For the sons of Fëanor that yet lived came down suddenly
upon the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath, and
destroyed them. . . 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 of Gil-Galad came hasting to the aid of
the Elves of Sirion; and Elwing was gone, and her sons.
The Silmarillion: Of The Voyage Of Eärendil, J.R.R Tolkien
Elros softly padded around the small room, which was comfortably but sparsely furnished. The window, however, was firmly bolted, and there was no feasible manner of escape out of that, or the door.
"Elros, be seated," pleaded Elrond from where he sat uncomfortably on one of the small beds. "There is little we can do, at least for now."
"We should at least try!" said Elros angrily, beating his fist softly against the wooden door. "Elrond, they have kidnapped us and taken us from our kin, and you expect me to be seated?"
"Yes," said Elrond in a tired voice. "There is no point in wasting your energy in a pointless endeavour."
"Very well then, since you demand it," said Elros with mock civility. He threw himself down on to the opposing pallet. "And what do you presume for us to do now, dear brother?"
"That I do not know," said Elrond, and sighed. Clenching his fists in frustration, Elros turned to face the wall, preferring to be lost in his own thoughts.
Two days ago, Elros and Elrond, twin sons of Eärendil and Elwing, had been kidnapped by the remaining sons of Fëanor, Maedhros and Maglor. Before the twins had the opportunity to grab their weapons, they had been knocked unconscious and kept as such until they were safely hidden. They had not yet spoken to their captors, nor yet had they been spoken to, but Elros knew from tales of old that the victorious captor always came to mock the captive. That at least his mother had told him. His mother. . .
"Elrond?" said Elros softly, his heart clenching tightly in his breast. "What do you suppose has happened to our mother?"
Elrond threw his head back slightly, allowing his dark hair to cascade over his strong shoulders. "I wish that I knew," he said softly, staring at the dark ceiling. "The last I saw her, she was running with the Silmaril, her hair flowing behind her."
"So you fear she may be dead then?" said Elros softly, feeling his heart clench once more as he shut his eyes.
"Nay!" said Elrond sharply. "Some of our people were running with her, as if to protect her. I do not think she is dead."
"Then perhaps the Elves of Sirion shall come to our aid then," said Elros, his heart unclenching and hope replacing the pain. "For our captors do not have the Silmaril."
"Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn. . ." murmured Elrond, and flashed his brother a small smile. "We will find a way."
"We will. . . " echoed Elros and shut his eyes again, imagining the glorious feeling of freedom and desperately ignoring any less pleasant images his mind was throwing up.
Together, Maedhros and Maglor were walking towards the room in which Elrond and Elros had been placed, their steps dogged with weariness and sorrow.
"We are the last ones left, brother," said Maedhros, his voice laced with pain. "And yet we still do not have a Silmaril."
"It is sorrowful indeed," agreed Maglor, his pace matching that of Maedhros. "Yet is it more sorrowful than the way is which we have slain yet more of our kind?"
Maedhros stopped and turned around to face Maglor, eyes aflame. "There is no sorrow worse than that of not having the jewels which our father made!" he hissed angrily. "The Elves of Sirion refused to give us what truly belonged to us and our family alone. They are no better than Morgoth himself!"
Maglor did not argue, for he had heard the same arguments before, not just from Maedhros but also from all his brothers, and even issuing from his own lips. No longer. Maglor had looked upon all those who had died by his sword, and was filled at once with a passion to regain the Silmaril, and a heavier, more desperate urge to rid himself of anything to do with the accursed oath placed upon himself by his father.
"Now," said Maedhros, reasonable once more. "We must deal with the Peredhil." He loosened his sword from his belt.
"Oh?" said Maglor, and his heart began to beat faster. "Deal with them how?"
Maedhros shrugged carelessly. "We have no use for them. They must be slain."
"No!" cried Maglor, horrified. "They are but young Elflings!"
"Young Elflings who are already trained in battle. Young Elflings who can easily fight against us, and escape if need be. Maglor," he said, sounding almost kindly, "it is what must be done."
"Maedhros, we have slain enough of our own kind today. Do not let those two be the next to fall under your blade!"
"Then what do you propose we do?" said Maedhros, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. "Keep them as pets?"
"No, as friends," said Maglor decisively. At Maedhros incredulous gaze, Maglor quickly defended himself. "In their veins flows the blood of Beren, Luthien, Melian the Maiar and Eärendil to name but a few. Imagine their powers, and imagine it turned to our-" Maglor swallowed uncomfortably, "just and noble cause."
Maedhros nodded slowly, and sheathed his sword again as Maglor heart beat slowed down once more. "Very well, but I entrust them to your care." Maedhros' voice became tender. "Do not let them best you brother. I do not wish to lose the last of my family."
"I will be careful," said Maglor with relief that his Maedhros' moment of madness had passed. The brothers briefly embraced, before Maedhros turned on his heel, and away from where the twins where being held. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Maglor passed into the room where the twin sons of Eärendil where being held, effortlessly opening the large oak door's barrior before closing it behind himself.
Two identical pairs of frightened eyes greeted Maglor, although both faces were steeled into impassive expression, hard lines in particular growing around the mouth of the one who sat on the bed nearest to the window. Maglor fancied that he could see a slight difference between the two, although he was not entirely certain as to what the difference might have been. Swallowing to relieve his dry throat, Maglor realised he had nothing to say. "Welcome," he said eventually. The impassive gazes did not change. "I am Maglor."
"We know who you are," said the one with the hard lines around his mouth. "You are the one that led the attack on our people."
"Not I alone," corrected Maglor painfully, unsuccessfully trying to ease the guilt on his soul. "My brothers Amrod and Amras were there also, as was Maedhros."
"Yet only two took us," said the other Elf. "And now we see the other one not."
"So you are the one whom we place the blame one," said the one nearest the window. "And no doubt you are the on who has come to slay us. Why hesitate from the deed? You have done much worse."
Maglor's face twisted into horror. "I am not here to slay you!" he said, holding up a hand in the symbol for peace. "I am here. . ." Why was Maglor there? He barely knew himself. "To welcome you."
"To captivity and torment," said the one who had spoken first. "Then I thank you, kind and gracious host," he continued angrily, ignoring the warning gazes from his brother.
"I hope that one day we might come to understand each other. That mayhap one day we will raise swords together for the cause of my father," said Maglor wearily. "That is why you still live now, for Maedhros would have indeed slain you, had I not stopped him. May I not at least know which of you is who?"
Silence greeted him, the two baleful stares unchanging. "As you wish. I shall name you as I see fit- I believe that you are Elrond," he decided, pointing to the Half-Elf that sat nearest to him, with hard lines around his mouth. "And you are Elros." He pointed towards the Half-Elf furthest from him, before nodding his head decisively. "I do not know how long we will stay within these walls. Most likely we will move camps shortly, and I do not wish to have to bind you. Farewell."
Maglor turned from the room, and began to leave the room. "You are mistaken. I am Elrond," called the one who Maglor has mistakenly called Elros. "And he is Elros."
"Very well then, Elrond," said Maglor with a small smile, before closing the door behind him.
As soon as the flame-haired son of Fëanor had left the room, Elros rounded on his brother. "Why tell him our names?"
"Why not?"
"He is the enemy!" Elros snarled at his brother. "As we were trained, you do not tell the enemy anything!"
"The enemy that saved us from being slain," pointed out Elrond, standing up from his position on the pallet. "He may have been telling the truth."
"Or, most likely, he may have been lying!" responded Elros, also standing up and coming toe to toe with his brother.
"If so, why make him more angry by refusing to speak?" reasoned Elrond, trying to keep his voice low and suppress his bubbling anger.
"You forget that soon the Elves of Sirion will come to our aid!" declared Elros proudly.
"And we do not know when, brother!" cried Elrond. "Why make captivity worse than it must be?"
"And why bow to the wishes of he that took us?" muttered Elros angrily, before turning to the firmly bolted window shutter and throwing his fist against it, causing the wooden shutter to shake violently.
"Because I do not wish to make the suffering any worse. .." said Elrond, stepping back from where his brother stood nursing his hand after the violent assault upon the shuttered window. Never before had Elrond seen such fire in his twin's eyes.
True to his word, Maglor kept the wrath of his brother from the Peredhil. In return, he was admitted to Elrond's confidence, although Elros regarded him with a quietly suppressed anger and hatred that threatened to burst forth at any given moment. As time drew on, the rage subsided, to leave an ice-cold expression in Elros' face in direct contrast to Maglor's flame red locks. At what may have been the plea of his brother- Maglor did not know- Elros was civil to Maglor, at least when spoken to. Yet never would he speak to the son of Fëanor directly, nor delve into details of himself. While Elrond became almost a friend to Maglor, Elros remained a stranger and something of a mystery to Maglor.
Maglor had other concerns to deal with. News was beginning to filter in that the hosts of Gil-Galad and Círdan were actively searching for Eärendil's sons, and beginning to draw near to them in the small abandoned outpost. After nearly a month of growing tension and anxiety in the camp, Maedhros and Maglor had both decided to move onwards, to a place where they could evade the forces of those who searched for them.
"What of the Peredhil?" said Maedhros as preparations began. "Have you sufficiently trained them as to take up arms for us?" Maedhros had regarded his brothers attempts to befriend the twins with scorn, and spoke of them as naught but Maglor's pets.
"They will not take up arms in our service, but I believe that they will not now attempt escape," answered Maglor. Maedhros considered his brother for a moment.
"Very well then," he said eventually. "Tell them that soon we leave. And warn them that escape will be treated with by me," he added darkly. Maglor did not argue, for he no longer had the heart to disagree with Maedhros over most issues. Instead, he merely bowed his head and hastened towards where the Peredhil still stayed.
"And when will we leave?" said Elrond slowly, trying to take in all that he had been told. Maglor had swiftly filled them both in on the events leading up to their departure, but had not given any specific reason why, nor no definite date.
"Early on the morrow," replied Maglor, glancing nervously at Elros. All at once his face had changed to that of something Maglor had not yet a seen- a wild and fell joy, tempered little by any fear.
"And will we be bound?" asked Elrond, also glancing at his brother uneasily.
"I do not wish to do so, " said Maglor slowly, wondering how to word it correctly. "But Maedhros has sworn that he himself with. . . deal with you, should you attempt escape."
Elrond hung his head. "Very well. We shall be ready, come the morrow."
"That is well," said Maglor, and risked a small smile. "Then I shall see you two hours before the sun first rises." Saying that, Maglor left the room once more, leaving the twins in comparative peace.
"They are coming," said Elros with glee, immediately after Maglor had left. "The Elves of Sirion are finally coming to our aid. Our mother is coming for us. All we need do is slip away and meet them. . ."
"And if we are unsuccessful?" cautioned Elrond. "Dare you risk Maedhros?"
"Yes," said Elros at once. Seeing the look of fear upon Elrond's face, Elros tried to smile. "I could leave alone," he said suddenly, inspired. "We would have a better chance for escape in that way, and I could lead them to the exact location. Then we could slip away unnoticed-"
"What of Maglor?" said Elrond, although his heart had grown lighter at the thought of escaping and seeing his mother again.
"What of him?" said Elros carelessly.
"Do we not owe him enough gratitude to tell-"
"No," said Elros instantly. "He would only bind us, and prevent us escaping. No- it is better if we act like this."
"It will be," said Elrond, attempting to convince himself.
"It will," said Elros and briefly embraced his brother. "Now come," he said disentangling himself. "Let us prepare ourselves."
Maglor roused them and guided them out towards where a mass of other Elves were waiting and some already were moving away towards the South-East. Gradually filling with excitement, Elros obediently followed Maglor and the more subdued Elrond. Seeing the arrival of their other leader, the main body of Elves began marching at a moderate pace away from their old campsite, walking under the bright light of the stars and crescent moon.
The hours wore on, and Elros deliberately began to slow down, falling purposely back from Maglor. Elrond gave him a worried glance, and in reply Elros merely grabbed his brothers forearm and squeezed comfortingly. "Oft hope is born when all is forlorn," he murmured, just within the hearing of Elrond. "I shall return," he promised, and slipped away through the crowds of ever-moving Elves, moving nonchalantly and succeeding in avoiding any suspicious gazes.
Elrond continued to march silently, his heart beating quickly and painfully in his breast, in fear for himself and his twin. Maedhros was a shadowy creature, little known in person to either of the Peredhil, but it was well known in lore that Maedhros was strong, and often merciless. The idea of Elros being killed made Elrond want to lie down and die himself. Though he had not spoken it to his brother, Elrond was less confident that it was indeed their mother following them. Elros had not seen the terror upon her face, and Elrond was sure that someone like his mother would have already come to their aid if it was possible.
But who else would it be?
"Elrond?" came a friendly voice from ahead of him. "Are you well?"
It was Maglor. Barely able to control his breathing, Elrond nodded shortly, feeling as though a giant pit had opened inside his stomach. It was over- Maglor would tell Maedhros- Maedhros would find Elros- Elrond would remain as the only living child of Eärendil and Elwing. Unaware of any of the inner turmoil taking place within Elrond, Maglor glanced over him. "Are you well?"
"Quite well," said Elrond, not able to look Maglor in the face. Soon, so soon, he would be the only one left. . . Maglor looked around the area.
"Where is Elros?" asked Maglor suddenly, glancing around for any sight of the suddenly missing Half-Elf. Elrond could not bring himself to answer, and merely looked at Maglor with terrified eyes. Realisation dawned upon Maglor with sickening clarity, and he suddenly did not need to know where Elros was. He knew where Elros was attempting to go. "When?" Elrond did not answer. "When, Elrond?" Maglor almost shouted, and Elrond caved in under the combined pressure of terror for his twin and fear for himself.
"Less than an hour ago."
As soon as he had been able to slip away from the mass of Elves, Elros had begun to run, grateful of his freedom and the chance to have the wind flowing through his hair once more. He had not bothered to disguise his passage, believing it would be many hours before his absence was noticed, and that a lone runner could evade a larger hunting party. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, he had slowed down to a walk, realising his predicament. Acting rashly, he had not stopped to consider the terrain through which he would be travelling, nor had he considered the actual task of finding the Elves which he knew were coming to his aid.
Disheartened, Elros allowed himself to pause long enough to sit on the grass and think awhile. Now he was free from his captors, what was he to do? Perhaps foolishly, he had imagined himself saving Elrond in a blaze of glory, his kin at his side. Now. . . Elros was not so sure.
"Elros?" cried a voice out in the darkness. "Where are you?" Elros threw himself down into the long grass, and cursed himself for stopping for a rest. Already, Maglor had discovered him!
Maglor had swiftly followed the Peredhil, an easy task since Elros' tracks were not even sufficiently disguised for the most basic of trackers. It was only at this point the tracks had become slow and hard to read, and although Maglor suspected that Elros was hiding in the long grass here, he did not want to startle the Peredhil further and cause him to give an even longer chase. Moving softly, Maglor tried to call out again gently. "Elros, I mean you no harm, but Maedhros will, if he discovers that you are missing. . ."
Elros continued to stay crouching in the grass, heart beating slowly faster as Maglor booted feet drew near to him. In but a few paces to the older elf's right, Maglor would trip over the younger Peredhil, and all would be lost- unless Elros acted first. Maglor suddenly stopped moving for a moment, and Elros tensed himself, ready to spring and down the son of Fëanor, so as to give himself time to flee once more. Maglor took a small step to the left, and Elros leapt onto the older Elf, taking Maglor completely by surprise. Aiming for the older elf's torso, Elros tackled the elder elf to the floor with the power off his initial leap, but Maglor was swifter than Elros had anticipated, and quickly reacted by flipping over, causing Elros to be caught under the elder Elf's weight.
Elros struggled bitterly, but for the first time he realised the true power of one he had considered weak. Maglor's lean limbs and drawn face hid a subtle power and strength, a strength that was able to pin Elros into the long grass with Maglor's hands pinning Elros' arms down, and a knee in the spinal chord prevented any further struggling. Maglor leaned forward carefully so as not exert any more pressure than was needed upon the Peredhil's back, and a loose hair swept past Elros' cheek as Maglor spoke to Eärendil's son. "I am going to let you go shortly, and I want your word that you will not try to evade me again."
"I cannot give that oath, nor will I!" cursed Elros in a hissing whisper. "You of all people should know the giving of an oath is not to be given lightly!"
Maglor's voice was firm. "Yet if I do not receive your oath, then I shall have to hunt you again, and Maedhros will be the one to take action."
"He. . . he does not know yet that I escaped?"
"No, and nor will he if you return with me quietly. I still wish for us to draw sword together, and I will not risk that unless you force me to tell my brother."
Elros body, once stiff, relaxed marginally. "No difference," he murmured. "I give my oath, but not for my people." He smiled into the dirt of the floor. "If they should rescue me, then it is not I that evades you."
Maglor released Elros, and put out a hand to help the younger one up. Elros ignored it, and chose to struggled upwards himself, his back stiff and sore. "Elros. . ." said Maglor hesitantly. "It is not your people that follow us."
Elros shot Maglor an almost pitying look. "And who else would my mother bring to our aid? They will find us eventually, son of Fëanor."
"Your mother?" Maglor stopped abruptly. "Elros, it is not your mother who follows us."
"Not my mother?" scoffed Elros. "She would not abandon us."
"Nay, yet she. . ." Maglor stopped. He had assumed the twins had known, and so he had not mentioned their mother's fate. For the last time he had seen Elwing, she had cast herself over a cliff, her hair flowing behind her and the Silmaril clutched to her breast. There was no doubt in Maglor's mind of Elwing's fate- she had perished to protect the Silmaril. "Elros, your mother perished in the battle," he said as gently as he could.
Elros eyes grew feral. "You lie," he hissed violently. "I will not submit to your untruths, oath or no!"
"It is no untruth," said Maglor sympathetically. "I did not realise you were unaware of her fate."
Elros laughed with no hint of amusement in his voice. "The lust for the Silmaril has addled your brain, Maglor! Surely you realise I know of your falsehood?"
"Yet it is no falsehood!" cried Maglor, and out of sheer instinct, grabbed Elros by the shoulder, forcing the Peredhil to look him in the eye. "I saw her cast herself from the cliff myself! Elros, your mother is dead!"
"No!" screamed Elros, and the light in his eyes changed from anger to a wild pain, one that hurt Maglor even to look upon. Suddenly, Elros' voice dropped, and he looked away. The fire in his eyes died and down, and he began shaking. "My mother is dead. . ." he whispered brokenly to Maglor, and fell forward into Maglor's arms. Shaken by this sudden turn of events, Maglor was unsure of what to do until he cautiously placed another arm around Elros, to envelope him in a loose embrace, growing tighter as Elros finally slowed himself to weep, sobs escaping uncontrollably out of his throat. This was the nearest Maglor had been to Elros, both physically and emotionally, and it shocked Maglor at how very natural it felt. As Elros wept uncontrollably into the elder Elf's armour, Maglor had the opportunity to truly see Elros for who he was. He had the appearance of a full-grown Elf, although he could not have been more than 25 summers. His face had more of a square shape to it than was usual in a male elf, and his dark hair was untidily braided. As originally thought, he was not entirely identical to Elrond, as if their opposing spirits affected their outward appearances.
Without warning, Elros pulled away from Maglor, shaking. He wrenched his arm out of Maglor, and took a step back, shaking heavily. He looked drained, as though the effort of weeping had taken all the fight out of the younger, and hung his head. "I shall follow you," he said in a voice so low that only another Elf would have been able to pick up. "For I now have no honour left."
The dispirited tone to Elros' voice shook Maglor. "There is no dishonour is weeping for fallen kindred."
"No, the dishonour lies in finding comfort in an enemies arms," said Elros bluntly.
"I am no enemy. Maedhros, maybe, but not I."
"My captor, then." Elros shrugged carelessly. "Little difference."
Once again, Maglor found himself turning around and facing Elros directly. "Surely you realise that this is for your own safety that I keep you captive?" Elros merely glared at Maglor, some of his old spirit returning. "No words I say will change your belief that I am your enemy."
As if hit by a bolt of lightening, Maglor knew what it was he should do. "So if words will not suffice, will this?"
Before either had time to back away, Maglor leant forward and captured Elros in a short, chaste kiss, which pressed their lips together for only a moment, yet still caused a current of understanding to flood through them both. Maglor pulled back to survey if his actions had been successful. If he was any judge, they had been. Elros stood, as though transfixed, his eyes shut very slightly. Slowly, as Maglor watched, Elros lips parted, and he touched his lips with his tongue, before opening his eyes and softly smiling.
"Yes," said Elros, and a new light came into his eyes, one of softer understanding. "That will suffice. Mayhap we are not enemies, Maglor son of Fëanor."
As they returned to the moving mass of Elves, Elros suddenly paused. "But I did not say you were my friend."
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Story notes: Silmarillion based fic, fairly obviously. First one I've ever done, so please be nice. Everything is double-checked to the best of my ability and to the best of my beta-readers ability too. Fairly obviously, I'd love your feedback!
No exact year is given for the date in which the events for this story took place in The Silmarillion or in any resources I was able to find. However, I am placing the capture of Elrond and Elros during their late teens, and going by the logic that, as Peredhil, they age in an identical manner to humans. Tolkien, as far as I know, never specified it exactly-there are two opposing theories, which, sadly, we shall never know the answer for. But I'm going for my own personal one. There's also a few notes at the end, that I'm putting there are they're spoilery.
Chapter end notes: 1. "Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn" is a quote from ROTK, spoken by Legolas to Gimli. To me, it sounded like some kind of Elvish proverb- and in that case, it seemed right that Elrond and Elros should use it. 2. I've always imagined Elros as more of a warrior and Elrond as the scholar. Also, Elrond always seemed very understanding of traditional enemies. (Dwarves etc) This is shown in the way I write them (hopefully).
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