Pieces of the Stars by Nibeneth

| | |

Chapter 4

“Stand your guard,” Maedhros commanded. Elrond stepped easily into his fighting stance and raised his sword. Across the ring, Elros mirrored him with one hand behind his back and cool determination behind his grille. “Gentlemen, are you prepared?”

Elrond nodded once. Elros raised his sword in acknowledgment.

“Fight!”

Elrond sprang forward without hesitation, and Elros met him in a clash of blunted steel.

Don’t let him get an edge in, Elrond thought through his well-practiced maneuvers. He had to keep pushing forward and not let Elros rest for one moment. He kept him at close range, backing him around the perimeter of the ring, always on the defensive as Elrond struck at his arms, legs, anything that came open. Still, Elros was tireless in repelling him, a veritable stone wall against Elrond’s onslaught.

He was not weary yet. He breathed deeply and remembered to put his body behind his blows, not just his arm and shoulder. It was a game of endurance, and Elrond was determined to hold fast. He could see his chances opening up wider with every blocked strike and missed counter-strike, but he never knew if Elros had something sneaky planned—there! An opportunity!

Strike at the arm, strike at the leg, block, sweep, lunge, Elros’ sword went too wide and then the point of Elrond’s blade came to press against Elros’ breast. Elros went still, arms slightly outstretched.

“Do you yield?” Elrond said between heavy breaths.

Elros’ mouth drooped. “I yield.”

Scattered cheers drew Elrond’s attention away from their duel. He blinked—they’d attracted a small crowd of spectators. Osgardir applauded politely while Alagostor, looking a little crestfallen, unloaded coins into Hestedis’ open purse. Maedhros, as always, stood with his arms folded and his face expressionless, but he nodded once when Elrond met his eyes.

He’s proud! Elrond realized, and a spring entered his step as he walked back to the longhouse with his helmet under his arm.

Maedhros’ review, however, betrayed no such affection. “It could have gone either way,” he said while Elros trudged glumly along the path beside Elrond, who was a step away from dancing. “As usual, you both fail to look beyond your own favorite strategies. Elrond, you simply pound away at his defense until he gets tired enough to make mistakes, but you can’t counter him when he strikes back. Elros, you don’t win unless you get the upper hand in the first move. Otherwise, you just block him until he gets his killing strike in.”

“My way seems to work,” Elrond said. Maybe he was gloating, but he’d earned it.

“Only half the time,” Maedhros reminded him. “Either one of you could get ahead if you learn to think like the other first.”

Maglor was in a cheerful mood back at the longhouse.

“Nelyo! We’ll soon see dwarves again!”

Maedhros frowned. “What?”

“The southern watchtower sighted a small caravan making its way north along the Gelion.” Maglor showed him a carved wooden token in the shape of a sinuous dragon. “Fuiron hailed them. Our peoples are known to one another, so their leader sent this ahead of his party. They will not be long in this area but they do have goods to trade.”

Elrond and Elros leaned in to get a closer look when Maedhros took the token. “They are of Azaghâl’s house,” he said after examining it.

“Really? I thought they had all holed up in Belegost.”

“No. Some scattered to smaller caves in the west, but if they are traveling north along the Gelion, they must be bound for the Dwarf-road and thence to Ered Luin and their kin.” His mouth made an unhappy twist. “They have not fallen near as far as we have.”

“No matter. At least there is one house left in Beleriand still willing to treat with us. And better still, they might have news of the king’s people.” At that, Maglor gave the boys a small smile. “I can’t imagine they’ve heard less than we have in the last eight years.”

Elrond could not think of anything to say to that, and from his silence, it seemed Elros couldn’t either.

It had taken a long time to rebuild after the earthquake. All hands were required for repair and construction, and a lean year followed as the flocks and herds struggled to replace their numbers and the broken fields produced less grain. A year and a half had passed before Maglor could send another scout, and he returned with nothing more than confirmation that the trail was as cold as ever. Maglor sent scouts every year for three years, and then once two years after that, and then he said he would need to come up with a new plan before proceeding. One rider on horseback only covered so much territory, and every expedition turned up more reports of abandoned villages and empty, overgrown roads. Worse, they brought back rumors of orc bands on the move and strange fires burning in the north.

“Whatever is taking place will come to happier ends if we stay out of it,” Maedhros had said bitterly, and Maglor had agreed with him.

“Our task now is to keep you two safe until we can make contact with the king,” he had told the boys.

Still, they were no closer to that than they had been before. The rhythms of daily life pushed it into the back of their minds, and Elrond only felt trepidation when it came up now.

“What will the dwarves have to trade?” he asked instead of staying on the subject of the king. Besides, he was curious.

“Traditionally they deal in stone and metal,” Maedhros said. “Otherwise, I couldn’t say.”

Elrond’s excitement—and rampant speculation around the compound—blossomed as word spread among the elves returning from their labors. “I hope they have real wine,” someone said wistfully, and from there everyone joined in an ever-growing list of hopes, from white sugar to dwarf-made tools to fresh breeding stock for the animals. Most of all it seemed they wanted a change of pace and news of the outside world that didn’t revolve around tracking a vanished elven settlement. Elrond certainly couldn’t blame them for that.

Their restlessness proved infectious. Long after darkness fell and everyone went to bed, Elrond lay awake, flipping his uniformly-warm pillow over every few minutes and trying to fold his limbs into a comfortable position. Across the room, Elros slept as easily as a cat in the sun. He even had a little puddle of drool on his pillow. Annoyed, Elrond turned away from him and stared at the wall instead.

He drifted off sometime in the dark morning hours. He dreamed of a long banquet table laden with everything he liked to eat: bacon, sourdough bread with honey, cut fruit glistening with juice, crispy fried chicken legs, ham, every kind of berry, pies filled with nuts and syrup, and seafood dishes he only remembered from when he was very small. He started at one end of the table and piled as much food as he could onto his plate and then shoved a chicken leg into his mouth when he ran out of room. Someone called his name and pushed a mug of small beer into his free hand. Still determined to eat everything at the table, he carefully balanced his plate on top of his mug and started gathering what he could carry in one hand, but someone called him from the other direction and thrust a slice of cake at him, and he didn’t have any extra hands but maybe if he held it in the crook of his elbow—

“Elrond!”

“Hungh?” Elrond jerked awake, immediately grumpy and disoriented. He rubbed his eyes. It was still very early, but Elros was already up and getting dressed.

“Are you ever going to get up?” he demanded, taking his hair out of its thick single braid and starting a well-practiced part down the center of his head.

Groggily, Elrond dressed and washed and braided his hair. He felt much more alive over breakfast, when he got caught up in the whirl of people carrying goods and loading carts to trade with the dwarves. They had set up camp not far from the compound for the day but would continue along their route on the morrow, so everyone was keen to trade as much as possible. Money wasn’t typically used around the compound, where the economy instead functioned around a system of gifts and favors, but the elves still had coins from ruined realms stashed away for occasions such as these. Maglor distributed heavy purses to the boys, only admonishing them to spend it prudently.

It was a good day for Maedhros if he managed to wear clean clothes or comb his hair, and a regular bath was even rarer, but today he appeared clean, combed, and compressed into a fine tunic that looked like it used to fit him properly.

Maglor opened his mouth to compliment his efforts. “You look very—”

“Don’t.” Maedhros shot him an annoyed grimace and departed.

The boys quickly finished their porridge, ready to get going. Several members of the household planned to travel as a group and many of them were already heading to the stables. Elrond and Elros walked on either side of Maglor on the way out of the longhouse, but as soon as Elrond took in the morning air, he stopped in his tracks.

A strange smell tickled Elrond’s nose.

It seemed familiar. He sniffed—was it salt? Like sea air? No, it was quicker, like something living and growing—pine? Free-flowing sap? It seemed to tug at him, and the more he sniffed at it, the more he wanted to know what it was.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said hastily, and was off before Elros could ask where he was going.

The scent was subtle but somehow it came to the forefront of everything else around him. It enveloped him and led his footsteps, but where? And what was it? There was a faint musk, like sweat or maybe leather, but he paused in his tracks and sniffed again. That wasn’t right, it was more like warm honey, and every breath Elrond took in seemed to light up his mind and body with a curiosity so thick and so pleasant that he yearned to satisfy it, though he could not think of what he was curious about.

Parchment? Hemp? He sniffed again. Where was it coming from? If he could just find the source, he’d be able to scratch that itch he was so close to reaching.

It led him behind a barn, all the way around a house, through a garden and back onto the road. Maybe it was like the air escaping from risen bread dough. Or was it something fresher, like fruit? Crushed berries? Cooked apples? Was it older and heavier, like mead? He could almost taste it in the back of his throat, tickling and teasing, daring him to track it to its origin. He wanted, no, needed to find it and immerse himself in whatever made that amazing aroma, at once sweet and bitter and powerful and gentle and indescribable but so delicious that it seemed to consume him a little more with every intake of breath.

Elrond closed his eyes, consciously emptied his lungs, and took a deep breath in from the bottom of his belly all the way up to the top of his head. The scent flooded him to the tips of his fingers and toes, burning and soothing and reigniting with suggestions of cut wood and cold iron and crushed roses and wool and walnuts and poppies.

A flash of silver in the corner of his eye—he turned to look, but it was gone, and in his sharp inhalation the scent suddenly cleared.

He stood for a moment, blinking. He breathed in deeply again, trying to catch a whiff of… whatever it was, but he only took in the familiar scents of smoke, horses, and earth. Nothing unusual. The sudden loss left him empty, and he tried to grasp at the memory of that amazing smell, but it was already slipping away like a wave retreating from the shore.

What was it? It was so real, and then it was just gone.

Elrond flexed and unflexed his hands. For a moment, nothing seemed quite real. He shuddered all over. Sensation came back, then thought, then reason. He was all the way across the compound. The others were surely ready to leave by now.

“Must have been daydreaming,” he said to himself. Resolute, he headed back to the stables and his riding mule, Rochael.

In the spring of Elrond and Elros’ thirteenth year, Hadlath the hunter’s beloved mare and Medlinor the stablemaster’s prized breeding jack produced beautiful twin fillies under the light of the evening star. Considering it an auspicious sign, Hadlath delivered the young mules as gifts to Elrond and Elros, who had already taken to horsemanship as if they’d been born in the saddle. Under Maglor’s tutelage they trained Rochael and Peguiel up into graceful, sturdy-boned mounts who carried them over rocks and through streams as they explored the woods surrounding the compound.

Rochael raised her ears and stretched out to snuffle at Elrond’s tunic when he approached her stall. He stroked her velvet nose and her brown-and-white spotted coat and took her out to ride with the others down to the dwarves’ encampment.

Elros was already there, fondly running his fingers through Peguiel’s mane. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” Elrond mumbled. He lifted himself into the saddle and waited for the party to head out.

It was a bit of a ride along narrow trails and through overgrown brush to the dwarves’ encampment. Elrond craned his neck to catch a glimpse of these secretive people once they were close enough to spot the tight circle of their ponies and wagons, but a low-hanging branch caught him in the face. Rochael dutifully carried him ahead while he brushed leaves out of his hair, and then came to a halt behind Elros and Peguiel. Maedhros and Maglor had come to a halt at the head of the party and now dismounted to greet the dwarf who came forward to greet them.

“Lord Maedhros.” The dwarf bowed slightly. He was brown-skinned and chestnut-haired with a glorious, ringleted beard and a blue turban. “I am Sudri. We have not met, but I was raised on tales of the elves who fought beside my grandmother. I would that our houses may share a hearth in better times. As it is, we appreciate the refuge of your lands.”

“My lands are not what they once were,” Maedhros remarked. He too inclined his head like a tall hollyhock before the dwarf’s sturdy shrub. “But it is well to host a friend.”

The household quickly dispersed to look at the traders’ goods, but Sudri invited Maglor and Maedhros to drink coffee and smoke beneath his shade-tent, and Maglor nudged the boys along with them just as they were about to join the others. Elrond found the dark, bitter potion revolting even though both Maglor and Maedhros spent a frankly excessive amount of time praising the “aromas” and “notes.” The hookah looked interesting, but Maedhros extended a long arm to pluck the mouthpiece out of Elrond’s hand as soon as Sudri passed it to him.

“Children,” Sudri said with an air of almost wistful fondness. “A rare gift in dark days. Are they your sons?”

Maedhros said nothing for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up when he realized Sudri was talking to him. “No! No, they are not.”

“They are my wards,” said Maglor. “This is Elros, and Elrond is on your other side.” Thinking for a moment, he ran his thumb over the rim of his coffee cup. “I seek High King Gil-galad and his people, but there has been no sign of him for… stars, ten years now.” He rubbed his temple. “The boys rightfully belong to his house and I wish to return them safely. If you have any information, I would be in your debt.”

Sudri stroked his beard. “I’m not familiar with all of the different houses of elves, and much is changing. I have seen dwarves, elves, and men all making for the country east of the mountains. War is escalating in the north. Many fear it will spread beyond the Enemy’s holdings.”

Maedhros and Maglor looked at one another, saying nothing for a long, heavy moment. “We have seen troubling signs in nature,” Maglor said. “Can you be sure of this war? What sort of war would evacuate all of Beleriand?”

Sudri sighed deeply. “Nothing that’s within my mortal power to resist. I intend to wait it out in Belegost with my kin and hope that something is left once it is all over.”

They sat in silence, smoking and pondering this information.

“I had my suspicions,” Maedhros muttered at last. “As soon as my father’s Jewel appeared in the western sky. She must have brought it to appeal to the Valar.”

“You know—many dwarves despise your kind for your part in starting this conflict,” Sudri said.

Maedhros huffed. “I would too.”

“My house remembers better times. Perhaps they will come again.” Sudri exhaled a cloud of smoke. “To bring us back to your question, no, I do not know anything of this high king of the elves. If he remains in this world, I would guess he has gone beyond the mountains with the others. But that is a dangerous road. Even if he has taken his people east, they may not have reached their destination.”

“Perhaps there is a chance they’ve joined the fighting in the north,” Maglor suggested.

“Not if the king has an ounce of sense,” Maedhros said. “I know he learned better in Fingon’s fosterage.”

“I wish I had more answers for you,” said Sudri. “Maybe we’ll come across them in the east, but we don’t plan to return this way with any news.”

Maglor’s smile was strained. “No, I appreciate what you’ve told us. May you prosper in Belegost.”

“And may you find your king.”

Out of the corner of Elrond’s eye, Elros was scooting away, peering out at the dwarven merchants and their wares while the adults began talking about progressively more boring topics. Elrond scooted after him—Maglor watched them go with a small smile, saying nothing.

As soon as he had heard that the dwarves were coming, Elrond could not wait to see them. He had never seen anyone like them before: The tallest came only as high as his shoulder, but all of them were stocky and broad as old tree trunks. They wore thick braids and full beards decorated with all manner of ornaments, and their clothes sparkled with embroidery and many rich colors and weaves. They spoke in booming voices. Somehow they seemed like they were of the earth in ways that the elves did not. They were all so beautiful that Elrond could not choose which dwarf to look at!

“Ever try looking at something that’s for sale, lad?” one of them laughed. They cuffed his arm and departed, leaving Elrond with his mouth hanging open, robbed of words.

Maglor had told him stories of the grand markets of the Noldor in the days of the Long Peace, where all people traded precious goods from all corners of Beleriand and beyond. There were spices and silks and the finest treasures money could buy, from gold and silver to rare dyes and strange beasts. Elrond knew that this single caravan was not anything like that, but it was still more than he had ever seen before. Tools and hides, metal and glass, seeds and animals, all of it delightful and new and captivating to his curious eyes. Maglor had given him quite a bit of money, but he couldn’t begin to think of what to spend it on. What did he even want?

He wandered a bit, saying little and looking at everything. Eventually he found Elros peering at a display of gold and silver rings and chatting with the slate-haired dwarf who was selling them.

“Sure, I’m interested,” he said. “Can I see an example of your work?”

“Of course,” she replied, and beckoned her apprentice over. “Dávi! Come and show the young master your nose.”

Dávi seemed to be a walking advertisement for her work, as Elrond soon discovered. He wore a collection of jewelry in his ears, nose, and lips, and when he spoke, and additional jewel glimmered on his tongue. He even wore rings in his hair and on each finger. He leaned closer to Elros’ face so he could examine the rings in his nose.

“Fascinating,” Elros said. “Does it hurt much?”

“Only a pinch,” Dávi said. “You just need to keep it clean with boiled salt water for a few weeks until it heals, and then it shouldn’t give you any trouble. Yrsa has performed piercings on nearly every dwarf in our caravan—ask anyone!”

“Hmm. Should I go with the nostril or septum?”

“That’s up to you, my friend.”

Intrigued, Elrond came closer, and Yrsa grinned when she caught sight of him. “Mahal’s hammer, there’s two of you!”

Elros slung his arm across Elrond’s shoulders. “My twin brother Elrond.”

“Twins are good luck,” Yrsa said approvingly. “What do you say, Elrond? Your brother is looking at a new bauble for his nose.”

Elros turned and held up a small ring with a segment removed. He hooked it to the side of one nostril for Elrond to see. “Nostril?” he removed the ring and fitted it between his nostrils instead. “Or septum? I can’t decide.”

“Septum. The symmetry looks better.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Elros said. “There we are. I would like to pierce my septum.”

“Excellent, let me prepare my tools while you pick out a ring you like. Dávi, watch the display.” Elrond and Elros watched as she got out a leather case with several gleaming implements, a canister of needles, and a bottle of clear spirits. “Elrond! Do you have any body parts that need embellishing?”

“Uh…”

“You can always take it out if you don’t like it,” Dávi advised.

A sudden spontaneity gripped Elrond and he shrugged. “Why not. I’ll get my septum pierced as well.”

“Tell you what, I’ll make you boys a deal for two noses. How does that sound?” Yrsa indicated a stool for Elros to sit on once her tools were clean and he had picked out a small gold ring.

“I do like deals,” he said while she swabbed the inside of his nose with the clear spirits. She then spent a moment lining up a needle on one side of Elros’ septum with a pad of bandage to receive it on the other. The actual piercing was over in an instant: she had him inhale deeply, and on the exhale, she pushed the needle through. Elros barely flinched. “Oh. Was that it?”

“That was it. Let’s just get the jewelry in place.” Her shoulder blocked Elrond’s view, but when she drew back, the ring glimmered under Elros’ nose. There was only a little blood for her to dab away. “There you go! Very fetching! Check yourself in the mirror and tell me what you think.”

Elros looked in the mirror and immediately began to preen himself like a young crow. “It looks very good!” He turned back toward Elrond with a grin. “It’s your turn!”

Elrond began to doubt his snap decision once he was in the chair, warily watching Yrsa clean and prepare her tools once more, but Elros hovered excitedly behind her and Elrond could not deny that the nose ring looked good on him. The dwarf approached him again with a fresh swab. “How are we feeling? Still good?”

“Yes,” Elrond said firmly. Yrsa nodded.

Noticing his nervousness, she talked him through the process. First she felt around the inside of his nose for the appropriate spot to pierce. Afterward, she swabbed the inside of his nostrils with clear spirits and lined up the needle and a fresh bandage pad. “All right, here we go,” she said. “Whenever you feel ready, take a deep breath in.” Elrond breathed in deeply. “And out.” He exhaled slowly, and then suppressed a wince when the needle poked sharply through the thin membrane. It lasted only a moment. “That’s all there is to it! Time for your jewelry. This part will pinch a bit.” She was right—the gold ring following the needle through the hole burned for a moment, and he almost winced again, but then it was over and he wondered what he had ever been nervous about.

After she dabbed away the blood from the fresh piercing, Yrsa offered Elrond the mirror. He loved it immediately. His eyes and skin tended toward cool gray and soft tan beneath his black hair, but the gold ring stood out like a glowing ember in the center of his face. “I like it!” he said. “Thank you!”

Elrond and Elros shied away from showing anyone else their new adornments until late in the evening, when they could make a grand entrance. They strolled out into the main hall, trying to look casually confident, as if they’d always had pierced noses. Looking too excited about it seemed unfashionable somehow.

Maglor, of course, noticed right away from his seat by the hearth. “Well, look at you two!” he said, clearly suppressing a smile. “Nelyo, it seems I’m bringing up a pair of magpies!”

Maedhros glanced up from his drink. He gave a small huff of a laugh. “I remember when that was last popular with the Noldor. It must have been… seven hundred years of the sun? At least?”

“At least. Celegorm had one for a time.”

“So did Fingon,” Maedhros said. For a moment, a fond smile deepened the corner of his mouth, but it faded and Elrond wondered if it had only been a trick of the firelight. He rarely spoke of the late king, whom he loved. It seemed also that he preferred the others not to speak of him either, which Elrond didn’t get. Surely if you loved someone, you would want to be reminded of them.

“Fingon never met a piece of jewelry he didn’t like,” Maglor teased gently.

“That is true.” Maedhros raised his eyebrows and took a sip from his cup. “He had them all along his ears, sometimes his nose and lips, one in his tongue, one straight through the tip of his p—”

“Yes, the Noldor like their pierced jewelry,” Maglor interrupted. The tips of his ears were pink for some reason. Maedhros, unconcerned, kept drinking. “They look nice, but they can cause more problems than they’re worth in a fight. It’s why most of us stopped wearing them.”

Elrond consciously crossed his fingers to keep from touching his fresh piercing. “What do you mean?”

Maedhros set his cup down and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I used to wear earrings of my own,” he said, turning his head so they could see, but there were no earrings: only rough, bumpy scars along the edges of his ears. “Morgoth’s orcs took them as trophies when they brought me to Angband, but they didn’t bother taking them out of my ears first.” Elros went green. Elrond, morbidly curious, leaned in for a better look. “Doing silly things for fashion is practically a rite of passage, however. Enjoy it.”

“And it does not look bad by any means,” Maglor added. “Just make sure to take care of it. And try not to snag it on anything!”

Elrond woke to a quiet, gray morning and an inexplicable sense of loneliness. Elros was still asleep across from him, and someone was stoking the fire in the main hall, but Elrond still couldn’t help but feel as if something, or someone had suddenly left him.

“Morning, Elrond,” Alagostor said when Elrond came out in search of food. “Porridge? It’s fresh. I was about to see if Maedhros would eat a bit before he goes to sleep.” Over his shoulder, Maedhros was slumped against the table as if he was already asleep with a liquor jug in his hand.

“All right.”

Alagostor dished up an additional bowl. Elrond took it, stirring in a spoonful of honey as he went, and sat at a table along the wall. He kept stirring. It didn’t seem appetizing at all, but it was breakfast, and he should eat it.

He was still stirring his now-cold porridge when Elros came out, yawning and stretching his long arms over his head. “Oh, that looks nasty,” he said, peering into Elrond’s bowl.

“Hm? Uh, I guess it does.” Elrond lifted his spoon. A glob of congealed porridge dropped back into the bowl with a plop.

“Maglor is making some flatbread if you want some instead.”

“Maybe.”

Eventually, Elrond scraped his porridge into the chicken feed and went without breakfast. He followed his usual activities on habit alone, but the sense of loneliness and loss did not leave him, shadowing everything else in a thick, oppressive mist.

He had never felt like this before. He had never been truly lonely; he always had Elros, and it was hard to feel disconnected from the rest of the community when they all relied on each other. Maybe it was because the dwarves had gone? They were a taste of the outside world, and everything did seem smaller without them.

No, that wasn’t it, this loss felt more intimate in a way that Elrond did not understand. Even his earliest memories, wreathed in the confusion and fear surrounding Sirion, did not make him feel anything like this.

The strange feeling did not dissipate overnight as he thought—and hoped—it would. If anything it seemed stronger and sharper, like a wall of broken glass separating him from the rest of the world. No one else seemed to notice. Even if they did, what would he tell them? How could he explain something he didn’t understand? Even exerting himself during sword training couldn’t shake it. He looked up at Maedhros for instructions after losing a sparring match, and for some reason he wanted to ask him about Fingon.

That would be stupid. No one asked him about Fingon unless they wanted to ruin his day at best. He’d been reasonably stable for longer than usual, according to Maglor, and Elrond certainly didn’t want to foul that up. Still, he was curious. If there was anyone who could understand loneliness it was Maedhros, violently separated from his immortal love and left to drift on an uncertain sea.

Good sense won, and Elrond said nothing.

The beautiful, incomprehensible scent visited again in a dream. Elrond clung to it, trying to grasp and taste and pull it into the very depths of his being, but dawn chased the dream away and he woke, unable to remember why he had felt so happy. Instead, the loneliness returned.

If he had been curious about Fingon yesterday, today it was a fixation. Fingon’s deeds were a matter of song, and Maglor had taught the boys all of the songs in the course of their education, but his courage and valor as king did not stand out to Elrond now as did the scant details they had learned of Fingon as a person. He had a strong singing voice. He wore his dark hair in braids ornamented with gold. He was an artist and a bit of a dandy. He loved Maedhros as fiercely as Maedhros loved him, to the point of setting out alone on an impossible mission to save him from the claws of Angband and returning against all odds, triumphant. It was a good story with a sad ending. Fingon was dead and Maedhros wished he was dead.

“You’re doing it again,” Elros said, drawing Elrond out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Daydreaming. Must be interesting.”

“I guess so.”

It was dinner already. When did that happen? The last thing Elrond remembered was…

He couldn’t remember. How had he gotten here? He remembered waking up that morning, but everything else seemed to have fallen behind a thick curtain.

It was then that coals of anxiety began sparking in Elrond’s stomach, and he could not put them out.

He turned in early that night, telling himself and the others that he was just tired and needed more sleep, but sleep did not come. Instead he lay in the dark, watching the shadows that stretched across the floor and wondering when his bed had become so cold. It wasn’t even properly autumn yet. He was still awake when he began to feel almost like he was being rocked. No, carried? Carried in the arms of someone walking quickly. Every jostle seemed to ache. Every step made him more aware of pain radiating all over his body from points he couldn’t isolate. He was so tired, so weak that he couldn’t lift his head. He distinctly felt a dry, cracked kiss on his cheekbone and then a whisper in his ear.

Stay with me, Nelyo, we’re going home…

Elrond sat bolt upright, heart hammering and breath catching in his throat. He heard the voice, felt the kiss and the pain—it was all real , but he looked around the darkened room and saw only Elros sleeping across from his bed.

Had he imagined it? No, it was real, not a dream, not anything else, he would swear to it even though the impression now faded into the familiar sights and smells of his own bedroom. He recognized the voice though he had never heard it before. He recognized the sensations, the sounds, everything as clear and crisp as his own perception, but… it was not his.

Something was wrong.

Elrond sat motionless on his bed for a long while, paralyzed by the cold realization sinking into his neck and shoulders that something was very, very wrong. He needed to tell someone about this. Maglor, he needed to tell Maglor, and maybe he could… what, make it stop? Make sense of it? What would Elrond even say to him? I am obsessed with Fingon for some reason, and for a moment I felt as if he was rescuing me, and I was Maedhros? Was there any way to say that without sounding like a lunatic?

Maybe he was a lunatic.

The thought sent a shudder over the top of his head and down his back. Maybe if he ignored it, it wouldn’t happen again. It was simply happenstance, just his tired mind conjuring up strange visions. That was all. He was not a lunatic.

Despite this comforting assertion, Elrond tossed and turned for the rest of the night. When morning came again, he was suddenly too weary to get up and join Elros at sword training.

“Maedhros is going to make you run an extra lap,” Elros advised him as he dressed and Elrond stayed burrowed under the covers.

“I don’t care.”

Elros paused. “Are you… feeling all right? You’ve been weird.”

“I’m fine,” Elrond said from underneath his pillow—perhaps a little too forcefully, because Elrond huffed and left the room without saying anything else.

His brother’s concern did not lift the weight of the loneliness that still pressed down on Elrond’s heart. If anything, it was a little better when he was gone and Elrond could stew in his funk in peace. If he had no witnesses to his lunacy, then he was not a lunatic. That was right, wasn’t it?

He soon realized that he should have known better than to expect to be left alone when there was a knock at his door.

“Elrond? May I come in?” It was Maglor.

“Yes,” Elrond muttered.

Maglor entered and closed the door softly behind him. “Elros said you’ve been acting strangely. Are you ill?”

“No.” Elrond had never been ill, but his body felt no different than it usually did.

“Is something the matter? Are you… upset with someone? Or is it about the high king?” He paused, waiting for a response, but Elrond said nothing. “Listen… I can only speculate unless you let me know what’s bothering you. Or you can let anyone else know, it does not have to be me.” Another long pause. A floorboard creaked as Maglor shifted his weight to the other foot. “Remember that you can always speak to Osgardir and he will keep it in confidence. Even if you’re not ill.”

That seemed like a statement to leave him with, but Maglor stayed where he was. Elrond knew that Maglor would leave if he asked him to, but…

He needed to tell someone. Something was not right, and he needed to get it out.

Elrond rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow to face Maglor. “It sounds ridiculous,” he muttered, and then stopped. Maglor nodded anxiously. “I have been… thinking about… Fingon a lot lately, for some reason.”

Maglor’s forehead crinkled in confusion. Elrond knew he was mad for bringing it up. “Fingon?”

“Maedhros loved him, didn’t he?”

“Yes. We all did, in different ways. He was easy to love.” His voice was warm and fond. “What about him?”

“I don’t know.” Elrond ran a fingernail over the thick weave of his blanket. “Ever since Maedhros mentioned him, I can’t stop thinking about… losing him, I guess.” It was ridiculous, he was ridiculous, this whole fixation made absolutely no sense and he hadn’t even mentioned the vision or hallucination or whatever it was. He shouldn’t have brought it up, but now he had said it and he could not take the words back. Worse still, he kept talking and couldn’t stop. “I keep feeling lonely, like Maedhros must. I don’t know why I’m doing this. It makes no sense. Is it… normal to feel like this when someone else is sad about someone dying? Someone you didn’t even know?”

Maglor was silent for a few moments, during which Elrond grew progressively more wretched.

“Empathy,” Maglor said slowly, “is completely normal. It is not normal for it to incapacitate you.”

There it is, Elrond thought. I am a lunatic.

“It is a fairly common problem for elves,” Maglor continued. “We can become so attached to the feelings of others that it can kill us or drive us to madness. That is uncommon. It is more common to make minor bad decisions when we have a partner in crime or to become temporarily depressed when we get too close to another’s sadness. That could be what you are experiencing now.”

Elrond held his breath. “Even if I’m only half-elven?”

“I couldn’t say. But I can say that I have seen such things in elves before.” To Elrond’s surprise, Maglor smiled. “Fingon was well-loved. We mourn him still. You need not feel shame for carrying some of that sorrow, but you also need not let it burden you.”

“How?”

“It isn’t necessary to feel the same way that someone else feels in order to help them. Feelings of compassion or charity can lead you to ease another’s suffering in more sustainable ways. Or sometimes you simply need a break. It takes practice.” Maglor opened the door again with a long creak. “Staying in bed all day, however, helps nothing. There are plenty of things that need doing around the longhouse that might help redirect you. I’ll make an excuse for you at sword training if you wish.”

Elrond blinked. He was silent for a moment while he mulled over what Maglor had said, and then he breathed out slowly. Perhaps he wasn’t mad, just possessed of too much empathy. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll give it a try.”

Maglor’s smile widened. “Good. Freshen up, have something to eat, and then there’s some mending with your name on it.”

Sewing proved to be therapeutic. Elrond never exactly enjoyed doing it, but once he started working on the pile, he did not want to stop. Holes were easy to patch and buttons were even easier to replace, and as the hours rolled by, all the fear and grief melted out through his hands and into the needle and thread as he fixed the fray edges with tiny, even stitches. Maedhros and Elros eventually came inside. Elros sat next to Elrond on the bench and chatted away at him in a determinedly cheerful voice, but Maedhros just wandered off toward his own bedroom, as he usually did. Whatever excuse Maglor had given clearly wasn’t anything close to the truth.

Elrond kept working on the mending. Dinner came and went, and he had a plate and shared a handful of words with the others, but he went back to his work and kept at it until the last shirt had been repaired. Night had fallen. Coals burned low on the hearth. He stretched and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tense spots in his back and shoulders loosen up. He stashed the mending supplies and went to bed, and sleep came easily when he settled underneath the covers.

In the midst of a beautiful, soft light, he dandled a pair of happy toddlers on his knees. They giggled and reached for him when he bounced them higher with a whoo ! Smoky black curls tumbled across their faces and they peered lovingly up at him with large, pale gray eyes—him and Elros? As babies? They looked similar, but…

He reached in to tickle their bellies. They shrieked with laughter and tumbled away, tripping over each other in search of a new diversion.

He turned. A third baby reached for him in the soft light. He gathered her into his arms and nodded along as she related a long, babbling story. She had handfuls of flowers and shed feathers and pretty leaves, which she stuck into his braids and behind his ears, and a circlet of tiny white blossoms rested on her own dark head. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her little face against his shoulder, and he rocked her gently and stroked her hair.

A flash of silver in the corner of his eye—he looked up sharply, and then it was all gone.

Elrond woke to find his cheeks and the pillowcase wet with tears. He remembered nothing, and he did not know why he was crying. Still sleepy, he wiped his eyes and rolled over.

He had nearly dropped off to sleep again when a woman’s terrified, piercing scream split the air.

He sat bolt upright, heart hammering in his chest and looking around in the darkness with the echoes of the scream still lingering within the walls. “Elros!” he leaped out of bed and began shaking Elros awake. “Elros, wake up! She’s in trouble!”

“What?” Elros stirred slowly. His hand closed around Elrond’s wrist. “Elrond, what are you doing?”

“The scream! We have to help her!”

Elros paused. “I didn’t hear anything. You’re just dreaming.”

“No, I wasn’t!” He ran out of the bedroom and didn’t wait for Elros to follow him. She was close, she was in trouble, he knew it hadn’t been a dream. Someone had screamed and he needed to find where she was. The main hall was dim with the last embers dying on the hearth. At first he saw no one, but then his eyes fell on the shaggy, hunched shape of Maedhros at one of the tables with his usual drink in front of him. “Maedhros! We have to hurry!”

“Go back to bed,” Maedhros said in a slightly slurred voice.

“What? No! You heard her scream, I know it! We have to help!”

“No one screamed. It was a dream.”

“No!” Now Elrond was the one screaming. “I heard it! It was real! She screamed! ”

Maedhros only shook his head. “I know what a nightmare is, boy. Go to bed. It’ll look better in the morning.”

For a moment, Elrond could say nothing, as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. “No,” he said once more. “It was real.”

But no one else woke. No one else heard it. And no matter how much Elrond tried to explain it, no one else knew what he was talking about.

 

Table of Contents | Leave a Comment