Day 22 - As Far As The East Is From The West
Title: As Far As The East Is From The West
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Silmarillion/LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Prof. Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: He gave her hope and he thinks she's just going to walk away? Maglor learns that Elrond's golden daughter is just as stubborn as any of his other kin.
Word Count: 1640
Author's Note: Follows Sun and Shadow. Also, the words of the title aren't mine.
After getting her fear off her chest, Buffy felt more like herself- and ready to take on the world again. For a little while, she was happy to just enjoy where she was. The beach was peaceful, the day was beautiful, and she felt fully alive again for the first time in days. The knowledge that Morgoth feared her was a warm bubble of confidence, buoying her and thawing the icy despair that had crept in.
She could take anything he can throw at her as long as she knows she still has a fighting chance. And if he wants to try torturing her because her healing is even better than other elves - well he won’t be the first to underestimate what a Slayer really is. By the time he comes at her, she’ll have a plan. She’s going to win.
She and her newfound friend sat in companionable silence for some time after that, watching the sun slowly dip down below the western horizon, painting the sky in a brilliant palette of reds, oranges, and purples.
He said nothing, content enough with the quiet, until Buffy finally asked the question that had occurred to her almost at once, but not seemed as important as realization that she is not doomed to fail.
“You said ‘our house’. You are also of the house of Finwë?”
She’s one of Finwë’s youngest descendants, unless there’s been elflings born quite recently across the sea. She and her brothers and sisters are descended from two of Finwë’s three sons. It’s one of several things that make the children of Elrond special.
“I was once,” he replied, a sudden note of wariness creeping into his voice. “I do not think they would claim me now.”
She snorted.
“Far as I know, they haven’t disowned Fëanor, so what makes you so bad that you’ve been cast out?” she asked.
She could both see and feel the flinch when she mentioned the name of her several times great-uncle. If she were Tindomiel, she might already know who he is. But she is not, so he’s going to have to explain.
“Are you Anariel or Nairallë?” he asked quietly. “Not that it really matters - both names mark you as a child of the sun.”
“Actually,” she said slowly, “I was named Buffy by my mother, and that was the name I answered to for most of my life. Anariel is my father-name, and Nairallë is what a kinsman dear to me calls me - and so do my brothers sometimes.”
“I will also call you Nairallë,” he replied gravely, “though there are surely many who would say I have no right. I have forfeited my place among your kin and my name by my actions. Those actions may have been driven by Fëanor, but they are my own responsibility.”
She frowned.
“But then-” she began, confused.
He had to be one of the sons of Fëanor, but she thought they had all died. She tried to count them in her head. One was burned, three at Doriath, one at Sirion-
“I was once Makalaurë, or in the tongue you are used to, Maglor.”
The first name she recognized, which was rare. Any other elf would have been correct in thinking she would recognize their Sindarin name more readily. But this elf was known to all the children of Imladris by his Quenya name.
“If you prefer Makalaurë, then you are Makalaurë to me,” she said, waving off any objections he might have had. “You raised my father. He has spoken to us of you. He often wonders what became of you!”
“After I had stolen a Silmaril to which I no longer had any right, you mean?” he said sardonically. “I was only able to raise Elrond because he was deprived of both his parents and a good many who would have called him kin by my actions and the actions of my brothers.”
“I’d say more like after you went beyond reason trying to hold to your oath,” she replied quietly. “Which is some consolation to me.”
Now she has startled him.
“Three Kinslayings and your own father and uncle as good as orphaned is a consolation to you? You are a very strange child, Nairallë.”
She smiled. He is not the first to say so.
“You held to your word. Even if it was a really misguided word that probably shouldn’t have been given, you held to it. No matter the cost. As one to whom you have also given your word, I find it comforting that your word means that much to you.”
His eyes were haunted.
“My Oath is all that is left of me,” he said quietly. “Everything else has been burned away.”
He raised a scarred hand to show her that the burning was not mere metaphor. The outline of the Silmaril is traced on his hand in burnt flesh.
“It also means the Valar may have some little problem with me keeping my word to you,” he continued tonelessly. “For you will sail with the rest of our kin long before Morgoth finds a way to force open the Doors of Night. I am surprised your father still lingers on this side of the sea.”
Buffy frowned.
“You kept your Oath,” she pointed out. “You retrieved two Silmarils with Maedhros.”
Her father told his children that the eldest son of Fëanor had abandoned both his mother-name Maitimo and his father-name Nelyafinwë, believing that he deserved neither any longer. He would answer to them only from his brother. All others used the name given to him in Sindarin.
“You cannot release me from the Oath, child,” Maglor told her with a smile devoid of any joy. “When we swore, we named Manwë and Varda as witnesses, and called on Eru Iluvatar himself. I am condemned to the everlasting Darkness at my own word.”
She snorted. This is the dumbest thing she’s ever heard, and she’s listened to Harmony.
“Ask Manwë and Varda to release you,” she replied steadily. “Everyone else was forgiven after the War of Wrath.”
He laughed, that humorless laugh again.
“I think you’ll find not everyone was pardoned, child- ask your grandmother about that.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t aware Grandmother had done anything that required pardon,” she said stiffly.
The ghost of a laugh flits across Makalaurë’s face.
“You sound just like her.”
Buffy suppressed a smirk. He’s not the first one to say that either.
“I have my moments,” she said drily. “But you’re dodging. Ask if the Valar will pardon you and release you from the foolish vow you have long regretted.”
“I may ask, but what shall I do when the Valar refuse me?” he sighed.
“Then you break the Oath,” she said firmly, electing not to say that she doesn’t understand why they would refuse. Even grandmother, who apparently went unpardoned, thinks the Valar are not unmerciful.
“First you find comfort in how far I will go to keep my word, now you would have me break it? You can not have it both ways, Nairallë. It will not do.”
Her temper flared.
“What will do, then?” she demanded. “Fading away here on the shores of Ennor? There is no hope in fulfilling the Oath- the two Silmarilli you and your brother took were given to the Sea and to the Earth. The third you cannot possibly regain unless you would make war on the heavens and on Valinor itself. So if the Valar will not release you and you truly stand condemned to the everlasting darkness as you said, the only course that remains to you is in deciding what causes the least harm - to let a foolish Oath sworn in anger and pain drive you, or to break it and trust to the mercy of the One.”
“I deserve no mercy,” he declared bitterly. “Three Kinslayings, pitya, and I will not lie to you or myself that I did not know what it was I did. Taking in Elros and Elrond changes nothing.”
“I think it changes a good deal,” she shot back. “I have heard enough from my father to know that you and your brother had more than a little hand in making him the man he is - one who has stood fast against the darkness for two ages of the world.”
“How can you, of all people, believe that there is mercy for me?” he asked tiredly.
“I am told that Eru promised Melkor there was nothing he could undertake to mar the music that would not be turned to greater good,” she replied seriously. “Your deeds may have been evil, part of the marring, but you are not so hopeless. The Valar forgave even Melkor his actions when he claimed penitence. So I do not see why you should be beyond forgiveness. Anyone can see you repent your actions. I will plead for you to the Valar and to Eru Iluvatar. And if they can find no mercy in their hearts for Makalaurë Feänorion, then I will follow you into the dark.”
His eyes snapped to her face at once.
“Anariel Nairallë, speak no words of doom,” he commanded sternly. “Your soul is unmarred and the everlasting darkness is not your fate.”
She frowned, and looked him in the eye with a gaze that had made worse things than a fallen elf know she meant business.
“My soul is my own, and my word is as good as yours. You are my grandfather in all but blood. And I don’t let anyone hurt my family without a fight. If all I have been taught of the mercy of the Valar proves false, I will share your fate willingly. You have given me hope where I had none, and I count that well worth daring the darkness.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Silmarillion/LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Prof. Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: He gave her hope and he thinks she's just going to walk away? Maglor learns that Elrond's golden daughter is just as stubborn as any of his other kin.
Word Count: 1640
Author's Note: Follows Sun and Shadow. Also, the words of the title aren't mine.
After getting her fear off her chest, Buffy felt more like herself- and ready to take on the world again. For a little while, she was happy to just enjoy where she was. The beach was peaceful, the day was beautiful, and she felt fully alive again for the first time in days. The knowledge that Morgoth feared her was a warm bubble of confidence, buoying her and thawing the icy despair that had crept in.
She could take anything he can throw at her as long as she knows she still has a fighting chance. And if he wants to try torturing her because her healing is even better than other elves - well he won’t be the first to underestimate what a Slayer really is. By the time he comes at her, she’ll have a plan. She’s going to win.
She and her newfound friend sat in companionable silence for some time after that, watching the sun slowly dip down below the western horizon, painting the sky in a brilliant palette of reds, oranges, and purples.
He said nothing, content enough with the quiet, until Buffy finally asked the question that had occurred to her almost at once, but not seemed as important as realization that she is not doomed to fail.
“You said ‘our house’. You are also of the house of Finwë?”
She’s one of Finwë’s youngest descendants, unless there’s been elflings born quite recently across the sea. She and her brothers and sisters are descended from two of Finwë’s three sons. It’s one of several things that make the children of Elrond special.
“I was once,” he replied, a sudden note of wariness creeping into his voice. “I do not think they would claim me now.”
She snorted.
“Far as I know, they haven’t disowned Fëanor, so what makes you so bad that you’ve been cast out?” she asked.
She could both see and feel the flinch when she mentioned the name of her several times great-uncle. If she were Tindomiel, she might already know who he is. But she is not, so he’s going to have to explain.
“Are you Anariel or Nairallë?” he asked quietly. “Not that it really matters - both names mark you as a child of the sun.”
“Actually,” she said slowly, “I was named Buffy by my mother, and that was the name I answered to for most of my life. Anariel is my father-name, and Nairallë is what a kinsman dear to me calls me - and so do my brothers sometimes.”
“I will also call you Nairallë,” he replied gravely, “though there are surely many who would say I have no right. I have forfeited my place among your kin and my name by my actions. Those actions may have been driven by Fëanor, but they are my own responsibility.”
She frowned.
“But then-” she began, confused.
He had to be one of the sons of Fëanor, but she thought they had all died. She tried to count them in her head. One was burned, three at Doriath, one at Sirion-
“I was once Makalaurë, or in the tongue you are used to, Maglor.”
The first name she recognized, which was rare. Any other elf would have been correct in thinking she would recognize their Sindarin name more readily. But this elf was known to all the children of Imladris by his Quenya name.
“If you prefer Makalaurë, then you are Makalaurë to me,” she said, waving off any objections he might have had. “You raised my father. He has spoken to us of you. He often wonders what became of you!”
“After I had stolen a Silmaril to which I no longer had any right, you mean?” he said sardonically. “I was only able to raise Elrond because he was deprived of both his parents and a good many who would have called him kin by my actions and the actions of my brothers.”
“I’d say more like after you went beyond reason trying to hold to your oath,” she replied quietly. “Which is some consolation to me.”
Now she has startled him.
“Three Kinslayings and your own father and uncle as good as orphaned is a consolation to you? You are a very strange child, Nairallë.”
She smiled. He is not the first to say so.
“You held to your word. Even if it was a really misguided word that probably shouldn’t have been given, you held to it. No matter the cost. As one to whom you have also given your word, I find it comforting that your word means that much to you.”
His eyes were haunted.
“My Oath is all that is left of me,” he said quietly. “Everything else has been burned away.”
He raised a scarred hand to show her that the burning was not mere metaphor. The outline of the Silmaril is traced on his hand in burnt flesh.
“It also means the Valar may have some little problem with me keeping my word to you,” he continued tonelessly. “For you will sail with the rest of our kin long before Morgoth finds a way to force open the Doors of Night. I am surprised your father still lingers on this side of the sea.”
Buffy frowned.
“You kept your Oath,” she pointed out. “You retrieved two Silmarils with Maedhros.”
Her father told his children that the eldest son of Fëanor had abandoned both his mother-name Maitimo and his father-name Nelyafinwë, believing that he deserved neither any longer. He would answer to them only from his brother. All others used the name given to him in Sindarin.
“You cannot release me from the Oath, child,” Maglor told her with a smile devoid of any joy. “When we swore, we named Manwë and Varda as witnesses, and called on Eru Iluvatar himself. I am condemned to the everlasting Darkness at my own word.”
She snorted. This is the dumbest thing she’s ever heard, and she’s listened to Harmony.
“Ask Manwë and Varda to release you,” she replied steadily. “Everyone else was forgiven after the War of Wrath.”
He laughed, that humorless laugh again.
“I think you’ll find not everyone was pardoned, child- ask your grandmother about that.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t aware Grandmother had done anything that required pardon,” she said stiffly.
The ghost of a laugh flits across Makalaurë’s face.
“You sound just like her.”
Buffy suppressed a smirk. He’s not the first one to say that either.
“I have my moments,” she said drily. “But you’re dodging. Ask if the Valar will pardon you and release you from the foolish vow you have long regretted.”
“I may ask, but what shall I do when the Valar refuse me?” he sighed.
“Then you break the Oath,” she said firmly, electing not to say that she doesn’t understand why they would refuse. Even grandmother, who apparently went unpardoned, thinks the Valar are not unmerciful.
“First you find comfort in how far I will go to keep my word, now you would have me break it? You can not have it both ways, Nairallë. It will not do.”
Her temper flared.
“What will do, then?” she demanded. “Fading away here on the shores of Ennor? There is no hope in fulfilling the Oath- the two Silmarilli you and your brother took were given to the Sea and to the Earth. The third you cannot possibly regain unless you would make war on the heavens and on Valinor itself. So if the Valar will not release you and you truly stand condemned to the everlasting darkness as you said, the only course that remains to you is in deciding what causes the least harm - to let a foolish Oath sworn in anger and pain drive you, or to break it and trust to the mercy of the One.”
“I deserve no mercy,” he declared bitterly. “Three Kinslayings, pitya, and I will not lie to you or myself that I did not know what it was I did. Taking in Elros and Elrond changes nothing.”
“I think it changes a good deal,” she shot back. “I have heard enough from my father to know that you and your brother had more than a little hand in making him the man he is - one who has stood fast against the darkness for two ages of the world.”
“How can you, of all people, believe that there is mercy for me?” he asked tiredly.
“I am told that Eru promised Melkor there was nothing he could undertake to mar the music that would not be turned to greater good,” she replied seriously. “Your deeds may have been evil, part of the marring, but you are not so hopeless. The Valar forgave even Melkor his actions when he claimed penitence. So I do not see why you should be beyond forgiveness. Anyone can see you repent your actions. I will plead for you to the Valar and to Eru Iluvatar. And if they can find no mercy in their hearts for Makalaurë Feänorion, then I will follow you into the dark.”
His eyes snapped to her face at once.
“Anariel Nairallë, speak no words of doom,” he commanded sternly. “Your soul is unmarred and the everlasting darkness is not your fate.”
She frowned, and looked him in the eye with a gaze that had made worse things than a fallen elf know she meant business.
“My soul is my own, and my word is as good as yours. You are my grandfather in all but blood. And I don’t let anyone hurt my family without a fight. If all I have been taught of the mercy of the Valar proves false, I will share your fate willingly. You have given me hope where I had none, and I count that well worth daring the darkness.