Stolen

Is it possible to write a story in which "the bad guy" can be portrayed in a sympathetic light while being honest about the deeds he does?

Please note that there is a gory element to this story because it is about people who kill without compunction. Horror is natural to them. I took the liberty of creating a walled town for the survivors of Doriath and the other Elven realms to live in because Tolkien simply refers to "the settlement" and "the havens."

Thanks to Merrykk and Virtuella for their valuable input.

The Kinslayers have kidnapped Elrond and Elros. With the Silmaril out of reach, what will they do with the children?

Maglor and Maedhros surveyed the settlement at the mouths of Sirion. Lonnath, the place was called. Havens. From where they stood, near the top of a hill, they could observe the town without being seen, for the trees provided ample cover. It was just before dawn; the sun had not yet begun to climb the sky. Maedhros turned to his brother. "The Oath calls us onward," he said.

"Aye," Maglor replied in a soft voice, "it does. 'Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean..."

Maedhros joined him in repeating the Oath, "Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords... Shall defend him from ... Fëanor’s kin... Darkness doom us if our deed fails…'"

"Darkness indeed, and everlasting doom," said Maglor. "Have we not earned that already, though we have ever striven to keep that Oath we swore? It may be that Eru knows well what we have worked towards, and works in our despite."

Maglor's voice was heavy with the bitterness that was slowly but surely consuming him. He had sworn an Oath and had striven to fulfil it, but his integrity had been gnawed away by the rigours of the battles he had fought in its name. The Elves he had killed haunted his dreams, and he could never rid himself of the feeling that his hands were dirty, however much he washed them. If he should finally regain the Jewels, would it be worth all the Elf-blood he had shed to attain them?

"Say not so, brother," said Maedhros in a caustic undertone, "for 'tis only the Oath has kept my feet stepping one past the other these many years. Oft have I considered begging the pardon of the Valar, being willing to accept whatever doom they would lay upon me, but this has been my thought: would not our oath still remain, but its fulfilment be beyond all hope? We named Manwë and Varda as witnesses, but by Ilúvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us if we kept not our word. Who shall release us? How shall our voices reach Ilúvatar beyond the Circles of the World? Nay, brother, it cannot be made void. It must be fulfilled, though we ourselves perish with our brothers in the attempt."

Maglor sighed, "And so to madness, to darkness, and to everlasting doom."

"Aye," his brother agreed, "to everlasting doom. For whichever path we tread, it awaits us."

Maedhros turned around, went to his horse, and mounted it. He called his troops to attention and set them in order for the attack on the town. “Friends,” he declared, as he drew his sword and held it aloft, “the Oath we all swore calls us onward. Before us lies the city of Lonnath, where Elwing holds on to what is rightfully ours.

“Some of you may baulk at the thought of shedding Elven blood, but Elwing has been warned many times that we will take the Jewel back by force if she does not hand it over. She has continued to defy us, though we importuned her most respectfully, and she knows all about the Oath. If she would but give us the Silmaril our father made, we would take it and go, but she has refused to do this. Therefore the blood of all the slain of Lonnath shall be on her head!”

Maglor reluctantly went to his horse. He dragged each step, unwilling to go to battle, though he knew he must.

“Maglor!” shouted Maedhros. “Come, the Silmaril is near, and victory is certain. Are we not the sons of Fëanor? Do not delay in fulfilling the Oath – and you will be free of the burden at last!”

Maglor looked around. Was there any point in reminding his over-zealous brother that there were two more Jewels to retrieve? Lonnath was easy to take; Angband, the lair of Morgoth, was not.

Maglor mounted his horse, his face grim.

“Come!” called Maedhros, his sword flashing in the early morning light. “The Oath we swore demands it, and Ilúvatar will not release us until it is fulfilled.”

~.~.~

The plan was simple: the forces of the sons of Fëanor were divided into three groups. The first wave went for the walls with ladders to scale them. This was a diversionary tactic, for the second wave, led by Amrod and Amras, brought a battering ram mounted on a wheeled platform to the gates. They hammered the gates, though the city guards rained boiling oil upon them. All afire, the ram went through the gates and the twins thrust it away as they entered the city with their swords drawn, roaring their battle cry.

The guards fled before them.

Maglor rushed in with the third wave. He blew a horn, and Maedhros broke off his attempt on the walls to follow his brother into the city.

Amrod and Amras chased the guards around the corner of a smithy, but were felled by a hail of arrows from the guards on the city wall. The guards on the ground turned and faced the Fëanorians, who stopped short when they saw the bodies of the twins lying on the street in front of them. Arrows stuck out of their bodies at grotesque angles and their blood had pooled beneath them, merging into one red stain.

Maedhros surveyed the scene, his teeth bared. A light breeze swung his copper-coloured braids. Up on the wall ahead of him were the city guards, who had just killed his brothers. Before him, behind his brothers' bodies, were the guards who had led them into the ambush. Any attempt to avenge his brothers would be futile: he would simply share their fate.

“Maedhros, this way,” shouted Maglor, and led his brother in the opposite direction.

They ran towards the lord's palace, a large building near the centre of the town. Taking the route chosen by Maglor brought them out of the range of the archers. As they rounded the corner of a grocer's shop, the lord's palace loomed ahead of them.

Two house-guards raced towards them.

Maglor parried the thrust of the first, while Maedhros ducked and stabbed his opponent through the heart. Maglor swung his sword in an arc and lopped off the head of his attacker.

More guards rushed over to protect the home of their lord. Maedhros grinned as he recognised his brother's killers. “Vengeance is mine!” he cried, as he turned to face them.

A steel vambrace fastened around the stump that remained of his right arm, and he used that to fend off the thrusts and slashes of his opponents as they took him on. Maglor intercepted a slash aimed at Maedhros' belly and parried it himself. Maedhros used the distraction to its full advantage. He sliced off the guard's head, which rolled away, unnoticed in the melee.

The Fëanorians caught up with their leaders and defended them from the other guards, who had come to aid their comrades. The city defenders were quickly despatched.

“Break these gates down!” ordered Maedhros, his eyes bright with battle-fury. “Where is the battering ram?”

Some of the soldiers ran to fetch it, and when it arrived, still smouldering, they all helped to slam it into the gates of the palace.

Household servants held them shut, but with each thrust, their resolve weakened. Eventually the gates gave way, and the Fëanorians rushed in. They could see the household servants running inside, and since the door was at the top of a flight of steps, they could not use the battering ram.

“What now?” asked Maglor.

But Maedhros was distracted. Maglor followed his brother's gaze, and saw it too. Many of their warriors were absent. Some of them had stolen out of the ruined gate and he could see them creeping back the way they had come. They ran over to where some of them had gathered and spoke to them. "Where are you going?" Maedhros asked them angrily. "I see no signs of pursuit. Can you not see that we have won the day? There is only the Lord's house yonder to gain entry to, and the Silmaril will be ours. Then we can go back to our camp, tend to the wounded and bury the dead. The work is not yet done, and we have not given you leave to go."

One of the soldiers turned back and looked upon his lord with disgust etched on his face. "It is on women and children that we have waged war," he replied. "If we slay all of their warriors, who will protect them from the fell beasts and monsters of Morgoth? Some of them are blood kin to us as well as yourselves, and I for one will shed no more Elven blood. Ever do the screams of the dying and the lamentation of the women and children haunt my waking hours. On the path of dreams, they accuse me of murder; their blood is on my hands, and I cannot wash it off. I go that I may at least be clean of the blood of the people of this Elven realm."

"And so you abandon your lord!" Maedhros spat. Contempt dripped from every syllable.

"I seek an Elf-lord who will not slay his own folk," the soldier replied. "I pity you, O sons of Fëanor. You are as trapped by this Oath you have sworn as by the manacle that held Maedhros fast upon the Mount of Thangorodrim. But I would fain be free." He turned and left.

Maglor was appalled. The thought of being abandoned by their army frightened him for a thousand reasons. Besides, he was unwilling to see defeat snatched so blatantly from the jaws of victory. "Go then, foul traitor," he shouted, "and good riddance! Are there any here remaining who will be loyal to their lords? Come now, our victory is at hand! Let us press on to the goal that has eluded us these many yéni! Tonight the Sons of Fëanor will hold the Silmaril we all swore to regain. Follow me!"

He led his men to the gates, which were made of panels of wood. “Take these over there,” he instructed, and pointed at the steps. “We will use them as a ramp and push the battering ram up to the door.”

They smashed the door down and entered the house. All the servants fled at their approach.

"Elwing!" shouted Maedhros. "Give up the Silmaril or we will put your entire household to the sword! Is that your desire?"

No-one answered him.

The brothers made to rush the stairs, but a hand seized Maglor and hauled him back. He cried out in consternation. Maedhros turned back to aid his brother. One of their soldiers held Maglor back by his main braid, forcing him off balance.

"My lords," the soldier said, "I cannot allow this. It is wrong. Much wrong have we done here today - surely enough blood has been shed."

"Take that for your insolence!" said another soldier as he lopped off the rebel's head with one swipe of his sword.

Maglor sank to his knees. "Ai!" he cried, "he is still holding my braid!"

The soldier tried to pull it off, but could not remove it. Blood from his hand rubbed into Maglor’s hair, but the stain did not show against the dark copper hue. "'Tis tangled, my lord; the fingers are tightly entwined."

"Cut off the hand, then," ordered Maglor.

The soldier obeyed.

Maglor followed his brother up the stairs. The severed hand bounced on his back with every step.

~.~.~

Soldiers poured into the house after their lords. As they did so, a shout rang out. "Bronwë! My brother! Who has slain my brother? There are no others in here but ourselves - who has done this?"

The slayer replied, "'Twas I. Your brother did seize our lord Maglor by the braid and attempt to stay him. I slew him for his treachery, and will slay you too if you will not obey our lord."

"You murderer! To the Void with you!" the aggrieved brother riposted, and lunged at him.

The other soldiers tried to pull the contenders apart, but one of them noticed the decaptitated Elf lying on the floor.

"What is this?" asked one.

"This murderer has slain my brother Bronwë," shouted the furious Elf, pointing at the accused soldier.

A fray broke out as the soldiers took sides; some were trying to force the others into obedience to their lords while others were defending themselves from the madness overtaking their comrades. Afterwards, no-one was fully able to explain himself because they were not even sure why they had lashed out at each other.

~.~.~

Maglor and Maedhros carried on searching for Elwing, oblivious to the horrors unfolding below them. They could feel the presence of the Silmaril, and hastened towards it.

"Here! This one!" shouted Maedhros, pointing his sword at one of the doors. "Our Jewel is in here!"

They hammered on the door and shouted at the occupants to let them in.

"Get you hence, vile murderers of children!" a woman's voice screamed.
 

"Give up our Jewel, wench!" Maedhros snarled, "and we will leave you with your nurselings!"

Both of them charged the door repeatedly until it finally gave way. A woman swung a broom – the only weapon to hand – at them. She was dead before she hit the floor.

Loud howls broke out, screams of fear from the twin boys who cowered in the corner, too terrified to move. Maglor stepped forward past the body, his mind fixed on the Jewel. He scanned the room and saw nothing of interest. He turned to his brother, who was checking the twitching body of the lady on the floor. Blood was still pouring from the wound in her heart. Maglor ignored the huddled twins and searched more thoroughly. He upended toy boxes, drawers and closets, scattering toys and tiny breeches and shirts everywhere. There was no sign of it.

Maglor went to look out of the window, to clear his mind. They had been so close to regaining the Jewel! The agony of knowing it was so near was driving him mad. The horrors of the Kinslayings appalled him, but if he could regain the Jewels, he would be free of the Oath and the misery it brought him. It would be worth all the suffering he had endured if he succeeded. He simply had to get the Silmaril - there was nothing else he could think of.

In the distance he saw her. A woman in a fine white dress was running away towards the river. "Maedhros! Elwing has fled! She is making for the river!" he shouted. He turned to his brother, his grotesque hair clasp swinging as he did so.

Maedhros leapt the two stories to the ground and took off in pursuit of the Lady. Maglor followed him at once, and left two terrified little boys alone in the room clinging pitifully to the body of their dead nursemaid.

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