Douglas Charles Kane’s Arda Reconstructed is an attempt to take those published sources and answer some of these questions. Kane painstakingly, word for word, traces each line of The Silmarillion and locates from where in JRRT’s early writings it came. When first I’d heard of Arda Reconstructed from a fellow fan, I was over the moon. I had attempted this on my own as part of research projects before, and it is not an easy task. To have a book providing at least a starting point for this sort of research would make my own forays into Tolkien’s legendarium that much easier. However, I also operated under the assumption that the results of such a study would make for rather dry reading and would stand primarily as a reference, to be opened at need and otherwise unread.

I was wrong on the latter as well. Kane’s research reveals several interesting trends as far as the construction of The Silmarillion is concerned. Several of them hit my own buttons as a researcher and fan-writer.

During a discussion of Arda Reconstructed on the SWG mailing list, the most frequently asked question was, “Exactly what is this book?” I feel like the book has two important components. Firstly are the charts–one per chapter with the exception of the chapters where CT has already provided a similar breakdown of sources as part of the HoMe series–that detail the sources of each line of The Silmarillion. At times, CT (and Guy Kay) took whole swaths of JRRT’s original sources and plunked them, nearly verbatim, into the published Silmarillion. At other times, they created a patchwork from numerous sources by cutting and pasting in ways that are dizzying to behold. These charts show this and, for me, these alone are worth the price of the book. I don’t even want to imagine the combined number of hours spent on such sleuthing. I’m just glad that, now, I don’t have to do it.

The second component of the book is the author’s commentary, which is largely based on observations made while, presumably, compiling the charts. Here, the book gets interesting and here, also, the book will prove problematic for some. The saying goes that if you put two Tolkien fans together, you will end up with three opinions, and Kane is not shy about expressing his, which I’m sure will imperil him in the minds of others in the community. But so it goes.

He traces several trends that occurred during the compilation of The Silmarillion that I found particularly interesting because, as noted, they relate directly to research interests and “canon” interpretations of mine. Firstly is the diminishment of female characters during the compilation of the published Silmarillion. I’ve already heard this idea poo-pooed: They were minor characters to start and were cut as part of a general goal of downplaying minor characters. Only this isn’t what Kane’s evidence shows. Nearly all of the women of Aman, for example, had at least one detail removed by CT and Guy Kay, seemingly without reason. Other roles were eviscerated, shoving female characters into the background when, according to Kane’s research, it seemed that JRRT intended them to maintain more prominent roles, often illustrative of some of the philosophical ideas that the “Silmarillion” was meant to include.

Míriel Serindë is one such character. With the total elimination of “The Story of Finwë and Míriel,” not only is Míriel moved to the margins of the story, but the philosophical and cultural concepts that she was meant to illustrate are lost as well. Ungoliant undergoes a diminishment that greatly reduces her complexity: the complexity of character that JRRT achieved in very few words being one of the truly notable aspects of the “Silmarillion.” Nerdanel is reduced from a strong and independent woman to one who, as I illustrated in my essay A Woman in Few Words, receives only four mentions in the text, all of which concern her status as a wife and mother. JRRT’s original material on her character, as my essay also illustrates, shows her importance beyond her relationship to important males.

Still other female characters–like Andreth and Nellas–were eliminated from the published story altogether, despite evidence in the published sources that JRRT meant to include them.

Also taken from the published Silmarillion are all references to the mythological sources of the stories being presented. Again, this is an argument that I have been making for years, largely in the context of fan-writings and the attempt to establish an absolute “canon” regarding events and characterizations. My point has always been that this is complicated–even rendered impossible–by the fact that JRRT framed his stories as tales told not by himself as an omniscient and omnipresent narrator but by sources that either lived through the events being described (as in Pengolodh’s depiction of the fall of Gondolin) or received information from other sources (as in Rúmil’s construction of the Ainulindalë based on what he was taught by the Valar). That this was JRRT’s intent is hard to argue against, even though I am generally averse to assigning “authorial intent” to any of the posthumous published works. From The Book of Lost Tales on through the final written sources, JRRT often directly ascribed a source of the tales he was telling or information he was presenting. Some of his later ideas–such as the attempt to integrate a round, heliocentric world with his existing mythology–directly rely on this framework. Yet this information is completely missing from the published Silmarillion. Where did it go and why?

Kane makes a compelling argument that, in an effort to achieve consistency, CT eliminated these attributions because they themselves presented inconsistencies. JRRT ascribed tales as being passed through two lines: from the Elves on Tol Eressëa to the mortal mariner Ælfwine, or from the Elves via the escaped Númenóreans. Kane suggests the CT thought it should be one or the other but not both–that having both would introduce inconsistency into the story–and so struck them altogether. Kane regrets this choice, and I agree. As a reader, it adds the illusion of historical depth and context that the published Silmarillion lacks. As a fan-writer, I wonder, if these attributions had been made clearer, would we see a greater allowance for imagination and invention in Tolkien-based fanworks? It would be more difficult to argue something from The Silmarillion as inarguable fact with a living, breathing narrator easily perceived just on the other side of it.

Kane makes a third intriguing point: the complexity of characters presented in The Silmarillion. The characters in all their shades of gray are what first seized my imagination about the book over even LotR, which is much more prone to dualism where its characters are concerned. “Silmarillion” characters, though, have always defied such easy classification. Just ask a room full of Tolkien fans whether Fëanor or Maeglin or Manwë are good guys or bad guys and observe the variety of responses that you get.

Yet Kane demonstrates a tendency of CT, during the assembly of the published Silmarillion, to edit the texts in such ways that characters are greatly reduced in complexity. Ungoliant has been mentioned; Melkor receives similar treatment. Fëanor and his sons are deprived moments that show them more sympathetically. Manwë’s tendency to look like an ignorant buffoon is not present in the source texts, but many readers walk away from The Silmarillion with this impression–I certainly did. Kane doesn’t suggest this, but I wonder if these changes were aimed at satisfying the notions of really evil villains and really fabulous heroes that seem present in many of the epics on which The Silmarillion is patterned. Garnering sympathy for the bad guys is a relatively new phenomenon and still not one that is universally liked, especially among fantasy fans. Perhaps CT felt that taking the book in this direction would be keeping truer to the epic form and make it appealing to the same fans who adored LotR.

Without having researched any of Kane’s claims for myself, I come away from Arda Reconstructed with just one major complaint. Arda Reconstructed uses only the published source texts–The History of Middle-earth, Unfinished Tales, and so on–which is advantageous in that it allows any reader to reconstruct Kane’s work (Arda Reconstructed Reconstructed?) but is also limiting as far as drawing conclusions about the correctness of CT’s decisions in putting together The Silmarillion.

Kane acknowledges this up front in the book:

It is possible, even likely, that som eof hte changes, omissions, and additions that I describe reflect textual material not included (for whatever reason) in those works, or some other source only available to Christopher (including, perhaps, personal conversations taht he had with his father). (pg. 25)

However, as the analysis proceeds, the reality of the methodological limits of the book sometimes seems to fall by the wayside in favor of expressing a strong, certain opinion about how The Silmarillion was created. On the one hand, I understand this desire. Few are the Silmarillion fans who don’t maintain a least one negative opinion as far as CT’s choices go. At the same time, one of the quips I hear uttered at times by Silmarillion fans is, “I could have done a better job of putting together The Silmarillion than Christopher Tolkien did,” and this unfailing makes me grit my teeth because, no, chances are that if just about anyone besides CT had attempted to create The Silmarillion, we would have an inferior book. I think that–given the time and effort put into it–the “mistakes” in the published text illustrate the enormity of the task more so than any shortcomings CT possessed.

Kane doesn’t go so far as this, obviously; in fact, he speaks in gratitude for CT’s role in bringing JRRT’s posthumous writings to fans and also points out the special relationship between them that made CT the ideal choice for compiling his father’s writings. But even with all of this, I don’t feel as though his conclusions are qualified enough in terms of their shortcomings. For example, when he discusses the diminishment of women in the published Silmarillion, he is often quick to place the responsibility for this onto CT’s shoulders, identifying these changes as wrong or, at best, puzzling. For example, in discussing the removal of the detail that Nerdanel, as well as Fëanor, learned metalsmithing from Mahtan, Kane remarks, “This is one of the most blatant examples of how Christopher’s changes appear to weaken an important female character” (pg. 80). And, true, the changes are puzzling, but the reason doesn’t necessarily lie in any choice that CT made. That is a spurious conclusion to draw based solely on the fact that the published material does not immediately illuminate the reason behind such changes.

In fact, another secondary work about J.R.R. Tolkien underscores the perils of drawing such conclusions. Shortly after finishing Arda Reconstructed, I found a copy of Paul H. Kocher’s Master of Middle-earth at the library. Master of Middle-earth was published in 1972, five years before The Silmarillion, so nearly everything about the Elder Days was left to piecing together details from LotR and The Hobbit or pure speculation. Even after the publication of The Silmarillion, The History of Middle-earth, and the other supplementary texts, I was often amazed at how on-target Kocher was in his speculations about the Elder Days. Yet, at times, he was also dreadfully off-base. For example, he writes,

If the navigable sea has any such boundaries Middle-earth cannot be a rounded sphere as we now conceive Earth. In the imrama tales this point posed no dificult to the wonder-oriented Celtic mind of the Dark Ages, which popularly accepted the world as bounded and flat anyway, or, when it did not, was quite willing to forget roundness under the spell of a good story. But is such a prescientific cosmology intended by Tolkien for Middle-earth? He never discusses the question explicitly one way or the other. He leaves us to survey the text of the epic and its Appendices for ourselves. Quite possibly he considers the question to be of no real importance to the story, and so is indifferent whether it is raised or not. (pgs. 12-13)

Never explicitly discussed? Of no real importance? Indifferent?? With access to the texts we have now, we know to be as wrong-headed as Kocher’s assertion that Idril must have become a mortal because she married one. The question of how to integrate scientific reality–so important to the underlying philosophy of “subcreation” that JRRT used in his stories–with the primitive but beautiful myths he had constructed actually pre-occupied JRRT quite a bit at the end of his life, and he’d even begun changing some of his writings to reflect a round, heliocentric world. My point isn’t to berate Kocher for not having read texts that weren’t even close to publication when he wrote his otherwise insightful book about JRRT’s mythology. My point is that the sources that build all of JRRT’s works are unbelievably complex, and even after the publication of The Silmarillion and more than a dozen texts to support it, there are still troves of unpublished notes and documents to which most of us don’t have access. And this is to say nothing–as Kane himself admits–of conversations between JRRT and CT to which even the most devoted researcher will never have access.

It may well be that CT is a misogynist intentionally bent on diminishing the roles of prominent women; it may be that he possesses a less nefarious (but no less harmful) bias that caused him to choose certain details over others when editing the book to a reasonable length; it may well be that he simply made some unfortunate changes in the interest of slimming and simplifying the text that gives that impression. Or it may be that there is somewhere a scribbled note indicating that Nerdanel should not have learned her father’s art. Or it may be that JRRT expressed to CT his uncertainty about the direction Ungoliant’s character was heading. It may be that we will never know, or that what seems a “trend” is really no more than an unfortunate coincidence, and the label of “misogynist” is too dire, in my mind, to attach to a person without full proof of malevolence or ignorance underlying his decisions.

And this, I think is the major shortcoming of Arda Reconstructed. If CT’s theoretical intellectual heir publishes another twelve volumes of the History of Middle-earth illustrating why CT made the changes that he did, then Kane’s book will become as much of an anachronism as Kocher’s: useful in some regards but generally unreliable for its opinions that fail to account for texts and information that it knows exists but cannot access and the possibility that such information will fundamentally alter one’s conclusions. It is not that those opinions should not be expressed. To the contrary, I suspect that Kane’s conclusions will make for some wonderful discussion and debate in the fan community. But I think the book should have done more to remind readers of the limitations posed by its methods and should have taken more care in assigning responsibility for choices with which the author did not agree.

So should you buy the book? Its price tag was a little wince-worthy on my starving student’s budget but, yes, it is worth every penny. As a researcher, I cannot be anything but grateful to Kane and relieved at not having to compile the information that he makes available in tidy tabular format in this book. The tables alone are worth the price of the book and, I suspect, will be well-thumbed in the years to come. The discussion is lively and moves surprisingly fast, given the density of the material that Kane covers. Aside from my misgivings about his certitude at points, he brings to light interesting trends that I think are worth considering and discussing, even if we never reach any definite conclusions.

As a fan-writer, too, Kane’s work if anything demonstrates the frailty of what we fans often identify as “canon”: that notion that there exist facts in JRRT’s writings that can unequivocally be determined as “right” or “wrong.” Several of my fellow fan-writers raised the question of how Kane’s work will change how fiction based on JRRT’s writings is perceived. Pie-eyed optimistic heretic that I am, I believe that Arda Reconstructed defends a less stringent notion of canon. It is a firm reminder of the state of flux in which many of JRRT’s writings were at the time of his death. While any single fan can take a work or works and pin it down as “This is truth to me”–as many do with the published Silmarillion–that really cannot be defended beyond personal preference, and Arda Reconstructed illustrates why.

I give Arda Reconstructed 3.5 Keebler E.L. Fudge “Elves Exist” cookies out of four.

Then, suddenly, it occurred to me: That never happened.

The idea that Maedhros wished to slay the sons of Eärendil before his hand was stayed by Maglor is a popular fallacy in Silmarillion-based fiction. I was curious as to how many people thought that it was canon that Maedhros threatened to kill Eärendil’s sons at Sirion, so I posted a poll in my LiveJournal. As of collecting poll results on 17 November 2008, at 11 AM EST, just under 13% of respondents thought that “[d]uring the attack on the settlement at Sirion, Maedhros wanted to kill Elrond and Elros, but Maglor stopped him.” But, perhaps more intriguing than that, just over 28% of respondents weren’t sure if this was canon or not, which means that 41% of Tolkien fans who responded to the poll either thought that Maedhros’s threat to the boys at Sirion was either canon or possibly canon.

But this idea is a fanon, though I think the poll results underscore that it is a tenacious one. I remember encountering it in some of the first Silmarillion-based stories that I read. As attested by my recent experience, it is still making the rounds, and almost half of Tolkien readers don’t recognize it as AU (nor are authors writing stories based on this fanon particularly forthcoming about this fact, at least in my experience, which suggests that they likely believe its canonicity as well or believe that a fanon so deeply entrenched no longer warrants an “AU” designation … though tell that to Maedhros/Fingon authors!). This is intended in no way to reflect poorly on readers or authors who either believe this to be canon or who think there is a possibility that it might be. I would have to disparage myself as well, since at one point in my “career” as a student of Tolkien’s works I would have confidently checked the “Canon” option. When I first encountered this fanon, I was not well-versed in canon, so my mind adjusted what I read in Tolkien’s books to accommodate what enough authors wrote about that, surely, it must be true. Right?

Defining canon is difficult for any of Tolkien’s works, but that difficulty is compounded when trying to make sense of The Silmarillion. The Silmarillion was published posthumously. It was an incomplete and ever-evolving work that Tolkien had literally spent a lifetime writing. Christopher Tolkien took what drafts and scraps he could find and attempted to create from it a coherent history that he felt represented his father’s last word on many subjects that had never achieved anything near to finality in JRRT’s lifetime. With the publication of The History of Middle-earth series, fans and students of JRRT’s work were given access to the same materials with which Christopher Tolkien had worked–and then some–and the unique opportunity to Monday-morning-quarterback CT’s version of The Silmarillion. Hence, it is not at all uncommon to find Silmarillion authors who don’t use parts of The Silmarillion as their primary canon but prefer the “HoMe version” that they feel probably better represents JRRT’s final word on a subject. Therefore, when discussing matters of “canon” in The Silmarillion and how fanons evolve from the texts, it is important to consider not only The Silmarillion but the portions of The History of Middle-earth on which it is based.

What does The Silmarillion say about Maedhros and Maglor’s relationship with Elrond and Elros? It’s pretty straightforward:

For the sons of Fëanor that yet lived came down suddenly upon the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath, and destroyed them. In that battle some of their people stood aside, and some few rebelled and were slain upon the other part aiding Elwing against their own lords (for such was the sorrow and confusion in the hearts of the Eldar in those days); but Maedhros and Maglor won the day, though they alone remained thereafter of the sons of Fëanor, for both Amrod and Amras were slain. Too late the ships of Círdan and Gil-galad the High King came hasting to the aid of the Elves of Sirion; and Elwing was gone, and her sons. Then such few of that people as did not perish in the assault joined themselves to Gil-galad, and went with him to Balar; and they told that Elros and Elrond were taken captive, but Elwing with the Silmaril upon her breast had cast herself into the sea. …

Great was the sorrow of Eärendil and Elwing for the ruin of the havens of Sirion, and the captivity of their sons, and they feared that they would be slain; but it was not so. For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor’s heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath. (1)

Nowhere in this account is Maedhros said to have wanted death for the young sons of Eärendil, much less that he tried to accomplish it.

However, there is one portion of this quote that I suspect is the basis of the fanon that Maedhros attempted to slay Elrond and Elros before being stopped by Maglor: “… [Elwing and Eärendil] feared that [their sons] would be slain; but it was not so. For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond” (1). “Maglor took pity” … surely that implies a darker fate for the sons of Eärendil, does it not? Furthermore, Elwing and Eärendil had reason to fear that their sons would be killed by their captors.

To address the points out of order: of course Elwing and Eärendil thought the Fëanorians possessed the capacity and motivation to kill children. Elwing and Eärendil are certainly not partial to the Fëanorians, nor would they be particularly inclined to give them credit for mercy, much less justice. I think it’s important to distinguish between the point-of-view of The Silmarillion’s narrator–who possesses some distance if not complete impartiality–and the points-of-view of the characters, who certainly held the considerable bias expected of anyone who survived two attacks from the same people and would have lacked the emotional distance to overcome this. To them, the Fëanorians would have been inhuman, barbarian, capable of slaughtering small children simply to exact vengeance. Elwing, also, lost both of her brothers to the “cruel servants of Celegorm” during the attack on Doriath; would she even have known of Celegorm’s death and Maedhros’s attempt to save her brothers? (2) Furthermore, it is unlikely for reasons of propaganda: When trying to convince the people of Sirion of the justice of their cause in withholding the Silmaril from the Fëanorians, it would not have behooved Elwing or Eärendil to acknowledge their foe’s capacity for mercy. Short of painting Elwing or Eärendil as liars (which I am not willing to do), this makes it very likely that they would have come to believe this themselves, a belief that likely would have strengthened the more they invoked it.

So Elwing and Eärendil’s belief that their sons’ lives were in danger is neither surprising nor a reliable statement about the Fëanorians’ intentions.

Maglor’s taking pity on the sons of Eärendil really does not say anything about Maedhros either. In light of the fanon that Maedhros wished to slay the boys, of course, it applies quite neatly. But that is hardly the only interpretation to which that statement fits. A council might have met to decide the boys’ fate, at which Maglor spoke of his pity for them and his intentions to foster them. Perhaps the children were to be held as captives but for Maglor’s pity. Perhaps they were to be left in their settlement with the few survivors, but Maglor feared that this might cause them hardship or death and, pitying them, wished to offer them a better chance. Maybe they were to be fostered to someone else–say a mother with several children already–but Maglor chose to raise them instead. The interpretations into which that passage will fit are endless.

And, in fact, I would argue that the popular fanon under discussion here is one of the least logical interpretations, given what we know about Maedhros.

What do we know of him in The Silmarillion? His detractors will be quick to point out his oath and his role in three kinslayings, as well as the fact that he sat at the head of the House of Fëanor through all of the First Age and, therefore, would have borne primary responsibility for the kinslayings at Doriath and Sirion, which could not have happened without his consent. These things are all true. But there are other equally valid facts that temper his characterization. Of his house, canon shows him to be most concerned with unity and peace. At the Fëanorians’ first landing on Beleriand, he stood up to his father and asked that the ships be sent back for the House of Fingolfin. He relinquished the high kingship to Fingolfin not long after. He, with Maglor, attended the Mereth Aderthad. Canon shows him maintaining friendship with both the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin. He orchestrated the Union of Maedhros, which might have been successful but for treachery. Prior to both the kinslayings at Doriath and Sirion, he attempted diplomacy and was turned away both times. If we place credit for the kinslayings most solidly on his shoulders as the head of his house, so we must place credit for the diplomacy that, had it been accepted, would have avoided need for the attacks.

But perhaps the most compelling evidence against the fanon in question is Maedhros’s action after he discovered that the sons of Dior had been left to starve in the woods by Celegorm’s servants: “Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells” (2).

If he was indeed repentant and went so far as to search “for them long in the woods of Doriath,” why would he slay out-of-hand two other young innocents in an almost identical situation?

I’d go so far as to argue that, based on what we know of Maedhros, to depict him as willing to slaughter two children without cause is out-of-character. Yes, a writer can make a case for something happening between the kinslayings at Doriath and Sirion that would make what we know of him based on almost six hundred years’ (3) evidence of statesmanship and mercy no longer applicable. But that writer will have to make a strong case for that and, frankly–given that most stories employing this fanon plop us right into the room with the sons of Eärendil or, at best, the battle–most stories do not. The assumption is that Maedhros is nasty enough to contemplate such an act, which is terribly out-of-character.

But, as I noted earlier, not all authors consider The Silmarillion as their canon. I think, then, that it is also necessary to look at what The History of Middle-earth has to say about this event and Maedhros’s role in it.

Elwing’s choice to withhold the Silmaril from the sons of Fëanor is one of the oldest ideas that was maintained consistently through to The Silmarillion’s publication and first appeared in the Nauglafring in The Book of Lost Tales 2. In fact, in Christopher Tolkien’s commentary on the next History of Middle-earth volume, he states, “The Sons of Fëanor have previously all been named only in the Tale the Nauglafring,” making their involvement with Elwing and her Silmaril as old as they are (4). At this point, however, The Book of Lost Tales lacks any mention of her children and the Fëanorians’ treatment of them.

But the idea did not proceed without changes. We see the story emerge again in The Shaping of Middle-earth (HoMe, vol. IV) in the summary “Sketch of the Mythology”:

Their son (Elrond) who is half-mortal and half-elfin, a child, was saved however by Maidros. When later the Elves return to the West, bound by his mortal half he elects to stay on earth. Through him the blood of Hurin (his great-uncle) and of the Elves is yet among Men, and is seen yet in valour and in beauty and in poetry” (5, boldface mine).

So, in the earliest version as this story takes shape, it is Maedhros who takes pity on Elrond, not Maglor.

“Sketch” was then expanded into the Quenta Noldorinwa, or simply Quenta. For the section of the story concerned, there existed two versions. In the first version (Q1), we see the continuation of the idea in “Sketch” that Maedhros rescued Elrond: “But Maidros took pity upon her child Elrond, and took him with him, and harboured and nurtured him, for his heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath,” where we also see some of the language of the published Silmarillion taking shape (6). The second version (Q2) at first continues this idea of Maedhros-as-savior. However, revisions to Q2 introduce two important changes. Elrond is given a brother, Elros. And Maglor and Maedhros switch roles, with Maglor becoming the children’s savior. The Earliest Annals of Beleriand and The Later Annals of Beleriand, which are believed to be slightly later than the Quenta, echo the changes in roles between Maedhros and Maglor. (See Notes for a more detailed analysis of the addition of Elros and the likely sequence in which the primary source texts were written and revised.)

And this, so far as we know, was Tolkien’s final word on the subject (7).

“After the hasty ‘Sketch of the Mythology,’ … the Quenta Noldorinwa [Quenta] was in fact the only complete version of ‘The Silmarillion’ that my father ever made,” writes Christopher Tolkien in the Prefare to The Shaping of Middle-earth. JRRT was interrupted in his work on The Silmarillion to write The Lord of the Rings. He simply never got back to it in its entirety. The fact that the wording used in the Quenta is almost exactly what would be published in The Silmarillion for the account of Elrond and Elros makes sense, given this: It was the final version that CT would have taken as “canon” when putting together The Silmarillion. So, in the HoMe, there is no mysterious expansion on the account given in The Silmarillion of Elrond and Elros’s fostering by Maglor that shows Maedhros to be ruthless in excess of what we observe throughout the rest of the published Silmarillion. In fact, we see quite the opposite: JRRT’s original conception of Maedhros was as the twins’ rescuer, not potential murderer. The reassignment of this role to Maglor came rather late and was only repeated in the Annals of Beleriand before Tolkien ceased to write any further on the subject.

I think that this is significant, not so much in asserting that Maedhros and Maglor were mis-assigned roles in the published Silmarillion (because Maglor-as-savior does appear to be a final and reliable revision) but to lend further proof to the fact that Maedhros behaving without mercy towards the twins is terribly out-of-character. With few exceptions, JRRT established early the roles the Fëanorians would one day have in the published version. Maedhros and Maglor–just as in The Silmarillion–stood out for their guilt and capacity for mercy as compared to their brothers. In the several versions of the “Silmarillion” found in The Shaping of Middle-earth, these traits can almost be said to become these characters’ foundations. Not only are they involved early in the sparing of Eärendil’s sons, they go so far as to forswear their oath following the desertion of Dior’s sons. They attack Sirion only reluctantly and under pressure from Amrod and Amras, who earn their deaths in that battle much as “the 3Cs” earn their deaths at Doriath:

In annal 210 it is said that Maidros actually forswore his oath (although in the final annal he still strives to fulfil it); and this is clearly to be related to his revulsion at the killing of Dior’s sons in the annal for 206. Damrod and Diriel [Amrod and Amras] now emerge as the most ferocious of the surviving sons of Fëanor, and it is on them that the blame for the assault on the people of Sirion is primarily laid: Maidros and Maglor only ‘gave reluctant aid’. This develops further an increasing emphasis in these texts on the weariness and loathing felt by Maidros and Maglor for the duty they felt bound to. (8)

As a self-proclaimed “Fëanatic,” attempts to vilify the Fëanorians beyond what their canonical deeds already accomplish for them tends to annoy me because of the flat characterization it produces, if nothing else. And part of me wonders if this fanon has been seized so eagerly by authors who don’t like the Fëanorians and are quick to assume the truth behind any besmirching of their names that isn’t dismissed outright by the canon.

But, then, a more reasonable voice replies that fanon is fanon, and there really is no reason to assume bias much less maliciousness at work behind this particular fanon.

After all, as MithLuin remarked in a comment on my original LiveJournal post on this topic, this fanon does add tension to an event hastily sketched in the published Silmarillion:

But conflict makes for good drama, so in a story, it works better to have them argue over this before he agrees, rather than writing:
“I want to keep them!” ~ Maglor
“Okay.” ~ Maedhros :)

This is an event of enormous historical and symbolic significance to people who study and write about Tolkien’s works. Its cursory treatment in the text belies the enthusiasm people feel for writing about it, and with good reason. In this event there is an intersection of the three ages that receive the most treatment in fiction set in Tolkien’s world. There are Maedhros and Maglor of the First Age, committing some of their final acts before going to death and self-exile, respectively; this event, in many ways, represents the closing of the chapter on First Age history. There are Elrond and Elros, who in the Second Age will aid in developing their respective Elven and mortal communities, in many ways representing here the beginning of the chapter on Second Age history. And, of course, all of this will culminate in the Third Age, the epic events of that era being impossible without this moment in distant history, when Elrond’s house and especially the heir of Elros (Aragorn) will aid in banishing Sauron from Middle-earth. It comes as no surprise to me, in looking at stories about this topic, to see an enthusiasm for tales about Maedhros and Maglor’s relationship with Elrond and Elros among fans of both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. There are few better examples of the continuity and connectivity of Tolkien’s several works than this.

And, at the same time, there is emotional power there as well: two kinslayers at the ends of their lives who still have love and mercy enough in their hearts to aid two orphans. There is symbolism in the loss of their twin brothers Amrod and Amras in the same battle in which the twins Elrond and Elros are found; there is the deeper connection to those twins Eluréd and Elurín lost during the second kinslaying and the chance to make amends, especially for Maedhros, for that terrible deed. Perhaps this is the reason for my distaste for this fanon. In Maedhros and Maglor’s mercy toward Elrond and Elros, Tolkien has created an event that serves as the climax to one story at the same time as it acts as the preface to another, as well as providing an apt example of the complexity of character in The Silmarillion that makes writing about the book such a delight. Thrusting one of the characters undeservedly into the place of villain ruins this.

Works Cited

• 1. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath.” Return to first in-text reference
• 2. Ibid., “Of the Ruin of Doriath.” Return to first in-text reference
• 3. This figure was computed using the final dates in The Grey Annals and The Tale of Years, both found in Volume XI of The History of Middle-earth: The War of the Jewels. These are JRRT’s most up-to-date timelines and fit together without contradicting each other, so can be used in conjunction to get fairly accurate chronologies for the First Age. I measured between the burning at Losgar (4997 YV or 47,871 Sun Years after the arrival of the Valar in Arda) and the Fëanorian sack of the settlement at Sirion (531 FA or 48,432 Sun Years after the arrival of the Valar in Arda) for a total of 561 years. Return to first in-text reference
• 4. J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth. Vol. III, The Lays of Beleriand, ed. Christopher Tolkien, “Commentary on Part III: ‘Failivrin.’” Return to first in-text reference
• 5. J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth. Vol. IV, The Shaping of Middle-earth, ed. Christopher Tolkien, The Earliest ‘Silmarillion’: The ‘Sketch of the Mythology,’ §17. Return to first in-text reference
• 6. Ibid., The Quenta §17. Return to first in-text reference
• 7. Ibid., The Earliest Annals of Beleriand, introductory material. Return to first in-text reference
• 8. Ibid., The Earliest Annals of Beleriand, Commentary. Return to first in-text reference

Bibliography

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, ed. Christopher Tolkien.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth. Vol. II, The Book of Lost Tales 2, ed. Christopher Tolkien.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth. Vol. IV, The Shaping of Middle-earth, ed. Christopher Tolkien.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth. Vol. V, The Lost Road and Other Writings, ed. Christopher Tolkien.

Notes

Annal 329 of The Later Annals of Beleriand reads, “The folk of Sirion were taken into the people of Maidros, such as yet remained; and Elrond was taken to nurture by Maglor.” This seems almost a reversal on the addition of Elros in the Quenta, until one considers that the multiple sources under discussion here are believed to be written close in time to each other, and it is not always possible to accurately date the revisions made. CT’s Commentary on the Later Annals of Beleriand, in the commentary to Annal 325, makes note that, “The order was then inverted to ‘Elros and Elrond’. No doubt at the same time, in annal 329, ‘Elrond was taken’ was changed to ‘Elros and Elrond were taken.’ This isn’t entirely relevant to the topic under discussion but is more to satisfy the curiousity of astute readers who note that my conclusions do not match exactly with the text proper of The Later Annals of Beleriand. Given all of this, I consider the following timeline as far as the composition and revision of JRRT’s various primary sources:

• The ‘Sketch of the Mythology’: Maedhros as savior of Elrond
• Quenta Noldorinwa, version 1 (Q1): Maedhros as savior of Elrond
• Quenta Noldorinwa, version 2 (Q2): Maedhros as savior of Elrond
• Q2 revised to reverse Fëanorians’ roles: Maglor as savior of Elrond
• The Earlier Annals of Beleriand: Maglor as savior of Elrond
• The Later Annals of Beleriand: Maglor as savior of Elrond
• Q2 and The Later Annals of Beleriand revised to add Elros: Maglor is now the savior of Elrond and Elros, and the final version has taken shape (Return to post)