And They Looked Up and Saw a Star by grey_gazania

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Chapter 1

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Maedhros knelt beside Amrod's body, his clothes and face streaked with dirt and blood - some Amrod's and some his own, but most belonging to the dead, both Sindar and Noldor, whose bodies lay where they had fallen on the trampled earth of the Havens.

 

He heard footfalls behind him — Maglor, judging by the gait — but he did not turn. "Where is Amras?" he asked, closing his younger brother's empty eyes with gentle fingers.

 

"Dead," Maglor said, resting his hand on Maedhros' shoulder. "But there is something you need to see. Come with me."

 

"We should bury them," Maedhros answered, as though that were an answer to Maglor's request. But he stood and followed his brother — his only brother, now — back toward the handful of their people who remained. Their path was slow, as they had to pick their way around corpse after corpse, too many of them with familiar faces. We should bury them all, he thought.

 

Amras' right hand, Galwen, stood a few yards away from their group of soldiers, keeping watch over two dark-haired boys. The children huddled close to one another, watching the men and women around them in silent fear.

 

"They're Elwing's sons; she left them behind," Maglor explained, switching to their native Quenya. "What should we do with them?"

 

"She left them behind?" Part of Maedhros wanted to judge her — how could she abandon her own children in favor of a treasure to which she had no right? — but he was too tired to summon up the necessary outrage. "We cannot kill them," he said. "I suppose—"

 

He was silenced when one of the elves assigned to stand lookout came running down the slope. "Ships," he called out, "heading toward us. A fleet of them."

 

"Gil-Galad," Maglor said, "or Círdan."

 

"Or both," Maedhros suggested. Maglor swore.

 

"We need to move out," Maedhros commanded, as though they hadn't already been preparing to do so. He hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before saying, "Leave the dead."

 

"The children, brother?" Maglor persisted.

 

Maedhros looked down at the twins. One looked away, turning his face into his brother's shoulder; the other stubbornly met his eyes, despite clearly not understanding a word that his captors had said. "We'll take them with us," he said. "Perhaps we can force Elwing's people to exchange the Silmaril for their princes' safe return."

 

Galwen hoisted the more stubborn of the two children into the air, thwarting his struggles with a pinch and a click of her tongue, and passed him up to one of the riders. Maedhros took the other, waiting for Maglor to mount his horse before depositing the boy in his arms.

 

"Let us take to the river, and make haste," he said, hauling himself into his own saddle. Maglor nodded, and the remaining Sons of Fëanor and their ragged band of followers fled from the site of their crime.

 

***********

 

After four straight days and nights of travel they finally risked making camp, for their horses and people both needed rest. The group hadn't risked a fire, in case their trail had been picked up, but the twins were now asleep in one of the tents — but only after a veritable flood of tears, two attempts to run away, and a lullaby from Maglor. Maedhros and Maglor were seated on the ground outside the tent; someone needed to guard against further escape attempts, and neither brother was likely to sleep that night.

 

"What are we doing, Nelyo?" Maglor asked softly.

 

"I don't know," Maedhros admitted, his voice barely audible. It wouldn't do for anyone — their own followers or Elwing's sons — to hear how uncertain their leader was. Maedhros couldn't deny that he had been shaken by how many of the Noldor had turned against him at the Havens, fighting instead to defend Elwing's people. "I honestly do not know. All I know is that Elwing is likely dead, and that if Círdan or Gil-galad find the Silmaril, they are more likely to be willing to trade it. Círdan has shown himself to be a practical man, and I cannot believe that any child of Fingon would be foolish enough to try to withhold the jewel from us. But if the Silmaril is truly lost…" He trailed off, glancing back at the tent with unease. "I don't know what we will do with the children — only that I will not see them harmed like their uncles. But they're terrified of us, and I cannot fault them for it."

 

"Once they see we don't mean to hurt them, maybe they'll feel more at ease." Maglor hesitated a moment before saying, "We'll manage; we have — we had — little brothers."

 

"And we did a wonderful job with them, didn't we?" Maedhros' voice was bitter, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Leading them all to into death — that's exactly what an older brother should do."

 

"We'll manage," Maglor repeated, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "We have to."

 

***********

 

"What are they talking about?" Elros breathed, curled against his twin. "I can't hear."

 

Elrond shook his head. "I can't understand; it's that other language."

 

Elros moved a little closer. "I want Nana. Do you think they killed her?"

 

"They killed everyone else," Elrond pointed out, with the same stubborn set to his face as earlier. "And they won't let us leave."

 

"I'm afraid," Elros said, turning his face into his brother's shoulder.

 

Elrond said nothing. What was there to say, except that he, too, was afraid? Twice they had tried to flee, but both times the silent, scarred woman who had first found them had tracked them down and dragged them back, depositing them at the feet of the bright-eyed Sons of Fëanor. The men weren't monstrous or orc-like, as his mother had made them seem in her stories, but there was little kindness in their faces. Though the copper-haired man had assured them that they would not be harmed, Elrond did not believe him, and he had begun to fear what might happen if he and Elros continued to disobey.

 

He wrapped his arms around his brother and resolved to stay awake, lest the Sons of Fëanor change their minds and choose to slay them in their sleep. But the night was cold, and their blankets were warm, and he was tired. All too soon, and entirely against his will, he drifted into slumber.