Prologue | Little Crows and Little Ladies

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Maeglin Lómion | Prince of the Noldor The Traitor

Location: Harlond, Harlindon, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: March 2981 T.A

Shaking his head, he whispered, "I don't...I won't..."

A force shoved his chin up, forcing him to stare at the scarred face which made him shrink.

Morgoth spoke smoothly, "I think you can, little crow."

"I'm...I am not a crow!" He hissed back.

Instead, the dark Vala grinned before letting out a chuckle. Even a small laugh had sent shivers down his spine. The feeling of his body aching, burning, and freezing all at once. Morgoth sighed as he continued, "You have always been one." He leaned forward, tracing a large skeletal finger across his face. "A petty bird...squawking and chirping."

He scrunched his eyes as the Vala mimicked, drowning the noises to nothing but birds surrounding him. Pecking and squawking until it began to feel as if his ears were bleeding. He squirmed in his chains, forced to kneel as he could feel the sweat trickle down his face.

"S-Stop!" He stammered out, spitting out the last syllable.

In a moment of silence, he heard Morgoth laugh. "You hate what you are but you love it all the same." He sighed, continuing to taunt him. "The blood of Finwë...and the blood of the fire. We're just the same."

Snarling, he widened his eyes as he replied: "I am nothing like you!"

Then he felt the cold seep in once more. Like a pale of cold icy water drenching him as he breathed in at the sight of the Vala.

How even staring in the eyes of his true form made him cower and almost shrivel at that spot.

Even if Maeglin would never admit it, he was terrified.

"No. You're weak. Pathetic. You think you possess such power to sway me." Morgoth sneered, malice in his tone as he asked, "With what? Your words? Your little silver tongue which you gained from your father? Your ingolë does not affect me, little crow."

The mention of his father made him ground his teeth. Maeglin hated every inch of what his other half was. But he would never associate with the Noldor. Weak and pathetic, arrogant, and all-knowing. They thought they were clever, and yet look how much they have done. Little. So little.

They were all dead. Only a few of the House of Finwë lived.

"But you can be something." The dark Vala rasped, a gleam in his dark mystifying eyes as he proclaimed, "You can gain that power. Gain her."

A memory passed over his mind, imagining her silver eyes – filled with love and admiration.

Love and admiration for him.

"I know you are thinking about her," Morgoth spoke, making Maeglin blink back to look up to him. "Your cousin. Ondolindë. A throne...all the things neither your mother nor father could possess."

Next, a vision was forced into him. He saw Gondolin invaded by Morgoth. Him seeing Tuor die at the hands of the Balrogs and Iron Dragons. Turgon proclaiming him as the hero and is forced to give up his crown. Idril, torn and mourning, is saved and accepts his hand in marriage.

All the lords of the Gondolin swearing fealty to him and Morgoth.

Seeing Elemmírë in chains alongside the heir of House of Fëanor: Celebrimbor. Forced to work alongside the dark Vala and his commanding army.

When Maeglin's mind was brought back to the present, he found himself filled with hope.

Morgoth whispered to him, "Lord Maeglin, the true heir of the House of the Noldor."

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They say that the Halls of Mandos could let you heal, no matter the crimes you committed. The damage you made throughout your life, there would always be a place for your soul in the great halls.

For Maeglin: he never healed.

No matter how much longer he could be in there, or the comfort of his mother beside him throughout the centuries – it never got away. Not even the harsh words and the accusations despite all he could to reciprocate and atone for what he had done.

They called him the traitor. Unworthy of any title or position in the royal house of Finwë and Gondolin. They called him Moriquendi, the darkest of all elves. A slur for them who never saw the light of the trees which was rather hypocritical for some of them. He could not care less for what they said, no less the disapproval faces he saw in them.

However: he cared for those related to him.

When his mother found out, she could not bear to even be in the same room as he had been. She blamed it on Turgon, blamed it to whoever she could find and yet Maeglin could tell she could only blame no one but himself. Her son turning against his people. Lusting over his cousin and attempting to murder her husband and her child.

Even when he told her of what happened to him. The torture and pain he endured in Angband; nothing was said to say that he had been called more than a traitor. Weak, a coward.

He never even wanted to come to these forsaken lands. Maeglin would rather rot in Mandos than return here. At least there he could wallow in his anger in this entire world, for being the only one who could see that there was more to this than just petty Valar and the light in all.

They would never understand what Morgoth made him see. A painless world, where there was order and peace and balance. Not powers like the Valar choosing who was good in their graces or not. Or people who were too chaotic and dangerous for their good.

Like her.

The Oialëa.

Elemmírë Fealassie: the elf who possessed the gift of fate in her hands.

When Morgoth told him that the Elemmírë was no simple elleth and that she possessed something which the Valar gave her, Maeglin at first could not understand what was so important either way. The lore mistress of High King Turgon was nothing but someone who followed and trailed those like a fawn. She may possess an unconventional amount of magic but she could not control it. Inexperienced.

Then the dark Vala told him that she was somehow a key. Whatever was inside her: she had power that could have the potential to be unlocked and unleashed.

If he had the nerve he would have laughed. Elemmírë was nothing but childlike, even when she was older than him she acted like a child. She was interested in books and knowledge and learning about stupid secondborn cultures and languages.

But Maeglin knew that after he had accepted the deal, he could never turn back. Not even now, when he was forced into house arrest because both his uncles and grandfather could not trust him. Not to mention how many of them knew about what he did to Gondolin, the chances of getting killed out in the open was quite high.

So he was forced away and have been in Harlond for months. His mother sometimes visited, sometimes Turgon but that considered a minimum of two insults at him during his visit.

Most days he remained in his room, sitting, and thinking. Writing down all the things he wished to do. Maeglin knew eventually he would have to be brought back to court, and perhaps he would be the driving force in whatever was going on in Forlond and Mithlond.

The natural power of his tongue had enabled him to persuade such little things, like asking his mother what was going on in meetings and councils. He would have the servants ask him for information and gossip, news on how much was going on without the simplicity or the butter-ups of his uncle's words that everything was fine.

As he was sitting out in the balcony, bored out of his mind after very little news he received from all he could get it from, Maeglin had been focused on writing his plans when a dark feathered animal perched itself onto the bannister. It was a single crow, no doubt wanting to find something to peck or eat. He was never fond of animals, not even the horses here nor the ones in Ondolindë liked him very much. It was his Noldo side which he swayed towards metals and jewels, things that could be made from the earth.

But this crow: it was almost too calm for its usual state. Their dark eyes were focused not on the bowl of fruit on the table but on him.

Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the crow as he brought his quill down. He then leaned forward, waving his hand out as he tried to let it fly away.

"Go away." He told the bird, shooing it from the balcony. "Get out."

Suddenly, the crow opened its beak – expecting it to shrill at him.

Instead, a voice called out from it.

"You wouldn't get rid of one of your siblings, won't you?" The voice entered his ears, a familiar tone he had not heard in millennia. "Little Crow."

Maeglin jerked away as he stood up abruptly, hearing the chair fall back in a clatter as he gasped.

"No..." He exhaled in disbelief, questioning himself: "What is this?"

The crow mechanically tilted its head up to him, replying in the same voice. "Have you forgotten me, Lómion?" They questioned, "Or do you choose to forget?"

Anger soared up to his voice and mind.

Out of all the beings...

"I don't answer to you anymore. Not after what happened." Maeglin snapped back at them, "Even if your plan worked, it failed all the same."

He should have known to never follow his plans. His death was inevitable either way, remembering the last moments as he felt his bones break and his skull crack against the rocky floor. How his body burnt on the way down the walls of his only home.

The last face he saw was the eyes of the ocean.

"And yet you still accepted this." The crow was too still yet continued to speak: "They don't trust you. Not even your mother despite all the anger fueling her, wanting you back."

Maeglin's eyes flashed as he hissed, "Don't say her name—"

"Death has made you think." It felt odd to see and hear a crow chuckle darkly, and yet it brought more horror in his chest as they continued to speak, "And yet still the sentiment remains."

Inhaling through his nostrils, he finally snapped back from his emotions as he demanded, "What do you want."

"Just as what you can do." They spoke, "You think the Noldor, your family, is all tightly knit?"

He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to say anything. Why would he share information with them when all he could do was bring him to death quicker than anyone else on this continent.

But he didn't audibly deny it. Maeglin knew the Noldor was breaking. Under the pressure of politics and family ties: no one was entirely on one side of the war.

Some of them were willing to break and betray them, even worse than what he could have done.

"You see it." Their voice lingered in his mind, "The broken seams...the tears."

He narrowed his gaze back at him as he replied simply, "I can still be on the winning side."

"Even then." They retorted, "You don't care about them. You care only what you can gain from it all."

Maeglin averted his eyes from the bird and paced across the balcony. There was a temptation in his offer. He weighed the options. If he chose to continue with his plans, manipulate for his spot to be spared with the Noldor who would betray a certain portion of them, or let himself stay low and give in the risk of the Noldor entirely being spared.

One thing he would never choose was to follow the Oialëa's plans. Ever since he heard that she had somehow returned (laughter coming from his as he discovered her to be mortal and marrying a half-elf out of all beings), Maeglin made sure to keep an eye on the Eternal. He scoffed that out of all Eldar, she would befriend the Fëanorians. Kinslayers and greedy ambitious fools who all got themselves killed.

Would he push his ego down and accept to be within that circle?

He turned back to the crow and asked back, "And what do I get if you win?"

The crow hopped onto the small table right next to his journal. "A new Arda. Remade under mine...and everyone who joins me." The voice recalled, "A place you can be who you are. A king. Someone who can love who they want to."

Maeglin took a step towards them, asking carefully and quietly: "You will spare her?"

"After what the Valar did to her...her mortal husband, he is nothing but a shell. He was never compatible with immortality." They told him, pausing. "But with you, you can change that."

Suddenly there was a knock. The crow squawked before it flapped its wings, flying away just as Maeglin rushed to head towards the door of his suite and called for the servant to enter.

His mind had been too focused on what his proposition was that he didn't realise the ellon had been waiting for him.

"My lord."

Maeglin blinked several times until his vision cleared, finding a face looking at them awkwardly.

Clearing his throat, the ellon took something out from his sleeve and stuttered out, "My lord, uh," Reaching his hand out, he showed the folded paper. "I was informed to give you a note."

Taking it into his hand silently, Maeglin broke the familiar white was seal and began to skim through the letter.

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Lómion,

I hope you are doing well. I know the months have been a stretch and it is not something which we both have expected. But at least you are safe and that you are being treated well by Oropher and Dior's court.

Thankfully it will not be for long. Your grandfather has accepted for you to travel once more. Lord Círdan along with your uncle, Findekáno, has accepted to be in Mithlond in the coming month. I hope to visit sometime as your other uncles shall arrive soon from Imladris.

I love you, my son.

Your Amil,

Írissë

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His heart thumped and pang against his ribcage. The opportunity had just arrived as fate had somehow been in his favour.

"My lord?"

Maeglin looked up quickly to the ellon and ordered swiftly, "Prepare for us to leave." He added, "We shall go as soon as the moon will set. Gather the staff."

"Of course, my lord." With a curt nod, the ellon bowed before he shuffled out of the room.

No words could describe how Maeglin felt, feeling himself want to skip towards the balcony but stopped the moment he saw the crow return.

Holding out his arm, the crow flew onto his arm before perching on top of his shoulder. Maeglin said, "Tell me then, Morgoth." He asked, "What do I need to do?"

The dark Vala's dark baritone voice echoed into his ear and down into the very depths of his mind. "Show them the truth."

He stared at the journal and the letter on the table.

The first names written upon the last page clearly drawn in black ink.

Turgon

Fingon

Elrond Peredhel

Morgoth whispered in his head, "Let doubt run them to the ground. Because as soon as they are all divided..."

"...They will all begin to fall," Maeglin muttered as a grin began to form on his lips.

They would not know who truly was behind it all...because they would all be blaming one another as soon as it was all revealed. Maeglin may never have healed...but at least he knew he still had the power of his tongue left to spare the wounds.

He would destroy the Noldor from the inside.

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Niobe Jacobs | Ambassador of the United Nations

Location: London, UK, Earth

Time: May 2027

She thanked the doorman as she entered the apartment complex, heading straight for the lift and pressing the top button on the wall.

Once the doors finally shut, she let out a tried breath before she brought her hand to rub her forehead, leaning against the wall as she shut her eyes.

'Can't believe it's been a week,' She thought to herself, mentally moaning to herself. 'They said it was going to be smooth. But so many questions and doubts.'

When she opened her eyes, she blinked several times. She tried to forget about those odd moments, The moments when she could find herself imagining herself in a forest again. Or the sound of a woman screaming as there was an ear-piercing roar in the distance. She always told herself that they were just nightmares, made up visions she came up with as a child. The thing which she thought would fade away once she grew up.

And sometimes she would dream of them. The nightmares. The man with the dragon helmet and the dark sword. She would dream about him and the dragon, and the forest. The girl with the blonde hair and the yellow flowers, laughing through the fields of flowers.

As the lift pinged, she straightened herself up before stepping out.

Thankfully, courtesy of her work, she was able to stay in a reasonable place for the next few months. Considering she would be beginning her negotiations in this city; she thought the best way was to be in the place closest to it. Though she was not exactly used to the luxury expenses when it came to the job, it was nice to have a place on her own.

As she locked the door and began placing her coat on the peg, she turned around to eye the corridor. She could have sworn she had heard a noise.

Frowning, she slowly brought to open her bag and unclasped the hidden pocket: the black weapon shakily in her hands as she began to walk down the dark corridor. She eyed every door, keeping her eyes peeled. The only other issue of her work was the number of threats she got, especially of those who found her policies to be quite concerning for certain individuals. Of course, she could never please everyone – but the majority have always supported her ideas and she made sure things were safe and secure.

Especially after Thanos and then other inter-dimensional species coming from other realities and times, she knew her plan may not exactly be good for superheroes. However, it would be better than the Sokovia Accords that were implemented ten years ago.

She remained an eye as she arrived at the open living room, holding the gun out as she panned the room. Nothing seemed to have moved or altered; it appeared just how she last left it.

"Hello?" She asked out loud, demanding back: "Who's there?"

Nobody responded nor reacted.

Perhaps she was overreacting. Maybe it was one of her friends pranking her, considering they've always liked to tease her for being so serious all the time.

She then called out once more, "Matisse, if this about the tweet I was just kidding—"

Suddenly, a fast-moving shadow moved across the room so fast, shoving the gun from her hands. She watched it fly across the room as she screamed. But as she did so, she found herself flying back – hitting a hard object at the back. She bit back a groan as she scrunched her eyes, finding her vision spinning at the rather quick force before she felt something constrict her arms and neck.

As she finally gained her sight, all she saw was a dark hooded figure...and a pair of blood-red eyes staring back at her very closely.

She could feel their breath against her cheek as she began to breathe quicker, her panic and squirming growing as she heard their voice tingle her spine.

"Now...I do not know who this Matisse is." They spoke in such an illustrious and soothing voice, squeezing her neck more. They smiled, showing their teeth which made her eyes bulge even more. "But perhaps I shall be acquainted with him. Or perhaps you will: Nienor Níniel."

"I...that's not my name. My name...is...Niobe...Jacobs." She rasped out, trying all she could to pry the strong grip against her.

But to no avail, the shadow merely laughed. It was a feminine voice, calm and yet filled with malice as they leaned forward and finally showed their face.

Niobe did not imagine finding a woman staring back at her. With eyes red and fang as sharp as any claw.

"The p-police will come! S-so...I suggest...you stop...this...right now!" Niobe stuttered out, beginning to lose her breath the longer the vampire held her up.

Instead, the woman simply tilted her head as she nonchalantly replied, "The guards of your earth won't know I'm here." Her voice sweetly cooed, bringing her free hand to tilt Niobe's head to the side. "Now do be quiet, my dear. This might hurt a little bit."

There: she let out a piercing scream.

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A/N: Welcome to Part 3 of Changing of the Song.

Firstly, I would like to thank you for reading this so far. It's been a long journey and it's still surprising that this is only the halfway mark. 

I would also like to note that at the very moment I am still writing in progress Part 3 and eventually, I might have to split it into two for the sake of its length and my sanity when it comes to scheduling.

Part 3 is going to be quite heavy in terms of changing viewpoints as well as new creations of headcanon and canon. So please bear with and if you're not into that sort of thing of new lore...well it's probably not for you.

I hope you guys enjoy the ride and thank you again. <3

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Edited: 09/09/2022