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“Hold,” called Eönwë’s voice. A tense silence overtook the camp. Back to back and almost surrounded by a ring of guards Maedhros and Maglor shifted uneasily. Maedhros tightened his grip on his sword. Maglor clutched to his chest the small box that contained the Silmarils. But they as well as their attackers waited on the judgment of Eönwë. “Sons of Fëanor it saddens me to see that you have reduced yourself to attacking the host of the Valar.” Eönwë told them.
“We do not seek to attack. We only come to reclaim what is ours.” Maedhros replied.
“But is it yours?” asked Eönwë. “Or have you forfeited the right to it?”
Maedhros grit his teeth. “These are our Father’s legacy. One he left to us and us alone regardless of what thieves may say.”
“Perhaps,” Eönwë replied. It was such a shock to hear him acknowledge that the Sons of Fëanor may still have claim to the gems, that several of the guards nearly dropped their swords.
“Lord Eönwë?” asked one the guards speaking what surely many must be thinking, “Surely you don’t mean-“
Eönwë ignored the guards and addressed Maedhros and Maglor. “The Silmarils may still be yours by right. It is not up to me to judge. I have a proposition for you, Sons of Fëanor. The Silmarils must go into the West for judgment and so too must you. I propose that you allow yourselves to be taken into custody and in return I will allow you to be the guardians of the Silmarils for the journey. Indeed, I doubt we could find two more devoted guards. Final judgment on the matter I leave in the hands of the Valar.”
Maglor shifted slightly so that he could make eye contact with his older brother. “Maedhros?” he asked softly. “We could fulfill the oath. We could go home at last.”
For a moment Maedhros looked at his brother and said nothing. “So be it.” He decided. “Let us hold the Silmarils and we shall drop our weapons.”
Eönwë nodded and motioned for the circle of guards surrounding the brothers to back up. As the only brother who could both hold a sword and have a free hand, it fell to Maglor to set down the chest and work to open it one-handed. Maedhros did his best to guard his brother’s unprotected back.
The light that spilled forth from the chest was blinding. Numbly Maedhros found himself dropping his sword as he approached. Together each brother reached in and took their prize. It was clear to all the gems rejected them. Their agony was visible on their faces but neither brother stumbled or dropped his prize as Eönwë led them into his command tent.
Once inside Eönwë carefully pried the Silmarils from the brothers. The Sons of Fëanor were separated and bound. The Silmarils were hastily wrapped in many layers of cloth then returned to each brother.
Maedhros and Maglor had made the trip from Valinor on stolen ships. Now they made the return trip confined together in a cell on the same ship which transported Eönwë. There had been arguments against allowing the brothers to share a cell, but since Maedhros had recent burns on his one remaining hand, his ability to provide even basic care for himself was in doubt. The Silmarils had been place in cages of iron bars. A chain was threaded through the top and Sons of Fëanor wore them as necklaces.
Upon arriving on the blessed shores, Maiar were waiting to escort the Sons of Fëanor to the Ring of Doom. The trial was a private one. The Sons of Fëanor were silent and offered no words in their defense except the oath.
Manwë’s judgement was thus, “Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë, Sons of Fëanor, you have traded everything you were gifted with for two jewels and so that shall be your reward and your punishment. You are hereby each named to be a guardian of a Silmaril. You shall never be parted from them again but shall wear them around your necks, the noose of your own making. As the Jewels now belong to the Valar so too do you. You shall bear them at formal audiences and when not on display the Jewels and you will be safely locked up. You shall not set foot off Taniquetil.”
Shortly after the trial Olwë of the Teleri journeyed to Taniquetil to ask about the outcome as his people were eager for justice. He was rather surprised when he entered for a formal audience with Manwë and Varda to find that the Sons of Fëanor were present. They were dressed for their roles in simple but fine robes and elaborate formal hairdos. In addition each wore their Silmaril which had been set into elaborate necklaces forged by Aulë himself that out shown even Nauglamír. They stood behind and slightly to the side of the Valar’s thrones. Olwë thought he could see their eyes widen slightly as he entered but otherwise they stood perfectly still and did not react.
Olwë was so shocked to see them that he addressed the Son’s of Fëanor directly. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“They are the official bearers of the Silmarils and are not to be spoken to.” Manwë had admonished him. Throughout the rest of the audience the Sons of Fëanor looked straight ahead and stood perfectly still. Only once after Olwë mentioned an incident involving some of the Kinslayers now living in Tol Erresëa did the Teleri King think he caught the slightest flinch from them.
Afterward whenever elves came to Taniquetil for formal audiences with the Valar the Sons of Fëanor were always present in their official role. No one who came ever saw any flinch or movement other than a few of the earliest petitioners who described them widening their eyes. But later visitors claimed that they didn’t even see that, instead the two had become like two perfect statues. A few petitioners requested to speak directly to the Sons of Fëanor, but they were always denied. A few elves that’d specifically traveled to Taniquetil to confront them went ahead and said their piece anyway. But this had no effect. Neither brother would speak or even physically react. One elf claimed they saw Maedhros stiffen slightly at their accusations but admitted it was so slight they could have been imagining it. A few elves consisting of both friends and foes to Sons of Fëanor petitioned to visit with one or both brothers. All of these requests were denied, at least until Nerdanel came.
It was took at least yeni before Nerdanel the Wise came to Taniquetil to visit with her last living children. Perhaps she was afraid of what they had become or perhaps she waited until she could be sure that she could maintain her proper decorum when visiting too wise to risk the wrath of Valar should she be unable to resist speaking to or touching her children. When at last she came both she and her children were able to obey the orders of Valar. For she found her children did not give any reaction to her presence. They were like her statues except, as she later told a friend, less life like. She requested humbly that the Valar show mercy on her as a mother and allow her to visit with her long estranged children. Moved to pity by her plight and humble plea Manwë agreed.
Nerdanel was led by a faceless Maia to a place where no other elves had ever been able to go (save the two prisoners). There behind iron bars was the small cell where Maglor spent his time when not summoned to audiences. The cell was far from bare crowded with a wardrobe containing all the formal robes he would need, a dressing table outfitted so that his hair could be styled in formal hairstyles, and the small bed on which sat her son.
“Makalaurë,” she exclaimed reaching her arms through the bars to hug her son.
“Mother.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
Slowly he rose from the bed and walked into her embrace. “Oh, Makalaurë I have waited so long to hold one of you in my arms again.” Maglor did not return the hug but he stood still for a moment and allowed his mother to hold him. Pulling away from her at last he retreated to the bed. He looked lost. “My son, I’ve missed you so,” Nerdanel said hoping to begin a conversation with her child. When once more Maglor didn’t speak she frowned, Makalaurë as she remembered him had rarely been at a loss for words. But then that had been so long ago and he must have changed. She never would have imagined the son she raised could do such things as the tales told he did in the Outer Lands.
“Are they treating you alright here?” she tried. He shrugged. “Do you ever get a chance to sing?”
A single tear appeared in his eye. “I cannot,” he replied in the same hoarse whisper and then he pointed to the spot where the Silmaril lay and she understood. One small mercy of the Valar, was that his necklace kept the Silmaril from resting directly on his skin. But it sat very close and the skin around that spot was red and inflamed resembling a minor burn. The necklace placed the Silmaril at the location of his throat where if the damage extended to the internal structures as well he would have trouble using his voice. The best he could manage was the hoarse whisper she’d heard, singing was beyond him.
Anger rose in Nerdanel that the Valars’ punishment had taken something he loved so much. Not only had her son been famed for his voice and musical abilities but when Makalaurë was upset he’d always retreated to his music room. She couldn’t imagine how he’d coped stripped of his gift of song. Nerdanel took several breaths to calm herself. Anger was not a constructive emotion. Instead she tried to think of a solution. “But you can still play the harp, right? Will the Valar allow me to bring you one?”
He shrugged, movements sluggish as if it was hard for him to even move his shoulders. Understanding that speaking was difficult for him Nerdanel proceeded to share news and stories of people she thought he would care about. It was hard to tell how much Maglor was listening to her. Given the damage the Silmaril had caused she expected him to remain silent, but Maglor didn’t seem to react at all. Only when she mentioned that she was going to visit Maedhros next did he at last speak. “Ne-…Maedhros…he...” he attempted to say falling silent as if unable or unwilling to complete his thought.
“What is it?” Nerdanel asked. Was he trying to tell her something or did he want to ask about his brother?
But Maglor only gave her a helpless look and shrugged looking away.
Later, Nerdanel decided Maglor had been trying to warn her. For Maglor was practically jumping for joy at her visit compared to his older brother. Maedhros spent her entire visit sitting on his bed looking straight ahead. He did not once acknowledge her presence and she was denied the chance to even touch her son.
Not wanting to risk the wrath of Valar it was many years before Nerdanel begged another audience with Manwë and Varda. She brought a gift for each son, fine harps. The gift was mostly meant for Maglor in hopes that having a way to make music would help him. Though he’d not played in many years Maitimo had briefly studied the harp when he was young and it would have been wrong to bring a gift for only one child. To her relief the Valar allowed the gift and even granted her short visits with each son. Her children were unchanged with only Maglor giving any reaction to her presence.
When next she visited Nerdanel was saddened to discover both harps in the same condition- unused. Despite her best efforts, her attempts to remind her children they still lived fell on mostly deaf ears. Nerdanel continued to visit her children though her visits grew less frequent, eventually only once a yeni. Some critics commented that even the Fëanorions’ mother was so disgusted with them she had to force herself to go out of obligation. It was true she confided in a friend, she had to force herself to visit her children. But this was not because she had given up on them. Instead visiting them broke her heart. Though she would never abandon or give up on her children, it was devastating to see them in such a state and feel powerless to help them. Nothing Nerdanel could think to do had any effect. The only way she could think to help them would be to take them away from the Valar and the Silmarils. To return them to her house and work to slowly undo the damage that had been done. But all her pleas to Manwë and Varda fell on deaf ears.
And so things remained, at least until the dawn of the fourth age and Elrond Peredhel arrived in Tol Erresëa.