Umnenyalië by Serinquanion  

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The moon over Arda

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He was going to die. The molten rocks would burn him just like the cursed gem in his palm did. Maybe less painfully but still being burnt hurt and Maedhros knew it. He intimately knew it from his time in Angband where Þauron burnt him often in frustration and to toy with him and his master burnt his skin even more often just to mock his ancestry. At least here he would pass on to Mandos and not linger in pain only to be sewed back together to be tortured again and again.

The air in the flaming crack itself was hot like Laurelin’s light. Blinding and making one’s skin blister should one stay close for long. Here there was no escape.

Pain flared first at the sole of his feet, hitting the still somewhat hard rocks and breaking the bones that were already broken many times and had healed wrong. They broke, and the pain climbed up as the hot rocks melted the metals and leather of his armour and boots. Maedhros could feel the familiar sensation of skin melting, merging with the ruined armour and exposed muscles catching fire. Or at least it felt as if they caught fire. The increasing nerve damage made the sensations bleed together until all that remained was a pain worse than the Silmaril-burn.

Someone was yelling his name. Again and again. The sound was sweet and musical, comfortable in its familiarity. Who was it? Laurë? Was it his always caring younger brother? But… but it didn’t sound like him at all. Then again who knew if his ears were listening correctly. In any case, whoever was it should go away! This thing would erupt any moments and Laurë would be hurt. No, no, he had to make him go away. Go far away and still live — hopefully a happy — life that would never be Maedhros’ from now on.

But his mouth won’t work as he wanted. All that left his throat was a gurgle of pain and a wheeze that was like the last breath in his burning lung. Even that grew weaker and weaker as the voice above grew louder and louder.

“Russo, Russo! Ai Aþëaron! Ai Arimelda!” It chanted, concern was bleeding through the echo.

“Ála, la ályë tulë!” Maedhros managed to choke out at last though whether the desperate plea reached its destination wouldn’t be known to him as his consciousness began fading. After holding off death for many moments by sheer will, the firstborn of Fëanáro passed out in the bottom of a fiery creak.

“Aþëaron! Aþëaron! Oh Eru, you are finally awake!” Soft palms cradled his face, tears of concern were glistening in the corner of the beautiful and familiar grey eyes.

“Mîrnín,” Maedhros whispered, placing his hand, his right hand, whole and calloused upon hers. He simply held the slender fingers and let the memory of the true reality rush in his mind. He wasn’t in the fiery chasm that he cast himself upon. He wouldn’t be there anytime soon. He would make sure it won’t happen again. “Mîrnín,” he said again to elevate his beloved’s worry, “it was just a nightmare.”

“A very bad one it must be then.” she said, “You were thrashing around and groaning for hours, Arimelda. And I couldn't wake you up even with my songs.”

“I must have made you worried.” Maedhros kissed her palm as he sat up. “The err is on me that I remembered not to take my medicine earlier.”

“Let mother check on you,” she pleaded. “Not the half-hearted one but the one that will let her know everything that she needs to heal you better.”

Maedhros didn’t reply. He had not let Queen Melian do an entire healing session even when he first arrived here — half dead and half mad. He was left alive for his resemblance with two old friends of the King of Sindar. By the time his memories returned, truthfully his madness retreated and he learnt to love his beloved, the court of Noldor was well established under Macalaurë and the alliance grew between the two people. He never left Menegroth after it and no one brought up his madness from early days ever again, except for these painful nightmares that came often.

It has been three long years since his family left Valinor and two since he met the love of his life.

For now he only hummed and turned her hand to press light kisses on her knuckles. “Aren’t my brothers coming today?” he asked. “Tyelko will be all smitten with you once more, my precious Nightingale.”

“Now, all you are trying to do is to distract me from the root of the problem.” Lúthien laughed. “But I let go of this matter for now. For a stranger sight will soon be in the sky and mother wants me to awaken you before it begins.”

“A sight so strange that it shouldn’t be missed? I wonder what it is?” Maedhros rumbled. “But we should get ready I suppose. I am hardly in a state worthy of public attendance.”

“Let me dress you and braid your hair. They are a complete mess.”

And of course Maedhros agreed to it. Why wouldn’t he? The gentle care gave him time to think and compartmentalise. Sometimes, he wished he could tell her everything but that would just drive her away, won’t it? Maedhros won’t even stop her as it would be entirely justified and he was dreading when his uncle’s host would set foot on Beleriand. The time was close, wasn’t it? Which meant soon Angaráto would come to Doriath and let the King know of the kinslaying on the shore of Alqualonde. There was no chance that Thingol would let him live here afterwards or Lúthien would love him again ever.

Maedhros had already begun to mourn for his life here before it was even over.

“You are over-thinking again.” Lúthien kissed his forehead as she combed his long hair. The curls weren’t tangled much but her hands were still very gentle as she parted them. Her hands always had been this gentle since she dragged the half-mad elf to Menegroth after finding him wandering in the Forest of Neldoreth, having escaped from Angband much earlier than he should’ve been able to.

“How can I not?” he sighed. “I worry about how well or badly behaved my brothers will be in your court tomorrow.”

“I mean, at least the High King of yours is very… well-behaved.” she giggled. “The rest though…”

Maedhros groaned. “I still can’t believe Tyelko tried to flirt with your minstrel brother last time.”

“I believe he would’ve taken Daeron to bed if it wasn’t for High King Maglor being there.” she said while placing the silver clasp in the shape of a blooming flower in his hair.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know. I know.” But Lúthien still broke into laughter. “You can’t blame me. The whole situation made my father have a quite interesting face.”

Maedhros couldn’t keep the laughter in either. “In any case, I suppose it would be very inappropriate to say so in front of your father.”

“Hmmm, we can’t even laugh thinking of it. Mother would know in a moment.” she said, “All done now. In what color should I get for you today?”

“Whatever my lady desires to see me in today.”

“Green it is then, for it goes excellent with your eyes and hair. And I shall wear green too.” she declared. “Although you will overshadow me in it.”

“Why is my lady jesting? You look more beautiful in any color than I ever do.” he smiled, accepting the robe handed to him. It was simple in cut and color but should one look closely one can see delicate embroidery depicting vines and stars and flowers. It matched the robe that Lúthien took out of the wardrobe for herself.

They dressed each other and Maedhros wove her hair into a loose braid with a silver thread and small hairpins resembling glittering stars. He had crafted these fairly early in his life here and he had crafted many other jewels and jewelleries for the rest of the King’s family after that.

“Your brother will tease me once more.” Maedhros kissed her cheek and nuzzled on her hair.

“I will scold him if he does.”

“I know you will. We shouldn’t keep others waiting. Your father will lose patience soon.”

“He won’t this time but my mother will surely do so.” Lúthien pecked his lip. “She looked very excited when I last saw her.”

“That’s odd for her.” Maedhros murmured as they walked down the winding halls.

“Very odd. But I get her reasons.” Lúthien answered. “There’s been a strange light on the west horizon. Bright and pure. It calls for me too and tugs my heart.”

Maedhros only nodded. The moon it might be then, he thought, the time of the Years of Sun is upon them then. The Edain would soon awaken. And that also meant… he sighed causing Lúthien to give him a questioning look. “Nothing, my love, just thinking of odd things and of nothing important.” She believed it and brought it not as they stepped into the small opening in the woods. There weren’t many Sindar there, probably spread across many more such openings all over Menegroth.

Maedhros greeted the King and Queen but decided upon staying further from them, near the edge of the opening, eyes eager for he had missed this moment last time. It must have been a marvelous sight as Macalaurë had told in his songs.

And marvelous it was. Tillion was a great carrier for the last light of Telperion, best among all the Maiar and Valar even, Maedhros had to admit. The moon was beautiful, the first light since the two trees were destroyed. And the first light the Sindar and most inhabitants of Beleriand ever saw till this point.

He was so enchanted by the light’s beauty that he almost missed the feeling of a piercing gaze at the back of his head. When he did notice he knew exactly who it was. Maedhros didn’t react and leaned on Lúthien.

“The Ithil is very beautiful but not as beautiful as you are.” he whispered in her ear.

“Ithil? What a beautiful name you call the new light.” Lúthien whispered back, purposefully refusing to acknowledge the latter part of his statement although her ears grew warmer. It made Maedhros grin.

“A good name it is.” he hummed. “My lady would look very beautiful dancing in its light.”

“Only if my love sings for me.” she agreed.

“Your brother sings better than me.” Maedhros pointed.

“But I like your voice more.”

Maedhros looked at her fully then. “Later then?” he asked. “After everyone else moves on from the Ithil’s beauty?”

“Yes. I would hate to share your voice with others.”

“And I would hate to see others watching–”

“Can you two stop being so… so close in public? It’s nauseous. Even mother and father aren’t like this.” Daeron snorted from the side.

“Everyone had already left except for you so is it even public? You can just leave too.” Maedhros remarked.

“They already had us by the time you began noticing, brother.” Lúthien rolled her eyes. “You are just jealous that you have none to sing a song to.”

“That’s not true!” protested Daeron. “I have– I have–” he scrambled for words before setting on, “I have Eärórë!”

To it Lúthien laughed and Maedhros just shook his head. “You should let Macalaurë know about it then. And not just keep quietly yearning. He is very dense about these matters too and would miss indirect cues. Though I guess you can always try those on Tyelko.”

“What do you mean by ‘too’?”

“Nothing , nothing.” grinned Maedhros before he and Lúthien headed inside, promptly followed by the minstrel.

Probably prompted by their Queen’s vision, there was a small feast and though Maedhros didn’t stay for long, just enough for propriety. His dream from earlier was still plaguing his mind. 

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Chapter End Notes

"Russo, Russo! Ai Aþëaron! Ai Arimelda!” - "Russo, Russo! Oh Aþëaron! Oh my beloved!”

"Ála, la ályë tulë!”  - "Don't...Don't come near!"

Aþëaron - Sea-healing herb

Mîrnín - my gem