When Sauron Sang Softly and Sweet (Part One) by Zhie

[zhie.livejournal.com]

When Sauron Sang Softly and Sweet (Part One)


B2MeM Challenge:

B1
Aredhel/Celegorm
Maedhros/Fingon

B7
Feanor/Nerdanel

N32
calm
Feanor wasn’t nuts (just misunderstood)

N36
green

N38
loss of friendship

Format:Part one of..? Chaptered tale
Genre:drama, angst, possible humor eventually
Rating:guessing PG13 or R, not sure yet
Warnings:violence and blood and stuff
Characters:Finwe's clan, and others in Valinor
Pairings:for series, all the usual canon stuff (like Feanor/Nerdanel), plus Maedhros/Fingon, Celegorm/Aredhel, Erestor/Galadriel
Summary:Feanor wins.. wait, no, loses, but not really.
Notes:Suddenly influenced by a dose of terrible management of that thing going on at onering, this went from a happy short story to a long angsty story with a different title and ending. Also, bunniverse. Also, title from me mishearing a Blind Guardian lyric the first time I heard the song, and it sticking in my mind anyhow.




It was a rare sight. Feanor was laughing and jesting while sitting beside his brother, who was telling him an amusing tale. The two had their heads bowed towards one another, so much like two of each of their own sons might have been. The glade seemed to glow with the synergy and harmony of the whole family -- even when Indis smiled and congratulated Feanor did he smile back, and to Finwe’s disbelief, hugged the woman.

They could not have asked for better weather; the skies were brilliantly blue, with clouds seemingly there for decoration only. Feanor’s good spirits had been soaked up by Fingolfin, who discreetly, yet nonetheless, raised his goblet in the direction of Fingon and Maedhros, and drank to them, and showed no ill will as Maedhros took up Fingon’s hand and held fast to it through the remainder of the meal.

After the light luncheon, the awards would be given at a ceremony just up the hill on a plateau that overlooked the vastness of Aman. While Fingon and Fingolfin had both lost their respective competitions, Feanor had bested all others, and it had been highly unexpected. He still appeared flushed from the excursion, but his happiness chased away his fatigue, and now he turned his head to whisper to his wife, who smirked and hit him playfully with her handkerchief.

When at last it was time for everyone to climb the hill, Feanor offered an arm each to Nerdanel and Indis, and gently tossed the silmarils to his sons, one each to Maedhros, Celegorm, and Curufin. Celegorm was even so bold as to let Aredhel inspect the one he was currently in possession of as they strolled up the hillside.

There were benches made of split tree trunks, painted exquisitely by some of the local artisans. The clan of Finwe chose to stand, some yet mingling their way to Feanor to congratulate him. As Manwe stood to address the crowd, Feanor held his breath, expecting accolades.

A few other winners were called first, and Feanor waited quietly, his eyes focused on the pedestal he would be asked to stand upon. But as his feet readied to carry him there, he was stilled as another name was called.

“For this honor, we call upon Olorin.”

There were murmurs through the crowd, and the applause was delayed. As the wreath of ivy was placed upon the Ainu’s head, Feanor called foul. “What devilry is this? What madness? He was not even in competition with the rest of us!”

Despite the shock of the situation, Manwe replied. “He arrived late,” he stated simply.

“Late? Arrived late? The competitions were clearly to end at noon -- we were through! Simply because he cannot think to come on time, cannot think to have the decency to respect the rest of us, he is allowed to compete, and without others watching I presume?”

“He was judged just as you were, by this very panel.” Manwe lifted a hand elegantly, sweeping it towards the other Valar sitting upon their thrones on the lawn. “If it aids you, you lost by only a single vote.”

“It does not,” sneered Feanor. He turned away, directing Nerdanel to gather the twins and ready herself to leave.

“Will you not congratulate our champion?” Manwe swept over to Olorin, placing his hands upon the Ainu’s shoulders.

Feanor looked over his shoulder and growled, “Had he won fairly, I might have considered it.” He caught Aredhel and Celegorm out of the corner of his eye and snatched away the silmaril that she held. His feet kicked up blades of grass and he stomped through flower beds without remorse, cutting a wide path through part of the once pristine gardens.

It was his father-in-law and childhood friend who attempted to stop him. “Feanor, if you leave like this, you will be thought to be a madman,” warned Mahtan.

“Is it really worth it?” Erestor settled a hand upon Feanor’s shoulder. “All this grief after such a happy day, all over a loss - and a close one at that.”

“Neither of you understand,” he scolded them. “This has nothing to do with winning. It is the principle of the matter. They should stick with the rules that they created! To deviate is unfair, unjust, and unconscionable! They expect us to follow some barbaric laws and customs they have designed for us, and yet they turn aside their own rules!” A small crowd was growing, and Feanor pushed Erestor’s hand away. “You of all people should be sympathetic to that.”

Erestor bit his lip and took a step away. “I understand your anger.”

“I do not,” huffed Mahtan.

“And I care not whether or not I am understood.” Feanor clutched the silmaril he had recovered to his chest with one hand, and scanned the crowd for the others. Maedhros knew immediately what was sought, and he held it out to his father. After taking the second, Feanor nodded to Curufin. “Come,” he said simply, and his son followed, and would have followed his father anywhere.

Soon after, the others began to disperse, but the cousins were left more or less intact as a group, with only the Ambarussas and Curufin missing among them. Then it was Celegorm who spoke, saying as much to Aredhel as anyone else, “What shall we do to ease father’s mind? What apology might he accept, or revenge might be sweetest to him?”

“He deserved a better explanation, and what is more, he won.” Finrod sighed and shook his head, addressing his sister and her current lover, the very same attempted voice of reason to Feanor only minutes ago.

“It will be difficult to convince him to ever sing in public again,” mourned Erestor, sitting on the grass now with Galadriel by his side. He ran his fingers through the waxy green sea beside him. “It took years to convince him to do this in the first place.”

“Maybe he will come around. He has always been a friend to Olorin.”

Celegorm laughed sharply at Finrod’s words. “Ah, spoken as I would suspect you to, Ingoldo.” He shook his head slowly. “Leave it to a Vanya to forgive so blindly.”

“I see as much injustice in this as you do,” argued Finrod. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They must post the results,” he reasoned. “Once done, we will know who wronged your father.”

“And then?” prodded Celegorm.

“And then, revenge will never be so sweet,” answered Caranthir.