The Starlit Sky by Cirth

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Chapter Seven

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Chapter Seven

I could smell the nearing summer. The days had begun to lengthen, and the carpet of clouds over the hill grew thin, diminishing the dreary barrier between earth and heaven. The shadow that clung to the little forest seemed to lift. The rain, while still persistent, became a mist, settling over leaf and bough in a pale glimmer.

I had no idea what Maglor was plotting (Maedhros' words had intrigued me), if indeed he was doing such a thing at all. To try to coax any morsel of information from him, I began to spend an unsettling amount of time with him. I had to admit it was enjoyable, in a childish, thrilling manner, if not entirely pleasant. And so I did not complain.

We had taken to sitting together in the library, not always facing each other, but doing our work in silence. When he was not studying the languages of Beleriand (he spoke and wrote several of them fluently), he wrote music. He never made corrections or changes; he did not have to. His work was meticulous, well-spaced, and even pleasant to look at. It was not excessively beautiful, but perpendicular and businesslike, though he finished with a flourish. "I want," he said, "to be able to read my work when I look at it again. I cannot abide haphazard handwriting." I blushed. My own hand was sloppy and less-than-readable and earned me disapproving looks from my other tutor, Tuilin.

We did not only study together. Sometimes, when the weather was mild, we took walks around the fortress. Maglor had a powerful stride that befitted a captain of Noldorin forces, but he also moved with a grace that complemented his willowy, flexible body. Somehow he combined beauty with strength, artistic loveliness with practicality; it baffled me. He often had to slow himself to allow me to keep up, and I would scowl at this small act of charity. He responded with thinly veiled amusement, as would a father to his excitable son, which only heightened my annoyance.

One time, during our strolls, I lost my balance thanks to a broken sandal and fell headlong into a rose-bush in the back garden. I emerged, bruised and scratched, on all fours like an animal. Maglor cast me a half-exasperated, half-entertained look, and offered me a hand. I frowned at it, hesitant. Why did it have to be so large and rough, like the protective hand one would want on a father? He was not my father. I did not want him to be my father. My father had the same hands, but I seldom felt them. He –

"You do not have to take it," Maglor said, and began to withdraw it. I grasped his fingers and, without breaking my gaze from his, allowed him to pull me up. He misjudged my weight and for a moment had my feet dangling an inch from the ground. "Oh dear," he said. "It seems as if you need to be fed more!"

Unfortunately, that day seemed intent on ridiculing us. Only minutes later my cursed sandal gave way again, and I stumbled with a yelp. This time I crashed into Maglor, who was crouching in front of me, fondling a marsh bellflower by a small, ornamental pond. There was a surprised 'woah!' and a tremendous splash. The next moment we were on our bottoms, drenched in cold water and speckled with algae, gaping at each other.

There was a silence. A large, fat toad, looking like some sort of herald with its white stripes, paddled by and croaked at us haughtily.

As if that were a cue, we threw back our heads and roared with laughter, loud enough to startle a pair of lovebirds in a nearby tree. I thought one of us would fracture a rib from the convulsions of our chests. At length Maglor said, struggling to his feet and pulling stands of hair from his chin, "I am never walking with you again, Elrond! A plague on your talent for trouble!"

Before I could stop myself, I returned, "It is not my fault. Whenever I am around you, the heavens decide to punish me."

He averted his eyes and pursed his lips, and I immediately regretted my words.

We clambered out of the pond. I squeezed the water from my tunic, while Maglor took off his sopping shoes and slapped them together. Then we muttered goodbyes and parted. I felt strange as I advanced through the fort, as though in a dream. Once in my chamber, I changed my clothes and collapsed on my back on the bed. I remembered Maglor's laughing face, the corners of his eyes crinkled, a little dimple in one cheek.

After that day, I did not see him for a few weeks, for he went on rounds to hunt Orcs. For a time our walks ceased, like an unfinished sentence cut short. I felt listless, and Maedhros did not play chess with me again. He he seemed very busy, and did not even grunt a greeting to me if he passed me in the hallways.

My brother remained gloomy and sullen. He would read the book I had given him over and over again, his chin in his hand and his lips pressed together. He spoke little to me and less to Maedhros, and spent much time at the kennels and the stables. I kept asking him what was wrong, but he would shake his head and sigh irritably, as if I were too foolish for words.

One afternoon we were sitting in our chamber, having a lesson with Tuilin. I had been daydreaming, for I found the lesson boring, when Elros looked up, a hard look in his eye. "May I ask a question?" he said in a clipped tone. Tuilin raised her eyebrows and nodded, looking sceptical. She was a dark, thin woman with birdlike features who, for some reason, almost always wore black.

"Why did you all follow Fëanor into exile? Was it not rather..." Elros narrowed his eyes. "Idiotic?"

I gaped at him. A string of curses were running through my mind, but I was too shocked to voice them. Tuilin's head snapped up, and her posture seemed to become even more rigid than before. "You know nothing of the matter, Elros," she said. "And you do not speak to your tutors that way."

"Why not?" he asked. "After all, if it were not for you, no one would be in this fiasco you have all created."

I looked on, horrified, as Tuilin got up from her seat, her cheeks red. "If we did not come here," she replied, her voice tight, "you would never have been born."

"Perhaps," said Elros, averting his eyes, "I would have preferred it that way. It is because of you that Beleriand is practically shattered."

"We are not evil," said Tuilin, but her tone was rising.

"Then why," Elros suddenly cried, "did you kill so many people?"

I had shrunken into my seat, clutching my pen so hard it snapped. Guilt stabbed at me. This was my fault. I should never have given Elros that book, even if he was right in saying the Noldor had been foolish.

As if startled into embarrassment from the sound of my snapping quill, Elros left his chair and made for the door, only to find the entry blocked by Maglor. He had probably been present for a few moments already. "Apologise," he said, putting his hands into his trouser-pockets and narrowing his eyes.

Elros said nothing, gazing at the ground. "I said apologise, Elros." Maglor's voice was flat and cool, and left no room for disobedience. I do not know how brave my brother was feeling at that moment, because Maglor was terrible in his composed anger. He seemed to grow taller than he already was.

"I will not," said Elros, looking Maglor in the eye. I had to admire my brother's foolish valour. In my seat I felt shamefully safe from the Maglor's wrath. "I will not, until she answers my question."

"She has a name," Maglor returned, in a gentler manner. His shoulders relaxed. "And there is a way of speaking to your elders, much more your teachers."

"I want an answer," Elros insisted. I looked on, agape, wondering how much trouble we would get into for this. "I am under no obligation to be polite to people like you. Thieves. Murderers." Maglor winced, and I knew my brother's words had cut deeply. "Why did you betray Olwë's people?"

"You were not there," Maglor said, dropping his voice. "You did not hear my father's words. You did not hear their power."

Tuilin said, "My lord! Do not waste your breath. He will not understand – "

"Patience, Tuilin," said Maglor, raising a hand. He returned his attention to Elros. "You are right. We were wrong. Each of us had a choice, and we made it. It would be folly to blame only my father, or his mother."

"You chose some cheap jewels over your kin," said Elros, his voice breaking. His face crumpled. "Just like our parents." With that, he rubbed his eyes and charged past Maglor, who seemed too shocked to move.

Maglor turned round and called, "Elros! Come back here!" But my brother had disappeared down the stairs.

There was a strained silence. I felt a lump in my throat, and found it difficult to breathe. I was sitting in an uncomfortable position, yet I did not want to move. Maglor took a deep breath and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Tuilin," he said quietly, "help me find him."

With her head held high, Tuilin swept past him through the door. Maglor remained motionless for a while, then turned his head and looked at me with an odd expression. I was trembling, distressed, and his gesture did nothing to ease my discomfort. At length, he turned his heel and went away, leaving me alone in the large chamber. A breeze blew through the open window, ruffling the papers on the desks. I looked at the abandoned books and felt my breath catch. Then I dropped my broken quill and began to sob.

I cried for a long while, face in hands, smelling the salt of my own tears. When my strength was almost drained, I crawled into bed and pulled the furs over my skull, shutting myself off from the world. I yearned for Elros or Maglor to come in, but neither did. I was reminded of the times when I would wait and wait for my father to come to my bed at night when he was at Sirion, to tell me a story or sing to me, but he never did. He stayed with his sailor friends or talked with Mother. Did he know where I was now? Suddenly, I doubted he cared. But that was ridiculous, was it not? Did not all fathers love their children? Did they not all want to tell their sons bedtime stories and toss them in the air and sit them atop their strong shoulders? Were the stories I'd heard wrong, then?

I stopped crying, and instead began to scratch the bedsheets with a nail, too tired to even think anymore. The sun dipped in the sky, and the chamber was cast into shadows. Someone came in a few hours later to bring food, but I did not touch it. I did not even get out of bed. Instead, I lay on the mattress, alternating between covering my head and staring at the ceiling.

By the time I was considering rolling out of bed, it was dark outside. At length, I heard the door creak open. Someone came into the room, and I felt the furs across my knees stretch tautly. A hand rested on my shoulder. "Elrond." A soft voice. Maglor. I did not reply. When he did not say more I opened my eyes and looked up at him, wincing at the glare of the torchlight from the doorway. He had cast his gaze to his lap, and I could dimly discern his unkempt hair, his proud, sharp nose. He turned his head and met my gaze, and I saw that his eyes were raw, if not quite red. Embarrassed, I looked away.

"Elrond," Maglor repeated, shifting his hand to my head, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Tears pricked my eyes again, and I screwed them shut. "Oh, Elrond," I heard Maglor say with regret, "I am so sorry. Your brother was right." He removed his hand, and I felt cold, as if someone had suddenly thrown open the windows. "I will not ask you to forgive me."

"I hate you."

"That is reasonable."

"I wish you were dead. How I hate you."

A pause. "That, too, is reasonable."

Maglor induced in me a feeling of comfort, even if that comfort came with heady, obsessive guilt. After all, I was not his son. I thought of my real father, who was so far away. I was tired of hating Maglor. How could I hate him, truly hate him, when he fed me, clothed me, offered me a home and treated me with courtesy?

My head throbbed, and I groaned, burying my face in my pillow, not answering him. Maglor rubbed circles on my back and smoothed my hair. "You have not eaten all day," he murmured. "Maedhros and I have lit a fire out on a terrace, and are roasting meat. Come join us."

The thought of food made me want to throw up, but I knew Maglor would harry me till I joined him. I said in a small voice, "Where is Elros?"

"Down at the kennels. He has already eaten with Agorael."

"Why did you not bring him back?"

He paused. "I did not feel I had a right. I am his keeper, not his father, and anyway he needed to think. If he takes too long, Agorael will bring him up." He stood up and pulled the furs off me, earning an indignant 'hey!'

"Just a bite," he said, leaving. I followed him, scowling, outside. By the time we reached the terrace I wished I had brought a cloak, for it was cool outside. But a merry fire was lit near the parapet, and Maedhros was seated near it on a wicker chair, turning mutton over the flames. A pungent smell of burning meat filled my nostrils.

There was one more chair, and Maglor offered it to be, but I declined. He sat down and held out his arms in a welcoming fashion, and when I did not move he pulled me onto his lap. Inclining his head, he gave me a smile and ruffled my hair. I felt warm. His gesture said, "You and me. Elrond and Maglor. Our little world that none can share." My heart swelled, and he wound an arm about me and drew me close.

Maedhros said at length,"Look at what the cat dragged in. You both look awful."

"As do you, brother mine," Maglor replied. The next moment I was offered a plateful of cooked mutton with shredded, steamed cabbage and a wedge of lime. The smell nauseated me, and I turned away from it.

"Tush, Maglor," said Maedhros with hauteur. "Do you think he is going to eat that when he looks so ill? Why, you could put him in a field of shamrocks, naked, and he would blend right in."

"I am not sending him to bed without dinner," was the sharp reply.

Maedhros leaned sideways and picked something up, and then held it out to me. "He will feel better with this." It was a small plate with half a blackberry tart. It did not have much of a smell, and looked good, too. I accepted it and began to eat, and soon felt the better for it. My headache and fatigue disappeared, and afterwards I managed to finish almost all the meat. Setting down my plate, I leaned against Maglor.

The brothers began to talk in Quenya in low voices. Both seemed to forget my presence, though I was still in Maglor's arms. I listened idly, not understanding a word, shifting every now and again to make myself comfortable. It must have been well past bed-time. I closed my eyes and yawned.

Then I heard a gasp, and snapped my head up. Maedhros had leapt out of his seat and was staring open-mouthed at the sky, and I felt Maglor's grip on me tighten. I squirmed, looking up and trying to see what they were gazing at. What I beheld was a large, bright star that seemed to dim the others around it with its powerful light. It shone like a beacon in the sky. As I looked upon it, I felt my heart fill with fresh energy and high hope, though why or for what, I did not know.

Maedhros shook his head, eyes round with awe. I would have laughed if I hadn't felt something was wrong. "Look, brother," he said, his voice almost childlike in its reverence. "Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?" He paused. "Eärendil. It has to be."

I started and looked at the star with renewed wonder. My father! He was a light in the sky! How on earth did he get there? My stomach was turning somersaults.

Then I swallowed. Now I knew he would never come back, no matter how much I prayed or wished. My eyes were dry, though I thought I should weep.

Maglor's gaze were fixed on the star as well, but they shone with clarity, not despair. He looked at Maedhros, and his lips curled in a small smile that could have been triumphant. "If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar," he said, "then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil."

And I let my eyes fall shut.