Belated fic post
I was going to post a couple of pics of late colour in the garden - but a new comment on my drabble post of September 3rd brought with it the realisation that I had meant to follow it with the two short bits of Returnverse story that follows on from The Valinor Trail, and has conversations in Mandos Halls between Spike and Maedhros.
I'm sorry this will probably mean nothing at all to the new friends - I do apologise!
Over the ages Námo, Keeper of the Houses of the Dead, had come to realise that restoring a fëa to wholeness was sometimes more easily achieved by putting them together with other relevant fëar; those who had shared experience or, at times, those whose bond was one of guilt and blame.
There were, though, occasions when it was difficult to find any other fëa within the Halls that might help. His ‘unusual guest’, as his cousin Manwë had labelled him, had given him cause to consider long and hard whether any other fëa might help.
At first the Doomsman and his Maiar had spent time coming to know this ‘Spike’ as an individual, discovering what he would need to come to terms with in his previous life before there would be any chance of release to join Tindómë, their Key.
Then they worked on just what the balance might be between evil deeds done on a one-to-one basis and fighting against evil as a force.
Finally one evening, over a glass of wine, when Manwe asked, as he sometimes did, about their progress, Námo said “I think it may be good for both him, and others, to consider this balance together. There are those in my Halls who cannot come to terms with the balance of good deeds and evil ones because there is no-one who does not know their name and even the Maiar have their own preconceptions about them.
“I do wonder if the introduction of a true outsider may benefit at least one of the fëar I have had with me for many yéni…”
…………
Cambasion, Maia in the Halls of Waiting, had discovered a distinct taste for the music preferred by this fëa from another dimension. He rather thought the fëa currently accompanying him might do so as well - he certainly looked more interested than Cambasion had seen him previously.
Into the valley, betrothed and divine
Realisations no virtue but who can define
Why soldiers go marching, those masses a line
This disease is catching from victory to stone…
“What a riff, eh, Cambasion?” said the fëa who had brought the music into being by his thoughts.
“Could it be… Stuart Adamson?” Cambasion ventured.
“Bloody Hell! We’ll make a fan of you yet!” Spike answered. “Who’s your mate?”
“Ah. Let me introduce you. This is William, also known as Spike, and this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo, also known as Maedhros…”
……………………………..
At first they had slowly learnt each other’s life histories, skimming some parts until they began to gain trust in each other. Sometimes they simply sat and listened to the music one or the other chose from their memories.
Like Cambasion, Maedhros developed a taste for what Spike referred to as ‘punk’. Spike, on the other hand, would occasionally sit silently listening to the voice of Maedhros’ brother singing laments.
Over time they began to be more open about the things they had done that they themselves felt were so evil that they might never be able to atone for them, even though Lord Namo had told them each, more than once, that atonement was not the aim of a sojourn in his domain.
Now began the conversations His Lordship had hoped for as they developed opinions about each other…
……………………………..
“So - your dad made the most amazing jewels anyone had ever seen, and the First Evil stole them, and then wreaked all sort of havoc? Sounds about right for the bastard.
“And then your dad makes you all swear to get them back - guy with a temper I take it?”
“I fear, yes, he was renowned for his quick temper and hasty decision making.”
“Yeah, right. Remind me again of the oath you and your family took.”
Maedrhos noticeably paled. "I do not really wish to repeat it again - would that I had never repeated it after my father in the first place.”
Spike looked at a point somewhere above the elf’s head.
“Room service! C’mon guys, whoever is on duty today, can you just run the oath past me? Actually, a hard copy would be good.”
A sheet of paper appeared in his hand.
He read the contents a couple of times, then slowly read it out.
“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"
Before Maedhros could say anything, Spike said, “You know, that’s very wordy, and positively poetic, for something he asked you all to swear to in haste in a temper, ain’t it?
“You sure he didn’t calm down enough to spend hours in contemplation getting the wording and the meter just right?”
Maedhros looked at him with a rather puzzled expression.
“This is not something I have ever thought about - no, he was… livid. His silmarils had been stolen and no-one would give him the aid he demanded.”
Spike walked around for a few minutes. Then -
“Can’t say I ever knew anyone who could write something so perfect without a few rough drafts.”
“He did not have it written anywhere,” Maedhros said. “He simply stood in front of us, proclaimed the oath, and we all said “we so swear!”
“So - who wrote it down? Your dad? Later?”
“I presume so - things were somewhat hectic once we reached Belariand.”
“Yeah well… I reckon you should see if you can try hard to remember that oath taking, Maitimo mate, rather than shying away from it - check out in your own memory what you actually did swear to.
“I reckon, if needs be, someone around here could come up with the actual words not the poetic version, if you really asked nicely. Check it out - might not be as bad as you’ve all reckoned all these years!”
(‘An interesting observation,’ thought Lord Námo.)
Spike paced around some more and then the ‘room’ was filled with the strain of Big Country’s ‘Ships’.
Lord Námo, the unseen but not unacknowledged observer, fully expected Spike to start talking about either the kin-slaying at Alqualondë, or the burning of the ships.
“Talking of oaths… The Doom of the Noldor. What did that say exactly?”
He held a hand out in expectation. A sheet of paper appeared as he had clearly expected.
“Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.
On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.
Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.
The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ”
“They had more time to get the wording just as they wanted, eh? No real sign this was written in a temper.”
Maedhros did not answer. But at least, Námo thought, he did not avoid listening again to his doom by simply removing himself, as he could easily have done.
“You know what? This sounds a lot like an oath to me,” Spike said. “What do you reckon?”
Maedhros did not actually say anything, but he looked very thoughtful.
“I reckon if that is an oath, or as near as damn it, then the Valar are guilty of the same thing that they denounced the Feanorians for. I mean I seem to get the impression that it was the oath swearing that pissed them off at least as much as what that oath may, or may not, have said.
“But if, technically, His Lordship reckons it isn’t an oath, then it is not totally, legally binding until the end of the world, is it?”
Lord Námo could have sworn that that shaft had been aimed straight at him. If he did swearing to things, of course…
................................................................
Time passed as it does in Mandos’ Halls; immeasurably. Sometimes Spike felt as if it was only a couple of weeks since he had passed through the portal he thought of as The Keyhole, and entered what was very like a pleasant, upmarket, version of purgatory. Not that he had ever believed in purgatory - except now, perhaps, he might.
Other times he thought it might have been hundreds of years.
He was fairly sure he had spent many hours talking with Maedhros. He was pretty sure he had got to grips with most of the main events in the elf’s life by now.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” he said, over a glass of wine chosen by Maedhros and some Tex Mex food, “ ‘bout all the things you’ve told me.”
Maedhros cocked his head but said nothing.
“See, I reckon the murdering and the stealing and burning of boats and things - not good. I can see your father had a big personality and you felt you had to go along with whatever he said, but still… not, as someone I once knew would say, of the good.
“But the silmarils. Mate I have nothing I can compare them with, but I’ve been thinking about all the fighting and killing and dying that’s mixed up with them. I reckon they are like a mega version of bloody blood diamonds.”
Maedhros nodded. “They were the purest things of all time, but they became as if covered in the blood of thousands - tainted. But still we were sworn to recover them, even though Father was no longer with us.”
“I guess he must be somewhere in here, eh? You spoken to him much?”
“No! I do not know if he is here, although I know not where else he would be. I have spoken to very few here - my brothers… Findekáno... I do not think I would want to see my father, but it is academical as I have never been given the choice.”
“Hmmm….” said Spike, but then went back to thoughts on the silmarils.
“So, this bird and her man managed to get one back from The First, Morgoth… but when you guys turned up her father wouldn’t give it back to you because his daughter had stolen it for him?”
“Bird? No, Luthien was not a bird. Although I am told her granddaughter…”
Spike interrupted. “I mean woman, elleth, whatever - we used to call them ‘birds’.”
Maedhros looked a little confused, but Spike was warming to his theme and kept going, at least for a minute.
“Anyway, this Luthien stole it from Morgoth. She must have been quite something. Makes me think of Buffy.”
He paused, lost in memory. Maedhros did not interrupt, but the sound of pouring wine broke into Spike’s reverie and he shook his head and got back on track.
“Back where I came from stolen goods always belonged to the original owner no matter how many times they got passed on to other people, and by my reckoning that silmaril belonged to your father’s descendants.
“I still reckon the sacking and killing were not the best way to get it, but if what’s his name - Thingol - had just given it back to you in the first place… so not entirely you guys’ fault, I think he should take a share of the blame at least.
“And then the lass that threw herself off a high tower into the sea to stop you getting it? Stupid woman, must have inherited it from her grandfather - the stupidity and the coveting, I mean, as well as your silmaril.
“It bloody belonged to you! Left her kids to you and your people even though you were all waving swords around and killing people? So she thought the silmaril was worth more than the life of her children? That’s worse than your father any day.”
Maedhros opened his mouth as if to answer, two or three times, but closed it each time. Cambasion, today’s silent, unseen, observer, could see him turning these ideas around in his mind. Lord Námo was right, an outsider’s perspective was clearly giving this, rather stubborn, Feanorian food for thought.
A little more wine and spicy food (Cambasion decided to ask Spike about that later, it looked very tasty) and Spike changed tack.
“As for the Valar, well his Lordship seems an okay guy, but I’m not sure about the rest of them. But, anyway - you fought in their great war, you defended the free people from The First Evil? How long for? Hundreds of years?” He paused again.
“You know, Maedhros, mate, sometimes you have to realise that the things you do for the good of everyone, or hundreds and thousands of people anyway, might eventually balance the individual deaths at your hands, I reckon…”
The elf looked at him long and hard. Then said exactly what Cambasion had been thinking.
“And has it ever occurred to you, Spike, to listen to those words of yours?”
...................
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. (from both the Buffyverse and the works of JRR Tolkien) are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
I'm sorry this will probably mean nothing at all to the new friends - I do apologise!
Over the ages Námo, Keeper of the Houses of the Dead, had come to realise that restoring a fëa to wholeness was sometimes more easily achieved by putting them together with other relevant fëar; those who had shared experience or, at times, those whose bond was one of guilt and blame.
There were, though, occasions when it was difficult to find any other fëa within the Halls that might help. His ‘unusual guest’, as his cousin Manwë had labelled him, had given him cause to consider long and hard whether any other fëa might help.
At first the Doomsman and his Maiar had spent time coming to know this ‘Spike’ as an individual, discovering what he would need to come to terms with in his previous life before there would be any chance of release to join Tindómë, their Key.
Then they worked on just what the balance might be between evil deeds done on a one-to-one basis and fighting against evil as a force.
Finally one evening, over a glass of wine, when Manwe asked, as he sometimes did, about their progress, Námo said “I think it may be good for both him, and others, to consider this balance together. There are those in my Halls who cannot come to terms with the balance of good deeds and evil ones because there is no-one who does not know their name and even the Maiar have their own preconceptions about them.
“I do wonder if the introduction of a true outsider may benefit at least one of the fëar I have had with me for many yéni…”
…………
Cambasion, Maia in the Halls of Waiting, had discovered a distinct taste for the music preferred by this fëa from another dimension. He rather thought the fëa currently accompanying him might do so as well - he certainly looked more interested than Cambasion had seen him previously.
Into the valley, betrothed and divine
Realisations no virtue but who can define
Why soldiers go marching, those masses a line
This disease is catching from victory to stone…
“What a riff, eh, Cambasion?” said the fëa who had brought the music into being by his thoughts.
“Could it be… Stuart Adamson?” Cambasion ventured.
“Bloody Hell! We’ll make a fan of you yet!” Spike answered. “Who’s your mate?”
“Ah. Let me introduce you. This is William, also known as Spike, and this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo, also known as Maedhros…”
……………………………..
At first they had slowly learnt each other’s life histories, skimming some parts until they began to gain trust in each other. Sometimes they simply sat and listened to the music one or the other chose from their memories.
Like Cambasion, Maedhros developed a taste for what Spike referred to as ‘punk’. Spike, on the other hand, would occasionally sit silently listening to the voice of Maedhros’ brother singing laments.
Over time they began to be more open about the things they had done that they themselves felt were so evil that they might never be able to atone for them, even though Lord Namo had told them each, more than once, that atonement was not the aim of a sojourn in his domain.
Now began the conversations His Lordship had hoped for as they developed opinions about each other…
……………………………..
“So - your dad made the most amazing jewels anyone had ever seen, and the First Evil stole them, and then wreaked all sort of havoc? Sounds about right for the bastard.
“And then your dad makes you all swear to get them back - guy with a temper I take it?”
“I fear, yes, he was renowned for his quick temper and hasty decision making.”
“Yeah, right. Remind me again of the oath you and your family took.”
Maedrhos noticeably paled. "I do not really wish to repeat it again - would that I had never repeated it after my father in the first place.”
Spike looked at a point somewhere above the elf’s head.
“Room service! C’mon guys, whoever is on duty today, can you just run the oath past me? Actually, a hard copy would be good.”
A sheet of paper appeared in his hand.
He read the contents a couple of times, then slowly read it out.
“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"
Before Maedhros could say anything, Spike said, “You know, that’s very wordy, and positively poetic, for something he asked you all to swear to in haste in a temper, ain’t it?
“You sure he didn’t calm down enough to spend hours in contemplation getting the wording and the meter just right?”
Maedhros looked at him with a rather puzzled expression.
“This is not something I have ever thought about - no, he was… livid. His silmarils had been stolen and no-one would give him the aid he demanded.”
Spike walked around for a few minutes. Then -
“Can’t say I ever knew anyone who could write something so perfect without a few rough drafts.”
“He did not have it written anywhere,” Maedhros said. “He simply stood in front of us, proclaimed the oath, and we all said “we so swear!”
“So - who wrote it down? Your dad? Later?”
“I presume so - things were somewhat hectic once we reached Belariand.”
“Yeah well… I reckon you should see if you can try hard to remember that oath taking, Maitimo mate, rather than shying away from it - check out in your own memory what you actually did swear to.
“I reckon, if needs be, someone around here could come up with the actual words not the poetic version, if you really asked nicely. Check it out - might not be as bad as you’ve all reckoned all these years!”
(‘An interesting observation,’ thought Lord Námo.)
Spike paced around some more and then the ‘room’ was filled with the strain of Big Country’s ‘Ships’.
Lord Námo, the unseen but not unacknowledged observer, fully expected Spike to start talking about either the kin-slaying at Alqualondë, or the burning of the ships.
“Talking of oaths… The Doom of the Noldor. What did that say exactly?”
He held a hand out in expectation. A sheet of paper appeared as he had clearly expected.
“Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.
On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.
Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.
The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ”
“They had more time to get the wording just as they wanted, eh? No real sign this was written in a temper.”
Maedhros did not answer. But at least, Námo thought, he did not avoid listening again to his doom by simply removing himself, as he could easily have done.
“You know what? This sounds a lot like an oath to me,” Spike said. “What do you reckon?”
Maedhros did not actually say anything, but he looked very thoughtful.
“I reckon if that is an oath, or as near as damn it, then the Valar are guilty of the same thing that they denounced the Feanorians for. I mean I seem to get the impression that it was the oath swearing that pissed them off at least as much as what that oath may, or may not, have said.
“But if, technically, His Lordship reckons it isn’t an oath, then it is not totally, legally binding until the end of the world, is it?”
Lord Námo could have sworn that that shaft had been aimed straight at him. If he did swearing to things, of course…
................................................................
Time passed as it does in Mandos’ Halls; immeasurably. Sometimes Spike felt as if it was only a couple of weeks since he had passed through the portal he thought of as The Keyhole, and entered what was very like a pleasant, upmarket, version of purgatory. Not that he had ever believed in purgatory - except now, perhaps, he might.
Other times he thought it might have been hundreds of years.
He was fairly sure he had spent many hours talking with Maedhros. He was pretty sure he had got to grips with most of the main events in the elf’s life by now.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” he said, over a glass of wine chosen by Maedhros and some Tex Mex food, “ ‘bout all the things you’ve told me.”
Maedhros cocked his head but said nothing.
“See, I reckon the murdering and the stealing and burning of boats and things - not good. I can see your father had a big personality and you felt you had to go along with whatever he said, but still… not, as someone I once knew would say, of the good.
“But the silmarils. Mate I have nothing I can compare them with, but I’ve been thinking about all the fighting and killing and dying that’s mixed up with them. I reckon they are like a mega version of bloody blood diamonds.”
Maedhros nodded. “They were the purest things of all time, but they became as if covered in the blood of thousands - tainted. But still we were sworn to recover them, even though Father was no longer with us.”
“I guess he must be somewhere in here, eh? You spoken to him much?”
“No! I do not know if he is here, although I know not where else he would be. I have spoken to very few here - my brothers… Findekáno... I do not think I would want to see my father, but it is academical as I have never been given the choice.”
“Hmmm….” said Spike, but then went back to thoughts on the silmarils.
“So, this bird and her man managed to get one back from The First, Morgoth… but when you guys turned up her father wouldn’t give it back to you because his daughter had stolen it for him?”
“Bird? No, Luthien was not a bird. Although I am told her granddaughter…”
Spike interrupted. “I mean woman, elleth, whatever - we used to call them ‘birds’.”
Maedhros looked a little confused, but Spike was warming to his theme and kept going, at least for a minute.
“Anyway, this Luthien stole it from Morgoth. She must have been quite something. Makes me think of Buffy.”
He paused, lost in memory. Maedhros did not interrupt, but the sound of pouring wine broke into Spike’s reverie and he shook his head and got back on track.
“Back where I came from stolen goods always belonged to the original owner no matter how many times they got passed on to other people, and by my reckoning that silmaril belonged to your father’s descendants.
“I still reckon the sacking and killing were not the best way to get it, but if what’s his name - Thingol - had just given it back to you in the first place… so not entirely you guys’ fault, I think he should take a share of the blame at least.
“And then the lass that threw herself off a high tower into the sea to stop you getting it? Stupid woman, must have inherited it from her grandfather - the stupidity and the coveting, I mean, as well as your silmaril.
“It bloody belonged to you! Left her kids to you and your people even though you were all waving swords around and killing people? So she thought the silmaril was worth more than the life of her children? That’s worse than your father any day.”
Maedhros opened his mouth as if to answer, two or three times, but closed it each time. Cambasion, today’s silent, unseen, observer, could see him turning these ideas around in his mind. Lord Námo was right, an outsider’s perspective was clearly giving this, rather stubborn, Feanorian food for thought.
A little more wine and spicy food (Cambasion decided to ask Spike about that later, it looked very tasty) and Spike changed tack.
“As for the Valar, well his Lordship seems an okay guy, but I’m not sure about the rest of them. But, anyway - you fought in their great war, you defended the free people from The First Evil? How long for? Hundreds of years?” He paused again.
“You know, Maedhros, mate, sometimes you have to realise that the things you do for the good of everyone, or hundreds and thousands of people anyway, might eventually balance the individual deaths at your hands, I reckon…”
The elf looked at him long and hard. Then said exactly what Cambasion had been thinking.
“And has it ever occurred to you, Spike, to listen to those words of yours?”
...................
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. (from both the Buffyverse and the works of JRR Tolkien) are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.