I Resist the Muses

Let's face it, no-one is going to mistake me for someone else. I'm the second-tallest Noldor in history (only Cirdan beat me), I have fiery rich auburn hair, and one hand. I take after my grandfather Mahtan in appearance (though he was shorter and did not have my temper), and the twins Ambarussa also have red hair though theirs is a little paler in shade than mine.

( There was a time though, when the tables were turned and I had someone else's identity mistaken. )
Character: Maedhros
Fandom: The Silmarillion

Fire and ice. Hot metal and burned flesh. The shame of violation. The flash of steel. Pain. Blood. A lost hand.

Always Thangorodrim, in my nightmares. Four years of captivity and torture, maybe five. Not long out of three thousand, but the scars it left were deep and do not heal.

Forgive me but I do not want to talk about this any more than I have to. I do not wish to stir those memories and dream again tonight.

Character: Maedhros
Fandom: Silmarillion

A superstition is defined as the belief that events are influenced by specific behaviour without having a direct causal effect.

So, no.

All the bad luck I've had in my life has been entirely caused by my own foolish actions. Cause and effect is as plain as can be. Ignoring a direct warning from ones own gods; "Hey guys, you better stop this or it's going to get REALLY bad," is not generally a good idea.

Character: Maedhros
Fandom: Silmarillion

Living in poverty in Beleriand, we had to cook for ourselves, whatever game we could find and gather from the surrounding countryside, and cook over a campfire. My younger brothers are better at trapping game than I am, but I became quite adept in the one-handed skinning and gutting of rabbits and waterfowl.

Now I live in the modern age, and food is more easily (though not so freely) gathered, though I find a few hundred years of campfire-roasted game was enough to put me off eating meat for an eternity. Cooking, though, has become one of the most complicated and strange things that I've encountered since I've been here. Instead of just lighting a fire, and turning the meat on a spit over it, there's packets and instructions, cooking times and oven temperatures, microwaves, electric steamers, toasters, food processors. They put food into packages like tins, that need more gadgets just to open them. I swear to Eru, the Edain(humans) are just crazy.

I have too little patience and not enough hands for fancy cooking. I go for minimum preparation for practical reasons; give me a sharp knife I can slay an orc but in the kitchen I'm clumsy enough that I'd probably end up accidentally cutting off my other hand. I see no point going to the trouble of, say, making a cheese sandwich, when I may as well eat a chunk of cheese and another chunk of bread. It's the same food, whether it's cut up or just bitten off. Why bother slicing and boiling carrots when they're just as easily eaten whole and raw?

So, yes. Unless someone cooks for me, I tend to live mainly on bread, cheese, raw vegetables, chocolate, coffee and takeaway dinners.

Character: Maedhros
Fandom: The Silmarillion

(How did I miss this?)

Now this is not an easy question to answer. There are so many things I want, and not so many of them are material things, not many of them are even possible. I think what I want the most, is simply that things had been different. If Morgoth had never existed, then the Trees would not have been destroyed, nor my grandfather murdered, nor the Silmarils stolen. There would have been no Oath, no exile to Beleriand, no Kinslayings. I would still be living in Valinor with the rest of my family, my father and brothers and cousins still alive.

And Findekano.

I want him back, most of all. My brothers too, (yes even grumpy Moryofinwe, who didn't like anybody), but what I want the most is to have my cousin back; to have once again the happiness we shared in those long, warm summers in the hills of Himring.

Character: Maedhros
Fandom: Silmarillion
Wordcount: 150

...*long pause*...

Actually, I think my life now is as easy as it's ever been. I no longer have any oath to worry about, there are no Silmarils, no father making my life difficult, no war, no fear of death or starvation, no Morgoth, no orcs, no responsibility to defend my country.

Now I live in a world where my most pressing concerns are getting my rent paid on time, and the discomfort of having to walk to the supermarket in the rain.

Actually my life would be easier if I had two hands. Curse Namo for sending me back to the Seventh age with only one. I suppose he thought it was funny. An artificial hand would be useful, if I could afford one, and if I had the patience to really learn how to use it properly. At least then I'd be able to open jars and tie shoelaces.

Character: Maedhros
Fandom: The Silmarillion

For a long time, a very long time, I did not laugh. I even believed that I was no longer capable of laughter. After Findekano's death, I wept often. Occasionally I could be coaxed to smile, but I never laughed.

Now, here in modern Arda, I am reborn and I am once again accustomed to his absence. Once again, for a very long time, I did not laugh.

And then I met a stranger in the bar of this hotel, and something unexpected happened. He made me smile. He made me laugh. He has a sharp, dark wit and a wicked sense of humour, which can make me laugh without fail. I find myself thinking about him constantly when he's not here, and when he is here, I am relaxed, happy, and comfortable in his company. And the sex, of course, is wonderful, but laughing during sex (no matter how happy he makes me feel) is rather rude.

Yes, it seems that this grouchy old elf has actually fallen in love again.

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(in my apartment)

Grey was not here when I woke up on Sunday morning. I half expected him not to be but still it was a disappointment to find an empty and already-cold space in the bed. I got up, found his scarf on the floor, the one he'd been wearing around his hair the previous day. I picked it up. It was silvery-grey in colour (how appropriate, I thought), threaded through with metallic blue and purple threads that matched his braids, and glistened in the light. Smiling, I draped the scarf around my neck, pulled on a pair of boxers, and went barefoot into the kitchen.

I put a saucepan on the cooker, poured in a generous mugful of milk, added a spoonful of sugar. In one of the kitchen cupboards is my stash of chocolate: I pulled out a bar of Green and Black's organic dark, and broke it into pieces in the milk, and stirred it while I waited for it to boil and melt. When it was ready I poured it into a large mug and sat curled up on the couch, drinking it slowly, savouring every milky, chocolatey drop.

I thought of Grey, and my blues melted away.

OOC Comments welcome

I lost many things, too many things, in the years following our exile to Beleriand. My right hand. My father, my beloved cousin. My brothers, all but one. All of these I've regretted but time and fortune has dulled the sorrow. I never really missed my hand, after the first few years, as I learned to adapt to having just one. Fate has favoured me and I am now reunited with some of my brothers. Fate also favours me in choosing not to reunite me with my father.

The death of Findekano at the Nirnaeth was the loss that hurt me the most deeply, the most intensely; far more painful than the sundering of flesh and bone. And yet despite that pain, it was not the greatest loss, not the one that shaped me the most. Any elf may be reborn and returned, but there's one thing that can never be returned. Something I lost so gradually and so subtly that I never even noticed it slipping away from me. My innocence.

Before the exile, before the oath, before the Silmarils, we were innocent. We dwelt in paradise, we knew nothing of war or death or hatred. But as time went by, I lost my innocence piece by piece, a little at a time, so I never really understood how it had changed me until it was too late.

Yes. Innocence. That is my greatest loss.

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*pause, then hysterical laughter*

You guys are making up these questions just for me, aren't you?

My brother Macalaure used to call me Airaumo, the Red Storm, because that's what I'm like when I lose my temper. When the Red Storm hits, you'd better be indoors with doors and windows locked, because as storms go it's a violent one. Luckily though, it tends to blow over quickly, it's a short-lived storm, and there remains afterwards only the task of repairing the house. (I have been known to slam doors so hard they fall off their hinges, but I argue that the hinges must have been weak to begin with).

What makes me lose my temper? Lots of things, although I've noticed that I lose my temper less often when Findekano is not around; a lot of it was down to arguing with him and losing my temper with him. I lost my temper with him the last time I saw him before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, we parted with angry words between us and five days later he was slain on the battlefield.

Most of the time it's stupid people that make me lose my temper. If, in a battle situation, someone fails to correctly follow orders, they put other lives at risk, and THAT gets me angry. Also people who commit acts of evil out of pure spite or exercise of power. I have killed for my temper. I have killed in the heat of war, I have killed in cold blood, but I have never deliberately taken the lives of the weak or the helpless. Children. I once killed Turkofinwe's chief lieutenant on the spot where he stood, for the deliberate murder of two small children.

The Sindarin made me angry, often. They seemed to particularly enjoy annoying the sons of Feanaro, at the encouragement of their king (who was technically my great-uncle, but held no loyalty of blood to his kin). All the bloodshed and war could have been simply averted if only he had ordered the Silmarils given back to us, to whom they belonged.

[private]I still lose my temper when there's something I want to do that I'm unable to do with only one hand. I've lost count of the times I've hurled jars and bottles at the kitchen wall, because I couldn't open them.[/private]

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My greatest fear?

I've faced Morgoth, the most evil of all the Valar. I've been chained on a mountain to die. I've fought more battles than I can count. I've killed for vengeance, for an oath, for greed. I've killed to stay alive. I've endured poverty and near-starvation. I've fought balrogs and dragons, and all the fell beasts that ever spewed forth from Angband. I've seen the destruction of Beleriand itself and, out of sheer madness, hurled myself into a chasm of fire. I don't think there's anything left for me to be afraid of.

I think what drove me the most though, through all of that, was that I was afraid to fail. I swore an oath, made a promise, and the consequences of failing to uphold that oath were so terrible I could not even comprehend the possibility of failure. When my father was alive I could not bear for him to see me as a failure (although I think he always did, right from the start). After he was gone, I could not bear to be a failure in the eyes of the Valar, or in my own eyes. And even now, so long after, I still have that trait. Failure is never an option.

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When I was first reborn here, in the 21st century, the first people I met and became friends with were rock fans, so naturally I got early exposure to this thing they call rock music, and heavy metal, and I found that I liked it. It's loud and full of energy, and serves well to distract me when I need to be distracted. Of course Findekano hated it. His tastes are much more cultured; he likes classical music (though I would argue that some classical music, like Wagner and Mozart, was regarded as it's own culture's "heavy metal" once upon a time).

There's a song by a band called Linkin Park, called "Easier to Run", and the lyrics of that song could have been written for me.

If I could change, I would
Take back the pain, I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made, I would
If I could stand up and take the blame, I would
I would take all my shame to the grave.

Why? The why is right there in the lyrics. If I could, I would.

On a very slightly related note, I've been told more than once that I'm a double for Axl Rose. And, you know, they're right.

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It is in the nature of Quendi that we love only once, and eternally. It's said, and I truly believe it, that those we are bonded to in love are chosen long before we are even born, and that by falling in love we are merely answering to that predestiny. Once bonded, that bond is unbreakable, and it will endure for all eternity, even after rebirth.

Once an elf has found his true love, he will never find another.

Sometimes, the bond of love is found in unexpected places. As a child, I was sure of one thing; that I would fall in love with a beautiful elven maiden, marry her, and eventually succeed my father as king, and she would be queen by my side. It never occurred to me that the one to whom I was to be bonded would be my own cousin, a male cousin. The Noldor of the First Age believed such a union to be perverted and monstrous. My answer to that is, that if our bond was chosen by the Valar themselves, then clearly they did not disapprove.

The trouble with an unbreakable bond is that you can't break it even if you want to.

The one to whom I am bonded is gone, and I do not know if I shall ever see him again. Perhaps not, in this lifetime, until we are reborn again. But the strength of our love is that I may never forget, and may never love another in his place.

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If I were to sit here and talk about my family, and what they all mean to me, then Arda itself would grow old and fade before I had finished.

( I shall try to be brief )

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My name is Nelyafinwe Maitimo, I am the eldest of the seven sons of Curufin Feanaro who was the second King of the Noldor during the First Age of Middle Earth. I was better known to those outside my family as Maedhros the Tall, or simply as the Kinslayer, depending on whose side you're on. I simply prefer the name my brothers called me, Russandol, which means "copper top", on account of my red hair. You may have heard of Galadriel? She was my youngest cousin. And Elrond was my foster-nephew/son, but that is complicated, and a story for another occasion.

My life story, as written by Tolkien, was a catalogue of battle, slaughter and catastrophe spanning over 500 years, beginning when...

( ...Wait a second... )