And They Looked Up and Saw a Star by grey_gazania

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Chapter 6

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A week passed, then two weeks, then a month. The days fell into a pattern – play time with Nelmir and Arthoron in the morning under the watchful eyes of Ólloth, followed by lunch, followed by lessons with Maglor. Elrond and Elros saw little of Maedhros and, thankfully, even less of Galwen.

 

It was hard to tell what Ólloth thought or knew about the reasons for Elrond and Elros’ presence at Amon Ereb; she was one of the most reserved people Elrond thought he’d ever encountered, never showing her thoughts on her face. Calm and quiet, she only ever broke her tranquility to scold her charges when they got into squabbles. But at least she was consistent, even if she was hard to read. Elrond and his brother didn’t fear her the way they feared some of their other captors.

 

Maglor, however, still frightened Elrond. It was true that he had yet to harm his hostages, never so much as raising his voice with them, let alone striking them, but Elrond couldn’t forget his first sight of the man, coated in blood and ash, with blood dripping from his naked blade – the blood of Elrond’s people, for not the first but the second time.

 

He had admitted, however, if only to himself and his twin, that Maglor’s lessons were interesting. He’d started them on reading, writing, and mathematics, and said that if they continued to improve at their current pace, it would soon be time to add science and history lessons. The idea of studying science intrigued Elrond, but he wasn’t sure about history. He wasn’t certain he could trust a Kinslayer to tell him the truth.

 

Right now, Elrond’s biggest annoyance was the fact that the people here so often liked to leave him and Elros out of their conversations. Bad enough that they didn’t even speak Sindarin properly; why were they constantly lapsing into a language that neither he nor Elros understood? Even Ólloth did it sometimes, speaking to Nelmir and Arthoron in that strange, lilting tongue. Elrond had asked Maglor if he could teach them, but Maglor had said that that was too many subjects to tackle at once.

 

Elrond doubted that. More likely, Maglor simply didn’t want to give up his foolproof trick for talking over the twins’ heads.

 

“Well, we should do it back,” Elros said, when Elrond next complained to him about it. “I bet they don’t know Taliska. Let’s see how they like it.”

 

Much to their indignation, however, it turned out that Maglor did know Taliska – at least, enough to follow what his two young captives were saying. This revelation had occurred rather dramatically, when Elrond had insulted Maglor to his brother in Taliska within Maglor’s hearing, and Maglor had responded in the same tongue with an admonition about incivility.

 

As though the Sons of Fëanor knew anything about being civilized!

 

Elrond missed his mother terribly. But his mother was dead. She would not be coming back for him. He and Elros were trapped here, trapped with Fëanor’s wicked sons.

 

“We’ll just have to make the best of it,” Elros whispered to him later that night. “At least they don’t plan to kill us. If they wanted to do that, they’d have done it already.”

 

Elrond had to concede the point. Maedhros and Maglor clearly wanted them alive. But that thought was of little comfort to him.

 

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When Elrond woke the next morning, it was with a feeling that his head had been stuffed full of ooze and that sandpaper had rubbed his throat raw. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbled when Maglor came to get him and Elros out of bed.

 

“What’s wrong, hinya?” Maglor asked.

 

Elrond didn’t know what hinya meant and felt too miserable to ask. “My head’s all stuffy,” he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “And it hurts. And my throat hurts. And I’m cold.”

 

Maglor reached out to brush some hair out of Elrond’s eyes, but froze when his hand made contact with Elrond’s skin. “Stars above, you’re burning up,” he said, his face going white. “You say you’re cold? Your skin’s hot enough to cook on.”

 

“He’s sick,” Elros said, and then broke into a fit of dry coughing.

 

“I think you’re sick, too,” Elrond rasped, closing his eyes against the pain in his head.

 

Maglor looked stricken. “Stay in bed,” he ordered, and then he fled from the room.

 

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When Maglor burst into the room Melloth used to store and prepare her medicines, he found both Melloth and Maedhros there, Melloth tidying something away and Maedhros halfway through a cup of tea. Willow bark, Maglor realized from the smell. His brother’s old wounds must have been paining him today.

 

“Melloth! Maedhros!” he said urgently. “I need help! The boys are sick and I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Sick how?” Melloth asked, straightening up.

 

“Elros is coughing, and Elrond says his head and his throat hurt, and that he’s cold. But his skin is fever-hot. Melloth, I don’t know what to do!”

 

Maedhros spoke then, setting down his cup. “It sounds like what happened to Bór’s people the year after they first settled south of Lothlann. What did they call it, Melloth? Influenza, I think the word was? I remember you and some of your colleagues and apprentices rode down to the settlement to help see to the sick.”

 

Melloth nodded. “I remember that,” she said. “Take me to them, Maglor. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Elrond was huddled shivering beneath the blankets when they returned to the boys’ room, with Elros beside him rubbing his back and murmuring comforting words in between more hacking coughs. “It’s okay, Elrond,” he said in his small voice. “I’ll look after you.”

 

Approaching the bed, Melloth rested her hand on each of the boys’ foreheads in turn, and frowned. “You both have fevers,” she said. “And I don’t like the sound of that cough, Elros. I’ll bring you both some ginger tea with honey, all right? And I want you to get plenty of rest, and drink lots of fluids.”

 

She left, returning roughly five minutes later with the promised cups of tea. “Drink,” she urged. “And I’ll ask Cúroneth to cook up some broth for you.”

 

The children obeyed and then returned to their positions under the blankets.

 

“I’ll sit with them,” Maglor said, and Melloth nodded. “If we need you, I’ll come and get you.”

 

As Melloth departed, Elrond cracked his eyes open and mumbled, “Will you sing us a song, Maglor?”

 

“Of course. What kind of song would you like?”

 

Elrond shrugged. “Anything.”

 

Perhaps it was the memory of faithful Bór and his sons, lost so long ago, that made Maglor choose the song he chose. Something lighter would probably have been more appropriate, but both Bór’s people and Ulfang’s people had had songs that tended towards the morbid. At any rate, the boys didn’t seem to mind, both closing their eyes as he sang.

 

“As I was walking all alone
I heard two ravens cry and moan

The one unto the other did say,
‘Where shall we go and dine today?’

 

‘Out beyond that old mill dam

I know there lies a murdered man

And nobody knows that he lies there,

But his hawk and his hound and his lady fair.’”

 

He continued with the song until the boys had fallen asleep, and then he sat beside them in silence as they rested, checking the temperature of their skin every so often.

 

Influenza had killed some of Bór’s people. Maglor had no intention of letting it kill these tiny children.

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Chapter End Notes

hinya (Q.) - 'my child'

 

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