Archive of Our Own ^beta

There had been no celebrations when he was born. No warm arms had cradled him, no father cooed at, no mother wept for him.

He had been born in a room of dark stone and dripping candles, on a soft bed made of strong wood. His dam had been silent and stoic as he was delivered. His sire had not even been in the room, having had other things to attend to.

It didn't matter that he had been born a healthy son, something many people would pray for, no, to them he was a failed attempt at a child of prophecy. His dam had been having dreams of a beautiful and self-righteous daughter, who would have a grand legacy and become the subject of legends.

But in the days before his birth she had known him to be another child, a boy no one asked for. So their vigorous enthusiasm vanished within the blink of an eye.

A servant had taken him away when his parents refused to hold him, to feed him, to nourish his fëa. He had been small and frail, pale as sand and shivering. He would one day grow to rival his father in height, but there was no sign in him as an infant that he would even reach his majority.

He had no name for the first years of his life, being simply called “boy” or “the child”.  The servants that took care of him assured him that that was normal. Some other tribes had different customs, but here one had to age and then, once one had truly become themselves, they were granted a name.

It was smart, he supposed, for what if you give your child a name at birth and then they grow to be the complete opposite? That wouldn't do.

He learned quickly and eagerly once he had mastered the art of walking. Talking took him a while to learn, but why talk if there was hardly anyone around to talk to? Sure, there were the grown-ups, but they always ran around the corridors and passages during the waking hours, and there were no other children in the entire castle.

Perhaps if his dam and his sire finally had their daughter he would have someone to play with. That would be a welcome break from the little spiders and insects he usually spent his time with. Not that he didn't like them, quite the opposite in fact, but some of the better dressed adults looked at him quite queerly whenever they stumbled upon him while he was gathering bugs.

He felt a connection to wild life in a way he just didn't with people. He could understand the birds and their songs, felt grass grow beneath his feet, heard whispers in the wind. And those things made him weird.

He was sure his dam was like him. Not an elf but an other. More of an other than him even, for he knew that his sire had been an elf. A grand elf that the others respected, but he wasn't sure if he did, after all he had never even seen him.

The adults that had raised him, all twenty of them, often tried to shield him from the other folk living in the castle. But one day an elf he didn't know saw him when he was outside playing with rocks. He had been wandering in his mind and had made the rocks change their colours.

The elf was obviously a Lord, tall and nicely dressed, with silver hair that was longer than most elves were high. He had a thin and pale face with dark eyes that bore into him so fiercely that he feared for his fëa. The Lord knelt down to sit beside him and took in what he had been doing.

“What were you doing, young one?” The elf asked in a deep and soothing voice. “Playing with the rocks, my Lord.” He replied hesitantly, unsure if that was the answer the other was looking for. “You have changed them. I do not recall there being blue rocks here before.” The Lord tilted his head like the mice did when he fed them something new.

“I did, my Lord.” He said, voice small. It had been taught to him that one should not get mouthy with your betters. “It is impressive, what you did. Is this something that happens often?” He didn't meet the others gaze, couldn't, really.

“Yes, my Lord.” The elf laughed then, a delighted sound. “Do you know who I am?” He had to think for a moment if he had really never seen the other. He hadn't so he shook his head. “I am Thingol, your-” He broke off, seemingly thinking on how to continue his statement, “your King.”

When the elf, the king, had told him who he was he had wished to sink into the ground. He hadn't been told how to behave if he ever came across the King. So he froze where he sat, wide eyed and breathless.

“Do you have a name yet, child?” Thingol asked, sounding unsure. He looked to the floor. “No, your Majesty.”

“How unfortunate. With talents like yours, you should have one by now.” The King slowly grabbed his face and made him meet his eyes. “You shall be named, from this day forth: Eöl. I foresee much promise in your future.” With that Thingol stood up and left him seated in the dirt. A smile made his mouth twitch.

He had a name.

Eöl grew talented in many ways, but most of all in his forge work.

He knew every rock and every alloy within the girdle, felt them in impossible ways. Moved them, changed them, became them.

His strangeness had become known to most inhabitants of Doriath, and he was shunned by those of higher standing than him. But since receiving his name he had felt more secure in his position. He was a smith now and his works were the best in all the elven realms.

Naturally, some people only commissioned him in a misguided attempt to sway the King's opinion on them, since he had started to look a bit too much like Thingol. Far too much like Elu Thingol. He might not be as tall as their king, but from his face alone they could have been twins.

People flinched when he emerged from the shadowy paths he took to traverse the kingdom, often starting to bow until they realized that he was simply the smith Eöl. It hadn't been hard for him to guess who his birth parents were when that started.

He resented them, yes, for did not all children of Ilúvatar have the right to grow up loved and cared for. They weren't even dead, they had just handed him away.

That little piece of information he had to claw from the former midwife who had delivered him. The poor lady had almost broke down into tears the moment she had seen him approaching her. She had told him everything after that.

He could tolerate his sire. After all, he had almost made an attempt at knowing him, but had gotten cold feet. In the face of an elfling not yet a decade old. Pathetic.

His dam couldn't have cared less for him if she tried. Perhaps it scorched him the way it did precisely because she didn't have to put in any effort in ignoring him. Cruel Was the witch that birthed him and cruel would his sister be. He just knew it.

When the little thing was born everyone had been delighted. It was as if a star had come down from the sky to light up their world. Everyone except for Eöl. He had not joined the festivities for Lúthien's birth, he even outright refused to forge a gift for her.

He had been working on his masterpiece, at the time, and no one could get between him and perfection. Least of all a squealing babe who would never know him as her brother.

So he forged his work, twin blades of impressive quality, and presented one to the court. And, while he left empty-handed and with one less sword in his repertoire, something he was sure he wouldn't be credited for, he also left as a Lord.

Lord of Nan Elmoth.

Many strange things happened in his new home.

The forest was filled with magic and strange enchantments, meant to keep people from entering it. Only animals found their way around it.

But the animals spoke with him, and made him learn his way through their realm. They turned him into one of them. One day he was a fox, then a bear, then a snake. But most of all he loved to be a bird.

A large eagle with grey feathers and dark silver wings. Horn-like feathers sat upon his head like the ears of a cat. With large talons and pitch black eyes. He flew through the air and felt alive.

Indeed the only thing better than flying was the forge.

Often he would leave his realm, not used to needing to govern something. He was more so a guard, a watcher to make sure the forest didn't lose its enchantments. So he did his duty and then vanished into the mountains.

He made fast friends with Äule's children, the dwarves. They were directed and didn't veil their words. If they insulted him he could tell so immediately, if they made a joke he could understand them. It was quite refreshing.

They showed him new ways to forge and smith, and helped him refine his techniques. He in turn sung enchantments into their blades and jewelry. A mutual respect grew after some time, despite the well known feud between dwarves and elves.

And yet he would always need to return to the forest.

There he was far away from the trouble the newly arrived Noldor brought. But the news of how they came to these shores did eventually reach him. It was distressing, how elves could sink as low as to kill their kin.

In this one thing he would follow his sires example, he would ban the use of quenya from his realm.

He would strengthen his magic, allow none of them to traverse Nan Elmoth without his knowledge. What shabby excuse for a Lord would he be if he allowed kinslayers to dwell within his woods?

Long after the sun and the moon had disgraced the sky with their appearance his life would once again be disrupted.

Like thunder during a quiet night, the lady was. Dressed in white despite walking through darkness. Her beauty had drawn him in, but it was her mind that caught him.

Aredhel, daughter of the Noldor's High King, a huntress and a fighter with a sharp tongue. Her laugh was like bells and her hair was the prettiest he had ever seen. Eöl was drawn to her the moment they had seen each other.

“What do you seek, fair lady?” He had called out to her, stepping away from his treasured shadows and into a small spot of dimmed light. “I seek thrills and new things I have yet to experience.” She had replied with a smirk and her eyes had trailed over his form.

Eöl knew then, that he was done for. She had trapped him as if they were Melian and Thingol. They didn't stare into each other's eyes for 300 years, but for him it felt like a million years passed.

They were caught in their passion, marrying with haste and less thought then one ought to, yet they were happy.

Aredhel loved the forest and made it her own, and he loved her even more for it. Eöl truly felt like an elf when he was with her, so grounded and completed.

He told her, naturally, that he was no true elf. That a Maia had been his mother. She knew that when she bound herself to him. So she also knew what she agreed to when they decided that they would have a child together.

The babe was born in the darkest of winters when twilight broke through the sparse leaves of the trees. It had been a boy, so precious and small. Blessed with his mothers dark hair but pale like him. Even as a newborn the child had eyes like pitch.

He was sure that Aredhel called the boy something, but she didn't reveal the name to him. That was fine since his culture's naming customs were different to those of the Noldor.

When his son was barely twelve years old he had a terrible dream. He saw that if his wife and son left for Gondolin, none of them would return. That they would be given a choice and they would choose wrong. Turgon of Gondolin would kill him and his son would share his fate.

The boy had looked up at him, with those brilliant eyes, when he had gathered him the next morning. Eöl knew in his heart that he could not bear it, to know what would happen. But no one could change fate, and his vision would come true.

“Come ,Maeglin.” He had called him. Aredhel had looked confused but soon started to laugh brightly. The child, Maeglin, didn't understand at first, but when he did he couldn't be kept from smiling for an entire week.

Eöl wouldn't be able to stop fate, but he could delay it.

He had to.

In the end it had been his wife to change the future, by jumping in front of their son. Nor knowing that she had doomed him further by doing so.

Eöl saw everything that would ever happen as he was dragged away, and as he was thrown to his death he couldn't help but think if this was how his parents felt?