Sirion by Grundy

---

Doom of the Noldor

---

Maedhros- once Maitimo, before his mother-name had been turned into a cruel joke- gaped in shock when Elwing leapt. True, she had been standing by the window when she received them, the sheer curtains streaming in the chill breeze, but he had thought nothing of it.

There was no way he could have foreseen this. He had never known an elf to commit suicide. Even his uncle’s ride to challenge Morgoth had not been blatant death-seeking. He cannot say how the Sindar think, for he is well aware that he has never understood them, but to the Noldor, what the queen had just done was unthinkable.

He ran to the window, knowing even as he did that it was too late. He and Makalaurë reached it just in time to see her hit. She began to sink, and though she twitched, he knew it was little more than involuntary reflex. She made no attempt to regain the surface, to reach air, shore, life. The fall alone might have killed her, and he supposed it might be kindest if it had.

She chose death if it meant keeping the Silmaril.

What was it about his father’s jewels that made their owners lose their minds?

It was only when the huge white bird rose, glowing, from the waves- filling his shocked eyes with light he recognized all too well- that the screaming registered.

It was female, and frantic. And much closer than outside, where he was painfully aware that the few remaining defenders of Sirion who refused to lay down arms were being killed. How had it come to this, when they meant only to talk?

As he turned, he realized with sinking clarity there was only one brother standing next to him.

His eyes found Amras on the floor, lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. It was the girl standing next to him screaming, hysterical at the sight of imminent death – for all that she was clearly the one who caused it.

He braced himself just in time for the wave of coldness that swept over him, yet another brother claimed by the Oath.

The girl had sunk to her knees, imploring the elf she had stabbed to not die, unaware that he was no longer able to hear her desperate request, much less comply.

She was still holding the bloody knife – Pityo’s own, Maedhros noted dully – when Maglor advanced on her. She was too beside herself to even be afraid, as anyone in their right mind would be at the sight of one of the Kinslayers advancing on one who had just killed their brother.

“Please, please, I didn’t mean it, I only wanted to make him let go,” the girl babbled. “It’s so much blood... oh please, I didn’t mean to hurt him so badly, I never meant to!”

The knife clattered from her outstretched hand to the floor, echoing unnaturally in the suddenly silent room.

Maglor lifted the girl to her feet and turned her away from what was now only a body where moments before there had been a living elf, crooning softly and soothingly for all that he was surely no less distressed by Amras’ death than Maedhros. She wept into his chest, too distraught to care that it was a son of Feänor comforting her.

He allowed her to weep, waiting until the shuddering sobs fade to weak hiccoughs and she pulled away, startled by kindness where she had expected none.

“What is your name, young one?”

That provoked a fresh spate of weeping.

Maedhros’ gorge rose as he realized that the girl was little more than a child. She looked too young to know anything but Sirion, and certainly too young to deal with the burden of being a kinslayer.

He turned his little brother’s body face up, noting the fatal wound –the only wound. Amras’ expression was one of surprise, lacking anger or pain.

“Tell me what happened,” he suggested, softening his voice as best he could. Soft was not one of his qualities anymore, not since the Nirnaeth. He has not dealt with children since Tyelpë grew up. Even that seems like another lifetime now.

“I never meant to,” came the broken reply. “I just wanted him to let go.”

She stared in bewilderment at her hands, as though hoping if she only looked long enough and hard enough, the blood would not be on them and Amras would stand up.

He remembered the feeling.

The girl’s words were enough for Maedhros to guess what had happened. She must have been hidden somewhere, watching them confront her queen. When Elwing jumped, the child rushed out, and Amras restrained her, perhaps on reflex, perhaps fearing she meant to throw herself after her mistress. The child had panicked and fought to free herself, and in the struggle, his brother’s knife had nicked the vein in his leg. She probably couldn’t have done it on purpose if she had tried.

“No one is going to hurt you, young one,” Makalaurë said gently. “Won’t you tell us your name?”

“Glinwen,” she whispered. “Glinwen because I was a little light in a dark time. What would my parents say?”

The last words sounded utterly horrified, as the enormity of what she had done truly began to sink in.

“I don’t know, but you should go to them now,” Maedhros said.

What she chose to tell her parents was up to her- he saw no point to making it known to the world that she had elven blood on her hands. He rather doubted most Sindar would fault her for killing a Feänorion.

She said something so quietly even elven ears couldn’t make it out properly.

“What did you say, Glinwen?” Makalaurë asked.

“They’re dead,” she repeated dully.

“You have no one we can send you to?” Maedhros asked in surprise.

She shook her head.

“I was the Queen’s ward,” she said quietly, her unnatural calm as worrying as the hysterics had been. “Anyone who might look after me if she’s gone will be on their way to Cape Balar now.”

Maedhros sighed in relief. At least Elwing had sent those she could to safety. Though that now left him a dilemma in the form of an abandoned child on his hands. He couldn’t very well leave her on her own, but he also couldn’t drag a distraught girl back to Amon Ereb to live among the people likely responsible for orphaning her in the first place.

He heard the approaching footsteps and looked up to find the captain of his guard had joined him.

“Sirion is yours, my prince,” he said curtly.

“The defenders?”

“Mostly dead, but those that were wise enough to surrender we put across the river. They’re not foolish enough to come back without weapons, and I doubt they have any hidden outside the city.”

Maedhros nodded. The defenders hadn’t had adequate weapons within the city. That idea they had cached any beyond it was ridiculous. He meant to be away by dawn in any case.

He caught Pelendur’s questioning glance at the girl, who was regarding him in turn with unnaturally large eyes in her pale face.

“There was a mishap here. We will need to build a pyre for my brother.”

Pelendur’s expression darkened as he saw Amras lying in his own blood, but he nodded at once. It was not the first time he had had to perform this duty. They did not leave their dead for others to tend. It might be hasty, and certainly not the way the Noldor would once have seen to their fallen, but at least they would know Amras had been treated with dignity.

“And the girl?”

Maedhros sighed.

“I suppose we will have to bring her with us,” he decided reluctantly. “If you’ve already sent the surviving adults away, we can’t very well leave her here on her own. And even if she could find her way to them, I doubt the Nandor will be kind to her.”

The wood elves of the region shunned all kinslayers. He could not imagine her secret would remain secret long. Though for all he knew, he might be setting his own people up for the ordeal of watching a child fade…

Somewhere, he was sure, the Valar were laughing.

To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well.

Pelendur hesitated.

“My prince,” he began.

“Whatever it is, say it straight,” Maedhros ordered, gritting his teeth, though he had no idea what could possibly compare to a dead brother.

“There’s another body I imagine you’ll want us to attend to,” Pelendur said quietly.

Maedhros glanced at his remaining brother, baffled. Who else in this Valar forsaken settlement would they be uncomfortable leaving for Gil-galad and Cirdan? They followed, the girl in tow.

It was only when Pelendur led them to the corridor with so many windows – another fine view of the sea – that Maedhros understood.

He heard a small shriek from behind him, and Glinwen wriggled out of Makalaurë’s half-hearted grip, crying.

“Lady Lalwen!”

His aunt was slumped against the wall, sword in hand. Five of Maedhros’ own men had fallen to that sword, so fiercely had Lalwen fought.
Glinwen was once again utterly distraught.

“What is it, child?” Pelendur demanded, standing over her.

“Stop it, you’re scaring her. And I don’t think she understands Quenya,” Maedhros advised sharply, taking in the way the girl shrank back, her eyes showing white all around at the armor-clad elf towering over her.

His captain sighed. Like many Feänorion loyalists, his Sindarin was barely passable outside of battlefield commands, and not about to reassure a frightened child.

“I’ll see to the pyres,” Pelendur announced, looking relieved to have an excuse to remove himself from the situation.

Many Feänorion loyalists also had little experience with elflings, having seen very few at close quarters since leaving Aman. A happy child was one thing, likely to inspire a mixture of nostalgia, curiosity, and wistfulness, but a frightened and weeping one was a different matter entirely.

“Young one, this is our own aunt. Please believe she will be treated with honor and respect,” Makalaurë assured the girl, who seemed to be edging back toward hysteria.

Maedhros suited action to word, removing the sword from his aunt’s stiffening grip, trying not to ask himself how it was that the gentle, laughing aunt he remembered so fondly came to die at his men’s hands. He removed the bulky pack she had borne- heavy enough to have been a disadvantage, and possibly the reason for her death- before shifting her cloak around to her front, the better to conceal the wounds and the blood from the child.

What was so precious that Irimë had not simply cut the pack off, removing the hindrance? And how had she allowed herself to be cornered in a dead-end corridor, when she must have known the palace well?

He opened it, and found food, waterskins, and more chillingly, a few children’s toys.

“Glinwen,” he said quietly, hoping very much that the conclusion he had just come to was wrong. “Where are Queen Elwing’s sons?”

The child looked terrified but resolute, and clamped her jaw firmly shut.

He sighed.

“I was not kinsman to your queen, young one, but I am to her sons. Even if I were not, I am not in the habit of leaving unattended elflings to die. Where are they?”

He was honestly uncertain what he would do if the child refused to answer him. But daylight was already waning and he couldn’t leave two boys of five out in the dark alone. Even in Aman such a thing would have been shocking. And this was not Aman- there were things that came out at night in Beleriand much worse the shadows that haunted the nightmares of the innocent elflings of Tirion.

Perhaps this time he would not be too late.

“Did they not go to Arvenien with the others?” Makalaurë wheedled. “It would have been very sensible of the queen. She would surely wish her sons safe.”

At last the girl shook her head, and edging just a few steps further along from where Lalwen had fallen, pushed at the windowsill.

A door, small enough that Maedhros wasn’t sure he could fit himself through it, opened below the window.

Makalaurë looked at him, following his thoughts easily enough.

“I don’t think anyone will be using this palace again, brother,” he advised.

Maedhros nodded and told the girl curtly to stand clear.

He waited until she complied, venturing as far up the corridor as she thought he would find acceptable, before he broke the window and knocked the sill out. Now he might fit through. Looking over the edge, he could see the crude stone ladder leading to a stairwell below. Fortunately it was not very far, and for one of his height the ladder was unnecessary, at least on the way down. Up would be another problem.

Climbing with only one hand was difficult.

He slid down, using his cloak as necessary to sweep the ladder and ledge clear of glass shards for Makalaurë.

“Come on,” he ordered.

He had meant his brother, but the girl clambered down first. Makalaurë looked somewhat startled that she would voluntarily follow him.

“Now we go down the stairs?” Maedhros asked, more for the purpose of trying to get Glinwen speaking again than anything else. There was little choice but to go down the stairs unless one fancied leaping a hundred fifty feet to the sand below.

The girl didn’t reply verbally, but she did nod.

Makalaurë, catching his older brother’s pointed look, took his cloak off and wrapped the girl carefully, making sure to hike the garment far enough up that she wouldn’t trip on it. There was a stiff breeze blowing in from the sea, and the child was dressed for indoors.

Maedhros took the lead, hurrying down the stairs. When he finally reached the beach, he found himself not far from yet another body.

“Nellas,” Glinwen murmured.

He found it worrying that she could no longer muster shrieks or tears for this latest corpse, despite it being someone she had known. They must find Elwing’s sons quickly, before the girl collapsed from shock.

“Where would the boys be?” Maedhros asked, as kindly as he could. “Surely Nellas and Lalwen would not leave them out in the open alone. They would have hidden them somewhere safe.”

“The caves?” Glinwen replied, but it was as much as question as an answer.

He did not waste energy being upset with her. Knowing about the secret escape route did not mean she knew the entire plan. They were already much further than he would have gotten without her help. Elwing’s sons will not suffer the fate Dior’s did. He will not be too late this time.

She began to lead them. Maedhros decided it was as well that she was too firmly focused on her task to realize that Sirion was aflame, whether intentionally or accidentally. At the rate the fire was spreading, pyres for Lalwen and Amras might prove unnecessary.

When they reached the cave, Glinwen sank into a huddle on a low rock, apparently at the end of her strength.

Taking a deep breath, Maedhros entered. He was not too late. The Doom will not claim another pair of innocents. Not today, at least.