One Flesh, One Soul. Part I by FellFireFan  

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Arrival

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In the vastness of silent space, a single brilliant star, entwined in darkness, danced through the celestial skies, its light shining brighter that all others. It broke into two separate pieces and fell to the earthly plain below. A single heart, beating for the first time, seperated until fates reunion.

 

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Angband

455 A.D

 

 Amidst the engulfing flames that devoured the fallen, the Noldorin prince lay motionless upon his back in a pool of his own blood. The stars, cast their bright light upon the valiant souls lost in the aftermath of the harrowing battle. The echoes of the orcs' terrifying war chant, Balrogs' thunderous roars overshadowed the haunting cries of dying elves in the distance. 

 Defeated, spent and completely exhausted, Aegnor calmly awaited his fate. A once mighty stock cut down, warm blood still seeped from his torn clothes, his body destroyed and riddled with holes. A weak cough spluttered from his throat and he turned his head and spat out blood upon the grass. He rasped softly. Only his breath... however faint... the only sign of life remaining. 

As the elf lay dying, a chilling calmness enveloped him, bereft of fear, void of anger and pain. He felt not but numb, empty, and silent. His weary eyes fixed upon the thousands of stars that now shined brighter than he had ever witnessed. His sole comfort in the world he was preparing himself to depart forever.The place he had called home.

  Small tears trickled down his sunken cheeks. He beheld in his eyes a figure dancing gracefully among the twinkling stars. Her face, as beautiful as he remembered it, gazed down upon him like a dream— frozen in a memory most beloved to him. Her form sparkled before him, drawing closer as the stars adorned the tresses of her flowing locks as black as the night without stars.

   He could think of nothing but her in these final moments of his life, how he had loved her... how he had failed her. Summoning the last reserves of strength, he could scarce muster a single quiet whisper.

"Andreth..."

 

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Maedhros' Pass

355 A.D

(One hundred years earlier)

 

Loud clanks of swords chinged against the black steel of orc artillery. The darkness of a moonless night was thick and oppressive and hung like a shroud of doom over the two colliding forces, each battling to gain the upper hand. Amidst the chaos, a towering figure emerged. Long wispy copper hair tied tightly behind in a single glossy braid, the Noldorin prince stood like a tower, unphased by any mighty force. 

  With every strike, Maedhros exuded grace and precision, effortlessly dispatching his enemies. Fearlessly, this remarkable elf issued a challenge to the hulking orc commander, a duel that would determine the fate of their encounter. The orc, snarling with a ferocity akin to a wild beast, revealed his black, wet gums and menacing yellow teeth.

   Maedhros could not be intimidated, stood resolute, unyielding to the intimidating display before him. He had seen horrors far more terrible than this, the horrible scar that that marred one side of his face bore witness of that. Yellow orbs met piercing grey as their swords collided in a symphony of violence. The orc sought to overpower Maedhros with sheer brute force, but the tall elf proved elusive, his movements a dance of both strength and beauty. Despite the handicap of fighting with only one hand, Maedhros showcased mastery over the sword and the orc commander grew tired of trying to catch him off guard.

    Desperate for an advantage, the orc used his brute force and over powered the agile elven lord, seizing the collunm of his long and muscular throat. The first born son of Feänor, his teeth clenched writhed and kicked, his feet lifting off the ground, but he couldn't break free from vice-like coils of the orcs dirty talons. Just as the red suns light appeared from beyond the horizon, hope began to fade as the battle seemed surely lost. The sound of a distant horn blew from the trees. Recognising the signature sound of an approaching calvary, the orcs abruptly ceased their attack and the commander's eyes darted toward the darkness of the forest's edge, wide and filled with terror. The commander made not a sound, frozen in that moment, he dropped Maedhros and backed away. His peircing gaze not leaving the trees, he knew his fate in that moment and who was coming to claim his life.... a furious demon upon horseback, the angel of death.... and there was no where to run!

   The haunting thunder of hooves soon followed then from the blackness, a line of horses with their armoured riders burst forth kicking up dirt and sticks as they flew toward them like a wall of death. A small army of elves and men, their faces tense with fury. They overtook Maedhros whose demonic laughter mingled with the rumbling of furious horse legs, hus mirth taunting the orcs as they flew in frantic retreat, their ranks completely shattered.

    Two distinguished elves that were leading the charge flanked the orcs as they ran, herding them like cattle ready for the slaughter. One leapt from his horse and landed upon the ground, weapon drawn. The orcs watched in trembling fear as he slowly removed his helmet and threw it towards the unholy horde. They recoiled like rats and scattered immediately as the elven helmet landed at their feet and rolled. A taunting challenge to any orc brave enough to be the first  to step forward. Long golden hair framed his beautiful elven face as the red dawn rose behind him. His pointed ears adorned in piercings of rings and snakes. His eyes glowing with an unholy light. The orcs dropped to their knees and begged the elf to show mercy. Many dropped their weapons and bowed, but deep down they all knew their cries would be invain. Like an unstoppable force, he tore through their ranks, leaving trails of black blood and piles of limbs and corpses in his wake.

Not a single strand of his radiant locks could impede his ferocious gaze, his eyes burned with a dragon's ire, two flaming beacons in the darkness.

Together, the golden brothers flanked the orcs, engaging in a brutal and bloody massacre. The odds swiftly turned in Maedhros' favour with the aid of his cousins, who sliced through the enemy ranks with unnatural precision, sparing none. Suddenly, the battle was over, and all drew to a silent calm. As the grim task of checking and counting the fallen bodies was underway, Maedhros approached Angrod, who was aiding the survivors.

  "Angrod! Cousin! I knew you would come!" Maedhros called out, his voice strong and deep. Clasping arms with his half cousin, Angrod smiled victoriously. 

  "It works in our favour that orcs are useful in some way, that they never learn from their mistakes!" Angrod smiled.

   A short distance away, Aegnor glided through the grim sea of bodies and severed orc limbs.  The carnage and brutality of the brothers work notable. His tall, muscular form cast a long shadow over the distorted faces of the orcs, frozen in terror. He counted his prizes like gruesome trophies.

"Lord Aegnor!" A sudden, deep voice called out. Aegnor turned around to see the mortal Boromir, son of Boron, the fourth cheiften of the house of Beör, striding toward him with a purposeful step, "I have never witnessed such a devastating onslaught! It came dangerously close to Ladros," Boromir remarked, his voice filled with concern. Aegnor paused for a moment before speaking solemnly.

   "The howls from Angband grow louder with each passing day, and the orcs grow stronger. I fear the princes have become complacent. I will consult with the king regarding these findings, perhaps the time has come to act." Aegnor replied calmly, his gaze drifting off into deep thought.  The low sun rise cast upon his elven visage showing off a glistening set of silver ear peircings that decorated the rim of his pointed ears.

   "Lord Aegnor, if I may be candid with you, my family and my people, we depend on these lands to survive. I fear... is Dorthonion still safe?"

   Aegnor looked at him with sincerity. His eyes, once a beacon of ire, now radiated a different kind of brilliance, calm, striking, and utterly beautiful. The elf flashed a reassuring smile and firmly placed a strong grip on Boromir's broad, metal shoulder, "Dorthonion is safe, Boromir, and it shall remain so as long as Angrod and I are here to defend it," he responded warmly.

Boromir's smile grew. Aegnor's attention was abruptly captured by movement within the fallen orcs. He quickly dismissed himself with a polite bow and strided toward approaching the crawling body of the fallen orc commander. Grasping its greasy black hair, he violently yanked the orc up onto its knees. The orc's desperate screeches fell on deaf ears as Aegnor swiftly drew his blade and slashed its throat. The screeching immediately ceased, and he slammed the limp orc's body to the ground with a resounding thud.

   "Boromir!" Aegnor cturning back to him, walking away. "My compliments on the new birth of your new son. May the Valar bless his footsteps!"

   "A son has already been born to me, my lord! I welcome now a new daughter into my fold!" Boromir called out, grinning proudly. Aegnor chuckled and bowed, opening his arms,

   "On your precious daughter, I pray that sun lights her smile and the stars kiss her feet," With that, he turned back on his heels and strutted away to join his brother.

 

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Dorthonion

(Six weeks later)

 

Seated in solitude, Aegnor found himself fully immersed in the blanket he was crafting, his hands deftly weaving intricate patterns. Although weeks had passed since the triumph at Maedhros Pass, the weight of Boromir's words lingered in his mind, refusing to fade away. In Valinor, this time would have marked the festival of gifts, a cherished tradition where Noldorin parents, particularly mothers, would painstakingly create special presents for their children. Aegnor treasured every precious moment he had to fashion an object of extraordinary beauty. Comfortably reclined upon plush cushions, he basked in the soft glow of the fireplace that accentuated his resplendent elven features. One long, sinewy leg crossed nonchalantly over the other, meticulously embroidering delicate flowers and graceful doves onto a blanket made of pale lavender and white fabric known for its exceptional softness. 

The addition of tiny, shimmering beads transformed the blanket into a masterpiece, destined to bring boundless joy to the fortunate young girl who would receive it. With nimble fingers, he skilfully wove the glistening silver thread through the intricate beading. His luscious golden mane cascaded down his front, partially veiling his face. He casually sipped wine from his goblet and slowly licked his lips, placing the goblet down beside him.

"King Fingolfin has called a meeting of our kin to discuss the condition developing in Angband." Angrod's deep and rich voice broke from the shadows, interrupting Aegnor's much relished peace. He plopped down beside him, drawing his parted knees up, "I fear Morgoth has him worried. Who can blame him. Only you and I know of the terrible rumbles growing louder from that wretched place. Perhaps we can persuade the other princes to take up arms and fight."

Aegnor, who hadn't bothered to lift his head to acknowledge his brothers words, continued his delicate work. His fingers shifting rhythmically between the threads. Angrod's eyes shifted to him then to the craft on his lap. Curious, he asked who the intended recipient of such a devine object was made for.

"For Lord Boromir and his wife, a gift to commemorate the arrival of their new precious burden," Aegnor finally replied. His velveteen elvish voice flowing like soothing warm honey, "although they focus only on the birth of a child and not the act of begetting them, which in itself is a novelty most curious,"

"Ahh...the festival of gifts! I had almost forgotten. Many of us have suffered great since we left the fair havens for this land. But not Aegnor... the defender of our traditions! The champion of the Noldorin weaving!" Angrod teased, his smirk widening.

"Childhood is a time of great happiness and liberty. Who would deny a child such joys in such bleak days. I am simply extending the courtesy. We are blessed in this regard," Aegnor replied evenly

"Courtesy you say?" Angrod laughed "dear little brother, you would quicker extend your arm to sever an orcs head cleanly yet somehow you find the liberty to make gifts for children you are never likely to see? You are growing softer as you age!"

Aegnor scoffed, his mouth bending into a crooked smirk, his bright eyes challenging Angrods, "And what of you, Angrod? Where is the gift you have crafted for your own beloved son, the same who now commands the kings royal guard and is taking up residence in Nortgothrond with our eldest brother Finrod!?" He leered.

"You know Orodreth detests my gifts! He proclaimed to my very face that if he were to be beset once more with an offering such as the one's I present to him again, he would cast himself into a frigid river and be rid of me for good!" Angrod retorted

"And who would judge?" Aegnor replied. "Seeing the gifts you conjure with your talentless hands, drowning in a river would be a mercy. I would wilfully volunteer to push the poor fool!" He added

Angrod chortled loudly. His melodious laughter bubbling into the air. Aegnor grinned widely, revealing a row of dazzling pearly teeth behind his captivating lips. The laughter stilled and Aegnor's smile slowly waned. The soft tip of his tongue glided between the velvety curves of his full, plump lips, slowly moistening their surface as his focus returned to his craft.

Switching to elvish Angrod eventually asked, ("why have you delayed marriage, Aegnor? It is not for lack of fine eligible elven maidens all sighing for your affection. Each one more beautiful than the finest jewels in Tirion.")

"Is beautiful in appearance and body all that matter, Angrod?," Aegnor smiled and shrugged. "It would please you to know that I am already betrothed and she rests proudly at my hip!" He patted the elven blade in its scabbard that draped around his hips. His proud smile infuriating Angrod.

"Do not mock me Aegnor!" Angrod grumbled, "It is long overdue that you found a proper and suitable wife! What of the princess's among the sindarin? Their father's have enquired after you since last we made stay in each realm,"

"What!?" Aegnor scoffed "Do you speak of the ones who bombard me with gift's and soft flattery only to pursue me relentlessly through the palace of the kings, until I am worn down and cornered like a wild boar with no way of escape!?"

Angrod cast him a withering look. "Forgive me Aegnor, but perhaps supreme beauty and gentle nature is the barest pickings that one must settle for with the likes of you!"

Aegnor, now insenced, stopped weaving, his gaze hardening as it fell upon Angrod.

"Wallowing in your self loathing won't aid you! Per chance, that is the reason you are so utterly miserable, Aegnor! It is unbecoming of you! Does it not vex you that I have long achieved what you have not? That my marriage to Eldalótë has given me what you desperately seek to hold?" Angrod retorted.

"What do you know of my desires!?" Aegnor scoffed, his jaw tensing, "you cast scorn upon every decision I have made! Each time I strive to act of my own, it is with the overbearing weight of your endless critisism in my ear!  You believe yourself lord and judge over my agency yet you cannot see beyond the bridge of your own nose! You know nothing about me!"

“oh, I know well! It is as clear to me as the stars above, and it lies heavy upon your very lap!” Angrod shouted, his finger directed at Aegnor's lap. Aegnor seized the blanket and cast it into the shadows.

“Begone, you treacherous cloth! Cease your torment on my brother with your sweet, guileless design!” he cried.

“There is no need for such displays, Aegnor!” Angrod grumbled, "my concern-"

“By Illuvatar! I draw a breath and you think the very heavens fall! You shall not command me, Angrod! I shall do or not do what pleases me!” Aegnor snapped

“Very well, Aegnor, you have won!” Angrod retorted, his gesture of defeat marked by an exasperated wave, "but take heed; your bitterness will be your undoing!”

“I am not bitter!” Aegnor snarled,

“Yes brother, you are!" Angrod yelled, "you did not even attend the wedding celebrations of Galadriel, our own beloved sister!”

“Shut up!” Aegnor roared, the force of his rage propelling him to his feet. He grabbed his goblet and pitcher brimming with wine. His coiled hair whipped around him as he spun. "I will not be chided as a wayward child! Not by any fool and most certainly not by you!"

Angrod stared up at him silently. His scowling eyes meeting his, "if you will excuse me..." Aegnor growled "I am going to drown my sorrows in this pitcher of wine and forget about your existence, until morn! Perhaps then, I might bring myself to hate you less!" With that, Aegnor stormed from the room, the echoes of his footsteps haunting the stone floor.

“Drink carefully, little brother!” Angrod called after his shrinking form, "lest you choke upon it with your principles still intact!"

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Chapter End Notes

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