Somebody Else's Rescue by Susana_R  

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Chapter 1

Quotes: 

"Maedhros was ambushed, and all his company was slain, but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth, and brought to Angband and tortured." - J.R.R. Tolkien (taken from the text of outlines he wrote about the events of Maedhros’ capture and imprisonment, prior to the publication of the 1937 Silmarillion) 

“[T]o him that is pitiless the deeds of pity are ever strange and beyond comprehension.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien

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Lirulin lay curled in a miserable ball in the cell she shared with her family in Angband. She did her best not to think about the 'special' fate awaiting her and her father and brothers tomorrow at Sauron's hands. In his plans for them, she felt he'd more than earned the name the thralls called him - 'Gorthaur the Cruel.'

Lirulin's chains kept her so far away from her father and brothers that they could not even huddle together for comfort. At least the cold of being shackled to the stone wall meant that Lirulin could be fairly confident that this current moment of respite was real. She did not intend to sleep. Sauron was adept at slipping seamlessly into her dreams to impersonate her loved ones. He would create detailed false realities. Visions of more palatable presents and futures which had included, at one time or another, everyone she had ever cared for. Most of the time, his impression of them was so flawless that she believed it right up until he chose otherwise.

Down the hall from their cell, the broken wails of the redheaded thrall whom Sauron had mockingly called 'King Nelyafinwe' increased in volume. Sauron had tormented him for hours in front of Lirulin and her family. To show them what would happen to them, each in turn while the others watched, if they did not 'freely consent' to participate in his plans for them. Lirulin did not blame Nelyafinwe for his cries. But she wished that he would be quiet, so that she could enjoy what little peace was left to her. 

The next thing she heard from that direction was the sound of a cell door opening, followed by the orc guard shouting insults at Nelyafinwe in the Black Tongue. The poor thrall's wail intensified, until both it and the orc's insults were cut off. Then she heard only a quiet gurgling noise. Afterward came the soft, unsteady sounds of a body being pulled along the floor. Lirulin supposed that must be the orc dragging Nelyafinwe's dead body from his cell to the nearest rubbish heap, or to the warg pens. 

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Lirulin's father Malindo. He directed this query in the direction of the bars which separated their cell from the hall.  

Lirulin's head snapped around at that. She witnessed the bizarre sight of the thrall she'd thought utterly broken laboriously pulling himself to his feet despite his badly broken leg. He was covered in blood, his own as well as fresh black orc blood. In his hands he held the orc guard's key ring. 

"I overheard your son say that you have a plan for escape," spoke Nelyafinwe in his deep, roughened voice. The same voice in which Lirulin had heard him begging and pleading to Sauron throughout the past day. 

"We do," Malindo replied cautiously, "we've made a tunnel . . ." 

"Don't tell me," the red-headed elf cut him off while he unlocked the door to their cell, "What I don't know I can't give away. No matter what they do to me." 

"We can't take you with us," cautioned Malindo, gesturing at Nelyafinwe's broken leg. 

Nelyafinwe made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Of course not," he agreed. "They would never have left me so lightly guarded, were I capable of running."

    

"Why are you helping us, then?" challenged Rithorion, Lirulin's eldest brother.  

"To irritate my tormentors," offered Nelyafinwe dryly, "Or because it pleases me to think that someone might escape the fate planned for them here. Take your pick." 

He dragged himself with both arms and his good leg to free Malindo from his chains. He then gave Malindo the keys. 

Lirulin's father proceeded to unlock her chains, then those of her brothers. 

"Thank you," whispered Lirulin, meeting Nelyfainwe's mist gray eyes. 

He nodded gravely back. Then he asked, "Is the Host of the Noldor still camped by Lake Mithrim?" 

"They have a settlement there, now," answered Lirulin. 

"Good. I think that your best bet is to make your way towards them. They will likely send patrols as close to Angband as they dare. If you would do me a kindness, remember this - the names of their traitors are these." He proceeded to list three names in Quenya, none of which she recognized as any of the few elves of the Noldor to whom her father had sold firewood or herbs. 

"I will remember," she swore. Lirulin had an excellent memory. 

"Good. Give those names to King Maglor Feanorion, and to him only, should you get that far. You and your family are of the north Mithrim Sindar?"

"We are," answered Malindo, putting an arm around Lirulin's shoulders. 

"The names of your traitors are these." He shared four more names. 

On this list, Lirulin recognized three names. One of them was that of an elf who knew the way to their family's cabin in the woods. It was there that the orcs had captured them, to bring them to Angband.

     

Rithorion hissed in anger. Lirulin's youngest brother Berior cursed. 

Malindo promised, "We will remember, and bear witness. To King Maglor, and to our lord.”

“I thank you. Take this knife,” Nelyafinwe instructed, holding out a short blade. It still bore traces of the orc guard's blood.

Rithorion reached for it, but their father held up his hand and countered, “You should keep it, Nelyafinwe.”

“Call me Russandol.”

“Russandol. You would be better off cutting your own throat, compared to what I expect they will do to you for helping us." 

“That is . . . kind of you, to offer,” replied Russandol, “But they will not let me die. Not at my own election, and not before they are through with me. Please take the knife. I hope that it will help you, should you need it in your escape. If things become desperate, it will at the least give you an option besides recapture. The Necromancer likely will not care to exert the effort required to bring any of you back to life.”

“Thank you, Russandol,” answered Malindo as he accepted the knife.  

“You are welcome,” Russandol replied. “While I do not wish to know of your plans, I can share with you my own memories of several different routes out of this pit. I also know where they’ve stationed sentries, in the past.”

Malindo held Russandol’s gaze for a moment. Then he nodded, and waved Lirulin forward. She had some training from her grandmother, who had been a priestess and mind-mage.

Lirulin knelt before the other thrall and met his eyes.

“This may hurt,” Russandol cautioned. “I do not know you well, and we have little time.”

“Do it anyway,” Lirulin insisted. “I am accustomed to pain.”  

There was some discomfort. But it was not entirely unwelcome to Lirulin, for the contrast it made between Russandol’s sharing of his ‘map’ and Sauron’s suave, covert invasions of her mind.

Most of what Russandol gave her were images, impressions. His mind voice when he added a few notes in words was beautiful, yet tragic. It was like sunlight through a crystal. If that crystal had been repeatedly smashed and then painstakingly pieced back together into something - someone - strong enough to do this selfless deed for Lirulin and her family.  

“Thank you, Russandol,” she said solemnly, when he had finished.  

"If you would do me another kindness,” requested Russandol, “Tell King Maglor 'well done, for keeping the little ones from running off into the woods to get eaten by bears.' That way he will know that these words come from me."

After that they left Russandol behind. He sat against the wall of the cell with his broken leg straight in front of him. He had a faint, ironic smile on his face. 

Malindo sent Lirulin and Berior on ahead after Lirulin told him of one of Russandol's short cuts. Their father insisted that they take the knife. Meanwhile, Malindo and his oldest sons went towards the mines, to free their fellow thralls from their work gang. From there, they would make their escape through their painstakingly dug escape tunnel. 

Russandol’s map was a blessing. Lirulin and Berior made it out of the fortress through a well concealed exit. They came across an orc sentry just outside, right where Russandol had expected that there might be one. 

Lirulin went ahead to distract the orc. When his attention was on Lirulin, Berior jumped him from behind. Berior’s first strike with the knife into the orc’s throat was true. The monster might have still killed Berior, but that Lirulin grabbed the wrist of its weapon-hand. Berior stabbed it in the throat a few more times. Then it was dead. They dragged it out of the way, so it would not be easily seen. Then they ran.

They had been running for hours before they heard the dreadful sound of orc horns from Angband. The discordant noise was accompanied by the eerie, horrifying sound of warg howls. 

Lirulin and Berior were tired, but they forced themselves to move even faster. The stars were bright overhead when they ran into a patrol of Noldorin warriors. The Noldor wore armor, but it was cleaner and shinier than orc armor. It looked like it would give these warriors better protection than the armor made by Morgoth’s slaves for his orcs.

As the mounted Noldor surrounded them on their powerful horses, Lirulin thought to herself that she might have been scared of these intimidating warriors, once. But she could see that the faces inside these helms were the faces of fellow elves. In their eyes she saw wariness, yet also sympathy and concern. They did not seem cruel. So, she was not afraid.

But she did reach out to grasp Berior’s hand for courage as she called to the raven haired elf with the fanciest armor, “My brother and I escaped from Angband. We were helped by a Noldo slave who called himself Russandol. He gave us two messages for your King Maglor.”

The dark-haired elf with a gold coronet on his helmet gasped, “Tell me. Tell me what he said.”

Lirulin paused, “One message, he said to give to King Maglor only. But the other was 'well done, for keeping the little ones from running off into the woods to get eaten by bears.'”

“My Prince,” warned the elf with the second most decorated armor, “It could be a trick. The Sindar warned us of such.”

“It’s not a trick, Endeyaro,” the ebon haired prince murmured. More loudly, he shared, “That is what Maitimo would say to Makalaure, when Makalaure had been in charge of watching the five of us, and he had let some task go undone because he was too busy caring for us. What Maitimo meant whenever he said this was that as long as the five of us were safe, then Makalaure had done well, so far as Maitimo was concerned. If Father or Mother were angry about whatever chore Makalaure had neglected, then Maitimo would intercede on Makalaure’s behalf, and all would be well. Only Maitimo himself would know that, of those of us who have been captured or gone missing.” He thought a moment, then added, “Only Maitimo and the six of us would know that, out of anyone, really.”

“I understand, Prince Caranthir,” said Endeyaro.

Prince Caranthir asked Lirulin, “Why didn’t Russandol escape with you?” There was anguish in his voice as he spoke. 

As gently as she could, for she could tell that this Caranthir loved Russandol, Lirulin explained, “Russandol could not have escaped with us because his leg is broken. He had to kill an orc guard to get to us. He told us that the Enemy never leaves him so lightly guarded when he is at all capable of running.”

“I see,” replied Caranthir hoarsely. “I thank you for carrying his message. I will take you to my brother King Maglor.”

Just then, the ominous sound of orc horns and wargs could be heard again, carried on the foul winds coming from Angband.

“If you would dare more to honor Russandol’s sacrifice,” petitioned Lirulin, “then you might ride forward to rescue our father, our older brothers, and any who come with them. Our kinsmen sent us on ahead through a shortcut Russandol knew of, while they went back to free the other members of our work gang. We dug a tunnel out of the mines. But they are being pursued.”

Prince Caranthir lifted a tube of steel to his eye and gazed in the direction Lirulin’s family would be coming from. Endeyaro did the same.

“We have the numbers to take on the pursuit, my Prince,” Endeyaro reported. “We may be able to reach the escaping slaves before the orcs do. We should have the time to skirmish with them, field-treat the wounded slaves, and then retreat before reinforcements can be sent out from Angband.”

“We shall, then,” commanded Prince Caranthir. “Or, I shall. Captain Endeyaro, I want you to take this lady and her brother back to the settlement to see Maglor.” As an afterthought, he added, “Don’t let her meet with him alone, though.”

 “I will do as you say, my Prince.”

Endeyaro gestured to two other warriors. He helped Lirulin mount behind him.

Berior shook his head when one of the other two dismounted to aid him. “I want to help my father and brothers and our friends,” he asserted stubbornly. “I have a knife. Russandol gave it to us.” 

Prince Caranthir grinned, “I like your spirit, lad. Come along, then.”

Then it was one of the soldiers going with Prince Caranthir who gave Berior a hand up to sit behind him on the saddle.

Endeyaro brought Lirulin before King Maglor and several of his brothers. Lirulin entrusted Russandol’s words to King Maglor, as she had promised. 

King Maglor wept to hear the messages, for he turned out to be Russandol's brother, just as Caranthir was. Maglor offered Lirulin and her brother a home, and promised them work with his Host. 

Berior returned with Prince Caranthir’s patrol. He told Lirulin that he and the patrol had met the pursuing orcs before they ran down the escaping thralls, but not until after the orcs mounted on their wargs had entered the range where they could shoot down the fleeing slaves with their arrows. Lirulin and Berior’s father and elder brothers were shot down that way. But many of the strongest slaves from their work gang survived to be rescued. King Maglor offered sanctuary and healing to them, as well as to Lirulin and Berior.

Lirulin and Berior mourned their father and brothers. But they were comforted by the knowledge that their kinsmen had suffered relatively clean deaths. The warriors of Caranthir’s patrol had brought back their bodies. Lirulin and Berior were able to give them the proper death rites.  

At Lirulin's request, King Maglor sent to her people for a mind-healer for her and her brother, as well as for their fellow escaped thralls. The Noldor had no mind-healers. They explained that they had never needed them, in the bright land from which they'd come. 

The mind-healer who came, Thangur, was a cousin of the leader of the north Mirthrim Sindar. Thangur was able to forward Russandol's message about traitors amongst their ranks to his kinsman.

Thangur was able to attest that Lirulin's and Berior's minds were still their own. It was rare that captives successfully escaped from Angband of their own effort, whilst still remaining themselves. More often, if an elf left Angband, it was not until their mind and spirit had been so thoroughly broken that they had been converted to serving the Enemy's designs. As a result, the Sindar, Nandor, Laiquendi, and Avari were understandably wary of escaped thralls. 

It would be hard for Lirulin and Berior to return to their people and be accepted among them while they still bore the marks of Angband on their bodies. The whip scars on their backs, left by the orcs supervising their work gangs, could be hidden. Not so with the marks around their wrists from the hell-wrought iron cuffs and chains. 

Thangur worked together with Maglor's royal healer, Raveno. The healers told Lirulin and Berior that all of their scars from Angband would eventually heal. Except for those which marked injuries inflicted by Morgoth's Maiarin servants. Those servants included not just Sauron, but also the balrogs. 

So, Berior might eventually be able to resume his old life amongst the Sindar, if the marks on his wrists faded. But not Lirulin. Once, when she had been posted to distract overseers from noticing the work on their escape tunnel, she'd had to decoy a balrog away. It had struck out at her with its whip, the very tip of which had lashed her face. She had turned her head away from the whip in time for it to miss her eye. But she would always bear a scar, a white line on the left side of her face. It went from her jaw, past the side of her eye, through her brow, and up her forehead nearly to her hairline. 

Berior promised Lirulin that he would never go home, as long she could not. So, they made their home with the Noldor.  By and large, King Maglor and his brothers were responsible leaders who took good care of their people. Even if Maglor did sometimes have trouble reigning in his most quarrelsome brothers. The Feanorian retainers were mostly welcoming to Lirulin and Berior.

Lirulin and Berior would have liked the Noldor, anyway. For rescuing them, and for coming to Beleriand’s rescue. If it hadn’t been for Feanor’s armies, then all of the elven peoples of Beleriand would have been dead or enslaved by the hosts of orcs and other foul creatures which had been in the process of conquering the continent when the Noldor arrived. Well, all of the elves, except perhaps for those in the heartland of Doriath, protected by Queen Melian the Maia.  But Lirulin wasn’t sure that even Melian could have stood against the full might of Morgoth. Not once he’d finished conquering everyone else.

While the vast majority of the Noldor were nice to Lirulin and Berior, all six of Russandol’s brothers were especially kind. At Healer Thangur's request, Lirulin and her brother were given light duties for the first months after their capture. In time, they both came to work for Prince Caranthir. Lirulin he employed as a procurer of supplies from the local Sindar. Berior, who desired vengeance against Morgoth, trained as a warrior. But on days when their wounds, mental and physical, yet pained them, their princes gave them grace to heal. At such times, their duties were assigned elsewhere, and they would meet with Healer Thangur and engage in rejuvenating activities, until they felt well again. 

They both attended the trials of the Noldor who had betrayed their people to Morgoth. Given the weight of the evidence against them, Lirulin thought that Maglor had been wise to sentence them to death. She and Berior attended the executions. Although she did not relish bloodshed, she felt grimly certain that such traitors could not be left alive to continue their perfidy.  

Not long afterwards, three things happened in rapid succession. Morgoth hung Russandol by his wrist from the cliff above Thangorodrim. The moon and the sun rose. Then another Host of Noldor, led by Russandol's uncle, arrived and settled nearby. There was some dispute between them and King Maglor's Noldor, the details of which Lirulin and Berior did not entirely understand. 

A short time later, Berior pulled Lirulin away from her duties. He was accompanied by a dark-skinned Noldo with gold bedecked braids. 

"Little sister, this is Fingon, son of Fingolfin," Berior explained. "He wants us to draw him a map into Angband."

Lirulin stared and gaped at the new Noldo. When she could speak, she exclaimed in disbelief, "That's insane! Why?!?" 

"I am going to rescue Maitimo," the handsome dark-haired Noldo explained stubbornly. 

Lirulin by now knew that 'Maitimo' was yet another name for Russandol. 

"You will fail," Lirulin assured Fingon harshly. "You will be captured. Watching as you are tortured will probably be the worst thing that has happened to Russandol in quite some time. Which is saying a great deal. For Sauron has excelled himself in torturing the heir of his Master's foe." 

"Still, I will go," insisted Fingon. He wore a familiar adamant expression on his face. Lirulin had seen its like on Russandol's countenance, the night he had freed them. She had seen it also on her new King Maglor's face, when he would not be moved from a decision. 

Lirulin sighed, “They do not leave him lightly guarded. Not when he is at all well enough to run.”

“Then I will carry him,” resolved Fingon.

When Lirulin still stared, Fingon favored her with a rueful half-smile, “He carried me down a mountain once, after I’d fractured my ankle doing something he’d warned me not to do. I can carry him.”

She shook her head, unsure of what else she could stay to dissuade him.

"Will you help me, or not?" asked Fingon obdurately. 

Lirulin drew him a map. She had an excellent memory. Then she said a prayer to Eru Iluvatar, pleading that he bless this fool and his impossible mission. 

Ten days later, Berior came running up to her while she bargained in the market for herbs for King Maglor's table.  

"That crazy elf Fingon did it!" he gasped, "He rescued Russandol!"   

"Oh, thank you," whispered Lirulin, "thank you, thank you, thank you."  

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Chapter End Notes

I didn’t come up with the idea of Sauron emotionally and mentally torturing his captives by pretending to be their loved ones on my own. Right now, the two stories that I can remember reading and liking that inspired me to include this element are TheLionInMyBed’s “Up Where the Mountains Meet the Heavens Above” and Curuwen’s “Yanasenesse.” Both are on Ao3. They can be found in my Bookmarks (my Ao3 name is SusanaR) under the Bookmarker’s Tag “Maedhros Favorites.”