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Between the thunder and the way the looming clouds kept forming in the shape of eagles, Maedhros was pretty sure this ‘Zeus’ was a maia of Manwe. It was one of the only things he was sure of at the moment; he had gone from the dark, tangled woods of Doriath to a small room overlooking a burning city in the blink of an eye. For a single moment, the Music of the world had held steady at least, felt almost as it should be - and then it had crashed on into wholly unfamiliar strains.
It could just be some glamour called up by the Enemy, of course. An illusion, meant to trick him into killing his own men. When the maia had appeared and urged him to turn from the window and face his foe, telling him he must not hesitate to kill an enemy unlike any he had faced before, he had been almost sure of it. He would be led to something that looked foul, and in truth it would be one of his few remaining brothers, and the maia would try to force them to fight. He had been convinced of it.
Looking down at the infant in the crib, he was far less sure of it now. If this was an illusion hiding one of his brothers, meant to provoke him into attacking, it seemed an . . . odd choice. To say the least.
The thunder crackled pointedly.
“This is a baby,” he said flatly.
“This is the son of Troy’s very own Prince Hector,” Zeus countered.
This meant nothing to him. Less than nothing.
Even if it hadn’t, he struggled to think of anyone the maia could have said the child was the son of that would have made the prospect of more blood on his hands even vaguely tempting.
. . . This is the son of Angband’s very own king Morgoth? Maybe? Possibly?
Even that would not change the fact that this looked very much like a normal baby. Small. Vulnerable. Face twitching with displeasure as he started to wake from the screams pouring in from the city.
He looked a little like Caranthir had as a child. Caranthir, who -
“A baby,” he repeated sharply.
“Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger.”
Maedhros was not aware of anything he had done to anyone related to a Troy or a Prince Hector. If he had, however - well, he had been chasing after Dior’s sons to try and save them. He hadn’t been under any illusions about what their thoughts would be on him once they were old enough to draw swords.
(How far away were they now? How cold? Was this all just a trap to slow him down?)
“One fueled by rage as you’re consumed by age. If you don’t end him now, you’ll have no one left to save.”
He had pitifully little left to save already. However:
“I’m an elf,” he reminded the maia. “My age is the last thing I’m concerned with.”
For just a moment, the maia, bewilderingly, looked confused. This didn’t stop him from pressing onward. “He will burn your house and throne,” the maia insisted.
“I don’t have those anymore - “
“This is the will of the gods,” the maia intoned.
That hadn’t worked on him even when the advice he was being given was a lot more sensible than this.
“The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose.”
True, but -
“All you can choose is whose.”
Maedhros looked at what he was now very sure was a fallen maia of Manwe. He looked at the baby.
He unsheathed his sword.
“Truth,” he agreed, and promptly stabbed Zeus in the eye.
The maia howled.
Maedhros used his false hand to scoop up the baby as best he could and made a run for it.
Outside the windows in the corridor he had run into, the city was burning. The fires might not last long; a storm was brewing fast and fierce above.
Maedhros just wanted to get out. He didn’t know who was fighting or why; he couldn’t be sure what was real and what was illusion. If any of these men were his, they were almost certainly the invaders, but he couldn’t be sure. Best to just make a sling out of the baby’s blanket to secure him and get out. Best to keep moving. Best to stay out of things. Best -
Best to examine what, exactly, that soldier thought he was doing, chasing a toddler with a drawn sword.
And what that soldier thought he was doing, ripping an infant out of what must be the child’s sister’s arms and trying to throw the child out a window.
And, for that matter, why that soldier had decided the most critical opponent in reach was an unarmed woman and why he had decided to begin this attack by grabbing at her belt. Or why that one was dragging a sobbing girl down the street by her hair -
Most of these investigations were carried out via his sword. One long range examination required the assistance of a spear borrowed from a previous investigation.
(All of these soldiers were the ones attacking the city. He knew all too well what it was to be on both sides of these battles, but if this truly was an illusion - if his people were anywhere here - )
(Then they weren’t the ones defending the city.)
(But if there was any truth to this illusion - if this was not an illusion -)
(This was orc work. And however monstrous he had become, he would not stand for it.)
(He would not let himself live to become a man monstrous enough to stand for it.)
(He understood this.)
(He did not quite understand how this led to him standing once more on a stormy shore, staring at a ship he intended to steal, with a crowd of mostly women and children behind him.)
(He was not sure if this counted as an improvement over Alqualonde.)