Scarred

Canon-compliant AU.  Tolkien never tells us why Eöl hates the Noldor so passionately.  But really, how many reasons can there be?  I didn't name any of his other family members because I'm a lazy ass college student.  Maybe later.  Anyway, this is part of the same arc as "Wrong", "Sweeten", "Hands" and "Touch", but gives a little more background that makes the explanations (hopefully) more plausible.  Or maybe I'm just a mean bitch.  Takes place partially sometime in the early First Age somewhere likely on the east side of Ered Luin and partially in Nan Elmoth in the later First Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Eöl x OFC, Eöl x Aredhel

Characters: Eöl, Eöl's family (all OCs), Aredhel (mentions the Noldor in general)

Warning: canon compliant AU backstory, non-canon character death, people being eaten and/or burned alive, basically slaughter, illogical and obsessive mental behavior, pregnancy, vomiting, violence and gore (semi-explicit)

Song: Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor Op. 67

Words: 1,731
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scarred (verb): to mark with a scar; to do lasting injury to; to form a scar
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/scarred?show=0&t=1380640184


One never believed tragedy would strike them where it would scar the deepest.

However, the sad fact of the world, Eöl discovered early in his years of bliss, was that reality was kind to no one.  And that every corner and shadow was a danger lurking, waiting to strike.

It was not safe to be lax.  It was not safe to let down your guard.  Not even for a moment.

But the younger Eöl had been foolish.  Had naively believed in the safety of his people.  Of their small village in the forest.  For thousands of years, no darkness had troubled them under these eaves.  They had lived peacefully on the same land for as long as his parents and their parents recalled, secure in their prosperity and their livelihood.  Content in their existence amongst the trees and the birds and the wild creatures of the woods.

Even the whispers of newcomers from over the sea with gleaming star-swords and fierce, ice-chip eyes--bringing with an unnamed and infectious darkness of the old world--could not bring anything more than vague whispers of disquiet to his heart in those days of fierce and wild joy.  After all, there had been no reason to cast suspicious eyes back into the past and all the reason in the world to look toward the future.

Like the birth of his second child.

They were hoping for a girl-child this time.  Someone to keep his wife company when he and his son were away on the hunting trips for days on end and to teach the ways of herbs and mending and weaving and artistry.  Or that was what Eöl told himself as he crossed his arms and scowled through the flush upon his cheeks at his wife's knowing smirk.

"I shall be fine for a few days without your constant attention.  Our son is more than capable of looking after me, husband."

Naturally, he did not like leaving her alone for any period of time as she grew heavier and rounder with his progeny, let alone a few days.  But, as she said, his fully-grown son was more than capable of watching over his pregnant mate for such a short period of time.

Maybe it had been paranoia, the nagging at the back of his mind.  Or maybe premonition, the fierce urge to take her up against him and never release.  But no matter what it had been, the feeling had not settled well within his consciousness, instead prodding and prickling with worries and discomfort.

Eöl had only wanted to make certain she was safe.

His arms were about her all at once, stroking the curve of her side and the swell of her belly, resting his palm against it and feeling with abject fascination the flutters of the tiny life blooming beneath. "I know, I know, my love..." His cheek pressed to her dark hair and he breathed in her scent until it saturated his senses and left him lightheaded and full only of her presence. "But the rumors..."

"Are just that: rumors," she chastised softly, frowning up at him with her full, dark lips. "Besides, we can take care of ourselves, husband.  You need not hold my hand all the time, and our son is grown--"

"Yes, yes... I know..." Eöl sighed.  He still had not liked it.  But he agreed despite.

"It is only three or four days," she reiterated.

Only three or four days, and then he would be back.  And he would not depart her side until their family grew from three to four.  Until his daughter was cradled within his arms...

Eöl closed his eyes and imagined it.

Some days he still imagined it as he dreamed it had been.

---

Still imagined coming home to her welcoming smile and brilliant eyes.  To his son's embrace and warm laughter echoing through their home.

Still imagined that the life he lived now was the dream--the nightmare.  And not the torturous truth.

It was a nice thought, that the smoke rising from their village--their home since long before Eöl had come into the world--was just a celebratory midsummer fire swirling into the dawn after a long night of revelry.  That the quiet was due to the drunken revelers staying cuddled up in their beds until long after Anor sprayed her golden light down into the dappled clearings.

But it was too silent.  And the smell was not of burnt wood and incense.

But of burnt hair and flesh.

Sickening.  Spread out everywhere until no inch was unpolluted.  Until all there was in his beloved home was blood, ash and rotting flesh.

Could one ever get such a sight out of their heads once it had been implanted?

Eöl could not erase its scars from his mind.  Forever were the violent slashes and bruises left in the wake of walking down the center of their gathering of houses and seeing ravaged bodies lying half-eaten and half-scorched where they had fallen, empty eyes looking up at the sky in agony and horror.  Of stepping in the grass and hearing the crunch of dried blood and charred bone beneath his boots.  Of seeing friends and women and young children cast aside like broken toys, their limbs missing and their eyes staring.

Of feeling his heart pound so hard he gagged and his breath pant so quickly it was air that pumped through his veins instead of blood.

All he had thought of was her.  Of her and his son and his unborn daughter in their house.

Their house with the roof half-collapsed and the door ripped off its hinges.  With bloodstains spilling down and down over the steps in a river, a body barely visible in the shadows opening of the doorway left behind.  His son's arm completely gnawed from his bloodstained corpse, stomach ripped asunder and entrails spilled over the floor, leading in a trail of blood and gore toward the kitchen.

To her.

One look at what they had done to her was too much to bear, and Eöl fled the house and retched outside, falling into the grass whilst his head twirled and rocked, his vision going white and fuzzy with shock.  Too horrified to even tell the others what he had seen as they gathered around him with their blanched faces and stricken eyes.

"It is only for three or four days..."

She said everything would be fine.  She said...

"We can take care of ourselves..."

How did one ever forget?

Forget the whispers in the shadows.  The rumors of crazy, murderous beings with fey eyes from the West.  The signs all seen but recognized all too late of impending war.

Of impending darkness spreading, reaching with its fingers farther and farther...

Lying in the grass, chin slick with bile and eyes boiling with tears, Eöl had never felt lower or emptier.  It was an aching pit opening up where once his family had been, widening until he wanted to scream for the pain.  Anything to fill up that space and close the gaping, bleeding wound left behind.

Anything.

Anything was better than the grief.  And he knew in that moment who to blame as hatred washed over his open wound like a soothing balm, blackening his dark eyes.  He knew who was responsible for the return of he who had plagued their peoples upon the shores of Cuiviénen.  The Dark Lord who had stolen their children and wives in the night and carried them off to a symphony of screams...

Had returned.

And it was them--with their cold eyes and their selfish ways--who had brought him back.

---

"Why do you hate my people so?"  Her voice was different.  Softer and kinder.  A woman raised in luxury and plenty, not the wife of a hunter living off gathered herbs and venison in the deepness of the forest.

A golodh.

How did he answer her question?

For, no matter who or what she might be, he could not forget.  Though his body might be unbroken and his skin unblemished, he was scarred over every inch of his spirit.  Bitter and alone and angry at the world for the ill fortune he had been dealt as punishment for the crimes of another people.

At the injustice of the fate of his family.  At the greed of his lover's kinsmen.  At their callous disregard for the wellbeing of others in their quest to satisfy their own avaricious and venomous urges.

But he did not want to explain to her when they lay together in the twilight, pretending all was right in their tiny reality.  Did not want to speak of the sight of his wife's mangled body or tangling his feet in his son's innards as he fled in terror, tripping and stumbling, from the only home he had ever known.  Of knowing he would never hold his second child in his arms, would never even know if it had been a son or a daughter only a few weeks from his or her welcome into the world.

Part of him knew it was not her fault.  Íreth would hardly hurt a fly, let alone harm someone with intent in her heart and mind.  It was not her way, no matter how she would like to pretend otherwise.

So, instead of rolling over and putting his back to the exotic sight of her pale, elegant face and her black, luscious hair curling around them in waves, Eöl pulled her close and rested her head against his shoulder as he would have once done to his wife.  Breathed out a long breath and sucked in the scent of the woman curled up against his body so intimately.  A scent so different from the one lingering as a ghost in his memories, but one no less loved and desired.

"Let us not speak of it," he rasped. "I am tired."

She said no more.  But her arms twined gently about his form, fingers stroking his bare back so very gently.  As though she could hear in his voice the truth that he did not wish to speak aloud.

Shamefully, he leaned into her silent support and closed his eyes when the tears spilled. Just this once.

And she never asked again.
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I bet he really seems like a terrible and heartless villain now.  Sorry to those Eöl haters out there, but I simply had to do it.  People need reasons to hate each other, logical or not, and if he doesn't have a reason then I can't write him correctly.  Besides, I've had this idea in my head literally for ages, though it did take a few twists in a direction I did not initially expect just for the extreme impact factor.

But I think we can all agree that this is enough of a reason for Eöl to hate the Noldor, even if they technically are not to blame.  I mean, they were screwed over by Morgoth, too.  I highly doubt Eöl cares about that, though, in the grand scheme of things.  At least he's got Aredhel around... for a while.  Makes canon a whole lot more ironic and sat, though, if you really think about it.  Explains a lot.

And the song fits so goddamn perfectly.  I heard it for the first time today performed live and it was amazing.  Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor Op. 67 is totally not Shostakovich's typical style at all.  Far too dissonant and strange for the Soviets.  But considering the background (if I say it's based off Jewish themes and he lived in the mid-1900's I'm sure you'll get it pretty quick--I got it immediately and it's definitely what you think it is) I would say its understandable that it turned out so painfully, wonderfully and beautifully out of this world.

It's how we musicians try to understand such things.  Nevertheless, the aura of overwhelming tragedy is just there kicking you right in the face.  It made me shiver.  And, as I said, it just fits so well that it's almost scary.