Work Text:
It had been long since Maedhros had prayed.
He had lacked the time, the occasions and the reason.
But now, here he was, at the small altar of the fortress, with a reason to pray. The lights of the candles were flickering, painting his shadow on the wall and playing reflections in his copper hair.
He had never considered himself to be very religious. Back in Valinor - how distant those times were ! - he would go to the temple every month with his mother and brothers. His father was there too, sometimes.
But it had only been a habit, a tradition. And when things changed, he found this tradition not too hard to let go.
He knelt down. There was silence for a moment.
A long moment.
He didn’t know how to start.
‘After all, what for ?’ he thought.
Who would listen to his prayer, his pitiful call for help ? What Vala would care for the voice of the one he had become ? Why would Eru answer the pleading of a kinslayer ?
He looked down at his joined hands, those same hands that had spilled the blood of so many of his peers.
Long ago, on the seaside, he had forsworn the grace of the Powers of the West. Why would they give it to him now ?
Now, he had taken even more lives. He had been broken, both in body and soul. He had caused so much suffering, and led so many to their deaths.
His head perked up.
Yes, he wasn’t worth praying for.
But they were.
What little chance he had that some sympathetic ear might listen to him, he had to take it. For them.
“Lord Mandos, guardian of the dead, I pray thee…”
First it had been Curufinwë. Hit by an arrow as they entered Doriath. He had fallen right in front of his eyes.
Atarinkë. Little Father. The one who had been so ready to fulfill their Oath, “in the name of their father.”
The one who had always been so weary of their father’s approval. Who had been so proud of his crafts, that he learned at Fëanor’s sides.
Shot dead by an enemy he hadn’t even had the chance to see.
“Keep me and those I love from the darkness.”
Then, he had found Carnistir’s body in the marketplace. He would have almost missed him, in the middle of so many lifeless corpses.
He had stood there for so long, kneeling by his side, unable to think of the following actions.
His men had waited, expecting him to lead. As always.
But how could he do anything when two of his brothers were already killed ?
How could a leader let this happen ?
“Let me not fear death, but give me strength when the hour nears.”
He had been looking everywhere for Tyelkormo, in search of some kind of excuses. Why had his servants sent Dior’s sons to their certain deaths ? Why had he acted so foolishly, against his direct orders ?
But his questions were never answered.
His brother was lying next to Dior, both of them killed by the other’s hand.
He had probably rushed inside the palace and had jumped on the chance to retrieve the Silmaril.
Always so reckless.
Back in Aman, he had hurt himself countless times even after being heavily warned “You will hurt yourself, Tyelko !”
But that hadn’t ever stopped him. Not even that day.
“For I know thou wilt welcome me in thy halls”
When they had left Doriath, Maedhros promised himself that he would not let it happen again. He would make sure of it.
Time had passed, and years later they marched towards the Heavens of Sirion.
Amrod and Amras had been slayed next to one another.
Even in death they could not be separated.
He would have thought that finding their bodies would have affected him more.
His youngest brothers’ bodies layed there, at his feet, and yet he did not shed a tear. He did not weep, or beg Eru to bring them back to him.
It was like something had broken inside of him.
He had just stood there, silent.
Yes, something had broken inside of him, and he was the first one to admit it.
But there was no going back to the person he used to be. Not after everything he’d done.
“And healed from my pain I will be brought back to the world.”
And now there was only Maglor and him. And the two children his brother had decided to take under his wing.
But deep down, Maedhros was alone. Alone with the deaths he had caused, with the memories of his lost brothers.
With his guilt.
And with the voice of his mother running in circles in his head.
“Take care of your brothers Maitimo.”
He could recall her face, her eyes filled with tears as she watched her sons leave her. He remembered her hands in his, and her trembling voice.
“Take care of your brothers Maitimo.”
He hadn’t been able to.
One by one, they had died on him, and he hadn’t been able to stop it.
Now they were all gone, and here he was, reluctantly fighting this accursed battle of his.
Sometimes he envied them.
Sometimes he wished he too could rest, and stop fighting for good.
But he knew that there was no escaping his Oath. He knew that no matter what there would be no rest for him until it was fulfilled.
He would have hoped that, after everything that had happened to him, some higher power might take pity on him.
But it seemed that Eru had a cruel sense of humour.
He snapped back to reality.
There was no use lamenting on his fate. There was no use wishing things had gone differently.
He closed his eyes tightly and dropped his head.
“Please take care of them. I know that there is not much hope left for me, but they didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve any of it. Please. Watch after them. Better than I could.”