My Home is Where You Are: A Maedhros/OC Fanfiction

Part 2- Chapter 15: Our Innocent Victims

A/N: This chapter is set shortly after the prologue (F.A. 472)

A few days have passed since my first dream of Lilótëa's death to the Orcs. The Nirnaeth Arnoediad remained in our past; we left it behind in the Anfauglith, yet Findekáno's memory lingers like a ghost in my mind. He rescued me from Morgoth's vile chains, but I did not succeed in freeing him from the wrath of Gothmog.

I lead my host south across the fields of Ossiriand, the wind crisp against my face. On horseback, we follow the rushing River Gelion, its surface in likeness to shining ice under the bright, purple sunset. After centuries of surviving cold weathers and the Dagor Bragollach, the fortress of Himring had fallen to ruins under Morgoth's forces; no longer would we live on the resilient hill. Now was the time to live in Ossiriand, so long as the inhabiting Laiquendi permitted our stay.

We have come to where the River Thalos runs from the Blue Mountains and conjoins with Gelion. An eeriness lurks in the dark line of distant mountains, as if a new legion of Orcs are situated within the faraway forest, awaiting our arrival. Only brief murmurs float among the soldiers; few of us wish to talk, I being one of them. The vision that repeatedly assailed me over the last three nights perturbed my state of mind, even as the long day crept closer to its end.

Throughout today's journey, all I tended to think about was Lilótëa, and my repentance to Findekáno for failing to come to his aid. In the midst of the battle, we got intercepted by the enemy— confronted with Glaurung and Gothmog in their full might, blocking the armies led by Findekáno. The Union of Maedhros had truly failed when the Easterling traitor Uldor led an attack behind us. The unyielding Dwarves had taken over, their hard armour especially tough against our foes. By the end of the day I was not there to fight the Lord of Balrogs at my cousin's side.

So many deaths, and what have the Eldar received in return? If your ears reach this far, Lord Mandos, hearken to my plea: if such wide suffering must continue... take me into your arms. These recent misfortunes only encourage my dark thought to play with my mind and make me believe it: if Lilótëa indeed came to this Valar-forsaken land, she would become another victim who least deserved it.

Let a kinslayer pay with his own Fëanorian blood. I will not abandon my Oath with an act of suicide, but if your will commands my death, my mouth will bear no complaints.

I feel a deepening scowl on my face as I give a sharp tug to the reins. Lilótëa is safe in Valinor; she is in no danger of dying, so long as my dreams are not attempting to delude me. Not all visions hold the future; this I should very well know.

"My Lord Maedhros?" asks Dyron, one of the youngest soldiers. He comes beside me on his horse, brows lifted in concern. "Are you alright?"

Such an eager ellon. He hasn't been in my services long enough to realize it's best not to cross his lord under brooding silence. Just this once, I let go of his err and simply respond. "After all that has happened to me— to us— I should be alright." The reply came out more harshly than I expected. "The Eldar shall continue to survive, like we have for many years."

The Sindarin nodded. "With survival comes pain. It festers all the more in me as I think of how I let my friend, Sídher, die in the Nirnaeth. She proved her bravery and battle skills to me multiple times before she disappeared from my life for twenty years. As of late, I know she had been living in Angband. Yet, she could not take down the Orcs that surrounded her for the kill. Sídher... was in allegiance with our enemies, only to be betrayed by them."

Why does he tell me this? Why does he share his private life to me, as if I were his older brother? Despite myself, I want to learn more. He has a story to tell, not entirely different from mine. And, I know how difficult it is to keep such stories buried inside. "Tell me what happened."

He continues. "I don't know who or what she saw in Angband that seduced her into fighting for evil. Perhaps she was promised power, in exchange for her fighting skills and beauty. Or maybe her overaggressive behavior with a weapon was finally accepted. I watched her die as the Orcs swung their axes at her back, limbs and face. In my rage, I admired the blood spurting from her wounds. I was thankful that another wicked soul would be gone."

As the ashamed youth described his experience, my years of torture at Thangorodrim rushed back to me like the pangs of a dagger piercing through my heart. I clutched the stub where my right hand used to be.

"The Orcs broke her body and didn't heed the black suit of armour she proudly wore. It was the one time I saw the revolting fiends smile. She had fallen before I forgave her." He twitched his nose and sniffed. "Now that my anger is gone, I wonder if I was the true monster in her life, the one who killed her instead of the Orcs."

I do not know how to respond, so I wait in case he has anything else to add. After a brief reign of silence, I need to say what is on my mind. "It is a tough thing... to keep watch over the ones you love, and not lose them in the chaos. I know it well.

"The Noldorin King Fingon— my cousin— he had fallen at the battle, which I'm sure you're aware of. I was not around to save him— he was not only my cousin, but also a dear friend. On days like these, I feel like I only have the capability to hurt others— never to save. Nothing better can be said for my beloved in Valinor. If she is to remain safe in the Blessed Land, I am banished not only from home, but from her as well."

The desire to confess my mistakes before her was overwhelming— a likely reason why I dreamed of her coming to Middle-earth. The Vanya who visited me in my dreams may not have died by my hand, but deep down I must know she can not peacefully live in my presence any longer.

Because even in the presence of their loved ones, monsters may lose their self-control.

"If I may ask," Dyron begins slowly, "what was she like?"

I suddenly feel as if my voice became temporarily lost. I gesture for everyone to set up camp for the night, and dismount my horse. Dyron follows close behind me like a curious dog. We approach the River Gelion, and solemnly study its tumbling flow of raging water. Our reflections, distorted from the rough surface, surge with hatred even though a river means no harm.

I take a breath to answer his question. "Every time I was with her, she made me believe everything was content in my life. To an extent that was true, until my father devoted his passion and time into the Silmarils."

Ah, cruel misery dominates all-- I cannot even focus on the memories that make me smile.

Dyron swallowed. "I mourn our missteps, Lord Maedhros. We have both lost someone from the treachery in us."

The soldiers put up the tents and collect wood for the fires, yet we still do not move. I feel frozen in place as we stare back at our misshapen, hideous reflections.

"Lord Maedhros?" Dyron inquires quietly, struggling to clearly pronounce his words. "Do you believe I am the one who killed Sídher?"

I look the poor boy in the eyes. I want to brush the stray locks from his face, but my left hand feels impaired from years of training to flawlessly wield a deadly sword. Tender compassion has long been abandoned for this hand's use. "I am not the one to ask. Do not trust a kinslayer; not even the one you are talking to can trust himself with such grim subjects."