And They Looked Up and Saw a Star by grey_gazania

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Chapter 2

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The Sons of Fëanor did not kill them that night, nor the next, nor the night after that. Instead they continued traveling, moving with more speed and less secrecy as the Havens grew further and further away. Elrond and Elros made no more attempts to flee; even if they did manage to escape the watchful eyes of the Fëanorian followers, they would have no idea where to go.

 

With escape barred to them, they chose instead to rebel with silence, refusing to answer any questions posed to them and speaking to each other only in the faintest of whispers in the dead of night. This lasted for three days, until Fëanor's dark-haired son put his foot down.

 

"Enough of this nonsense," he said one morning as they broke their fast in the peace of the deep forest. "You are in our care whether you like it or not. Let's make this easier for everyone by behaving like civilized people, shall we?"

 

You're not civilized, Elrond wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He had no desire to anger these violent men.

 

"I'll start," the man said. "I am Maglor, son of Fëanor. This is Maedhros, my elder brother. This," he continued, motioning to the scarred woman, "is Galwan. Next to her is Doronel. Beside him is Taraharn…" He went around their circle of followers, naming each of them for the boys. There were only two dozen or so men and women, Elrond saw now. They had seemed more numerous before, in the chaos of their flight.

 

Elros spoke then, ignoring Elrond's disapproving glare. "I'm Elros," he said. "My brother is Elrond."

 

"Better," Maglor said with a nod.

 

Maedhros, his voice rougher and softer than his brother's but no less commanding, said, "No one here will hurt you, Elros and Elrond. Maglor and I are kin to you, through your father's line. We will keep you safe, educate you, provide for your needs… You need not fear us."

 

"Our needs? What we need is to go home," Elrond burst out.

 

"I'm afraid that is not possible," Maedhros said. "Your mother's people have something of ours. Until they surrender it, you will stay with us."

 

"So we're your prisoners."

 

Maedhros nodded, but Maglor said, "It might be more accurate to think of yourselves as our wards."

 

Maedhros shot Maglor an inscrutable glance, and something unspoken passed between the two men. "I suppose Maglor isn't entirely wrong," Maedhros said. "Your mother abandoned you in favor of the Silmaril, to which she has no right, and with your father away, that leaves you with no guardians. We can fill that role as well as any."

 

Elros frowned. "You're lying," he said. "You killed Nana."

 

"Elwing cast herself into the sea," Maedhros said. "That was her own choice. We laid no hand on her."

 

Something about that seemed wrong, but Elrond couldn't quite articulate what. Surely their mother would not have left them behind on purpose? But she was gone, and the Silmaril was gone, and they were still here... He shook his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts, but he still couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him about Maedhros' statement.

 

Elros, too, was frowning, but he changed the subject, asking, "Where are you taking us?"

 

"To our fortress at Amon Ereb," Maglor said. "We will spend the winter there. I realize travel can be tedious, but once we reach Amon Ereb, you will have other children to keep you company."

 

The man called Taraharn nodded as Maglor spoke. "I have a grandson about your age," he said to the boys. "I think you could be friends."

 

"We have friends back home," Elrond said. "We don't need new ones."

 

"Unless your mother's people surrender the Silmaril, you will not be going home," Maedhros said, a ringing note of finality in his voice. "I suggest you make peace with that fact."

 

***********

 

"My brother doesn't mean to be harsh," Maglor said later in the day. They were riding once more, Elrond with Maglor this time and Elros with Taraharn. Maedhros, Doronel, and Galwen were acting as scouts and were out of earshot. "He simply prefers what he thinks of as the unvarnished truth. But he is right that you very likely will not be returning to the Havens of Sirion. You should think of us as your family now, and Amon Ereb as your home."

 

Elrond stayed quiet, studying the cracks in the leather of Maglor's saddle, but Elros tipped his head up to look at Taraharn and said, "Do you really have a grandson there?"

 

"My daughter's son," Taraharn confirmed. "His name is Arthoron, and he is ten."

 

"But you said he was our age. We're only six," Elros pointed out.

 

"Ah, but you are only half-elven, are you not?" Taraharn said. "You grow more quickly than we Elves do."

 

"How do you know that?" Elrond asked indignantly. "We never said that!"

 

"We had heard that your grandmother, our cousin Idril, wed a mortal," Maglor said. "And there are few who do not know the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Your lineage is no secret, Elrond."

 

Elrond considered that in silence. He'd known that he and his brothers were princes, of course, but he had never imagined that the dreaded Sons of Fëanor would know so much about his family. He had never imagined the Sons of Fëanor as anything more than monsters. But they seemed so normalnow that he had met them in person. Maglor's voice was not like the warning rumble of thunder, nor was Maedhros' hair red like the blood of those he had slaughtered. The tales he had heard seemed suddenly false. It troubled him.

 

A bird-call echoed twice somewhere ahead of them, and Maglor responded to it with a whistle of his own.

 

"Why are you answering the birds?" Elros asked.

 

Taraharn laughed. "That's no bird," he said before Maglor could speak. "That was Galwen, telling us that our path is clear of danger. We often use whistles. You'll learn what they mean in time, I'm sure."

 

I don't want to learn what your whistles mean, Elrond thought. But he held his tongue. Though Elros continued to question Maglor and Taraharn, Elrond spent the remainder of the day in silence.

 

***********

 

By the time the Sons of Fëanor reached Amon Ereb, Elrond and Elros were cranky, saddle-sore, and deeply homesick. They were turned over to woman with gentle hands and tired eyes, who fed them and bathed them and tucked them into bed.

 

"I want Nana," Elros mumbled.

 

The woman brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. "Of course you do. That's only natural," she said. "But your mother has left, and you are here with us now. Sleep, little one. Things won't seem so bad in the morning."

 

He made a sound of wordless discontent, but he was too tired to continue protesting. The woman stroked his hair and began to hum softly. Soon both he and his brother had been lulled to sleep.

 

Melloth closed the door softly behind her as she left the room, and then went to find Maedhros.

 

He was in his office in the heart of the keep, bent over the map that he had laid out on the desk before riding out to attack Elwing's people.He'd shed his armor but hadn't yet bathed or changed from his traveling clothes. He looked up when he heard her steps on the stone floor and waved her into the room.

 

"I expected more of you to come back," she bluntly. The eldest sister of Maglor's long-dead wife, Melloth was one of Fëanor's staunchest followers, and she had long ago earned the right to speak freely around his sons.

 

"So did I," Maedhros said heavily. "It was a complete disaster, Melloth. Elwing threw herself from a window into the sea with the Silmaril. I don't think she can possibly have survived the fall, but the jewel is lost, and Amras and Amrod are dead, and-- People turned on us, Melloth. We had to fight against our own soldiers."

 

"And the children?"

 

"Elwing's sons," he said. "She left them behind."

 

"So you took them with you as ransom, in case the jewel is found?"

 

"Yes." There was no shame in his face, but Melloth hadn't expected any. She couldn't judge him; they had all left shame behind a long time ago.

 

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

 

"Now I check to make sure Maglor isn't trying to drown himself in the bath. After that? We wait. That's all we can do."

 

***********

 

Maedhros found Maglor sitting naked on the edge of the tub in their shared bathroom, staring vacantly at the wall as water dripped from his hair and ran down his back. He didn't react when Maedhros said his name, so Maedhros repeated himself a little more loudly.

 

"Maglor."

 

Maglor blinked, seeming to come back to himself, and turned to face his brother. "Nelyo," he said. "Oh. You need to bathe." He stood, wrapping a towel around his waist, and said. "I'll help with your hair if you'd like."

 

"I'd appreciate that," Maedhros said after a moment. In the past he hadn't always accepted his brother's offers of assistance, but tonight he needed Maglor to be near, and his hair was as good an excuse as any.

 

While Maedhros stripped, Maglor filled the tub once more. The smell of sulfur soon permeated the air; the tap was attached to a clever system of pipes that Curufin had designed to carry water throughout the keep from the hot spring that passed beneath it.

 

Maedhros sank into the water with a sigh and a feeling of great relief; he hadn't realized until now how much he ached from their long flight from the Havens of Sirion. He scrubbed at the dirt and sweat caking his skin. Maglor was filling a small pail with more water. He poured it over his brother's head and began to work shampoo through his hair. Closing his eyes, Maedhros leaned back to let Maglor massage his scalp. For a long time, the gentle swish of the water in the tub was the only sound in the room.

 

Then Maglor spoke. "We didn't bury them," he said softly. "We were able to burn the others, at least, but we couldn't bury the twins. I don't know how I feel about that decision, Nelyo."

 

"They would have done the same, had it been you and I who were slain," Maedhros said quietly. "We cannot fulfill the Oath if we are dead or captured."

 

Maglor paused to fill the bucket once more and rinsed away the shampoo. "I just— I worry that Círdan and Gil-galad will leave our brothers to rot," he said, taking up a bone comb and working it carefully through the tangles in Maedhros' hair.

 

"I do not think they will, if only for Celebrimbor's sake. By all accounts he and Gil-galad are on good terms," Maedhros said.

 

Maglor's next stroke with the comb was harder than the others, and Maedhros let out a hiss as it snagged on a knot and pulled several hairs from his scalp. Maglor did not apologize. Instead he said angrily, "Do you feel nothing, Nelyo? Our brothers are dead."

 

"Don't," Maedhros said, pulling away and turning to face him. "I was naive at Doriath, I admit it. We all survived the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. I thought we would all survive then as well. I thought we would reclaim the Silmaril. But since then…" He trailed off, and his voice was very soft when he said, "I knew any of us might die this time. I knew we might fail. But that knowledge makes what happened no easier to bear. No, I do not feel nothing. But I cannot bring them back to life, nor can you."

 

Silently, Maglor placed a hand on Maedhros' scarred shoulder, turning him so that he could once more reach his hair. The next stroke of the comb was gentle. "I'm sorry," he said. "That wasn't fair. You loved them as much as I did."

 

"We have another set of twins to worry about now," Maedhros said. "Melloth is a healer, not a nanny. Someone else needs to care for Elwing's sons."

 

"I will," Maglor said, his voice quiet but firm. He had ceased combing and was now working his brother's hair into a loose braid. "I have thought long about this. We drove their mother to her death; we are responsible for their care. But you are our leader, and you have enough responsibilities. I will care for Elrond and Elros."

 

"So be it," Maedhros said. He waited for Maglor to finish and then stood, reaching for a towel of his own. "I will help you as much as I can, but you are now their primary caregiver." On impulse, he leaned over to press a kiss to the top of Maglor's head. "I know," he said, "that you'll do your best."