Broken

Mellow Soulmate AU (with the Hobbit crossover).  Maedhros lost a bit more than his hand during his captivity in Angband.  Also, involves a OFC Telerin elf and a baby Kíli cameo.  Let's just say that there's some negotiating going on between the dwarrows of Ered Luin and the returned Noldorin princes.  Takes place on the island of Himring in the Third Age.  Quenya names used, so Maedhros refers to himself as Maitimo.  Mostly introspective work.

Disclaimer: All but the OFC belong to Tolkien.  The plot of this story is mostly mine at this point, though, just not the history.

Pairings: Maedhros x Istelindë (OFC) (though I should say in my defense that this is definitely not a romantic fic)

Characters: Maedhros, Istelindë, baby Kíli (Thorin and Morgoth mentioned)

Warnings: extreme AU, too many definitions of the prompt, canon character death, FOC, non-explicit mentions of mutilation (beyond the obvious) and reference to murder

Song: Ashes of Dreams

Words: 1,267
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broken (adjective): violently separated into parts: shattered; damaged or altered as by having undergone or been subjected to fracture; violated by transgression; subdued completely; not complete or full
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/broken

The cries did not wake him.  It was the shifting of the mattress which brought Maitimo into consciousness, his eyes fluttering as the world came into focus, only for his gaze to catch on his wife's slender figure crossing the room, clad in only her nightgown.

His ears caught up with him.  There was crying in the other room, the baby no doubt.

But not theirs.

Sighing, Maitimo pushed himself out of bed, shivering as cool night air washed over his bared skin and slipped beneath the loose covering of his night-shirt.  On soundless feet, he made to follow his mate to the chambers which he had given to the nephews of their guest.  The door, as expected, was half-open, and the crying wafted from within.

"Hush little one, do not cry." Softly, her voice washed over him, low but smooth, settling.  Maitimo leaned against the doorframe and peered inside.

His Istelindë was pacing on the wooden floor, her unbraided white hair catching in the moonlight drifting through the open balcony doors.  In her arms a small bundle rested, the child from which the pitiful little whimpers were originating, small hands reaching out and gripping against her nightgown, such tiny fingers curling into strong little fists as the dwarrowling sniffled.

"Now, now," she soothed, stroking the little one's pudgy cheeks, "We must be quiet and go to sleep.  We would not want to wake your uncle at this time of night; he needs his rest." She moved towards the balcony, her body becoming obscured by the diaphanous curtains as she looked out over the sea glistening beneath the stars.  Turning, her face was lit in sharp relief by Isil, the delicate lines of her cheeks and brow coming into focus.

Even from across the room, though, Maitimo could see the content look on her unlined features.  And he could see the glittering sadness hiding just beyond her pale blue eyes, an ever-present ghost that haunted Maitimo to the depths of his soul.

He found himself frozen in the doorway, heart beating heavily in his throat.  With a baby in her arms, she looked so perfect despite her sadness.  It was as if she were made for the image, and it burned itself sharply into his brain--the curve of her body as she rocked the child, the cant of her chin as she smiled gently down at the babe's face, even the way she walked and the way her voice lilted as she cooed soft nothings into the silence of the night, giggling softly at the child's answering indecipherable noises.

Swallowing thickly, he backed away from the door and pressed his forehead to the cool stone of the hallway, unable to watch anymore lest the scalding bile rising at the back of his throat overflow.  The scene was so domestic and peaceful, and it was something he neither deserved nor could ever possess.  But he desired it fiercely.  Maitimo shut his eyes tightly as his fingers curled into a white-knuckled fist against the wall.

They desired children.  Always, even before exile, before any of Fëanáro's madness and schemes, before the Darkening, they had decided on a large family.  Being the oldest of seven brothers should have deterred Maitimo from such a thing, but he knew he was made for it.  He had rocked his brothers to sleep, let them crawl into his bed, sung them lullabies and read them stories out of necessity, because their father wasn't there to fulfill his role.  And he had found peace in the doing, despite the resentment that he carried for his sire in his heart.

But this was different.  The powerful desire for his own children--children of his flesh and blood, shared between himself and his wife in the most powerful, sacred way imaginable--had never abated, not even after he knew it was no longer possible.

Elves mated once--took one spouse in all their immortal lives.  Istelindë had chosen him, and he had chosen her.  Even after he had returned, his body and spirit broken by his Oath, she had never given up on him, had refused to toss him aside as she should have.

But there was too much damage, and his body and spirit were not the only things broken in their first few months together after his rebirth.

They couldn't have children.  Or rather, he couldn't have children.  The Halls of the Waiting may have healed their spirits, but it had not mended his ruined body.  If it was only a hand, Maitimo would have hardly cared; he had learned to live with only one so long ago.  But anyone who believed that Morgoth had let him off so lightly was a fool.

The Dark Lord could look into minds.  He could see the deepest, darkest secrets hidden inside.  And once he knew your greatest desire, it was only his pleasure to take it away from you.

Maitimo hadn't a hope of hiding his most powerful dreams and wishes from the fallen Ainu.  If there was one thing Morgoth knew, it was where to strike and how to strike in order to destroy, to obliterate and decimate completely.  To shatter.

Why Istelindë had stayed with him afterwards was a mystery considering his betrayal not only of her love, but also of her people and her home.  Why she had returned to Middle-earth with him vexed him even more so, when she could have petitioned the Valar to be free of him, when she could have gone on to create the large family she desired in a land of eternal protection and peace.

On the other side of the wall, her crooning gave way to a soft lullaby, a lullaby he had heard thousands of times over.  She sang it to him often enough, when he couldn't sleep.  Now she sang it softly to the babe in her arms, her rolling voice of a deeper timbre than other pure, high elven pitches, as if the sound had been born directly from the sea which her people loved so dearly.  Even now, though, it carried her inner hopelessness, locked away in the corners of her mind, allowing it to wash over Maitimo in powerful waves, filling him with despair and guilt.

Selfishly, he wished that the babe she held in her arms was theirs, an elfling with silver hair and large blue eyes just like hers.

But it was not to be.

Turning away, Maitimo headed back to his bed, curled up beneath the covers and buried his face into his pillow, listening to her distant voice until it, too, died away into the night. Unbidden tears pooled and spilled shamefully.  Even after the madness of the Oath was over, he had yet to finish shedding the promised tears, unnumbered.  Perhaps he would be shedding them for the rest of eternity.  Perhaps that was his punishment.

It was a long time later when she returned to their bed, her face tired and her sadness suffocating.  When she lay down, he pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms about her tightly, holding on for dear life, and kissed the nape of her neck with a whispered apology.

He didn't dare ask forgiveness, though she would have readily given it.  She would forgive him for all the wicked deeds that stained his soul. 

But in the end, he would never forgive himself for breaking their dreams.
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Depressing.

I've had a scene like this in my head all week since listening to this song.  And it always ends up with Maitimo crying  Usually when I imagine it, though, he gets comfort.  I even tried imagining it from Thorin's POV, but it just ended up writing itself, as usual. 

This song is amazing, by the way, and made me cry several times: Ashes of Dreams by Keiichi Okabe (and others) from the NieR Gestault and Replicant OST.  NieR Gestault and Replicant are RPGs done by Square Enix, which arguably makes the most awesome video games and the most awesome OSTs to bring them to life. English lyrics - very powerful and applicable to the story.

In any case, Istelindë is entirely my creation and you don't have to like her at all.  She's one of the Teleri, and if you know how the First Kinslaying went, you know why this is a problem.  In any case, she developed from a very, very old OFC that I once used in an LotR fanfiction probably when I was in eighth or ninth grade, so ages ago LOL.  And her name is one of the few I use that doesn't really have meaning technically.  It probably should be changed to Estelindë (Hopeful Song, wouldn't that be ironic?) but I like it as is.  Think of it as neo-Telerin dialect differences.

Sorry for ranting :D.