Chapter Text
There was a round wooden table sparsely lit with candles while the wind howled and echoed outside the stone keep of Himring. Around the table were seated several lords of Doriath, a considerable portion of the grandchildren of Finwe and a few more senior generals.
Eol was leading the delegation and they all knew that they were running into a dead end, as they had been once they’d dispatched with the bare minimum of passive aggressive greetings. He was clearly disinclined to give the Noldor any of the trade deals or military support they were asking for and there was little reason for him to try and reach a deal, as they had nothing the Sindar particularly needed. Thingol would certainly not care either way, in fact he may be more pleased with him if he did end up just wasting the kinslayers’ time.
They’d been at it hours, going in circles until most in attendance were resting their chins in their hands and staring listlessly at the same proposals before them, rendered meaningless by repetition. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, he spoke, interrupting a point the Noldor king’s son had been making and the Noldor all turned to look at him, both in shock that he’d interrupt their highest ranking prince and surprise that he’d finally began to show some interest in the proceedings and contribute for a change.
‘I think we can all see that this is going nowhere. I do not wish to do business with you and I should need considerable incentive to change my mind.’ Eyebrows were raised at this bluntness but none could deny that this was an accurate summary of events.
‘And what incentive did you have in mind?’ this was said in a mocking tone by one of the Feanorians, a blonde who had done nothing but smirk arrogantly over the course of the meeting.
Eol straightened up and voiced the proposal he’d come up with, ‘Well I think a bride would make a pleasing good will gift as a show of your commitment. A woman is a fine enough prize and my willingness to take on the challenge of taming one of you Noldor sufficiently, with all I’ve heard of you letting your females fight, to make one fit for a Sindar court is payment enough.’
Some of his delegation nodded, perhaps it could be a way of creating good faith potentially (oddly diplomatic by his standards) but the Noldor looked taken aback. Perhaps their society was not accustomed to political negotiations not involving the threat of violence.
The leading golden haired prince from the slightly less murderous side of the family, though all the Noldor were tainted with the blood of the Teleri, spoke first, clearly attempting to make peace as if Eol had just issued a grave insult. ‘I’m afraid such marriages are not in our custom. We do not have a supply of women ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.’ His tone remained light as if Eol had simply made a badly timed joke and was being forgiven.
‘What about that one?’ His eyes travelled to a raven haired lady sitting at the table next to the arrogant blonde from earlier. She had seemed engrossed in her note consulting and all that was said as if she were actually involved in decision making, Noldor women were strange creatures but at least she hadn’t presumed to speak herself.
Though the bloodthirsty nature of the Noldor repulsed him he could clearly see why they were renowned for their beauty from her flushed cheeks and soft figure. He continued, oblivious to the room suddenly going so silent it was as if all the noise had been sucked out of it and left only with tension.
‘She must be of high enough social status to be permitted sit in, and none of you are reported to have wives. She’s certainly pleasing enough to the eyes, and healthy too, she could bear me good heirs for my house. She’d do very nicely I think.’
He’d directed this towards all of them in general, and did not notice the moment that the woman in question had heard him and slowly lowered her pen and raised her head while listening to him speak. He did not notice the way she stiffened at his words, frozen to the spot and clenched her hands into fists.
He received a reply after a moment of silence from the crown prince. His voice was quiet and shook slightly as if in horror, ‘Are you talking about Caranthir?’
He shrugged ‘If that is what she is called.’
He did not not notice how much paler all the Noldor in the room went as he let his eyes cast a lingering assessing gaze over the woman’s curves. He was not looking in her eyes and so missed how they widened in discomfort until he glanced up a second and grinned at her, relishing how she hardened her gaze into a blistering glare and his leering at her seemed to make her shrink back.
‘Yes she’ll do nicely. Seems to be some fight in there but if I took her off your hands I could straighten that right out of her, she’d be sweet and submissive for me in no time. A strong hand at the beginning is all, you Noldor make too many allowances for your women, it makes them insolent.’
*******
Even his own delegation looked uncomfortable with his words now, clearly Eol’s views on how to treat a wife were not ones that many would like to see as that of their culture as a whole. Many were looking at him wide eyed, practically begging him to just stop talking.
Of course Fingon was much less concerned about the Sindar right now than trying to avoid this escalating further, though with both his and Finrod’s attempts to give him hints to avoid digging himself further and further into a very dangerous hole going thoroughly unheeded he wasn’t sure what else there was to say.
After all they had probably arrived at the highest possible level of escalation short of holding swords to everyone’s throats and setting the room on fire when a Sindar lord expressed, in full hearing of all six of Feanor’s sons, a desire to rape Caranthir.
Worse still, going by her uncharacteristic stillness he’d actually managed to scare her. He’d never had a particularly close relationship with her and he knew she could certainly take care of herself but all the same in that moment he was indescribably furious himself towards the person responsible for her unease.
His thoughts of Aredhel, mercifully still in Nevrast with Turgon and not in the presence of this disgusting excuse for an elf, did not do anything to make him think more rationally. The idea that someone could even think to talk or look at someone in that manner, if someone had behaved like that to Aredhel- really he was impressed Maedhros hadn’t slit all their throats yet, he wasn’t sure he’d have the same restraint.
On reflection perhaps Maedhros and his brother were simply in shock, tinder just waiting for a light that came in the form of a single split second glance of distress to the lord sitting in the centre of the table.
Maedhros sprung out of his paralysis, his sister had signalled to him that she was distressed and that was enough for him.
‘That is enough.’ And his voice was not a yell, but still more full of rage than any yell could have been.
‘That is the daughter of Feanor you are addressing, and she far outranks you in any aspect of status, ability or character you could imagine. She is certainly not some prize to be bargained with and will make her own decisions on who she chooses to marry or will not marry at all. I would never dream of condemning her to a life with a person like you if you offered a silmaril in her place.’
As Maedhros unleashed the full force of his famed wrath on that wretched creature Curufin was mostly distracted from making any proclamations of his own by trying to warn Celegorm against flinging himself across the table with no weapons but his nails and teeth, at least until Maedhros had finished speaking. Amrod and Amras were reluctantly waiting but menacingly sharpening daggers while making full eye contact.
Maglor gave his full focus to the subject of his protective fury, he was talking to her in hushed tones and, with slow caution, placed his hand on hers, receiving an uncertain smile of reassurance in return from the still slightly shaking nís.
‘So get your filthy eyes off my sister right this second or there is no power in all of Arda that could keep me from cutting them from your head.’
He seemed to take a moment longer to decide what action he could afford to take, right this second Fingon knew he wished nothing more than to kill him in some horrible manner and though he could not really blame him both of them knew there would be repercussions.
In all technicality Maedhros could not make proclamations and decisions in regards to Doriath without conferring with the High King but neither Fingon nor his father would have dreamed of saying that this matter was in anyone but the Feanorians’ power. Whatever they decided he would see to it that all their factions knew it to have the full backing of the Noldor as a whole and he knew Finrod would assist him there; in the name of Galadriel and Aredhel if not of Caranthir.
He did not let his blazing gaze falter for even a moment as he continued, ‘You will leave this place right this moment and never darken my doorstep again. No land of the Noldor or those who wish to be our allies or trade partners may permit you entry or any other form of assistance.’
‘If I find you have ever so much as spoken one word to her, in a letter or if you somehow manage to be in her presence again, you will consider that a death warrant signed. I will send an emissary to Doriath who your king will permit entry to explain what you have done and your fellow delegates,’ here he glanced threateningly along all the Sindar present, ‘will corroborate his story. I’m aware Thingol distrusts our people, thinks of us as his enemies. If he does not see fit to punish you in some manner he will learn what it is to have made an enemy of the House of Finwë.’
Chapter Text
The Sindarin delegation seemed to have clued on to the fact that the Lord of Himring was not predisposed to be forgiving on this matter and they began to try and painstakingly extricate Eol from the room causing as little fuss as possible before he could make matters worse, with two of them eventually taking each of his arms and guiding him to the door none too gently. They were supposed to be diplomats, if no one lost their positions over this it would certainly be a shock.
While he passed by the table however he pulled an arm from theirs and thrust out a hand, grasping with his face shifting into some violent rage; they held their breath, dreading what should befall them all if he managed to so much as drag his fingers along the hem of her dress.
The diplomat holding his other arm however seemed to recover quick enough to yank him out the door before any contact could be made. Her brothers watched warily but dropped their hands from the hilts of their daggers once he left; he had at least not touched her, nothing could have saved him if he had.
She waited for them to vacate the room; she would not be the first to move in her own brother’s keep after all, they must leave before she could express any desire to be elsewhere, it was a simple matter of pride and authority.
She stood slowly and strode towards her office at the end of the hall without saying a word to anyone, the scrape of her heavy wooden chair echoing around the all too silent room and the click of her boots on the cool stone floors sending even those who had not yet heard word of the incident pressing into alcoves from what was so clearly a Feanorian on the warpath.
Not too long afterwards the door of her office was opened once again and her two most pig headed brothers filed in, still visibly murderous.
Celegorm cut straight to the point, ‘You just need to say the word and we will do whatever you can imagine to that bastard, perhaps some things you couldn’t. If you like we can tie him up and let you do the honours?’
She raised her eyebrows, ‘You would go against the Lord of Himring’s orders on a whim? For the spite of an ill tempered sister you would betray your lord brother?’
Curufin scoffed, ‘Maedhros may be head of our house but he does not have the final say here, not if you want to exact further vengeance on that beast. Maedhros balances the needs of all our people; we have simpler priorities.’
Celegorm nodded with a pointed twirl of a knife about his fingers, she did not worry he may cut himself as he had been fond of showing off in such a manner since their youth.
‘You are not simply his sister, you are one of us, remember, the Three Cs and all that? The three murderous middle children? If you’re after his head on a pike we’d enjoy nothing more.’
She pondered for a moment; there was a certain temptation in unleashing her two more unwieldy brothers on that repulsive nér. She simply shook her head in the end though, saying stiffly, ‘I think he handled it rather well actually. We’ve sent a message to that dark elf hiding behind his wife’s girdle that we are not to be pushed around so easily,’ then her thrice damned voice began to quake with strangled emotion, ‘and I shall never have to be in the same room as him again so-’
Celegorm frowned here, stilling his hand and looking at her questioningly. ‘He got to you didn’t he? You’re scared of him.’
She glared at him daring him to say anything else; she would not be treated like a fragile piece of glassware by Celegorm of all people, the one among her family who she’d never feared being shown gentleness from before with his jovial claps on the back, chokeholds and mock fighting throughout their childhood.
While Atya had whispered fretfully to Nerdanel every time he saw her look withdrawn for more than an hour at a time, constantly checking up on her and interrupting her weaving and accounting with his poorly concealed terror at any sign of sadness from her, Celegorm had been the one to throw her over his shoulder and sneak her off for riding lessons, which she’d despised most of the time, and sparring, which she’d been much more fond of.
Nonetheless now he seemed to feel the need to reassure her, ‘You could absolutely take that asshole. No contest, you would trod him into the ground.’
‘It’s not a fair fight he was talking about though was it? I do not think he could injure me but it’s not that that I dislike about him, the desire to run a sword through my ribs in battle was not the desire I saw in his eyes.’
Celegorm’s face contorted into fury as his knuckles went white around the hilt of his dagger. ‘No one will ever lay their hands on you. I will simply not allow it to happen so I beg you to not entertain such thoughts a moment longer.’
He seemed almost as horrified by such an idea as she was, it was too much to even imagine what Eol, who had only moments ago been standing merely a few feet from her, would have done to her if he had been given the opportunity. Suddenly the door was opening once again and her remaining brothers let themselves in and stood at the doorway in a way that made her feel quite hemmed in though she knew it was most likely an attempt at making her feel more well protected; certainly no one could come anywhere near her now without going through all of them.
She prepared herself for a very uncomfortable conversation as she tried to postpone a confrontation by rifling around her notes and organising them, with her back turned to them.
She, quite aggressively, sifted through her desk and cabinet, her muttering with perhaps misdirected frustration punctuated by slamming drawers, ‘Honestly, is there not a single inkwell here that isn’t dried up, I haven’t even been gone for that long surely someone should have replaced them-’
Maedhros spoke so much more warmly but no less commandingly than was his wont as he cut off her poor attempts to hide her uneasiness. ‘Carnistirë.’
There was that thread of something almost paternal in the way he looked at her sometimes, something that in this minute made her simultaneously want to hurl an accusation at him of trying to replace their father and failing miserably and collapse into his arms and let him take care of everything the way they’d always convinced themselves Atya would.
She did not know how she should respond right now so she instead ignored the emotional side of things and addressed him as if that was not what he’d come to her for.
‘Well, since this trade deal has fallen through and we’ve now banished one of his diplomats what do you think we can expect from Thingol? I doubt he should share our people’s strong response to such things, the Sindar have differing views on marriage customs from what I can gather.’
‘Thingol has a daughter.’
‘I don’t see what bearing that has on the situation seeing as you decidedly don’t, hanno.’
He looked almost hurt for a moment at this and she cursed her tongue for what felt like the hundredth time, this was why she tried to refrain from speaking when aggravated but unfortunately that seemed to be a rather permanent state of affairs when it came to discussion with virtually any other elves.
Because of this she had adopted a less vocal role in most conferences with people other than her brothers who could usually be counted upon to not take things personally.
Unfortunately precautionary silence seemed to get taken for submissiveness by some and holding back from derailing negotiations as she was sometimes prone to do could be taken for weakness, getting her written off as someone that could be trifled with.
She sighed and shot him an exasperated glare, ‘I’m not angry at you. You did fine. I just need sleep I think.’
Maedhros raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question and she allowed herself to nod, after all she had kept a strong face in public and her brothers had seen her in far worst states, they would not hold vulnerability against her after that ordeal.
She knew that Maedhros, though he was mostly thinking of her peace of mind, would probably benefit himself from keeping her in his line of sight for a while; he’d always been like that after a perceived threat of any kind, trying to keep them all close to his side throughout the Darkening and the aftermath.
The others had their own reasons to worry at the thought of taking their eyes off one of their own for too long when they were already on edge; Maedhros been returned to them many centuries before but they still felt the effects of his absence sharply, they still remembered how it felt to look to where he should have been, to call out for him and realise, as if having the ground pulled out from under you with a sudden endless sense of falling, that he wouldn’t answer.
They had by now been made fully aware that even they, supposedly immortal elves, children of the greatest of the Eldar to have ever been born, were not untouchable. No matter how strong a person was, no matter how immovable a fortress seemed, nothing was permanent. They had lost their father and they could lose each other.
That was how she found herself resting her head in Maglor’s lap and watching through the red and gold drapings over her bed frame as Curufin helped Maedhros draft up the official declaration they would issue to the Naugrim regarding the new exile. The low tones of her brothers washed over her, comforting in their familiarity.
A fire crackled in the corner, bathing the room in soft, warm light as she slid her eyes shut and reached her hand out to clasp one of Amrod’s, rubbing comforting circles on it as if to say, ‘I’m here. You’ve got me. I’ll be fine.’
She felt Celegorm’s large, calloused hands softly moving their way into her crown of braids, unwinding them slowly across the silken bedspread and taking each pin and ornament out one by one to place them on the bedside cabinet with little clicks on the mahogany.
With this ritual complete Celegorm seemed unsure what to do with himself, leaning forward to press his forehead briefly to her’s before standing to talk with Maedhros. It was Maglor again who begun to talk, better at this sort of vulnerability thing than any of the rest of them had been for a long time.
He spoke softly, not so softly that the others couldn’t most likely hear but quiet all the same. It was Quenya also, as it had been when he spoke to her earlier (perhaps the only time that he could have openly used the forbidden language with Sindarin lords present and not daring to object).
The language served as a reminder of better times when this moment could have been one of pure, casual fondness, no explanation needed and no murky political implications to the terms of endearment, to his comforting of his sister.
‘There is no army in all of Arda that could take you from us, Moryë. We would protect you with all we had, for as long as it took to ensure your safety, do you understand? We will keep you safe no matter what.’
In time most of them were gathered on the bed, some leaning against the headrest, some against the posts and others splayed across the sheets. Curufin chose instead to hold vigil from the window seat, an ominous hissing coming from his sharpening knife only strangely comforting in its familiarity.