RP 🎲 RP 36: Redemption

At Caimarë's song Earitila woke with a start. Dark dreams vanished as if a beam of light like the sword of Menelmacar had hewn clear through the night. She gasped, perceiving how close her peril was. She recalled words spoken perhaps in haste yet never once regretted, as she alighted on the shores of Middle-Earth, and taking up her bow she murmured them again, and as she did her voice grew in strength and resolve

'Therefore I shall go with you, wheresoever you shall go. Your task shall be my task. And I will not have peace until it is accomplished, nor yet shall I let you turn from it. Even my life I will give to its end, yet shall I say this too: your life too Maedhros, shall be forfeit to its completion. Turn aside, and I shall slay you for your treachery, yea and gladly knowing the ills you have done. This do I swear in the name of all the peoples of the Teleri, and in the name of Manwe, Lord of the Blessed Isle, and I hold all the Valar in witness. For such a terrible oath thou spoke once before, and so I take this one for the undoing of its evil.'

Then befell the battle between Sauron, most fell captain of Morgoth, who is called Gorthaur and Maedhros One-handed. And in that battle there was little aid that any of the company could give the son of Feanor, for the Dark Lord was a foe beyond any of them, and in that moment even as they through off the shackles of their bewilderment they were set upon by many foes that came at their masters bidding. And they were led by Khamul, black-hearted Nazgul and with him came a host of orcs. Earitila's bow sang, and the swords of her companions ran with black blood. But Maedhros was beyond them, and fought alone with Sauron, and they fought with arms and with song;

Forth sprang Maedhros
Meeting menace with rage
Danger darkening his face
Lunging and leaping
Sword held left-handed
Sweeping and cleaving

But up loomed Gorthaur
Awful and demonic
The mace falls crashing
Shattering, destroying

Then Feanor's son was not dismayed
And Felagunds fall he recalled
In days far-off in Tol Sirion
And lifted his voice in elven song

His voice was strong
His words were clear
A defiant song
Of victory near
Oaths kept
Trust regained
Wounds healed
Wrongs arighted

But Sauron laughed
And darkly chanted
Of hearts hurt
Friends betrayed
Fortresses fallen
Kinsmen killed
Of pain and danger
Of fear and death
Of staunchness stained
And despair defeating

Yet Maedhros then recalled the light
Of glorious Valinor Undimmed
Before the coming of Ungoliante
Before the death of Feanor's father
Then burning bright gem-fire white
And golden Tree-light forever gemmed
Shone in his elven eyes undaunted
And shone too clear for Sauron Gorthaur.

Then Maedhros striding chasing beating
Sauron hiding fleeing retreating
Darklings creatures fearing quailing
Darkness clearing, evil failing.

In the face of Feanor's son, Maedhros the One-handed, Sauron and his minions fled the field, wailing away south-ward to the crumbling fortress of Dol Guldur, there to feed his ancient malice.

Another, much more pressing danger soon drew the attention of Maedhros' company, for Magnus had not been idle. Elured was suffering, caught in the clutches of the great Dragon. He was alone atop the highest parapet of the tower and with all his strength he called out for Elurin. They had never been separated and the terror that filled his mind made him easy prey for the machinations of the Dragon.

Below in the lower reaches of the tower, Elurin stumbled and nearly fell. He clutched the wall as he felt his brother's call. Nildadari was nearest to him and she when swiftly to his side. He looked at her with wonder, for he had never seen a female of his own kind before. She bore his scrutiny briefly, then asked him what was wrong. "It is my brother! The beast has taken him and he is frightened. We must save him!" The pleading lookin his eyes in addition to the fire that within him fueled the strength in her own heart.

"Maedhros, lord!" she called, her voice high and clear as it carried through the rooms nearby. After a moment, Maedhros came and stood with them, looking in earnest at his kinsman. Nildadari told him of Elured's plight and his eyes kindled to flame. Magnus had plagued him too long...it was time to destroy the Dragon, once and for all.

'Utúlie'n aurë, 'Auta i lómë!

The evil dragon rejoiced at the pain that he inflicted on Elúred, yet he would not kill him. The sheer pleasure that the dragon got from tormenting me with the twin is sickening.
There was a great uproar, the dragon flew down from the Tower and was waiting for us in the ground.

To many have died already. For how many deaths will I be held responsible? Elúred has only one chance for survival, the time has come to expunge my sins, my trial has come.

I remember .........
Maitimo, come on to meet your other grandfather, Mahtan.
Yes, mother I'm coming.
Oh, so this is my first grandson, and he has our hair too. Hello young Maitimo. I visited you often, but you were too young to remember me. I see that you have the inner fire of your father, yet you have the copper hair of your mother. My friends call me Rusco, young Maitimo. Because we share the same color of hair, I will call you Russandol.
Thanks, I think grandfather Mahtan.
I see that in the future young Maitimo, you will face great trials. Always remember, do not let your pride get the better of you. You will have great responsabilities ahead of you. In time, the fate of your house may rest on you my boy.
Father, don't tell Maitimo these things, he's too young for that.
No, he's not my dear Nerdanel. My grandson in time, will become someone of tremendous importance. Remember this well, Heru Maitimo Russandol.

After all this time, it seems that I had failed Mahtan. I still remember the pain of the Silmaril, all the vain things that I did in order to preserve my pride, my vanity. All the slayings and killings. We had returned to Middle-earth to battle Morgoth, not to become like him, and now I have been given an opportunity by Manwë.

Now......
We descended rapidly the dreadful tower of Sauron. There was the dragon, and Elúred in his grasp. There is only one chance to free him.
I turned towards my companions. Listen to me well. This is it. I will make the dragon release him, but after that you must all leave me alone with him. You must take the twins to Valinórë. You must not look back or remain here. I shall need all my strength of will to fight him and you would only hamper me. It is the twins that matter. My life has been forfeited long ago. I won't return to Valinórë, my fate lies elsewhere.
Eäritila can guide you. I want to thank you all for your help. It felt good to be on the right side this time. You must promise me that you will take the twins to safety. Please, this will not be a fight of swords, but of wills.
I marched toward Magnus, clenching my sword. And I yelled: Magnus, dragon of Morgoth, I, Heru Maitimo Russandol challenge you....
Oh, how the dragons have diminished over the years. The Great Magnus needs a hostage now. The great and terrible dragon needs and advantage. Pitiful. I challenge you, O worm of the Underworld, do you accept or do you yield!!!!!
'Utúlie'n aurë, 'Auta i lómë! (The day has come, the night is passing.)

P.S. Maitimo is Maedhros mother’s name. Russandol or copper top is an epessë given by his brothers and other kin, because of the color of his hair. Heru is quenya for Lord.

Radagast and Elurin were still on the ground, glaring at the dragon and waiting for it to move. Radagast sighed and held up a hand to warn Elurin. "Stay back. I shall try my best to save your brother now." Elurin nodded grudgingly but started to back off. Radagast flung his staff toward Elurin, who caught it, then he raised his arms over his head and stood spread-eagled. A black glow surrounded him as he shed his cloak. Uttering words of power, Radagast swiftly began to change into a form of awesome size and strength.

Maedhros gasped as he recognized the form that the wizard had taken. Radagast rose on giant and black and leathery wings. Magnus snarled and crouched low in amazement and confusion. That which he beheld was Ancalagon the Black, lord of all winged dragons and Magnus' sire. Vast was his form, easily twice the size of Magnus. His ears flattened back to his head and he roared in defiance. He flung the elf from him over the side of the tower. Maedhros dropped his sword and ran to catch the elf just in time. The others froze in fear and morbid fascination. The newly transformed Radagast launched himself at Magnus.

Magnus lunged at his sire, knowing that he almost certainly would die. The creature before him was huge and filled with more deadly cunning than any other creature of Morgoth's imaginings. Magnus' only hope lay in a fierce and swift attack. Being the smaller of the two he flew toward his sire, his jaws wide, roaring so loudly that the Elves and men below had to stop their ears.

He spouted fire and Ancalagon folded his wings and dove toward Magnus, seeking to finish him swiftly. The flames enveloped Ancalagon's head and he roared in pain, suddenly blinded. Magnus stooped and sank his claws deep into Ancalagon's back as he passed, then folded his wings adding his weight to that of Ancalagon. The ancient Dragon groaned beneath his weight and he fell toward the ground below. With a sickening thud, the two Dragons crashed and instantly Ancalagon writhed, rolling onto his back and sank his fangs deep into Magnus' neck.

Then commenced an enormous conflict, one which would live long in story and song, should any of the witnesses live to tell the tale, for in the throes of their mighty conflict, Ancalagon's tail lashed out and the tower began to collapse. As the vast structure shook, the Dragons rose and reared up on their hind legs, slashing and biting one another savagely, their tails lashed out and trees were flattened in a vast ring around the battleground. The earth was torn and gouts of blood rained down onto several of the watchers and they cowered in the dubious safety of the shuddering tower.

Moving deceptively slowly and panting a bit more heavily than was needed, Radagast backed off. He was mostly numb from his injuries, but his tail throbbed, and his eyes stung. Nevertheless, he gathered himself under the pretense of a newly discovered pain in his stomach and sprang. Magnus was quick enough to writhe free of a pin but grunted in pain and fury when Radagast, who hadn't been planning on a successful pin anyway, swept his feet out from under him with a stiff tail. The silver dragon slammed into the forest floor, jarring everyone. Radagast, frustrated by his bulk, belately streamed fire to keep Magnus down long enough for him to reorient himself and strike again. He caught a glimpse of fear laden with hate-filled eyes flashing towards him as Magnus made a treacherous lunge of his own. They both grunted and snarled as they weakened but whipped up debris as they reduced themselves to faster and more desperate slashes. Just before the dust cleared, the onlookers froze at the sound of a dragon's hopeless and agonized scream. The colossal form of Ancalagon breathed a sigh of relief as it directed an exhausted look at Elurin and the others, then slumped back. Elured looked on with concern from where he had been left atop a parapet. Magnus lay there, flattened and apparently dead, his claws splayed, his wings broken.

Earitila watched the dragon's duel with awe and wonder, for the like of this fight had never been seen before in all the lands of Arda. Fire and fury seared the sky, as the two great dragon fought and then crashed back upon the summit of the tower, and then at last lay still.

Silence hung in the air, as for a moment the world seemed to hold its breath. Was it really over? Magnus lay quite still, and Radagast slowly faded back to human form, but himself seemed utterly spent.

Maedhros and the others had sheltered in the doorway from which the stairs issued from below. Now, slowly and warily, they came forward, to look upon the fallen form of Magus. Earitila rushed towards Radagast. 'Lie still, noble Istar!' she said firmly. 'For you have conquered, but I perceive you are sorely hurt!' Her face was full of concern. Radagast made no answer but in his face there was both great hurt and satisfaction. Earitila knelt beside him, and began to tend his hurts. Drawing a knife, she cut strips of cloth from her cloak, to make bandages to staunch his wounds.

Maedhros came forward to, and he too knelt beside Radagast, opposite Earitila. The huge fallen form of Magnus lay behind him, ruined. Maedhros took the hand of Radagast, and spoke softly saying: 'For this deed there can be no thanks deep enough, for you have accomplished my deed for me, and through you my past crimes may finally be laid to rest. Never has a debt been greater, but rather would I have a debt of thanks, than a debts of grief and guilt.'

Behind them, the weary companions embraced each other, and began to sit about, stunned and weary but awash with happiness, triumph, delight and relief.

But the minds of dragons are full of cunning malice, even at the last. Magnus lay still, and his pain was great and he felt weak: weaker than a hatchling newly crept from the clutch of eggs in the far-off Withered Heath. But he was not yet dead, and the fire was yet hot within him. And he listened to the soft voices of the elves and men about him, and heard them congratulating themselves. 'I will yet rob you off your triumph, Maedhros!' he thought. 'There shall be no glorious return to the West for you!'

Slowly, he lifted the lid of a glittering eye, and fixed his gazed upon Maedhros who was sat not far away, back turned as he spoke to Radagast. Magnus drew a painful breath. 'Burn, elf-lord! Burn like a leaf in a fire-storm!' With a weary and final effort, he sent forth his flame.

But right at the last, Earitila looked over Maedhros's shoulder and saw the evil gleam in the dragon's eye. Immediately she sprang, and lo! she soared lightly over Radagast, and Maedhros too, and set herself between Maedhros and the fiery blast. Full in the chest she took that scorching burning flame, and was thrown back, her clothes and hair alight.

Turning Maedhros caught her n his arms as he turned in shock. But Earitila was burning horribly, and he was himself scorched and pained as swiftly he bore her to the ground and sought to smother the flames with his cloak. With a dark snort of malice, the dragon's last strength seemed to ebb away, and his mind passed into darkness. But Maedhros scarce heeded him, but instead drew back his cloak, to look upon the charred form of Earitila. And though blacked and burnt, he saw she was yet beautiful and her eyes were lit still as one who has dwelt long in the Blessed Realm.

And he wept, saying: 'Earitila, this should not have been! Ye who's vessel bore me hence to Middle Earth! Stay! Do not depart!'

But she smiled faintly, as though from far away. And she said: 'Farewell, Maedhros. I go now to Mandos, and though the pain is bitter, the news of my passing shall not be. Many days have passed since you came to me, and I knew that day that this quest would cost me my life. But... but I did not flinch from it for you are at heart noble and wise, and mighty amongst the Eldar. When I looked upon you, I saw it and I loved you. I lay down my life gladly, knowing it saved yours. Did I not swear to you that it would be so?'

And Maedhros shook his head. 'Nay! Do not say this. For this is an evil fate, and it robs my redemption of its sweetness. Too many of the Teleri have fallen by my will, and too many who are dear to me.' And the tears ran down his face freely.

Earitila reach with broken hand, and gently clasped his and for a long moment said nothing but summoned her last breath. She shut her eyes, and tried to bear the pain the wracked her body.

Then she looked up at him again, but his noble face seemed to be fading before her eyes. 'Do you not understand? The kinslaying lies heavily upon you, and would ever stand between my folk and yours. But here you shall know, that I, Earitila of the Teleri gave my life for yours gladly, as token of forgiveness from all my people. Ever it shall be a sorrow, but let me now take the bitterness from it. The anger must not last forever, and I know your remorse is true. What wrongs you could put right you have in rescuing these twain, and the rest is for the healing of time.' Her voice fell to a whisper. 'I go now to Mandos, and ... and I will tell my kin who wait in his shadowy halls that... that you are sorry. Mayhap now they may be rehoused.' Her eyes closed for the last time. 'Namárië Maedhros Arpenia! Ela! Avantien!'

"But here you shall know, that I, Eäritila of the Teleri gave my life for yours gladly, as token of forgiveness from all my people. . . Namárië Maedhros Arpenia! Ela! Avantien!"

I sat, frozen, holding the empty hroa that had housed one of the fairest maidens of the Teleri. Not like this. This was not the Elder Days, when the sacrifice of one of the wronged could bring reconciliation. The deed of Fingon could not be repeated. I looked down at Eäritila's charred face, and all thoughts fled. The dragon had done this, the cursed dragon! My sword unsheathed, I approached this foul remnant of a passed Age who dared still draw breath after slaying the first companion of my Quest. The dragon-fire which had done this danced at the edges of my vision as I raised my blade above his neck.

Fire. Rage. Ash.

I had known these many times in my long life. Through the blind wrath that was upon me, my mind grasped only one. My father, surrounded by the flames and whips of the Balrogs, fighting, hopelessly outnumbered and beyond our help, falling.

Flames.

The fire of his spirit had burned so brightly that his hroa had burned to ash when it departed to Mandos. As was the body of Eäritila because of this dragon, who was helpless before my sword.

My Father.

My hand faltered, and I became aware of something which had long fled my mind. The Oiosir. Before I was released from Mandos, my Father had charged me to find this jewel. Magnus had stolen it long ago, and taunted me with it during our first meeting in this Age.

Fire.

"An elf with fire in his eyes and one hand." So had the prophecy spoken of me. A grim smile came to my face. Peace between enemies. So read the scroll given me by the ancient dwarf. Magnus would have done well to keep it hidden from my sight. With peace I would take my revenge.

I sheathed my sword. The Oiosir was hidden beneath the defeated dragon, but its power of the gem was there. The words for a song of my father's devising, remembered and guarded by the dwarves through long ages, came to my lips. Mastery I sang of ; faithfulness, obedience. Service I required. Treachery I banned, and lying deceit.

The eyes of Magnus opened as the power of the Oiosir awoke in answer to my song. No pain was there in his gaze, no exhaustion. Fire. Only the flames of his hatred, as he felt the power of my song binding his will. Struggle though he might, the Oiosir, freely put on, allowed no dissent, the only escape the unthinkable. Peace between enemies. My revenge.

"You think to control me with some Elvish trinket I took for my own?" Magnus' voice was quiet but still full of his malice.
I had no wish to bandy words with the one who had killed Eäritila, and I knew that the dragon's wounds were at the least nearly mortal.
"This Elvish trinket would have little power, had you not taken it for your own. No more shall suffer because of your malice." Before Magnus could reply, exhaustion claimed him and he fell unconscious once more.

My body and will drained from the struggle with Sauron, the death of Eäritila and the binding power of the Oiosir, I slumped to the ground, silent. Let others think what they would.

What had I done? How could I be at peace with this dragon who had slain my companions?

Pain, ancient memories of slaughter and blood, visions of creatures so inferior to himself that they faded into howling nothingness. These were the potent, malignant ingredients that fueled the images swirling in the wounded dragon's mind. He could smell fear mixed with awe and loathing, like a thick, cloying perfume filling his nostrils and it slowly filled him with vigour. And the desire to kill.

His first attempt to get to his feet caused lightning bolts of agony to flash across his sight. His wings, what was wrong with his wings? Magnus' eyes seared with hatred for the wretched beings standing so foolishly near. He dare not attempt to harm them though, not in his present condition. Pride would never allow him to fall at the hand of such feeble things in any case. Better not to show further weakness. Better to discover how it had come to pass that he had seemingly fought his own sire...and apparently lost. Magnus became curious as to why he hadn't been eaten, as was custom, by the victor. Could it be that old Ancalagon had suffered a fatal wound himself?

Slowly rolling onto his belly, Magnus crossed his forelegs and glared down at the elf before him. "Where is the other, Elf? Why did he leave me alive, or you alive, for that matter? I see you have come to take my plaything from me." he said, referring to the stranded twin. "Alas, I have not yet finished with him yet. Shall I inform you when I have?" Amusement danced in his golden, serpent-like eyes as he watched the elf clench and unclench his fist around his swordgrip. Would the elf actually dare to attack him? More to the point, would he be able to defend himself against a blade that practically screamed out for blood? Magnus was unable to answer these questions, but he eagerly awaited the chance to find out.