Title: Oath Fulfilled
Disclaimer: I do not own the Silmarillion, or any characters created therein. They belong to the genius who was Tolkien.
Note: I actually wrote this some time ago, but never got around to posting it. I was inspired by the Oath of the Fëanorians and how they knew that they could sue to Manwë and Varda for release from the Oath, but that they could not seek it from Ilúvatar since he was beyond the world. Of course, there was later a time when Eru did come to Arda, and there was one son of Fëanor left walking the Earth…


Maglor, son of Fëanor, had lost track of how many years had passed since the War of Wrath, since he and his brother, Maedhros, had stolen – retaken – the Silmarils from the care of Eönwë. How many millennia since his sixth and last brother fell to the dark sword of death. All for the sake of that blasted Oath; one that could not be remitted by any but Ilúvatar, who dwelled afar and could not be reached.

Now, he was alone. He watched, a silent witness, as Sauron was finally defeated, the time of the Elves fading and Men began to rule Arda. He saw generations of Men be born, grow, and die in what seemed like lightning-fast speed. Empires rose and fell. Maglor watched as Ilúvatar, now called Yahweh, chose his people from a single man of faith. He watched them prosper, suffer, and remain faithful to Yahweh and the promise of a Savior. He envied these Men, envied how Yahweh would speak to them at times, give them instruction and care. Yet, Maglor remained in the shadows, never approaching. This faith, this relationship with Yahweh was the province of Men, not Elves.

A spark of repressed hope kindled, though, and Maglor kept a close eye on the people of Yahweh and the sayings of their prophets. In the years when Men from the West, Men who somehow had fallen far from their Númenórian ancestors, took over these blessed Men of the East (such a strange concept, but he had long since ceased wondering at Ilúvatar's choice). It was a terrible time for the people of Yahweh, but Maglor, dwelling in the desolate areas that Men avoided, remembered the prophecies of old. Hidden, he watched as a second Elijah began preparing the way.

He watched a young carpenter leave his trade. A carpenter with eyes like that of a Vala, eyes that saw Maglor, even as he stood invisible to all others, eyes that beckoned him to follow. Though his heart pounded as it had not since the Darkening of the Two Trees, Maglor remained in the shadows and watched. Watched the Carpenter bless the people of Yahweh, proclaimed the blessings of all the children of Ilúvatar. He watched as the Carpenter healed the sick, raised the dead, and changed the lives of many who listened to his words. And, with a heavy heart, he watched as so many of Yahweh's people turned against the Carpenter, and the Men of the West cruelly executed him.

The followers of the Carpenter hid in fear, but Maglor hid further. Now, not only was he not seen, he did not see. Despair over the death of the bright-eyed Carpenter, the prophesied one, drove him into the dark corners of the land. He lay like one dead in the deep recesses of a forgotten cave. His mind replayed the wounds of his life, the darkness and the shadows that had haunted his family and all who fell under the terrible Oath of Fëanor. The deaths of Dior's sons, the orphaning of Elrond and Elros, the terrible deaths of his beloved father and brothers. Losing the light of Valinor and the care of the Valar with rash words. Losing his family and his home to his own pride. The darkness oppressed Maglor, suffocating him as he lay but allowing no sweet death to end his suffering. How many days passed, he did not know. In despair, Maglor cried out in anguish to the One who allowed his suffering, who allowed the suffering of the innocent Carpenter who was said to be Yahweh's son.

Warm fingers wrapped around his own pale, cold hand. Maglor started, almost not knowing what it was, so long had it been since he had been touched by a living being. Looking up, Maglor stared into the bright eyes of the Carpenter. His utter astonishment was cut short as he recalled the prophecies of the people of Yahweh. This was indeed the Son of God, returned from death. His heart and mind overwhelmed, Maglor struggled to his knees, not daring to raise his eyes to the Holy One.

He felt strong arms gently lift him to his feet. "Look at me, child of the Firstborn."

Compelled by the Carpenter's strong and tender voice, Maglor looked upon the face of the prophesied one. "Lord, I am unworthy of your presence. I have slain my kindred in the name of my father's oath. I have caused pain and suffering to so many, please leave me!"

The Carpenter smiled. "I have come to save all who believe in Me. The fate of the firstborn is not that of Men who have My special blessings, but the Father loves and shows mercy to all His Children. Do you repent of your sins?"

"With all my heart," whispered Maglor, "and I would ask your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it."

"You have my forgiveness, child." The Carpenter took Maglor's hand, the hand that had been so burned by the holiness of the Silmaril. "And I release you and yours from the Oath that has tormented you for so long."

With those words, Maglor felt the weight of his darkness lift from his darkness like a cloud and he sighed in blissful relief and hope. The Oath that he had lived with for so many millennia, the cause of so much pain and heartache, was gone. "Thank you! Thank you, my Lord!"

The Carpenter laid his other hand, still marked from his death, on Maglor's head. "Go now, child, with My blessing. Go to the family that awaits you in the Undying Lands of your kin." With that, the Carpenter vanished before Maglor's eyes.

Looking down, Maglor saw that his hand, once scarred by his unrighteousness, was now cleansed of any blemish. He was forgiven, he was healed. With joy in his heart, Maglor left the darkness of the cave and entered into the light of the world. It was time to go home.