My Home is Where You Are: A Maedhros/OC Fanfiction

Part 1- Prologue

Her hair is like the golden sunshine of Arien that warms the earth, just as it has been on the day I first laid eyes on her. Her face makes me forget that in this day and age, these lands are a terrible place to be. She is the light of Valinor amid the intangible misery and rage that hover above  the grounds of Middle-earth like fog.

I am thankful she outshines the shades of wispy blacks and greys-- at least that is the relieving sight my eyes grant me. But the temporary pleasantness does not last long. With her presence comes the concerns of her own well-being, something I have not needed to worry about until now.

I make an attempt to form the right words to say, yet I only succeed in communicating with my mind. Lilótëa, why do you stand before me? The sound of my unspoken voice produces an eerie, bouncing echo. The whole atmosphere seems surreal... I cannot even comprehend where we stand. Could it be Anfauglith under night? Or had Morgoth's forces destroyed the beauty of yet more Elven territory and their creations?

My heart calls to you, Nelyo, she answers in her soft tone that I so missed hearing. Valinor is lonely, despite the small company of family and friends. Every day, my fear has reminded me that the worst could befall you at any time. Lilótëa clasps the stub of where my right hand once was attached so securely, we could not foresee she'd lose a hand to hold. Please, let me fight alongside you. I've lost my sister to Mandos already. She has been reborn, but because of your deeds, you may not be so lucky. Nelyo, I cannot bear our separation any longer, much less another age!

I shake my head, the agitation rising ever higher in my gut. No, you must go. You deserve so much more than this, Lilótëa. Valinor is your home. I lay my good hand on top of hers. Leave this place, sweet maiden. You know Middle-earth has long been infested by the spawn of Morgoth. All I ask of you is this: take your chance and escape his malevolent shadow, before it looks to you and preys on your precious light, extinguishing it entirely.

Tears well up in her sky-blue eyes, and I want to give her all the love I have left in my soul. But instead, I simply accept her embrace and breathe in the scent of her sweet-smelling hair while I can. After I regretfully pull away, her tense hands refuse to stop clinging onto my arms. She then decides to make her true voice heard. It is laced with sorrow and displays clear evidence of her anxieties. "Nelyo, I've come so far. How can I leave you already?"

"Lilótëa, I am not the man you fell in love with!" I nearly choke on my own words, for I loathe to admit the ugly truth. "The man you see before you is a murderous kinslayer, forbidden to return to his homeland! As much as I love you, I have failed to be worthy of you. Are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for me, the eldest of seven brothers who slaughtered their own kin not once, but twice? We walk in our father's path that he could not continue. And on our way of hunting down the Silmarils, we've had no choice but to spill more blood; the Oath binds us still."

Her bottom lip quivers, and the words she was about to utter is interrupted. A pack of Orcs, numbered at about thirteen, emerged out of seemingly thin air. I react fast and unsheathe my sword, facing them with a deadly fury in my eyes.

The blade beheaded my first opponent before he could swing his axe, but three others replace it. My legs dance in the natural gracefulness of the First Children, contrasting to the Orcs' reckless charging as they pay no heed to my tactical movements— only the target they intend to kill.

"Run!" I call to Lilótëa.

I steal a glance behind my shoulder and hope to see her back towards me, fleeing the scene and returning to safety. But she remains. Lilótëa points a spear— which she must've had behind her back— towards the Orcs who are not in combat with me. She succeeds in impaling one of the foul creatures with her weapon, but that only fueled the Orcs' anger. They now charge for her, like feral horses with a dark purpose on a battlefield. Two seize her arms, and a third savagely jerks her head back, almost to the breaking point of the neck.

"Let the She-Elf bleed!" the third Orc spits. His axe lifts above her tilted, exposed neck.

When I hear her final cry, it shatters my world. In quick follow up of her death, I feel the heavy impact of an axe embedding itself in my shoulder, drawing blood, but it matters not. I scream her name over and over again, my lungs losing all the air within them. I can not rest even as my raw throat begins to taste of iron and crimson red trickles from my lips...

* * *

When I am finally relieved of the horrible imaginings, my forehead is slick with sweat. I lie in bed, my breathing rapid as if I had just fought a battle. Looking around at the familiar surroundings of my tent, I give a shaky sigh of relief.

But should I be relieved it was only a dream? Dreams may hold a sign of truth for the future...

I get up and splash my face from the fresh water in my basin, then clasp on my cloak. After walking out of the tent, fresh air soothes my body to an extent. The sight of the night stars above Ossiriand begin to work its magic of vanquishing the haunting images that flashed through my dream.

As for Lilótëa... I do not want the image of her to wither away like fallen summer leaves abandoned to the abuse of autumn's winds. So, I take a moment to remember her, and the times we shared in Valinor. Since no one is awake to see me weep, I allow myself to openly release the unexpected sadness that has been gradually building in my eyes.

I hate to imagine any part of her body damaged and bloodied by the hands of our true enemies. I can only hope she continues to keep her distance from this woe that the Dark Lord has unleashed upon the creatures of Middle-earth.

And hope that she stays better off than some of us here. The reality of Findekáno's recent death fully sinks into me for the first time. These tears are shed also for him, my friend and cousin. It is during moments like this when I truly despise the Doom of Mandos. I cannot even return to the land where we all lived during happier days, before my brothers and I swore the Oath that became the centre importance of our life.