in Angband as well. Thank you. You’ve eased the tension in my heart.”

He would go see his mother Nerdanel first, and Curufin and Gildor would be joining him. As nervous as Maglor was with reuniting with his former teacher, meeting his mother again made him feel faint. It was like being back in Valinor had finally knocked sense back into him. Similar could be said of Curufin who had become silent as a shadow, following Maglor everywhere with little argument.

…or perhaps he was dreading that he would eventually have to meet with his wife Hyalmië. That morning he was informed that Hyalmië had been with child when he left. She gave birth when he wasn’t there. He had a daughter.

“She’s gonna kill me when she learns that Celebrimbor isn’t with us,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, that’s probably your fault,” Aredhel said.

That left Aredhel to go visit her mother Anairë. As she was the grandmother of Idril and one of the only surviving relatives, Idril would be tagging along. Joining them were also Eöl, Meleth, and Rôg.

Mounting Nimanor, Aredhel regarded her little party, each with a new horse that Finarfin had graciously provided. They went on their way.

“This place used to captivate me,” Galadriel said under her breath, fighting back the tears. They stood atop the mound of Ezellohar studying what had become of the Two Trees as part of their tour around Valinor. Laurelin and Telperion now stood hunched like two naked beings, humbled and ashamed, no light shining from their branches.

“Yavanna’s singing and Nienna’s weeping eventually led to Laurelin and Telperion bearing us just one final fruit and flower respectively,” Amarië said. “From that we got the Sun and the Moon, and for that we are grateful.”

“It is something,” Galadriel said with a frown. Lúthien walked around the trees, one hand outstretched but not touching them, finding them too sacred but mesmerized all the same.

“They must have burned the eyes,” she said. “Perhaps placing the lights high up in the sky was a good idea.”

“The light of the Two Trees was far more brilliant than anything in the world,” Galadriel said with a sigh. “But it never hurt to gaze upon them.” They retired to the house Amarië had been living in. She now lived in Valimar alone, but her home was that of brilliance and light: silver floors, golden roofs, and every door made of polished bronze.

Perhaps living in Menegroth had changed Galadriel’s perception of things, made her too…sensitive to stimuli…no.

Something was amiss here. Something uncanny. Something she should have picked up on.

She felt it as early as when they had arrived. Her husband had tried to soothe her as they peered out to all of Valinor together. She tried to shake the feeling. It had to be from all of the fright from what they had witnessed before.

But no. Goosebumps ran up her arm again. She tried to catch Celeborn’s eye, but the big buffoon was too busy enjoying his tea, oblivious to the world around him. She loved her husband, she really did, but he could be such a scatterbrain at times.

“These are such lovely plants,” Lúthien said, motioning to the potted pretties around. “And the portraits on the wall! I take it they are of Lord Finrod? You’re such a wonderful artist.”

“Thank you, dear!” Amarië said, clapping her hands together. Galadriel anticipated her to start crying at the mention of him, but instead she beamed. “I am so blessed to have Finrod in my life. A pity what is happening out there, but what a joy it is here. With their blessing, Valinor is safe and warm.”

“Over there, that’s where I used to travel all the time,” Aredhel said as she pointed to the vast forest to their west. “The Vala Nessa and I would race and hunt to our hearts content.”

“And meanwhile Vairë and I would watch you while she braided my hair,” Idril giggled. “I was just an elfling in those days.”

They had just reached the hill of Túna and were about to enter Tirion. The cleft of Calacirya, The Cleft of Light, did not appear as magnificent as Aredhel had once remembered, as gone was the light of the Two Trees. But it was still beautiful, and if she were to roam freely here once more without worry, she was sure to find newfound happiness.

Anairë welcomed them all into her house with much love. She hugged each of them individually, even the elves she had never met before in her life. Already she had plenty of gifts to offer everyone, which brought up looks of embarrassment among the elves who were unfamiliar with her.

“It’s so wonderful to have you back here once more, Írissë,” Anairë said.

“It is a pity about Father and my brothers,” Aredhel said heavily. She recounted how Fingon and Turgon had died, although she left out that Maglor had a hand in the latter. Argon was at least spared from the worst horrors of the accursed; he had died during the journey through the Helcaraxë along with Turgon’s wife Elenwë.

“Yes, it does seem a terrible shadow has befallen all of Endor,” Anairë said lightly when Aredhel was done. “But here nothing and no one walks with fear of the unknown. With their guidance, Valinor is safe and warm.”

When they were done with their tea and treats, Anairë requested they join her in prayer at the temple. There was a temple for the Valar set up in the heart of Tirion which Anairë regularly visited.

“I remember this place,” Aredhel said to Eöl, Meleth, and Rôg at some point while they were out on the road. “It’s not too bad. Everyone is welcome inside. Just…sorry if it’s not part of your beliefs.”

“Aredhel…” Eöl frowned. They were now halfway to the temple. Anairë led the way, and the others fell back, providing enough room between them that she likely wouldn’t hear. “Do you not find it odd that your mother had not wept over the deaths of her sons, nor for her husband for that matter?”

Aredhel turned to the others. Meleth and Rôg nodded. Idril was watching Anairë’s back with a deep-set frown. Of course, it would impact her deeply. She had to witness her father getting torn apart, but all Anairë could muster was a half-hearted remark.

“It’s possible that she’s already grieved before we even arrived,” Aredhel said in a low voice so only the five of them could hear. “King Finarfin sent her a letter, remember?”

“But she did not know how they had died,” Meleth pointed out.

She had a point. Aredhel glanced back at her mother. Anairë was a very spiritual woman; perhaps the knowledge of the Valar’s mercy and that their kin were resting and being remade in the Halls of Mandos was enough to soothe her nerves?

Then again…

She was starting to feel goosebumps run up her arms the closer they got to the temple, like they were being watched. Something wasn’t adding up.

Lalwen settled back, accepting her cup of tea with gratitude. Her wife’s house, once teeming with other elves busy with music-making, was no bare of a single soul, yet music still drifted gently in the air. It unsettled her, as though an occasional note was missed though she was not familiar with the song.

“Many of my fellow friends were slain in Alqualondë, as you know,” Elemmírë said. Her voice held no scorn or accusation for Lalwen having been part of the whole ordeal. “But that is no matter. They still sing their little songs with me.”

Lalwen nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her wife’s words, as she brought the teacup closer to her lips.

Nerdanel’s smile was small yet firm as she greeted Maglor and Curufin.

“So you have finally arrived back,” she said. “Welcome.” To Gildor she bowed politely before asking them to follow her. Standing beside her was Hyalmië, Curufin’s wife, who regarded him silently with a raised eyebrow.

“You stink of unspeakable sin and evil,” she said as means of a greeting.

“I love you too,” Curufin said gloomily.

Once settled around the guest room, Maglor told Nerdanel of all that had transpired in Endor while leaving out some of the more incrementing details. Gildor shifted uneasily from time to time, undoubtedly expecting Nerdanel to explode at them in anger, but it never came. She merely smiled and nodded along to his words.

Even Hyalmië sat there and merely blinked when she learned that her son Celebrimbor was dead.

Frowning to himself, Curufin studied the two women before his eye caught something flash in the hall: the hem of a robe.

“You endured a very harrowing journey,” Nerdanel said calmly when Maglor paused in his story. “But you are safe back here now where it is safe and warm.”

While the others were deep in conversation, Curufin slipped out. Not even his wife noticed.

There was one person who had not been present to greet them, and Curufin desired nothing more than to meet his daughter. He found her crouched in a small room that had been turned into a shrine.

“Who’s that?” the young elf said as Curufin approached. His throat tightened at having heard his daughter’s voice for the very first time.

“I’m…Curufinwë, your father,” he said.

“Father?” she said as she turned around to face him, parting her veil to give herself a wider scope of vision.

Curufin smiled wearily, his mind and hands suddenly hyper-aware of what he had done to his own son back in Endor. “What’s your name?”

“Curutanë.”

“Ah. That’s a lovely name, Curutanë.” A name passed from Fëanor to Curufin and now to… “Did your mother perceive you to be gifted with smithing?”

“In a way, yes,” Curutanë said, “but I haven’t stepped in the forge for some time. I’ve been…praying.”

“Praying?” Curufin leaned his head to one side.

Curutanë nodded slowly. “The forge, you see…in the forge…I pray…for everyone. My uncles and…my brother…”

“Here we are,” Anairë announced warmly, motioning for everyone to join her inside.

The temple was made of strong white marble, and inside was a high dome in the center. Stars glimmered as though set by Varda herself.

Everyone bowed their heads in prayer or out of respect. To Aredhel’s surprise, the Avari fell deep into prayer. Never did she think she would ever see Eöl in the temple built by the Calaquendi praying, a strange yet exciting sight.

How the world had changed.

“What?” Eöl whispered when he noticed her staring. “Worship is worship, no matter the place.”

Aredhel smiled.

Seemingly ignoring everyone, Anairë bowed her head and began a prayer.

Aredhel peered around herself. Her mother was too caught up with the whole spiritual atmosphere of it all, her mind completely in a trance. She had completely missed the fact that Avari were praying beside her.

As for Aredhel herself, she tried to pray, tried to link her soul with Nessa, but something kept tickling her nose, breaking her concentration. She couldn’t focus.

Gingerly Aredhel found herself getting to her feet. She ignored the looks others gave her.

She wasn’t certain why she was doing this. Call it a hunter’s hunch. Everything in Valinor was perfect. Too perfect.

Safe and warm.

She suddenly remembered how Galadriel was shivering the night before they parted ways. She had thought her cousin was happy, but in hindsight…

Stepping onto the hallway, a strange shiver ran up her spine, the hunter’s hunch telling her to get out of the temple immediately. Danger lurked behind the shadows.

Was that curtain always there at the end of the hall?

So much had changed in Valinor since they had left…

Inching toward it, she could hear the others start to speak. Her mother must have been done with her prayers.

“Lady Anairë,” Meleth was saying. “I’ve heard many speak of the Valar and their actions, but I have yet to meet any. Do we not see them with our eyes?”

Something shifted behind the curtain. Grabbing the hem, she yanked it away and gave a scream. There her father Fingolfin stood, nailed to the wall of the sacred temple. His glossy grey eyes barely registered his own daughter before him as his jaw cricked and snapped, low guttural growls issuing from his mouth.

“Isn’t he wonderful, dear daughter?” Anairë said as she came up behind Aredhel. She had her hands placed over her heart. Eöl, Idril, Meleth, and Rôg were right behind her, witnessing the entire ordeal with mouths hung wide open in shock.

“Mother, how did he come here?” Aredhel found herself saying in a tight voice. “Are you not aware of the dangers—”

“There’s no danger at all, dear!” Anairë laughed nervously. “Thanks to them, Valinor is safe and warm…”

“Who’s they?” Aredhel said as her face grew hot with mounting rage. “Who’s they, Mother?!”

“Why, I of course…and Morgoth,” came a voice, chilling Aredhel to the bone.

The thud startled Galadriel, the fear shooting right into her heart.

“What was that?” she said as she sprinted to her feet.

“The cat must have knocked down a vase again,” Amarië chuckled.

“You do not have a cat,” Galadriel said. “You were always allergic to them.”

Amarië’s nervous giggles rattled the room as Galadriel took a few strides into the hallway. “Artanis, dear, don’t be silly!”

“Lady Galadriel…” Celeborn gasped. Lúthien and he had just joined her by her side. The other end of the hall was shroud in darkness, rather unusual for the brightly-lit house, but from deep within the abyss they could hear a sound.

“What’s happening?” Galadriel said under her breath. “Who’s in there, hiding in the shadows of Valinor? Show yourself?”

Slowly the thing came creeping out, one hand outstretched.

Celeborn and Lúthien gasped as Galadriel shrieked. “Finrod! My brother Finrod!”

“Is he not wonderful?” Amarië said, rather hysterically as a heavy rattling came on the front door.

“You’ve broken the promise. Now you must pay the price.”

Aredhel watched in horror as the swish of the sword came quickly, and after a cry of pain, her mother lay dead on the ground, unmoving. The assailant turned and grinned coldly at Aredhel. “Hello, dear niece.”

“Fëanor!” Aredhel gasped. “How? You died! How are you out of the Halls of Mandos already?! What of the others?! Why’s Father here?!”

Fëanor placed a hand on his heart, his eyes burning with a fire brighter than Aredhel had ever remembered in her youth. “Indeed I was in the Halls of Mandos, my soul turning and suffering knowing what lay beyond. But my mind never rested. I found death…fascinating. Almost…euphoric in a way. I wanted to learn the mysteries of life and death, and Mandos I was able to convince to teach me all about the world’s greatest mysteries.

“Morgoth knew what lay in my heart. Our last battle had forged a telepathic connection between us, unforeseen by all. He came to me in my thoughts offering to show me how to bend the laws of the universe to my will.”

“And you accepted?!” Aredhel shouted. “After everything you went through?! After everything the people you love went through?!”

“I could not pass up such an opportunity!” Fëanor said, raising a fist to his chest. “I could even learn how to fight back Morgoth, finally defeat him, and take part in his own fate. Do you not see how genius this plan is?”

Meleth feverishly shook her head. “And wipe out all of Endor in the process? No.”

“Who’re you?” Fëanor said before turning back to Aredhel. “Anyhow, what gripped me most was the euphoric feeling of death, the sleep-like trance-yet-waking feel of it. I had to bring that to the living world.

“But I could not command the souls of the departed. No matter what I did, that was all under Mandos’s command. But I found I could reanimate the body, keep it going, keep the mind hanging to life by a single thread. Behold, the extent of my power as a blacksmith! Surely I am the greatest smith to have ever lived!”

Eöl and Rôg regarded him with their mouths open.

“I mean…I guess,” Rôg said, gesturing with his hands while Eöl pulled a face.

“He’s even more prideful than I remember,” Idril mumbled.

Fëanor stopped and regarded her. “Itarillë? I remember when you were still a wee lil elfling.” He patted her on top of her head sardonically, and it took every effort for her not to slap him.”

Fëanor regarded the group again, his smug grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Of course, there were some…side effects when my creations could walk again. But look! Look at the second, euphoric life I have granted them! Look how eager they are to share their newfound jubilation with others!”

“That sure doesn’t seem like he wants to share jubilation,” Eöl said in a deadpan voice as he eyed Fingolfin warily.

“Nay, and we should scram!” Aredhel ordered. Her heart dropped at the sight of her uncle, his eyes burning unnaturally bright. Even the gemstone on the necklace he wore over his dark raiment burned with a strange light that left her feeling queasy rather than filled with hope and joy.

He made no effort to stop them as they sped down the hall, which Aredhel found rather odd.

“Where do we go?” Idril said after they had all mounted their steeds, turning to Aredhel. If Anairë was tricked into receiving back her husband, then every household was likely the same. Then that meant…

Aredhel gasped. “Galadriel!” She was visiting Amarië who had lost Finrod! And Maglor was visiting Nerdanel who had lost many sons! Had they also discovered…

Aredhel peered around herself. Where could they go?

“You cannot resist me!” came Fëanor’s voice echoing out from the temple behind them. “This shall be the fate of every elf in Arda!”

“We travel west! To the Halls of Mandos!” Aredhel said.

And they were off.

“Seems we all had the same idea, running to the Halls of Mandos,” Gildor said, a little out of breath. His party had to run on foot the rest of the way after their steeds had gotten a fright and ran off, having thrown their riders off.

“You all came across those creepy-ass fucks?” Rôg said with a grin. To him this was all fun and games.

“Amarië had kept Finrod chained to a bed all this time,” Galadriel said, still haunted by what they had seen. “He apparently had broken out of his chains when we arrived.”

“He must have really wanted to see his sister,” Rôg cackled.

“We only managed to get away because these three knocked the door down,” Celeborn said, motioning to Maglor, Curufin, and Gildor.

“Aye,” Maglor said with a nod. “We went to visit Nerdanel my mother. Curvo was reminiscing how much he missed the old smithy he and his father used to work in. He begged to see it, but our mother became very elusive. She would not allow us to approach there.”

“Truthfully, I did not miss the forge,” Curufin said. “While everyone was playing catchup, I noticed my daughter, who I had never gotten to meet, rushing out. I followed her to a shrine where she was praying. What she told me made me suspicious of what lay in the forge.”

“That was when we forced our way in,” Gildor said. “All of the once-deceased sons of Fëanor were there—and Lord Curufin’s son, Celebrimbor.”

Curufin shivered.

“And all Nerdanel said to that was, ‘So it seems Hyalmië did not wish to keep her son in her own abode.’”

Curufin gave a tiny low growl.

“So we got out of there,” Maglor said. “We sensed our experience wasn’t unique, and sure enough, when we located Amarië’s house, we found the others in similar predicament.”

“We discussed what to do next after our escape,” Lúthien explained, “and we decided to come here. Surely the lord of the departed souls would have an answer and solution for the madness gripping all of Arda!”

“Good thinking too,” Aredhel said. She filled them in on what they had encountered in the temple.

“I hope Círdan and Lalwen are faring well,” Celeborn said.

“Valinor suddenly doesn’t feel very safe and warm anymore,” Meleth said.

Idril gripped her friend’s hand tightly. “It’s be okay! The Valar should help us.”

“Yeah, and where is that bustard?” Rôg cried out and began pounding on the door. “Hey, yer a god, do something godly!”

“I do not think they would take kindly to ‘dark elves’ shouting at their door,” Eöl said bleakly.

“What, do they want us to be well-behaved victims?” Rôg sneered.

Just then the door flung wide open and there stood a tall formidable figure. He regarded the party through a black hood.

“Hey, he’s got the same aesthetics as you going on,” Rôg snickered to Eöl, earning him a punch to the arm from his friend.

“Mandos!” Aredhel said and marched up to him. “Surely you’ve seen the madness that has spread like wildfire throughout all of Arda?”

“Is my father truly the culprit in all this?” Curufin said, sounding sick. He had grown even more grim and silent ever since Aredhel had relayed the story to the others.

“It is true indeed,” Mandos said. “Fëanor and Melkor are working as one, and my halls are empty. Now, disturb me no more. The Valar have long washed their hands of you insolent Eldar.”

“Is that any way to speak to us?!” Rôg roared, and Eöl had to hold him back.

“Is that any way to pound on someone’s door?!” Mandos retorted just as loudly before gripping his temples and sighing deeply. “You’ve all given me a headache. Do not disturb me ever again.”

And with that, he shut the door behind him with a resounding bang.

The other elves all regarded one another with horror. They were abandoned by the Valar…again. What were they to do now?

“I suppose a nice chat with this Fëanor asshat with tea and crumpets isn’t the way to go,” Rôg said.

“Perhaps not, but you never know,” chuckled a voice as a long shadow fell over them.

Spinning around they stared face to face with Fëanor.

Aredhel sighed. Just great. So he knew they would all come here too.

Curufin took a step forward.

“Father…I do not think you really want this deep in your heart,” Curufin said. “I know what you’re like. You would never fall so far from grace, even after everything we have gone through…Morgoth. You would never, ever give yourself to him. What happened, Father?”

Behind him, Maglor nodded slowly, staring at Fëanor with wide eyes full of fear. Neither had ever seen Fëanor with such terrifying fire-lit eyes before. The others watched in silence as Curufin approached slowly, regarding the mightiest elf with wariness. Fëanor gave a small sinister smile at his fifth son.

“Curvo…my dear son,” he said.

“Father…” Curufin said. “Nothing is worth this, do you understand? The entire world is ending from your actions.”

“Where there was once pain there is now nothing but joy and euphoria. Have we not suffered enough, dear son?”

“We have, Father, but…”

“Now, now, dear little Curvo…” Fëanor said as he gripped Curufin by the shoulders and pulled him close against his chest. He spun him around so that he was facing the party. “Death isn’t so bad. I know you carry a heartfelt wish, a burning desire…I can grant it for you for all of eternity. Let me demonstrate.”

Aredhel screamed. The dagger appeared out of nowhere, jutting out of Curufin’s jugular. Gurgling, Curufin’s eyes widened in shock, staring at the party. His knees gave, and Fëanor caught him, cradling him tenderly as he drove the blade deeper.

“See? See how euphoric death is, my son?” Fëanor said, his grin stretching from ear to ear as blood from his own flesh and blood splattered him. Maglor screamed and screamed at him to stop, but it was too late. The fifth son of Fëanor went limp in his arms.

Horrified, Maglor turned and wept into Gildor’s chest.

Within a few moments, Curufin began to stir again, his eyes wide and glossy-grey. They turned toward Maglor, his arms outstretched as if an infant reaching for its favorite toy.

The arrow went between his eyes, and Curufin went limp again.

Aredhel sucked in her breath between her teeth, her chest heaving.

“You sick bastard,” she hissed, glaring at Fëanor.

He turned his cold fiery gaze toward her. “I am a sick bastard? All I see around me are people who are sick and need to be cured of the temporary state of living. Let me cure you all. Let me show you the ecstasy of death!”

In that moment, Aredhel, Eöl, and Lúthien whistled with their fingers, and a dozen neighing filled the vicinity. With a cry, Fëanor jumped aside just in time, nearly crushed by hooves as a herd of horses galloped toward them. Without waiting for an order, everyone cried out and jumped, mounting onto a steed.

“Ride on, Nimanor!” Aredhel cried out to her loyal steed, and she charged out, followed by her party.

“Now what?”

They had found a cave far and safe enough to convene in.

“There’s one of him but ten of us,” Eöl said. “How hard could it be to take down one man?” Any interest in getting to know the mighty smith had long disappeared. Eöl just wanted to get things back to how they were.

“He’s the most powerful elf to have ever lived,” Gildor said. “I do not just say that because I am wed to one of his sons.”

“And he has Morgoth’s backing,” Meleth said weakly. She slid down and placed her face in her hands, shaking.

“Speaking of, we have not seen nor heard from him,” Lúthien said.

“Morgoth would never set foot in these lands…” Galadriel said, ”although with the Valar turning their backs on us for good, that could very well change…”

“That sure is a comforting thought,” Aredhel said.

“There’s also the matter of the Silmarils on his crown,” Idril mused. “I’m surprised Fëanor is allowing someone like that run around with his Silmarils, ally or not.”

Maglor bowed his head. “Morgoth…does not have the Silmarils.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Come again?” Aredhel said.

Maglor nodded. “When I was imprisoned, I got to see him from time to time. Not once did he wear the crown.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to bestow its brilliant light upon the prisoners,” Celeborn suggested.

“He loved showing off that thing,” Rôg said with a dark grin. “Reminds ya of the good ol’ days, eh, Eöl love?”

“Don’t remind me,” Eöl said.

“So he wore the crown with the Silmarils back then,” Aredhel said, “but not recently?”

“That is correct,” Maglor said with a nod of his head.

“That’s a tiny bit of good news we’ve heard in a while,” Galadriel said.

“Is it?” Meleth said, turning to Idril for confirmation. Her friend nodded her head.

“Where do you suppose the Silmarils went?” Idril mused.

“Fëanor said Morgoth had given him an offer he couldn’t refuse…” Gildor said.

“Do you think Morgoth gave Fëanor the Silmarils?” Idril asked.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Celeborn said with a shake of his head. “He’d never take Fëanor as a partner, no matter what.”

“Then where the hell is it?” Rôg said.

“Morgoth would need the Silmarils to keep his control of the land and the peoples,” Maglor added.

“The necklace!” Aredhel gasped. “Have you not noticed the necklace he wore? The gemstone was rather strange…”

“Are you suggesting that’s the Silmarils, or what remains of it?” Eöl said.

“I don’t know,” Aredhel said. “He could have placed the Silmarils in there—or, he’s found a way to possess Fëanor through them. The gems have unimaginable power, and maybe he’s using them to control Fëanor to do his bidding. Think about it. Fëanor’s mission is to kill us all, make us see death as desirable and euphoric. I wouldn’t put it past Morgoth to do something so twisted and ugly.”

“He controlled a spirit across the world and who was in the Halls of Mandos?” Eöl said. “Then again, he is one of the Valar, so a god being able to do that…I suppose the idea isn’t all that far-fetched.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“I can see it,” Idril said. “If you knew Fëanor, his eyes were so different from before.”

“I’m sure he was as handsome then as he is now,” Eöl said.

Aredhel threw him a side glance and a smirk.

“And the way everyone was acting in Valinor,” Galadriel said. “Everyone was smiling, happy. They’re all under a spell as potent as Fëanor. Safe and warm my glutes!”

“I have an idea,” Aredhel said, perking up. She saw the sparks of hope light up in everyone else’s face. “Eöl, Rôg, do you think you can forge something for us?”

“Sure, so long as we can find a spot that isn’t overtaken by those walkers nor their little fan club,” Eöl said.

Aredhel nodded. She crossed her right hand over to her left shoulder and yanked her dress off, revealing her red coat underneath. It was time. “Here’s the plan.”

It was beyond crazy. But it might just work.

A lone figure stood upon a large rock, her arms outstretched. The sunlight reflected something brilliant in her hand.

“O Fëanor, oh Fëanor, where art thou, Fëanor?” she called out as she presented the long glimmering strands to the heavens. “Three strands of my luscious hair I offer thee as thou art has requested.”

“Galadriel, my dear niece!” came the reply as Fëanor materialized, lust in his fiery eyes. He reached for her and she yelped and screamed, hopping off the rock just as Celeborn sped by, riding a horse. She fell behind him gracefully, the strands of hair still gripped in her hand.

Fëanor made to run after them when he suddenly spotted Maglor standing all alone a few paces away. He raised his arms like a music conductor about to command his orchestra.

“Father!” he cried out. “I was once scared, but I have come to see the light! Please, show me the euphoria of death! Let me reunite with my brothers!”

Fëanor paused and sneered. The little brat could wait. He had a little soul to teach.

“Of course, son,” Fëanor said. “You were always the most soft-hearted of my sons. I promise I will be gentle with you. Your brothers will be so happy to see you. Your mother will tend to your gladly…”

“Father!”

He was just a couple more paces away when Maglor suddenly jumped in the air, and to Fëanor’s astonishment, did a double summersault before landing right behind Gildor as he sped by, riding on another horse. And so Celeborn and Gildor zipped by Fëanor, taunting him with two of his deepest desires.

“Lord Fëanor Son of Finwë!” came a cry.

He groaned. What now?!

Peering behind him, he saw two elven women. One of them was Idril, he recognized. Among them they held high above their heads—

“Is that—The Silmarils?!” Fëanor gasped and groaned, grabbing for them hungrily.

“You can’t catch us!” the women cried and laughed. They made to play catch with the three jewels, irritating Fëanor beyond measure.

“Those are not playthings! Give them back this instant!”

Just then a horse sped past him, and in that moment something large and fast swept above him, and suddenly Idril was lifted up while the other woman was swept away on the back of yet another steed.

Fëanor had no idea where to look. The woman with the strange, crazy man with fiery eyes on the steed was laughing and waving above one Silmaril—where did she get it?! Idril’s legs were dangling from a large vampire while trying to support two of the gems.

“Let me go, you—fiend!” she giggled, and the vampire let go, but not before snatching one of the Silmarils for herself.

“Uncle! Do you not want my hair?”

“Father! Hurry on here and kill me!”

So now Fëanor was now torn on which of the five directions to go. The vampire flew this way and that, tossing up her Silmaril. The crazy man was cackling and breathing fire onto his. Idril was running about bouncing the damn thing like it was a ball, and still Maglor and Galadriel rode past him.

“I…I…” His eyes widened. How does he stop them all, get all of the Silmarils back before Morgoth—

And then several things happened at once.

“Oopsie!” Idril cried out, laughing as she threw her Silmaril onto the ground.

At that precise moment the vampire screamed and tossed hers high into the sky, and it exploded like a firework. And at that exact moment the crazy man belched fire onto his, engulfing it flames.

“NOW!”

And in that exact moment, as Fëanor stood transfixed in horror, he did not see as another pair came galloping by, a grim-faced man in black and a woman in all red, her arrow at the ready.

She set her arrow flying, and with Fëanor frozen in that moment, the arrowhead struck the heart of the gemstone upon his necklace and shattered, and Fëanor collapsed on his knees, giving a shuddering breath.

The others cried out in victory, startling some of their horses, but none so much as Rôg’s steed. Rôg roared with all of his might, and his steed drew back on her hind legs before sending him flying. Meleth was still miraculously on the horse, gripping tight.

Laughing manically, Rôg must have flown a hundred meters. The others watched as he descended down into a ground-breaking belly-flop. Still laughing, he plopped his head up and regarded everyone with the most manically grin ever.

“FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC!” he cried out hysterically before face-planting the soft earth.

After the battle, Fëanor found himself crawling deep into the Halls of Mandos. His soul did not find itself there. Mandos had not come to collect his spirit. He had free reign in Arda. His body and soul were still intact, but he was nothing like what he once was.

Deeper and deeper he traveled, past where the voices of his mother and father could call him, until he found it.

The Door of Night. Boundless white light issued from it, dazzling his eyes, but all Fëanor could see was the darkness he had wrought into the world.

“I give myself, wholly, as sacrifice,” he said. “Please…just fix this mess, Eru Ilúvatar. Lay the deceased to rest. Let Arda heal.”

And with that he leaned forward and fell through into the light.

“Brilliant idea, I must say, transforming yourself into a vampire bat,” Gildor praised.

Lúthien chuckled. “Thank you. I knew the part that ripped from Thuringwethil would come in handy at some point.”

Others joined in on the praise, recounting events of their recent victory.

“Pity about that Fëanor, though,” Eöl said. “In another lifetime, we may have been friends, possibly even intimate friends. He was a great smith from what you’ve told me. We may have had a lot to bond over.”

Aredhel cackled. “See? The Noldor aren’t so bad after all!”

Eöl smiled grimly. “So long as you aren’t Celegorm or Curufin.”

“Yeah, about them…what a pity.” Aredhel bowed her head.

The party had now settled in the Home of Oromë in the middle of his woods, eating bread and honey found left out as though some benevolent spirit had anticipated their arrival. Aredhel wondered if her old friend Nessa had been watching them from afar.

None of the deceased would ever return. As they ate they recounted more names of their friends, the fallen of the Curse of Morgoth. Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Egalmoth, Forgamdir, Hargamdir, Morispiní mother of Eöl, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Celebrimbor, Amras, Nellas, Beleg, Mablung, Turgon, Finrod…

The list went ever on and on.

“On the bright side, we have spoken with Irmo and Estë,” Galadriel said. “It seems Morgoth has not been seen around Middle-earth ever since our battle with Fëanor.”

“So it seems destroying the gem around Fëanor’s neck in turn blew up in Morgoth’s face,” Gildor said with a nod of his head. “Good.”

“Ah, it was so much fun, I would’ve loved a go at that big beefy bastard!” Rôg said, grinning toothily.

“Dear, first heal yourself,” Meleth said, chuckling as she rubbed his shoulder. He was still sporting a broken and bloodied nose.

“But it does make me wonder about back home,” Idril said. “Back in Endor, I mean.”

Aredhel smiled, knowing how Idril felt. Though they were born in Valinor, their hearts were set on Endor. This was where they all belonged, with all of their kinfolk: the Sindar, Green elves, the Avari…

“Do you suppose there may be a chance for Queen Melian and King Thingol’s survival?” Celeborn said. “The Queen is of the Maiar…”

Lúthien sighed. “I would not dare to get my hopes up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to go back,” Aredhel said. “At least, we can reunite with our friends there. The Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost. The Entwives. Any other survivors out there.”

Maglor peered around them. “I suppose I may remain here. There is nowhere else for me to go. No purpose for me…”

The others regarded him.

“You may have redeemed yourself after betraying my entire people,” Idril said coolly. “Like it or not, you’re with us.” The others voiced their agreement.

“You’re still my husband,” Gildor reminded him with a smile.

“I wonder how Círdan and Lalwen are doing,” Aredhel said, getting up to her feet. “And the others—the ones who were under the spell.”

“Wonder how King Finarfin is faring…” Celeborn mused.

“Suppose it won’t hurt if we go and revisit everyone once more,” Eöl said, standing up as well.

The others all followed suit.

“After we get a proper tour, perhaps we can travel back to Endor,” Aredhel said.

“Who knows how much this ordeal has changed the course of history,” Idril said.

“Perhaps we’ve come into a more peaceful time sooner than had things played out without the walkers,” Eöl said.

“Or we’re about to get hit with a greater doom!” Rôg laughed, wrapping an arm around Eöl’s neck and laughing.

“The only way to know is to take the first step out there,” Galadriel said.

Meleth nodded. “If anything else, this has brought us together.”

“Calaquendi and Moriquendi,” Lúthien said. “The race of the elves are reunited as they should be.”

Aredhel nodded, smiling at her new friend Eöl, and then to Rôg, Meleth, Idril, Galadriel, Celeborn, Gildor, Maglor, and Lúthien. They all carried satchels of provisions for their new journey, and merriment colored their cheeks from all the mead, honey, and bread. Even the sun felt really bright and warm today.

“What are we waiting for?” Aredhel said. “Let’s get going!”

Chapter End Notes

“Where it is safe and warm” comes from Voltron Season 2 Episode 2 where the mermaids of The Deep say this to placate victims. XD

The manner in which Aredhel yanks off her dress here is reminiscent of how Kiryu and other characters rip off their shirts right before certain boss battles in the Yakuza/RGG games. There’s a bit of homages to other canons in this fic!

And thus ends Code Red! I can’t believe it took me this long to finish it. I just got distracted with so many other projects! I have to thank FicWIP once more since they provided a wonderful opportunity for me to finish a fic that I kept thinking back on for so long. And maybe it was meant to be finished now, as this YouTube Short was made, and it just oozes with Rôg energy. So I’ll leave you with that. Bye for now! Have a wonderful day to you all! 💕 

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