Quenta Narquelion by bunn

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As Little Might Be Thought

Elrond and Elros are approached by Maedhros with a request for diplomatic assistance.

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Elros and Elrond were sitting in a corner of one of the great halls of Belegost. They had come up from bathing in the huge elaborately-wrought bath-cavern in the heart of the mountain, and were now basking joyfully in the warmth of the bright coals that glowed in the stone fireplace.

They had lived in Belegost for over two years now, and outside the mountain-city, the wind blew cold again and snow was falling. They looked very different now to the grubby children in patched clothes and deerskins who had come to the city out of the Forest between Rivers.

They were tall now considering their youth, dressed in fine-spun wool and linen that had been worked artfully by Lanwion to show the white swan wing of Tuor and the blue flower of Idril of Gondolin. On their wrists they wore the silver arm-rings that Angruin had made for them, with red enamelled spear-heads of the House of Hador standing against a complex delicate tracery of spreading trees and leaping hounds that were not too obviously either the trees of Doriath, or the faithful hound of the House of Bëor.

There were not many Dwarves around. Usually, the Elves stayed near the guest quarters, where the corridors and rooms were all built tall enough for Elvish guests, and most of the Dwarves of Belegost spoke with them only when they had business with them, but this hall, the Hall of Heliodor, was often used by Audur’s family and friends as well as by the Elves. There had been a few Dwarves who had come in from night guard duty, taking their breakfast there, earlier.

The twins were playing a game of King’s Table with the elaborately carved wooden pieces that two of the Noldor had made for them. The King-piece and his bodyguard had been made by Alwion from ash-wood, and they were tall and fair, but the red army had been made by Panonis, and they were of red-grained plum-wood, with small finely-detailed furious faces and pointed beards. Elros was playing the King, as he usually did, and was losing.

Fëanor lingered near them, watching the game unseen. They were old enough now that they were not taking it overseriously, and there was something calming about watching them play, as long ago his sons had played such games in Tirion.

Maedhros came across the hall to them, tall and dark-clad, with his red hair catching the light from the fire. They stood, exchanging wary glances, to acknowledge him: they had been taught court manners suitable for princes, of course.

They had not seen much of Maedhros recently: he, and Fëanor with him, had been away from the mountain-city for some time, fighting orcs in the foothills of the Ered Luin.

Maedhros flung himself down into a chair next to them and gestured for them to sit.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” he said, abruptly. “I would like you to speak to Gil-galad for me.”

“You want us to travel to the Isle of Balar?” Elros said, jumping up again in amazement, as if he were ready to start at that very moment.

Maedhros shook his head. “Nothing so time-consuming, or so dangerous! I need to speak with the Eldar of the Isle of Balar, to coordinate our attack with the forces on the coast. We could do so from afar, if they would only agree to speak to me, or to Maglor. But Gil-galad will not answer us, and my nephew Celebrimbor closed his mind to me long ago. And so we are cut off, groping in the dark. ”

“But of course we want to speak to the King!” Elros said at once. “I remember him visiting Mother... before. In the Havens. Of course we want to speak to our mother’s friend! Can we do it now?”

“The thing is, though,” Maedhros said, rubbing at the wrist of his missing hand where the silver cuff touched the skin, and not looking at them at all. “I cannot be sure that he will choose to answer. It is very likely that he believes you dead. He may think you shades, illusions that we have made to trick him.”

“I see,” Elrond said. “So he might not want to speak to us, either? But Maglor promised us, that if there was any word of our father, you would tell us. Stuck here in the North under a mountain, we will never hear any other way.”

“That is true, and I would not break that promise. But even if Gil-galad can be convinced that you are the children of Elwing, he may well believe that we have broken your minds, as Morgoth sometimes breaks the minds of his thralls. He is unlikely to trust you immediately. He might even try to do you harm, if he believes that you are a trap set by the Enemy.”

“Oh, but... surely that’s ridiculous?” Elros said. “You and Maglor are not the same as Morgoth! Doesn’t he know you?”

Maedhros paused for a long moment. “I met him a few times, in Hithlum, when he was a child, before the Dagor Bragollach,” he said at last, and he sounded very distant. “But that was a very long time ago and... Well. A great deal has happened since then.”

“It certainly has,” Elrond said, thoughtfully. He looked at Elros. “I think we should try it anyway. He was still our mother’s friend, and he may have news of our father.”

“We have to try,” Elros agreed. His eyes were bright and hopeful. “We will just have to convince him that he’s got it all wrong. Then we can talk to him, and ask him what is going on in the South.”

“Thank you,” Maedhros said gravely.

He took the three seeing stones from their pouches and said the words to bring them glowing into life. Then he moved his chair back, away from them a little, and sat down again at a distance. “Look closely into the images, and think of Gil-galad the King, as he was when you saw him last. Think of his face, his clothes, his expression, as if you were drawing a picture.”

Elros gave him a dubious look. “We last saw him when we were six years old,” he said. “I am not sure how clearly either of us can remember him.”

“You can. The memory of the Eldar is clear. Look back into it, as a mirror, and call on him. Try to open your minds, if you can. I will watch from here. ”

Gil-galad’s face swam hazily into view, becoming clearer and brighter. He looked surprised and annoyed, and reached out with one hand at once in a gesture of denial. Then he paused, and his eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I greet you, my lord Ereinion Gil-Galad,” Elros said, politely, in Sindarin of the formal mode. “I am Elros son of Eärendil of Gondolin...”

“What are you up to now, Maedhros?” Gil-galad said, harshly, out of the floating pool of light.

Elros looked a little shaken, but he went on, persistently “...son also of Elwing of Doriath, your friend. We met some years ago in the Havens of Sirion, when we were very young. This is my brother, Elrond.”

Gil-galad stared at them, a bitter expression on his face. “I know this is your doing, kin-slayer. How dare you! To use the forms of their lost children! ”

“My lord, we are not lost!” Elros said. “We have lived with the Sons of Fëanor since... since our mother’s death, taken as hostages for their safety and for ours, but we have not been harmed.”

“I will not be tricked so easily,” Gil-galad said, and you could see that there were tears starting in his eyes. “Did your dark master tell you to do this, traitor? Or was it all your own ingenious idea?”

“Lord Gil-galad, look at us.” Elrond said. “Look well. We are not shades or illusions. We are simply ourselves, the sons of your friends, who now are found again.”

Gil-galad leaned forward a little, staring at them incredulously. “The likeness... is close. So close to Earendil’s face, as a boy, only a few years ago.” He leant back, his face closed and angry. “But it cannot be true. You are not the first snare that Morgoth has set for me.”

“My mind is open. Look into it.” Elrond said. “We mean no deceit.”

Then his head jerked backwards, as if hit by an unseen blow, and his eyes widened in alarm. He flinched. Elros grabbed at his shoulder to steady him, and the shock ran through him too. Maedhros moved forward, and reached out swiftly to cut off the life in the stones. But then Elrond pulled himself upright, and met the High King’s stare levelly. He was breathing as it he had been running. Maedhros froze.

“You are Elrond, Elwing’s son of Doriath,” Gil-galad said, almost in a whisper, wondering. He leaned forward and stared again. “And you are Elros. You are the half-elven children, descendants of Lúthien ... I can barely believe it, even now I can see you plain, even when I see your minds. How can this be?”

“The Sons of Fëanor have treated us kindly,” Elros said, glancing at Maedhros, who had retreated again and sat unspeaking, a little way away. “The lord Maedhros asks...”

“Do not speak to me of the sons of Fëanor. ” Gil-galad said coldly. “I saw the bloody aftermath of their work in the Havens, for all they slipped through my fingers there. I know what they did in Doriath. You have survived, through some unbelievably slim chance, but there were many who did not.”

“Yes, my lord,” Elros said at once, apologetically.

“Where are you?” Gil-galad demanded. “I do not have the strength, myself, to hunt the Sons of Fëanor through the lands that now lie under the hand of Morgoth, but the hosts of Valinor may. And if you are close at hand, I will do all I can to help you, for your mother’s sake.”

“We are in the Kingdom of Belegost, my lord.” Elrond told him. “Please do not worry about us. The mountain-kingdoms are still strong, and have not been attacked by the Enemy.”

Gil-galad’s eyebrows went up. “You are among the Naugrim? These are strange friends you have made, sons of Elwing of Doriath.”

“That was Nogrod!” Elros said, immediately. “The Dwarves of Belegost fought bravely as allies of your father, my lord, and have never attacked our people. And they are not under the hand of Morgoth at all! They were very much pleased that the host of the Valar has come to Middle-earth. They await the call of Aulë to march out to war. They call him Mahal. He is very much respected here. Also, saying ‘Naugrim’ is considered impolite.”

Gil-galad’s face showed surprise at his vehemence. He looked concerned. He reached out again, and touched their minds for a moment, much more gently this time, as if looking for confirmation of something.

Elros blinked in embarrassment, but then collected himself and asked “Do you... have you heard anything from our father? We have heard no word of him for many years.”

Gil-galad took a deep breath, still staring at them in fascination. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I have news of him for you. And of your mother, too. The hosts of Valinor brought word of them. Both of your parents are well, beyond all hope. Elwing... Elwing was saved as she fell to the waves. Ulmo gave her the form of a great white bird, and in that form, bearing the Silmaril, she flew to your father, in his ship far away. And then your parents decided that there was no more hope left in Middle-earth, and they took the Silmaril, and by its light they sailed to Valinor, to ask the Valar for mercy and aid. And... the Valar answered.”

Elrond’s face looked very sharp and pale now, and Elros was biting his lip. “So all that great host, all those ships full of bright banners... all of them came across the sea because our parents asked it?”

“Yes,” Gil-galad said, simply. He was still staring at them as if he could not quite believe they were real.

“So are they there with you, in the isle of Balar? Or are they with the host of the Valar now?” Elros asked, eagerly.

“No,” Gil-galad frowned. “They were given a choice, whether to accept the fate of the Elves, or the Doom of Men. They chose to stay with us, the elder children of Ilúvatar, in Arda until the breaking of the world. But they are in Valinor, and forbidden to return to set foot in Middle-earth ever again. I was sad to hear it: I miss them too.”

“Oh,” Elros said, dismally. Elrond said nothing at all, but he looked bereft.

“I am sorry, Elros, Elrond,” the High King said, and his voice was gentle now. “I can send them a message, if you like: there are those here now who can speak with Valinor. What would you would say?”

Elros spoke without pausing to think. “Ask them why they did not wait for us!” he exclaimed, angrily and then paused as if in shock at his own words. “No... no, not that. That’s not the right thing to say at all... I don’t know. It’s hard to think what message to send, after so many years.”

“They had every reason to believe that you were dead, Elros,” Gil-galad said. “None of us had any idea you might be alive. They will have mourned you bitterly: you were dearly beloved. You were so young... The Sons of Fëanor slew your mother’s brothers when they were children, have they not told you that?”

“Yes. They told us. But that was done in revenge, without orders, by the servants of their brother, Celegorm, after he died in battle,” Elrond said, unhappily.

“Hm,” Gil-galad said. “I believe that no more than I would if Morgoth offered me both his Silmarils as a peace-offering. But as to the message, there’s no hurry. Think what you would say, and I will contact the lord Finarfin and ask him to pass on the message,” He hesitated. “If you can find your way to us, you still have friends here in Balar. We would welcome you. The Lady Galadriel has mourned you bitterly. ”

Elrond looked at Elros for a long moment before he replied. “We thank you, Lord! I.. I don’t think we can travel to Balar just yet,” he said, in a troubled voice. “The miles are long, and...“ he sought briefly for a way of saying it without naming names, and then gave up “... the lord Maglor says that there are many regiments of orcs massing along the River Sirion and throughout East Beleriand.”

“He’s right about that, if nothing else,” Gil-galad said, with a twist of his mouth. “Very well then.” His head turned, looking behind him for a moment, as if someone had called his name. “I must go,” he said. “I am needed. But, if you say to me that these ...dwarves of Belegost are your friends, and they have helped you, well, then they are my friends also. I offered you my aid, and I meant it. Anything that is within my power.”

He hesitated. “But... be wary. I know the Sons of Fëanor are watching as we speak: I can feel it. Do not trust them. Even if, as you say, they do not openly serve the Enemy yet, they are eaten up with their oath. I do not think they can tell friend from foe any more. Farewell.”

Elrond blinked several times, and Elros rubbed his eyes with one hand, as the light in the seeing stones died away.

“That was well done,” Maedhros said softly. “Very well done indeed. Ah, and here is Maglor. I did not expect him to be here so soon.”

Maglor had come into the hall through the South-door, the one nearest to the city gates, still wearing a heavy riding-cloak that was starred with melting snowflakes. He strode quickly over to them, and took each boy by the shoulder, looking searchingly into first Elrond’s face, and then Elros’s. He held their gaze with his eyes for a long moment. Then he let go of them and sighed in relief, looking at his brother reproachfully.

“I told you,” Maedhros said to him.

“You did. But you’ve been wrong before.”

“Truth undeniable,” Maedhros said, mildly. “But not this time. Elros and Elrond are free of our ill-luck. Gil-galad recognised them almost at once, and they are quite unharmed, as you have seen. And now the king will at least speak to them, if not to us. He might even speak to the Dwarves, once Elros has given him a few more lessons about them. ”

“What were you so worried about?” Elros asked Maglor, a note of challenge coming back into his voice. “It was fine. The High King looked into our minds and saw who we are at once. And he has told us that Mother and Father are alive and well.”

“I am truly glad to hear it,” Maglor said. “But, Elros, I was concerned that you might be hurt. You are very young for this.”

Elros opened his mouth to protest, but Maglor went on; “Oh, yes, I know, you think you can do anything you wish! But Gil-galad has a strong will and great power of his own, and he is perilous.”

“He is our mother’s friend,” Elros said, stubbornly.

“Yes. But for almost his whole life, Morgoth has pursued him, with force and with trickery. He watched the rivers of fire take the green plains, as a child, he escaped from Hithlum and it is now in ruins, he escaped Morgoth’s attack on the Falas and fled to Balar, and then he saw the Havens burned by those he had thought his allies. He knows all too well how Morgoth uses face and form, and he has not had a life that encourages trust.”

“Well, nor have we,” Elrond said, reasonably.

“And that also is a truth undeniable,” Maglor admitted. “All the same, I am very glad you are not hurt.”

“It is not quite as if I had sent them into battle,” Maedhros said to his brother. “They are old enough now to decide if they wish to talk to their King. And I am not entirely without defenses myself. I was watching closely, to ensure the conversation was not overheard.”

“See! We were quite safe!” Elros exclaimed. Then he looked a little uncomfortable. “But he could tell that you were listening, Maedhros. He told us that Mother and Father are in Valinor. But they are forbidden by the Valar to return to Middle-earth. He invited us to the Isle of Balar. He said... he said we should not trust you.”

Maglor looked at him and frowned. “I see his point,” he said. “So are you going? To Balar, or to Valinor?”

“Would you let us, if we said we were?” Elrond asked, looking from Maglor to Maedhros with grey, steady eyes. Maedhros looked to his brother.

“I do not wish to keep you here against your will, you know that,” Maglor said, unhappily. “In Valinor there is peace and deep knowledge such as you have never known. The chance to join your mother and father, too. Perhaps if you first went east across the Ered Luin and then south to the coast, there might be a way to somewhere that a ship could put in.”

“If we went to Valinor...do you think we would be permitted to return?” Elrond asked him, looking troubled.

Maglor shook his head. “I doubt it, if your parents are not allowed to. Though I can’t be sure.”

“I don’t want to go to Valinor,” Elrond said slowly, as if he was making up his mind as he spoke. “Our people, all that are left of them, are here in Middle-earth. We can’t leave them all behind.”

“No!” Elros agreed at once. “The Enemy is here, not there! It would be craven for us to flee, when so many can’t, especially now, when there is hope of victory at last. As for Balar, well, we will go there one day, but...” He looked at Maglor again. “I think... I think I would prefer to make my own decisions about who I can and cannot trust.”

“You are sure of this?” Maedhros said, and then, looking at their faces. “Tell us, if you change your minds. Very well. From here, you can be our voice, a link between East and West. For a little while, at least.” He stood up, picked up the three small seeing stones and looked at them for a moment.

“You can bridge a river from both sides,” he said. “Even a river as broad as Sirion... Here. I give you a gift. The last small treasures remaining to our house.” He put them down on the table again, and pushed one towards Elrond, and one to Elros. “They can be used singly; they are a little easier to direct when they are together, that is all. I will teach you the words to call them to life, and a little of how they are used. Then you can use them to speak with the High King as you wish, with no listening ears.”

Elros gave Elrond a sideways look that clearly said: this sort of thing is up to you. Elrond reached out and touched the smooth side of the stone in front of him. Then he looked at Maglor for a moment before turning back to Maedhros. “Thank you. It is a generous gift. But would you keep them for us a little while longer, Maedhros? Until we have learned to use them, at least. I don’t think we have anything private to say to the High King just at the moment, anyway.”

“Very well,” Maedhros said. “They are yours. You have only to ask for them.” He carefully slipped the seeing stones back into their pouches, one by one.

“Where have you been, anyway?” Elros asked Maglor, picking up the game pieces and packing them away in a box.

“I had orders to ride to Nogrod, with messages to the King of the Firebeards. Very pressing orders, they were.” He gave Maedhros a withering look.

“They did all the better for not having you flapping around them like an old hen,” Maedhros said, unperturbed.

Maglor gave a laugh that sounded a little forced. “Yes. And I have ridden back from Nogrod as if there were a Balrog on my tail, and all for no reason. I should go and apologise to my poor horse with an apple.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elrond said. “It seems I am not going to get the chance to crush Elros with my armies today, since he has put them all away already.”

“It seemed inevitable that you would lose,” Elros told him. “I saw no point in prolonging your defeat!” He looked at Maedhros, head up and eyes bright, like someone taking a deliberate risk. “If these two are going to the stables, do you want to play a game of King’s Table, Maedhros?”

Maedhros looked thoughtfully at him, and sat back down. “Very well,” he said. “I have had a somewhat busy time of it since the last new moon. Being defeated at King’s Table will make a refreshing change.”