Chapter Text
Quiet weeping of women filled the streets of the haven of Sirion. Fires raged everywhere across the city and the rotting corpses of elves and men were strewn across the landscape as far as the eye could see. What once had been a safe place that provided asylum for the refugees of the countless wars and skirmishes in Beleriand, was now just another stage for the aftermath of a cruel attack.
Yet, what set this attack apart from the usual ones, was its perpetrators. This was not malicious cruelty done by Angband’s orcs and its dark magic. No dragon fire had burned the houses down and turned bodies of countless women and children into ash.
Maedhros stood in the middle of the carnage he had orchestrated. He held his head high, not sparing even a glance to the bodies or the survivors, that raised their voices in pleads for mercy when they huddled past him. They meant nothing to him. Blood was dripping down his polished armor and he had sheathed his sword for now. There lingered a sour taste in his mouth. They had known Sirion was mostly inhabited by refugees, not warriors, so the victory had been almost guaranteed. Yet it had taken nearly two full days of fighting and heavy losses in the streets until the victory was theirs completely.
The city was on its knees before them, yet there was one last thing they needed to accomplish.
There was a determined look in Maedhros’ eyes and his gaze was fixated on one particular building that he could see on the other side of the town, located on a hilltop. Their goal after all these years was so close he could almost feel his father’s precious gem in his hand.
Maedhros observed his men around him. After the battle had ended there was no controlling them. The troops weren’t the valiant noldor soldiers they once had been. Years of living in the wilderness outside any society or the rules that came with it, had turned them into ruthless vagabonds. Raucous laughter and jests filled the streets. Most of them went from house to house, the ones that were still standing, and looted them to their hearts desire. Windows were broken and furniture was scattered. Residents were scared out of their hiding spots and driven away with threats of violence. One of the soldiers was in the middle of shearing off an elven woman’s hair for the precious jewels woven into it. His friends were rousing him on and no help came for the woman. The flames around them casted their gigantic shadows on the wall behind them. The woman’s scream mixed in with the soldiers cheers as wine kegs were brought out and served to anyone who wanted a taste. Someone found fine ivory cups from another house and the mood amongst the victors was merry.
Yet, Maedhros did not join them. He was waiting for a word.
There was a small child, probably an elven one, wandering around the street only a few meters away from Maedhros. Alone and completely lost. The child had a thousand yard stare in their eyes and bleeding cut on their forehead. The fires made the child’s light hair seem red. Maedhros watched as the child went carefully from body to body, searching their faces until moving on. Not finding what they were looking for, the child disappeared around the corner shortly after.
Finally his messenger arrived and confirmed Maedhros’ suspicions. He left his men to their merrymaking and made his way forward with his personal guardsmen. They were forbidden from leaving Maedhros’ side unless commanded and were aware of the final quest they had to take before they could rest. They followed closely behind their noble lord, eyes scanning the area for any possible threats.
They had to stop for a while as they had to clear the street from rubble, caused by a collapsed wall. The air was filled with smoke and dust and it irritated Maedhros’ throat. It caused him to cough heavily and he had to lean onto a wall for a second to catch his breath. He truly hated the place and the sooner they were back in Ossiriand, the better. He spat a grey glob of spit on the pavement before rising. He barked for his men to hurry up.
With his hand on the hilt of his sword, his finger tapping a rhythm and anxiously waiting to advance, Maedhros noticed a shadow joining them. It slipped out almost without a sound from one dark alleyway and stepped into the light cast by their torches.
Pale and dark haired elven man was now standing next to Maedhros, swaying slightly from side to side. His expression was unreadable and he did not say a word of a greeting. The man carried a sword, which was stained dark with blood but his grip was loose and unfocused. It was as if the sword would slip from his grasp any moment now.
“Ah, brother. I was wondering where you had gone to. I was afraid I would have to go on by myself. Are you finished with the task I gave you?”
Maglor nodded once and that was enough. Maedhros did not expect him to answer. Maglor had not spoken in years. The famed minstrel, once known for his singing voice and poetry, had gone mute the day they had recovered the bodies of three of their brothers after Doriath. After the battle was over, Maedhros had found Maglor draped over Caranthir’s body, whispering an old lullaby to him as he stroked his brother’s ice cold cheek. Later they had found Celegorm and Curufin, who had died together, side by side like they always had been. They had burned the three of them that night. No grave remained of them. Maglor hadn’t uttered a word, or sung, since.
Now it was just two of them. They had lost Amras two days earlier in the early hours of the attack. Maedhros hadn’t been able to stop but had been informed later that Maglor had been the one to carry the battered corpse of their youngest sibling away and bury him in an unmarked grave outside the city.
The road was finally clear. With a smile, Maedhros tugged his younger brother to his side, and the company made their way up the road to a house that was larger than the average building in the makeshift town, but still quite modest with its bare walls with no ornaments anywhere. There was a small garden tucked on the side, untouched, which looked unnatural amidst all the chaos.
The house resided on a hill that looked over the rest of Sirion, and behind it were the sharp and bare cliffs that dropped into the restless sea.
Waves could be heard raging against the sturdy rock meters below them. A seagull cried somewhere and that was the only noise they heard. The house itself stood still and quiet. No guardsmen surrounded the house nor could they feel any sort of magic about the place. Maedhros encouraged his men forward.
The door was barred from the inside but was no match to the brute force of the armed men. They threw themselves against it, time and time again as Maedhros’ gaze scanned the perimeter. The door groaned and shifted before giving in and collapsing inwards. Splinters of wood were everywhere and Maedhros unsheathed his sword. He kicked some wood aside before stepping inside. Quickly he looked around with his sword raised. He could see no one. No attack came. The house felt like it was holding its breath and Maedhros couldn’t help but to feel a bit unnerved. Had the mariner truly left his household this unprotected?
“Elwing! Daughter of Dior, come forth and release the silmaril in your possession and we will promise you no harm will come to you,” Maedhros finally broke the eerie silence.
No answer came. The house seemed to be empty. Small portrait of Dior looked down upon him from a wall. Maedhros struck it down and the picture shattered.
He gestured to his men to search the house but gave orders not to hurt the lady too badly. They grinned and got to it. As they tore down everything that wasn’t secured in its place, Maedhros gave Maglor the orders to guard the front door with a couple of his men. In just a matter of minutes, they tore down almost every shelf and cupboard that could contain something hidden, scattering things around in frantic search for the silmaril. They pulled up rugs to search for hidden trapdoors, to no avail.
“Your husband is away at sea! Your people lay slaughtered! How far are you willing to go, Lady Elwing?” Maedhros bellowed. The small loft proved also to be empty and Maedhros ordered his men to advance to the back of the house.
One eager guardsman went first and peeked inside a storage room. Then, all hell broke loose in just a second. Suddenly, from another, smaller storage room ran out an elderly edain woman, with a knife raised. She plunged it into the surprised guard, who had been the one to open the door. The man fell dead on the ground.
The woman screamed with terror, still holding the knife.
“Now! Run, my lady!”
And like the loveliest songbird flying out from it’s cage, Elwing emerged from her hiding place in the dark room, looked around with determination, and with a few swift steps was at the back door of the house. She wrenched the door open and disappeared. The door banged loudly against the wall as Maedhros screamed with fury and ran past his shocked men.
“After her! I want her alive!”
He was stopped for a brief moment by the old woman, who grabbed his arm and tried to halt his run. Feet digging into the floor and putting all of her strength into the effort of delaying Maedhros for a single moment to give her mistress more time. Maedhros struck her down and cut her throat in a single stroke. The woman was left bleeding on the doorway as Maedhros followed Elwing into the night.
The lady’s fair, bright hair was like a beacon in front of him. A beacon Maedhros followed through the dark. The woman was running barefoot through the rocky cliffs. Not once did she stumble. Even when her feet clearly started to hurt and bleed, Elwing did not look back or scream. She was running as fast as she could, but was clearly holding something that made her running difficult and less controlled.
Maedhros might not have been as swift as Celegorm, whose hunting prowess had been legendary, but in a few minutes he had gained on Elwing, who was making her way to the tall rocks. Foolish of her. There she would be cornered, with no possibility for escape.
Elwing looked back and as she saw Maedhros only a few steps behind her, she climbed her way up to the tallest rock she could find and sang out a desperate cry for help.
There was no Eärendil on a ship waiting for her. Only the seagulls answered. Maedhros smirked and almost wanted to laugh at her foolishness. He slowed down to half jog and halted his men to stay back, their weapons readied. This wouldn’t take long. Maedhros walked up to the rock Elwing was standing on and called out to her. Elwing’s head snapped back and directed a hateful gaze to the man. She had her father’s piercing blue eyes, Maedhros noted.
In her hands was a woven pouch and she was clutching it tightly against her chest. A shiver wrecked Maedhros' entire body. He could practically feel the stone thrumming with power even from that distance.
“Elwing, it’s over. You have fought valiantly, but it takes a great wisdom to know when to give in.”
“You say that, son of Feanor, while being once again covered in the blood of innocent women and children. Tell me, when are you and your family going to give in?”
“When we fill up the oath we made to our father so long ago. We can’t rest until we fulfill it. So, for all of our sakes, give me the silmaril. You know it was stolen and that I’m its rightful owner. I promise you, that you will be returned to your husband unharmed.”
“Your promises mean nothing to me, snake. Your brother also promised my father no harm would come to his children. Yet, Celegorm took my brothers into the wilderness and now Eluréd and Elurín are forever lost,” Elwing screamed as tears gathered to her eyes.
“Celegorm is dead, Elwing. And I am not my brother.”
“No, you are not. He was so much worse than you. Were he here, I would have killed him. No, son of Feanor, this ends here and now,” Elwing said with calmness in her voice again. She pressed the silmaril against her chest even tighter, spared a last glance of sorrow to her house, which Maedhros couldn’t decipher, and then took a step back. A step towards the roaring sea.
When Maedhros realized what she was about to do, panic overtook him. He screamed and started to scramble up the rock as well. Screaming her name, he watched as she took another step back and then another. The climb was difficult with only one hand, and he slipped several times. Soon she was standing on the very edge of the cliff, her bruised feet dislodging small pebbles that fell from under her. Maedhros was on his hands and knees in front her, begging yet seething with rage. He would kill her at the first chance he got.
“Elwing, stop. Stop! Give it to me!”
Elwing was crying, but smiled through the tears. She pressed a soft kiss to the silmaril, like a child kissing the cheek of a parent. And then she was gone. Last thing Maedhros saw was the flash of her fair hair as it disappeared over the edge.
A scream ripped through Maedhros and he crawled to the edge and peered over it. No trace of Elwing or the silmaril was left. The sea had swallowed them both in seconds.
“Get to the boats! Search for her body! Search for the silmaril! Dive into the ocean if you have to!” Maedhros screeched to his shocked men who were still staring at the spot where Elwing had been just a second ago. No one could believe what she had done.
Maedhros came down from the rock and was about to lead his men to the shore when one of his men assigned to guard the house with Maglor approached him.
“My lord! Come quick, we found something!”
“What?”
Had Elwing been bluffing? Had she truly killed herself as a distraction only to secure the silmaril in the house after all? Maybe she had been in contact with Cirdan and Gil-Galad already?
“You better come see.”
Maedhros sent his men to the boats to start their search and followed the messenger. As they got nearer to the house, he could hear animal-like wailing coming from inside the house.
Maedhros stepped inside through the door he had chased Elwing through only ten minutes ago. It felt like a lifetime. In the main room of the house, his remaining guards were gathered around something. The crying came from the floor.
“My lord, we searched the house thoroughly and we found them hidden away in one of the closets,” said Canorfin, Maedhros’ second in command.
Maedhros broke through the circle of the men and was greeted by a sight of two young boys. Twins, Maedhros shuddered. One was silent and trying to make himself seem as small as possible, his thumb inside his mouth and his other hand grasping at his brother’s sleeve. The brother was sitting upright and making his displeasure known to the whole world. The boy was as red as his tunic and screaming and sobbing uncontrollably. He called out to his naneth in panic.
The twins couldn’t be older than six years old. Maedhros hadn’t known Eärendil had sired any children on Elwing.
Maedhros looked at them uncompassionately. The sniveling face of the crying child annoyed him tremendously already.
“My lord? Where is the lady?”
“Gone. Threw herself over the edge. Such is the power of the silmaril that it would cause thieves to jump to their deaths and leave their own children behind. She is not coming back. The rest of my guards are searching for the stone as we speak. We shall join them immediately.”
“Then, what should we do about them?”
For a moment Maedhros thought of Elwing’s words and his brother Celegorm, who had abandoned her small brothers in the forest. He hadn’t been there, but had heard of a detailed account of how Dior, mere moments away from his own death, had begged for Celegorm to spare the lives of his children. Celegorm had promised with his usual grace that they wouldn’t kill them. Then by his orders, his servants had dragged the boys away from their parents and marched the boys deep into the forest and to one soldier’s account, left them there to starve. The boys had been about the same age as the twins in front of him now. Maedhros frowned at the memory before sighing deeply.
“Kill them. They have no kin left to vouch for them.”
“My lord…”
“Or send them the same way their mother went. I do not care, just do it. We need to recover the stone and move out before Cirdan and Gil-Galad reach us.”
“Yes, sir,” Canorfin said, sheathing his sword before pulling out his smaller, more practical knife. The children had gone both quiet and deathly pale now. Maedhros turned away to leave. Canorfin reached down to pick one of the boys up when he was pushed away by a sudden assailant.
“NO.”
A voice Maedhros hadn’t heard in years rang in the room. It was a clear voice strong enough to make every single person freeze to the very spot they were standing at.
He turned around in shock and saw Canorfin tumble on the floor with Maglor, who was wrenching the knife away from his hand. Maglor’s hands were gripping the blade and Maedhros could see blood dripping down between his fingers. Maglor threw the knife across the room, as far away from them as possible. It left a bloody trail as it was flung.
When Canorfin gave up and retreated, Maglor stumbled with shaking feet and threw himself to the floor in front of the boys. He pressed his forehead against the floor planks and a sob wrecked through his entire body.
“Brother, please. No more,” he said with a hoarse, unused voice, that was barely above whisper.
“Maglor…”
“They are but children, Nelyo. Do not kill them.”
“Has pity taken over your heart, Káno? Now of all times?”
“If you can’t search your heart for compassion, then think of it this way, they are the last of what’s left of Thingol’s line. They are valuable to us.”
“You suggest that we take them as prisoners, instead? When have we ever taken prisoners?”
“I know, brother, but I am sure Gil-Galad and Cirdan would pay for their safe return.”
“We do not need their money and we are not criminals holding hostages for the sake of payment,” Maedhros spat out.
“Valuable piece in negotiations then! Their lives could secure our safe passage back to Ossiriand.”
Maedhros looked at his brother for a moment. He searched his eyes and saw the anguish in them. Sensing something more behind Maglor’s words, Maedhros ordered the room to be cleared out. He ordered everyone to rejoin with the men on the shore and start their search without him. The men were glad to leave the brothers to settle out their differences in private. Everyone was visibly uncomfortable by the public wailing of a man they deemed to be practically insane.
Soon, it was just two of them and the silent children.
“What is this really about, Káno? I know you well, so don’t lie to me now.”
“I beg of you to put an end to this. I just can’t take this anymore. We’ve lost everything...”
And Everyone.
“...I feel like my heart is about to burst. Everyday. And there are times when it becomes hard to breathe and my head swims.”
Maedhros crouched down to Maglor’s level and swept away a lock of his hair.
“Do they remind you of our baby brothers? Or do the sins of Turcafinwë haunt you? If I remember correctly, you tried to search for Dior’s children after we left Doriath?”
Maglor did not answer. He buried his face in his bloody hands and wailed out his agony. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. It was thrown at Maedhros’ feet.
Inside were a lock of auburn hair and two small finger bones. Maedhros grimaced. He rose up and glanced a pitiful look at the two children behind Maglor.
“Fine. They are your prisoners, your responsibility. Do what you want with them. Keep them silent and out of sight. And if we have any reason to get rid of them, they are gone.”
Maglor raised his face, his red swollen eyes filled with tears. He thanked Maedhros and kneeled again to kiss the hem of his robe.
Maglor had always been the sensitive soul of the family. Maedhros had been the shining star of the family and his father’s favorite until Curufin was born and proved to be almost the perfect copy of Feanor himself. They all had vied for their father’s hard earned attention and love of course, but Feanor had always made clear who his favorites were. Maglor had grown up to be a sensitive and artistically gifted child. Of all the children, he shared the most of his mother’s compassionate and gentle nature. They were both artists by heart and his mother adored him, but was mostly busy with her pregnancies and afterwards, taking care of the younger siblings. By the time the twins had grown up and his mother’s work completed, Maglor was too old to hide in his mother’s skirts. The person who he had leaned onto during his formative years, was his older brother. Maedhros had been the one to soothe him after he hurt himself. Always picking Maglor back up to his feet. He had defended him against their father’s pointed ire countless times. Just like Celegorm and Curufin later, the two of them had been inseparable. Of all the brothers, Maglor had been the most hesitant to leave Valinor and their mother behind. Time and time again he had almost turned back, ready to beg for forgiveness in front of the valar and his mother, whose heart the eight of them had broken.
**
Cirdan and Gil-Galad walked through the wreckage, shocked to their very cores in the face of such unnecessary death. They had arrived at Sirion just after the dawn after sailing all night, but it had been too late. The attackers were gone. Now there were only bodies to bury and refugees to transport to a safer location. Sirion was dead. The fires had exhausted themselves and now there was only smouldering ashes and smoke.
Cirdan kneeled down to inspect a woman on the ground, who was coughing furiously, little bit of blood on around her nose and mouth.
“Are you alright?”
“It’s just a bit of dust, milord, and the blood is not mine. Might you spare some water?”
Cirdan ordered some to be brought to the woman, who thanked him and devoured it all in seconds. She poured some of it on her palm and rubbed her face clean.
“Can you tell me something of the attackers?”
The woman’s face turned grave.
“It was the sons and their band of criminals. Came down upon us like rabid dogs, and did not care who they cut down. First we thought it was the men working for The Foe, until we saw the faded stars painted on their shields. Then we started to run,” the woman spit.
Cirdan nodded in confirmation.
“Do you know what happened to Lady Elwing?”
The woman shook his head and gave back the flask.
“Forgive me, I do not. But a few hours ago I saw folks come running from the direction of her house. Said they had seen the beasts leaving while burning everything on their path. They might know something.”
Cirdan nodded again, this time for his friend standing motionless.
Orders were issued to the survivors to gather up in the harbour. They would leave for the Isle of Balar at noon. Endless stream of miserable figures started their trek to the direction they were pointed at. At the harbor, they had to identify themselves and their kin to be allowed aboard. Cirdan’s men went around asking about any information of Lady Elwing’s fate.
Gil-Galad and Cirdan were helping their soldiers gather up bodies for burial. Gil-Galad’s usually cheerful face was now as hard as rock as he picked up a body of a boy no older than sixteen. He placed him gently on top of the growing pile on a cart.
“When you think the sons couldn’t have sunk any lower after Doriath, they go and do this,” Gil-Galad muttered and gritted his teeth.
Cirdan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I almost hope they got the cursed stone and can now take their desperate fight to the dark lord and leave the rest of us in peace,” Gil-Galad continued and told his men to take the cart to the shore, where a funeral pyre was being set up with the help of the survivors.
“Seems only Maedhros and Maglor are left. There goes a rumor that one of the feanorians died in the first hour of the attack.”
“The damn fools.”
They laboured for a while before a messenger ran up to them with news. They seated the exhausted looking man down and bid him to speak in a hurry. They feared for the worst that could happen to the daughter of Dior in the hands of the brothers and they had been late from the start.
“There was an old man who finally came forth to speak of the lady. Well, he doesn’t know what happened to Lady Elwing exactly, but he saw the feanorians leave.”
“Well, speak up.”
“The man told us he saw them three hours ago. He was hiding in a shed with his granddaughter, when he saw two lords come marching down the hill from the house where Elwing resided. The lady was not with them and the lords, especially a red haired one with only one arm, did not look particularly happy.”
“So Elwing escaped with the silmaril?”
The messenger went quiet for a moment before continuing with a shiver in his voice.
“From what the old man could piece together, it seemed they were keen to search the shoreline and even took out some boats to the water.”
“Then…”
“I am sorry, my lords. It seems to us that Lady Elwing took her own life and the silmaril with her. Some men took the liberty and are searching for her as we speak.”
Cirdan buried his face to his hands. He was a dear friend to Eärendil and this felt like a stab to his heart. He had betrayed his friend. How could he ever bid him welcome back when the man would return.
Nobody spoke for a while. Everyone needed a moment to digest the news, to think of a plan to move forward.
Cirdan said a quiet prayer for Ulmo to watch over her.
“There is... there was one more thing that might interest you.”
Cirdan’s head whipped back up.
“When the feanorians left. The old man noticed two of the guards carrying two small bundles over their shoulders. He heard them whimpering and crying.”
The twins. A chill ran down Cirdan’s spine. They had been so deep in their worry and grief they had totally forgotten Eärendil’s two small boys.
“Why! Why would they take them? They are mere children,” Cirdan turned to watch Gil-Galad in search of an answer, his mouth hanging open.
“I do not know that, my friend. But the children are in mortal danger every moment they spend in the company of Maedhros’ and his men.”
“There must be something we can do to save them.”
“I am afraid they are beyond our help, Cirdan. If they are not already dead.”
Cirdan chewed on his lip and glanced back to the muddy and trampled road that led away from Sirion and disappeared into the hills. He itched to gather up his men and pursue Maedhros’ army and do something. He imagined the terror the children must have felt and it enraged him. The picture of Maedhros’ sneering smile entered his mind unwillingly.
“Cirdan,” Gil-Galad’s voice tore him away from his thoughts and he glanced at his friend, who was walking away from him.
Cirdan only hoped Eärendil could forgive them someday. He turned his back to the road and followed his friend.