My sincere thanks go to the Tolkien Estate for allowing me to borrow from the works of JRR Tolkien some of his characters and the realm of Middle Earth.

This little tale unfolded quite on its own; I merely put fingers to keyboard and watched it proceed as I wondered what might have caused Maedhros to relinquish his crown?

TROPHY

Dark were his thoughts as he gloated over his latest captive. Fierce was the fighting and great the losses to overpower without killing this special enemy, this leader of his trifling, ineffectual race. With scorn and bitter malice he looked upon the defeated one before him.

Shackled by wrists, ankles and neck the tall, slim elf stood before, wounded, stripped of weapons and clothing, and though the Dark Lord towered over him, proud yet in the vain way of his kind. To merely enslave him would not salve the rage he suffered at the insolence of these interlopers in HIS domain.

Eyes bedazzled by the glowing jewels adorning the crown of the accursed Vala before him, Maedhros beheld once more the radiant beauty of the Silmarili, the master-works of his father, Fëanor. Briefly he forgot his capture, taunting and humiliation at the unloving hands of his enemies; until the sullen voice broke into his reverie.

“Kneel to your master, slave”, said the Vala, rumbling deep and sinister.

Stubbornly the elf remained standing until the harsh persuasion of his captors finally forced him onto his knees, though with his head still held high glaring his defiance.

“Not by my will, but by might of many do you achieve this small accomplishment”, Maedhros responded through gritted teeth.

The nearest orc, looking up hopefully, grabbed a handful of long dark-red hair and, yanking his head back to expose the pale throat, with dagger in hand ready to slay this puny upstart who dared defy his master.

Laughing darkly Morgoth spoke scornfully, “Elf-whelp, do not tempt me too greatly lest I throw you to my orcs for a plaything. They have learned well how to prolong suffering so you shall yet live to feel my wrath upon you.”

With a mental thrust the cold dark eyes of Morgoth caught and held the bright grey eyes of the elf, as he attempted to subdue him to his will. Cringing away from the stab of pain in his mind, Maedhros faltered in his resolve. Relentlessly Morgoth continued the attack, but was at the last unable to break through.

Rising from his throne he advanced menacingly toward his prisoner. Cowering in terror the orcs screeched aloud in their fear, though not daring to release the chains attached to the fetters of the helpless elf.

One huge hand swept through the dank air, backhanding Maedhros and hurling him against a wall. Pausing, his face then bent into a terrible mockery of a grin as he contemplated the torment this particular elf would endure.

The entrance of a pair of grossly misshapen creatures that might have once been elves arrested the attention of the Dark Lord; between them they half-dragged, half-carried another elf. Badly mistreated though still alive he was thrown unceremoniously to the feet of Morgoth. Grasping an arm of the battered elf he strode to where Maedhros lay unmoving.

“Awaken him”, he snarled.

Foul smelling liquid drenched the unconscious elf, rousing him. Be-slimed hands lifted to his equally defiled head he tried to ease the blinding pain from the mental attack of the powerful Vala. When he regained his senses somewhat he found before his dazed eyes the limp form of his standard-bearer who had gone forth in his vanguard, clutched now in the merciless fist of Morgoth.

“What will you give for his freedom?” the cruel lord asked.

“Already you possess what I hold most dear. What have I left to barter?” answered Maedhros.

“High King of the Noldor”, said Morgoth sneering, “Empty-handed you gain nothing.” Then pausing as if pondering his demand he watched his prey. Maedhros, bloodied but yet unbroken, rose to his feet swaying slightly, but steadying himself against the rock wall to stand defiant once more to await the demand.

At last Morgoth spoke, “You and your entire rabble shall tarry no longer in my realm. Return West to the cage of Aman to be pretty toys for my lesser kin, depart East or South, but abide no longer in any portion of Beleriand or its borders.”

Boldly Maedhros stated, “Restore the stolen Jewels to me and we might discuss this further.”

With an evil laugh Morgoth plucked the massive iron crown from his head and dangled it before the astounded elf. Reaching up to receive it Maedhros found it just beyond the length of his chains which were now secured to heavy iron rings fixed firmly to the wall behind him. Struggling fiercely, he clawed the air in a futile attempt to grab the heavy circlet and the three priceless Jewels mounted thereon.

Morgoth stepped back a long pace, held out both hands; the elf in one, the crown in the other.

Maedhros groaned in anguish as he realized the choice before him. Relinquish either the Jewels or his friend and fellow elf to the keeping of Morgoth. Worse yet this young warrior, who reminded him of his beloved friend and cousin, Fingon, had begun to regain consciousness and seeing his lord called out to him for aid. Tormented now more fully by the Oath than all else, he turned from the pleading elf and fixed his agonized grey gaze on the Silmarili. Weeping he turned away from the sight of his dreadful choice.

Laughing mightily Morgoth tossed the elf to the waiting orcs who, with whips in unpitying hands, drove the captive round the great hall, jeering and taunting him. Sobbing, Maedhros collapsed to the rough cavern floor as the wretched elf cried out his name. Feeling a hand touch his bare foot he looked up to find the savagely beaten elf had crawled to his side and with desperate eyes sought salvation.  A pair of leering orcs dragged the piteous elf away to his doom.

Now the laughter of Morgoth was a further grief as he set the crown back onto its former resting place atop his head.

“Truly you are the spawn of your father”, Morgoth stated, “You will sacrifice your own kind to achieve your end and deny any wrongdoing. Serve me freely and, should I will it, you shall be permitted to stand in the Light of this treasure you so crave. Refuse me and you shall yet beg for your own death.”

 Maedhros arose, fire-bright with rage to confront his foe, but at that moment an orc loped into the hall bearing aloft the gore-spattered banner of the House of Fëanor. Raucous laughter rang loudly, echoing from the high roof as the orcs made sport of the taking of this prize, reenacting in their coarse manner the defeat of the Noldor High King.

As reward for this entertainment, their master allowed them to bring in several of their slain enemy to provide a feast. Maedhros slumped to the ground, unable to escape the sounds of the gruesome repast. A lesser orc tossed a portion to Maedhros, giggling hysterically as the shuddering elf drew away in revulsion.

The second assault on his mind nearly undid him, catching him unaware and vulnerable, but again Morgoth failed to overpower him.

Through teeth clenched in acute agony Maedhros spat out, “Never shall I serve you!”

Morgoth proudly declared, “You already serve me, you and all those you tricked into this vain pursuit. No longer have you the flimsy protection of the Valar in Aman. All shall become my thralls in time, all but those who flee to the Halls of Mandos. Lure and bait you shall be, undying one. Hopeless misery and endless torment will be yours, while your rescuers break themselves against my fortress. Admittance they will gain to their despair, for here they will remain; willing or unwilling slaves, your males for the mines and forges, your females for breeding and sport for my troops, your young raised to worship and fear me. All these things your eyes shall behold; your Gift of long life shall become a Curse.”

Maedhros sat unmoving, stunned by the horror of this future as depicted by the Dark Lord.

A barely clad female orc, her head a patchwork of lank hair, approached the chained elf, gingerly extended a twisted hand to stroke the mass of hair now shielding his face. “Pretty-haired elf,” she growled, “give us some for our head.”

Maedhros jerked back at the contact though unable to evade her, eyes blazing at the daring of this disgusting creature pawing him.

The action caught the keen eye of Morgoth and an evil design newly entered into his plans, for he knew well the delight of the Eldar in their flowing hair. Seizing the banner on its pole he held it up as though to admire the design.

“How alike this banner with its sun-tails is to the hair of an elf. As rare as this emblem of the degraded House of Fëanor is the color of the hair of this, his eldest son. A pairing should be made for my pleasure.” Smiling benignly upon the she-orc who triggered the thought, he bade her groom the elf-tresses. With fingers calloused and bent she roughly combed through his hair plaiting it finally into a single thick braid.

“Start over, this time leave out a portion for your keeping as well,” Morgoth said, rewarding her for the idea.

After securing the end with a tattered bit of her covering, she looked up for further commands. Being instructed she tied a second bit high up against his head. Brandishing a dirty, notched dagger she paused for an instant before hacking the braid free. Pulling sharply against the remain lock with swift blade she scored his ear as well, gloating over the short-sheared elf; in one hand the long dark-red plait, in the other her own much small prize. For an eye-blink she considered which one to bring to her master, fear winning the brief skirmish. In an awkward little dance she approached Morgoth and laid the braid at his feet, groveling and rubbing against his legs to show her thanks. He spurned her with a foot and bent down to claim his victory.

“A trophy I name this, shorn from the living head of the High King of the Noldor and the ruler of the House of Fëanor.” Morgoth declared scornfully. “Take him now to his cell of air and shackle his right wrist with the band and chain prepared for him. Food and water he shall receive at my direct command only.”

To Maedhros he sneered, “Look once more upon the Bane of your people and think long on the Doom given to them. Together you and I will send many to meet that end.”

The End