Summary: After being captured by Angband a second time, Maedhros is offered a place in Morgoth’s army…
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence, Major Character Deaths
Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon, Morgoth/Sauron
Additional tags: Lieutenant of Angband, Angst, Psychological Torture, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Implied Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Implied Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, Poor Maedhros, Spoilers for The Silmarillion, silmarils referenced, AU, Russingon, angbang, Angband, Oath of Fëanor, sons of Feanor - Freeform, Maedhros - Freeform
Read and download on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525327/chapters/53824369
Chapter 1: Breathing Again
Note: This is a short pilot chapter. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated!!! :)
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It was strange to move. It was strange to feel his body again; the way it could run, jump, lift up a sword. The way his hand could hold it.
This hand was a wonder. They had brought it to him that morning, in a smooth black box. The metal prosthetic had fit perfectly in the space where his old hand had been. Maedhros had felt his fingers for the first time in a while, had felt the coldness of the water as he had plunged his hand into the basin in his room.
They had kept his sword, too. The Elf had been able to swing it, cut the air. Using his right arm felt more natural, thankfully. He had been terrified that he would have forgotten how to use it.
Maedhros fenced on his own in the courtyard, getting used to moving his legs again. At every footstep, he felt himself grow bolder, stronger, and the shadow of his bonds faded away little by little, like a bad dream he was slowly learning how to forget.
The Elf was restless, thankful for this freedom, for the capability of his body. Yet, the open-air did not mean liberty. They did not let him cross the gates of the courtyard, afraid that he might not come back. Of course, there were guards who would not let him leave, but Maedhros was known for being clever and full of resources.
The air was cool that October afternoon. The wind against the skin of his face, whipping through his hair… That was close to a new feeling for him, after months of being trapped in a humid and suffocating dungeon. The Sun, blessed sight, was already low behind the mountains. How long had it been since Maedhros had seen the Sun, the stars? The sky could not be seen from his jail and he had missed it, even the dull grey clouds of rainy days.
And Manwë knows how much he hates rainy days.
The rain made his hair frizz up and they became impossible to brush, let alone braid. That always got Fingon upset. Braiding Maedhros’ hair was his favourite activity. They sat on the rug in his quarters, facing the crackling fire in the hearth. Maedhros was cross-legged, shoulders relaxed so Fingon, sitting on his heels behind the red-head, could reach the top of his head. After meticulously brushing each and every strand of rebellious hair, Findekàno dug his hands into the soft red curls, his fingers grazing over the back of Maitimo’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. He collected the loose strands from the older Elf’s forehead, tucked them behind his ear, brushing against his cheeks…
A moment’s inattention and Maedhros’ foot got caught in a crack in the stone floor. He staggered forward, dropping his sword and barely managing to catch himself by stumbling against the wall. The Elf regained his balance, flustered, and glanced around. Hopefully, no one will have seen this blatant show of weakness.
He looked up at the tower behind him. It was familiar to him, already, in an unsettling sort of way. Many Kings had seen it from up close. Not from his line, of course: his father would have probably blown-up the place if he had ever gotten as far as the gates. And his brothers were all cowards, they would never dare approach it. Maedhros’ throat tightened. The only ones who had gotten this close were dead or lost to him forever…
Candles had been lit at a window a few feet above him. He did not know what room this was but it made him uneasy. He felt watched, judged as if this was not his place. And it most likely wasn’t. He had nothing to do here, really. But he had not been given the choice, at least not really, and no matter what the choice he had made brought, it would be better than any of the alternatives.
Then, a shadow stirred at the window and Maedhros shuddered. He picked up his sword from the ground and made his way back inside, heart racing.
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