Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

The Truth

“Go now.”

The King’s voice was deadly calm, and Mablung could not blame Finrod and Angrod for wincing. He himself could not recall having ever seen Elu so angry, but that hardly mattered now, anyway. He felt empty, bereaved, betrayed. True, he had ever sensed that some secret was hidden there, but he could never have imagined it being something as horrible as this.

Had he not, at Fingolfin’s feast, sat at the table with the sons of Fëanor and how many others who had robbed and slaughtered his kin? How could any of them have looked him in the eye? Had he not seemed important enough for them to consider that he, too, had kin there in Alqualondë? Had they even bothered to think about it? There they had sat in their colourful robes, behaving towards Daeron and him and even Círdan like they were the kindly teachers of ignorant children, while they had all carried that secret within their hearts.

Had they slain Mablung’s own family, also? The icy fist of dread closed around his heart at this thought.

You do not know that, he reminded himself, it might well be that your parents and sisters are safe.

But deep within his heart he knew that this was an empty hope, for even if they had escaped the battle, they could not have escaped the terror it brought upon all their people. Mablung could hardly bear to think of them now. It had been he who had remained behind, he about whom his family had worried at their parting. Never would he have dreamed of it being the other way round, of harm coming to them instead. They had thought they were heading to eternal safety.

And Olwë… Olwë had thought he was leading his people to a life free of the terrors of the Shadow, only to be assailed by their friends. By Finwë’s sons- the children of his brother’s dearest friend. And, Mablung realised with a new streak of horror, by the family of his daughter. How could Olwë possibly live with that grief?

It took little imagination to go from that to guessing how Elu must feel about the kinslaying… not only were these originally his people, he must also feel that Olwë had shouldered his burden, that this terror should really have come to him instead. And knowing Elu, that knowledge would weigh almost as heavy as his grief. He had always been determined to protect his brothers from all evil after all.

What would go on in the king's mind regarding the fact that the kinslaying had been done by Finwë’s sons, however, Mablung could not even try to guess. Elu and Finwë had been  inseparable. True, had Finwë lived still, that might never have happened, for he was sure that Finwë would never have suffered his sons to draw swords on Olwë’s people. But Finwë lived not, and nor did now many of their friends and kin.

Distantly, Mablung heard Elu talk, and he felt humbled. He knew not what he might have done had it fallen upon him to deal with the situation, but rather certainly not contained his wrath, keeping it from spilling over the bringers of such horrid tidings. Even so, Eärwen’s sons left the table with their heads bowed in sorrow, and Mablung willed his anger to cool and to pity them, as was his custom. They, he reminded himself, had lost kin there also, only to be now drawn into that hideous crime themselves. They truly deserved compassion, not scorn, yet Mablung could not at the moment bring himself to that emotion.

Slowly, the company dissolved, all of Menegroth buzzing with the news. Elu stood with his forehead leaned against Melian’s shoulder while the queen stroked his back gently, her face filled with sorrow. Lúthien seemed livid, but also somehow subdued by her father’s grief and anger, and as Melian lead Elu away quietly, Lúthien followed her parents like a shadow.

At length, Mablung found himself beside Elmo, who stood deep in discussion with his grandsons and Galadriel, all looking stricken.

“Why ban their language, though?” Galathil asked heatedly, and Mablung wondered if he was speaking on behalf of his sister-in-law.

Elmo rolled his eyes.

“Who knows what is going on in my brother’s fair head at such times. Do not ask me, I am at a loss.”

Elmo had a knack of growing sarcastic when very moved by some uncomfortable emotion, but Mablung still had to work hard to bite back a very unbefitting comment. Before he could re-phrase what he wanted to say into fairer words, however, Galadriel spoke. She had not said a word since the King had confronted her brothers at the feast, and only silently watched them leave, her expression unreadable. All the more surprising her words were now.

“They deserve it. Or they would, if they bothered to understand. But they will not, I know them and their hearts much better than I like to admit. ’twas a weak move. Elu should have asked for the Fëanorian’s heads as weregild, that is the only thing they actually get. I would have seen to it myself, had Olwë not held me back, and I would gladly do so now.”

The assembled ellyn all looked at her in dismay. All safe Celeborn, who laid a pacifying hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Taking even more lives will not bring the swanships back to Olwë’s haven, nor return those slain to their bodies, nor avenge the betrayal of your kin by your kin, beloved.”

Wise he is already, Mablung thought, looking appreciatively at Celeborn. Wise, and also gentle and loving. Galadhon would surly have been very proud of him now. Yet Celeborn’s words also made Mablung wonder if Galadriel had let anything slip at all. If she had, how had Celeborn managed to keep quiet, to leave all his kin and friends in the dark about that atrocity? And if she had not, how could he be so calm now, how could he not see it as a betrayal of trust? What ever was the truth, Mablung deeply admired the depth of their bond.

“What a mess.” Elmo sighed, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. “I really should find Elu and hear his reasoning and also… well. I think Olwë would expect us to draw together and pity him united rather than having me question Elu’s decisions.”

“He surly would.” Galadriel agreed tonelessly.

Elmo bid them goodbye and left, and Mablung watched him go with his heart heavier than it had been all evening. How could such a crime ever be forgotten? How could such evil be endured?

In hindsight, Mablung laughed openly about those feelings, a cold and mirthless laugh. Had anyone told him then, as he stood there below Menelrond with his heart aching so horribly, that within a few short centuries the kinslaying would seem almost like a trifle compared with the grieves that were to come, he would not have believed it possible.