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camwynBecause, y'know, I just wasn't sure enough that I was doomed already. This is a rough draft and has not been proof-read or beta-read by anyone other than myself. You have been warned.
Edited to change the number of parts. It ran on a little longer than I thought.
Evidence
Part 1 of 3
"And the two Silmarils which remained to Morgoth were taken from his crown, and they shone unsullied beneath the sky; and Eönwë took them, and guarded them… But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfillment of their oath … And they disguised themselves, and came in the night to the camp of Eönwë, and crept into the place where the Silmarils were guarded…."
- Quenta Silmarillion, "Of The Voyage of Eärendil"
"They're not here," said Maglor.
"What?"
"I said they're not here."
"That's impossible." Maedhros reached up to brush his hair back, having ripped off his stolen helmet the instant they'd passed into shadow. "They have to be here."
"I'm telling you, Maedhros, they're not here." Maglor almost slammed the lid of the casket in which they'd last seen the gems of their father Fëanör, but thought the better of it at the last moment. "Neither of them."
"Maybe they've been hidden?"
Maglor gave his brother a disgusted look. "They're Silmarils. There's one in the sky and we can still see its light."
"All right, maybe they buried them?" Maedhros glanced around the tent hurriedly, taking up his sword again in his left hand.
"Don't be an ass, Maedhros."
"Look, I'm not the one saying they're not here. You can't see them and I can't see them, so what option does that leave? Either they're buried or-"
"Or someone else has them," Maglor said, the old, familiar, dreadful weariness settling over him. "Eönwë probably has them with him-"
"-And set this place up as a trap," finished Maedhros, fingers gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles blenched. "I should've known- Maglor, we have to get out of here!"
His brother nodded, setting the casket down hastily and slipping to the far side of the tent. There Maglor peered through a gap in the fabric, and swore.
"How many?" asked Maedhros tensely, twitching a bit of fabric aside himself.
"Ten, but they're only wearing ceremonial armour."
"Five on my side." He closed his eyes, loosening his sword in his sheath.
"Maedhros?" asked his brother's voice.
"Hm?"
"What do you think Father will say, when we meet him at last in the Halls?"
He would've liked to answer, but the words failed to come. At last, he only shook his head.
"That's what I thought," said Maglor sadly. "Ready?"
"Ready," Maedhros said, and they burst forth, swords in hand.
The guards were there right enough, encircling the tent, careless as if nothing had happened. The brothers' clamour caused several of the Vanyarin warriors to turn and draw weapons-
"Hold!" cried the voice of Eönwë, mightiest of Maiar. "Hold, I say!"
To the brothers' surprise, the guards halted. Eönwë strode forward, one hand up, palm out.
"Stay where you are," growled Maedhros, sword at the ready. "Or, Manwë's Herald or no, we will hew you down-"
"There will be no talk of hewing or standing this day," answered Eönwë.
Maglor's lips thinned; he sank back on his heels, eyeing the line of guards on either side of the herald.
"Hear me now," were Eönwë's words, "for I will ask this question of you once only."
Maedhros gave a dry, bitter laugh.
Eönwë's eyes narrowed; he drew himself up to his full height, splendid and terrible. He looked down upon the brothers then, and in a voice as dreadful as thunder he demanded, "Where are the Silmarils?"
Maedhros blinked.
"You have heard me! The Jewels- where are they?"
At his elbow, Maglor coughed. "Come again?" he said weakly.
"What have you done with them?"
"Ah- we. . . rather thought you had them, actually." Maglor actually attempted a smile- a feeble one, but a smile nonetheless.
"I certainly don't! If I did, do you think I'd be asking you about them?"
"Look, we just got here! Do we look like we've got the wretched things?"
"They're not in MY possession, son of Fëanör! Melkor's still in chains and won't be getting out any Age soon. That leaves- let's see- you!"
Maedhros snorted. "If we had our father's jewels," he said, "do you think we'd even still be here?"
"He's right, you know," said a new voice- low, raspy, harsh. "Dunno about you, but if I were sneaking into a place like this to steal the prize of the longest war in the history of the world, I sure wouldn't hang about after. Not exactly practical thinking, that."
Slowly, as if tugged by an irresistible force, the heads of all three disputants turned.
The speaker emerged from the shadows that lay about the camp. He was clad in mail, and bore a sword; but there his resemblance to any of the warriors about him ended. If his armour were of mithril, Maedhros would, personally, cut off his remaining hand and eat it. Steel, maybe. Battered breastplate, mismatched greaves, mail shirt patched and held together with rings of at least three different sizes. His helmet was shoved back from his face-
"Here," whispered Maglor out one side of his mouth, "isn't that a Man? And not one of the Edain, either."
It had to be. No Eldar, no matter what Kindred, could ever look so thoroughly… off. Oh, he had the dark hair, he had the eye colour, but even the most woefully lost of Moriquendi bore up under the weight of years better than this. From the greying at the temples to the scraggly stubble that ranged across much of his face, to the lines at the corners of his eyes, every last thing about him screamed 'mortal!'. He grinned at the watchers, a rolled-up stump of some kind of leaf clenched firmly in his teeth despite being afire at one end. "Why is it," he said to no one in particular, "that no one ever thinks these things through, eh? Answer me that."
Eönwë's lips pressed together, and his eyes rolled heavenward. "Good evening, Vimes," he said with weary formality.
Edited to change the number of parts. It ran on a little longer than I thought.
Evidence
Part 1 of 3
"And the two Silmarils which remained to Morgoth were taken from his crown, and they shone unsullied beneath the sky; and Eönwë took them, and guarded them… But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfillment of their oath … And they disguised themselves, and came in the night to the camp of Eönwë, and crept into the place where the Silmarils were guarded…."
- Quenta Silmarillion, "Of The Voyage of Eärendil"
"They're not here," said Maglor.
"What?"
"I said they're not here."
"That's impossible." Maedhros reached up to brush his hair back, having ripped off his stolen helmet the instant they'd passed into shadow. "They have to be here."
"I'm telling you, Maedhros, they're not here." Maglor almost slammed the lid of the casket in which they'd last seen the gems of their father Fëanör, but thought the better of it at the last moment. "Neither of them."
"Maybe they've been hidden?"
Maglor gave his brother a disgusted look. "They're Silmarils. There's one in the sky and we can still see its light."
"All right, maybe they buried them?" Maedhros glanced around the tent hurriedly, taking up his sword again in his left hand.
"Don't be an ass, Maedhros."
"Look, I'm not the one saying they're not here. You can't see them and I can't see them, so what option does that leave? Either they're buried or-"
"Or someone else has them," Maglor said, the old, familiar, dreadful weariness settling over him. "Eönwë probably has them with him-"
"-And set this place up as a trap," finished Maedhros, fingers gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles blenched. "I should've known- Maglor, we have to get out of here!"
His brother nodded, setting the casket down hastily and slipping to the far side of the tent. There Maglor peered through a gap in the fabric, and swore.
"How many?" asked Maedhros tensely, twitching a bit of fabric aside himself.
"Ten, but they're only wearing ceremonial armour."
"Five on my side." He closed his eyes, loosening his sword in his sheath.
"Maedhros?" asked his brother's voice.
"Hm?"
"What do you think Father will say, when we meet him at last in the Halls?"
He would've liked to answer, but the words failed to come. At last, he only shook his head.
"That's what I thought," said Maglor sadly. "Ready?"
"Ready," Maedhros said, and they burst forth, swords in hand.
The guards were there right enough, encircling the tent, careless as if nothing had happened. The brothers' clamour caused several of the Vanyarin warriors to turn and draw weapons-
"Hold!" cried the voice of Eönwë, mightiest of Maiar. "Hold, I say!"
To the brothers' surprise, the guards halted. Eönwë strode forward, one hand up, palm out.
"Stay where you are," growled Maedhros, sword at the ready. "Or, Manwë's Herald or no, we will hew you down-"
"There will be no talk of hewing or standing this day," answered Eönwë.
Maglor's lips thinned; he sank back on his heels, eyeing the line of guards on either side of the herald.
"Hear me now," were Eönwë's words, "for I will ask this question of you once only."
Maedhros gave a dry, bitter laugh.
Eönwë's eyes narrowed; he drew himself up to his full height, splendid and terrible. He looked down upon the brothers then, and in a voice as dreadful as thunder he demanded, "Where are the Silmarils?"
Maedhros blinked.
"You have heard me! The Jewels- where are they?"
At his elbow, Maglor coughed. "Come again?" he said weakly.
"What have you done with them?"
"Ah- we. . . rather thought you had them, actually." Maglor actually attempted a smile- a feeble one, but a smile nonetheless.
"I certainly don't! If I did, do you think I'd be asking you about them?"
"Look, we just got here! Do we look like we've got the wretched things?"
"They're not in MY possession, son of Fëanör! Melkor's still in chains and won't be getting out any Age soon. That leaves- let's see- you!"
Maedhros snorted. "If we had our father's jewels," he said, "do you think we'd even still be here?"
"He's right, you know," said a new voice- low, raspy, harsh. "Dunno about you, but if I were sneaking into a place like this to steal the prize of the longest war in the history of the world, I sure wouldn't hang about after. Not exactly practical thinking, that."
Slowly, as if tugged by an irresistible force, the heads of all three disputants turned.
The speaker emerged from the shadows that lay about the camp. He was clad in mail, and bore a sword; but there his resemblance to any of the warriors about him ended. If his armour were of mithril, Maedhros would, personally, cut off his remaining hand and eat it. Steel, maybe. Battered breastplate, mismatched greaves, mail shirt patched and held together with rings of at least three different sizes. His helmet was shoved back from his face-
"Here," whispered Maglor out one side of his mouth, "isn't that a Man? And not one of the Edain, either."
It had to be. No Eldar, no matter what Kindred, could ever look so thoroughly… off. Oh, he had the dark hair, he had the eye colour, but even the most woefully lost of Moriquendi bore up under the weight of years better than this. From the greying at the temples to the scraggly stubble that ranged across much of his face, to the lines at the corners of his eyes, every last thing about him screamed 'mortal!'. He grinned at the watchers, a rolled-up stump of some kind of leaf clenched firmly in his teeth despite being afire at one end. "Why is it," he said to no one in particular, "that no one ever thinks these things through, eh? Answer me that."
Eönwë's lips pressed together, and his eyes rolled heavenward. "Good evening, Vimes," he said with weary formality.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-03 08:46 pm (UTC)hey, you edited before I got to ask my question about who really said the first line - yer quick.:)
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Date: 2004-05-03 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-03 09:25 pm (UTC)(Note to self--get Vimes icon.)
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Date: 2004-05-04 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 04:55 am (UTC)*bows down*
Date: 2004-05-04 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 04:57 am (UTC)*big face splitting grin*
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Date: 2004-05-04 05:12 am (UTC)I love it! I love the bit about "What do you think Father will say"...well, actually, I love all of it. And the bit about the cigar especially too.
Is there going to be more of it? It's a wonderful combination...
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 05:43 am (UTC)That'll teach me to pay attention. Ahem. I blame late nights. And video games. And whatever else it's trendy to blame these days.
Just read the other bits...sodding brilliant.
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Date: 2004-05-04 06:33 am (UTC)You thoroughly rock, did you know that?
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Date: 2004-05-04 08:17 am (UTC)...oh ho. So that's how Old Toby came by the leaf.
I expect Lu-Tze and his people are involved.
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Date: 2004-05-04 11:32 am (UTC)*cackle*
Date: 2004-05-04 11:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 12:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 01:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 01:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 06:15 pm (UTC)*gigglegigglegiggle*
*hearts you*