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Fateful Circle	By : vorondis Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 1992 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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FATEFUL CIRCLE, by Vorondis

A tale of Fëanor's twins

Introduction: After reading some Elladan-Elrohir slash I remembered there's at least one other pair of Elvish twins in Tolkien. They, too deserve a story.

Disclaimer: this is based on J.R.R. Tolkien's works (S, HoME). Don't sue me. The rating is NC-17 with regard to Chapter 2, but the Prologue is rated R for violence. Beware! This is (tw)incest, it's weird, and it contains horror; please use the back button if you don't like this stuff. Tolkien would probably wish his unpublished manuscripts had burned with the ships at Losgar if he had known this. Maybe I will, too, some day. At the moment I can only say I'm new to this kind of thing, so I hope it's worth your while.

PROLOGUE

I remember it all vividly. Elves have the longest and liveliest memories, and to Elves turned evil, like me, that is nothing less than a curse.

When our father ordered the attack on the Telerin mariners, we followed his example, as we did when he swore his Oath. It seemed justified at the moment: by refusing us their swanships they hindered our revenge and thwarted our attempts to recover my father's stolen Silmarils. In a way, the Oath applied to them, or so I told myself when I drew my sword and slashed at the Telerin Elf who tried to push me from the quay into the water. It was pure self-defence: I might have drowned there, heavy as my armour was. My opponent wore nothing to protect him, and if my stroke didn't kill him he must have bled to death; he toppled slowly, while his chest swiftly turned dark.

The next two mariners I felled were merely standing in the way, and I don't remember the r for for by then the smell of the sea mixed with that of blood and I went mad like a beast after his first taste of prey. We all went mad, my father, my six brothers and also Findekáno, Nolofinwë's son (1), who, came to our aid without asking who started the fight.

Afterwards, Olwë's white harbour was stained with red, even the great arch spanning the entrance. And so were we: covered in gore, sticky, crusts of dried blood on our hands, our faces, our clothes and coats of mail. But we wasted no time to clean ourselves: swiftly we manned the ships, the sails unfurled, and we set a course along the cost to the far north where the Great Sea is at its narrowest. The smell of blood remained thick in my nostrils, mingling ever more with the salt tang of the sea when it grew furious.

For the tears of Uinen (2) turned against us and we were lifted up to crash down into the dark valleys between the wrathful waves. Froth flew about us, the wind tore at us, billows swept across our decks in the shape of terrifying monsters, and we prepared to go down. Many drowned then, for several of the swanships were wrecked in that dreadful storm, but my father Fëanor survived and so did my brothers and I, though the vessel that carried me and my twin brother was small.

When the fury of the storm abated we sailed on through calmer waters, along the coast, until we reached the borders of the wasteland of Araman. There it was, that the Doom of the Noldor was pronounced on us for the slaying of Elf by Elf, and the Prophecy of Mandos chilled many hearts, among them that of my twin and mine. 'This is bad, Ambarussa, my brother,' he muttered when the echo of Mandos' voice ebbed away, his eyes clouded with shame and concern. He had been the least eager to leave, the one our mother would have kept with her if our father had not rejected her plea, saying she was neither a true wife nor a true mother, since she wouldn't come along with him and her sons.

At that, she told him he would not keep all of us. None of us knew what this portended then and my father defied her words, but a shadow fell on my heart when my brother spoke, and I nodded. Our father Fëanáro, though, remained unabashed and predicting great and glorious deeds for the brave and hardy he told the craven go home.

Some of the Noldor went back, among them my father's youngest brother. But the rest pressed on, until at last we came to the narrow strait near the Grinding Ice, a cold and misty region. Everone froze, everyone began to feel miserable, and murmurings arose. Sensing that before long, a majority of the Noldor might curse him for what began to look like the greatest misadventure of their long lives, my father devised a cunning plan. As soon as a favourable wind sprang up he secretly manned the Telerin vessels, chosing only those who had willingly fought for him on the quays of Alqualondë, for the number of ships was too few to carry the entire host across.

We departed suddenly and treacherously, and we crossed southeast to the lands of Endor, doom following in our wake.

To be continued

(1)Fingon, son of Fingolfin. The names in this story are rendered in Quenya.

(2)Maia, Lady of the Waves
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