A Story of Seven by NelyafinweFeanorion

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Chapter 2

Feanorian Week Day 2: Maglor 

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Maglor:

Envy

He has heard the name from the Sindar that they have met.

"Daeron of Doriath" they say.
"The greatest singer in Beleriand."
"His voice is from Eru himself."
"You will no doubt weep from the beauty of his melodies."

He has never met him yet Maglor somehow has come to hate this Daeron. He has been too overwhelmed for songs, for creating music. The shattering loss of Nelyo and the burden of kingship thrust upon him as a result effectively buried all his creativity deep within.

But now Nelyo-Maedhros he corrects himself-has returned and Maglor has not felt such joy in years. The wellspring of songs trapped within him is ready to burst forth. He has the time, the inclination now, so he haltingly begins again. At first he only plays for his brothers, mainly Maedhros, who has missed his brother's voice and finds moments of solace in his singing. Slowly he expands his audience, requests coming from his uncle and his cousins-for songs of their youth, songs of Tirion and Alqualondë.

He plays at their feasts, he plays for gatherings. But it seems the Sindar are unimpressed. Who is this Daeron that they pester him with?

The Mereth Aderthad is set, to celebrate the reuniting of the kindreds, at the bidding of the High King. It is in no small part due to Maedhros as well, for while he has been first unable and now unwilling to remain a king himself, he has a gift for making others kings.

Maglor's uncle, High King Fingolfin, has requested that he perform songs of their Noldor heritage at this gathering of the Elvish tribes of Beleriand. The day before the feast Erestor tells him that a small contingent from Doriath has arrived, their famed singer among their company. Thingol has let these few come and has sent his singer to perform for the High King's feast.

As his uncle tells him, it would be politically unwise to ignore the gesture. Maglor will share the stage with this Daeron, whether he cares to or not.

He smiles at Fingolfin, agrees politely with the plan but seethes inside. Who is this Sindar who thinks to compete with him?

As a courtesy, Fingolfin suggests the Doriath singer perform first. He is confident in Maglor's skill and has no wish to embarrass Daeron by having him perform after his talented nephew.

So Maglor is alone, at the back of the stage, when Daeron steps out in front of the gathered Elves to perform. The notes are pure and strong, twisting in Maglor's stomach as he hears them. This is Daeron of Doriath then. His song soars, the notes ascending, turning, descending only to rise up again; the performance brings his audience to tears of sorrow, joy and awe.

Maglor cannot help it-he is wiping tears from his own eyes as this bard sings the songs of Beleriand. He must admit he is a master of his craft, the best he has ever heard. The heaviness in his gut changes to a darker emotion. He must perform after this masterpiece-it will now be he who will appear to be lacking. He is envious of this singer he has never met, a bard who has been able to devote his life exclusively to song.

Daeron never had to learn the forge. Daeron never had to learn to fight. Daeron never had to leave his home, his love, his wife, to follow in the vengeful steps of his father. He did not have to set his dreams aside, to do the bidding of others, time and time again. He has had every opportunity, every benefit, all the things that Maglor doesn't have, couldn't have, never will have.

The envy all but consumes him as he steps upon the stage.

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Kindess

There is still tumult all around them, the fading sounds of battle-metal on metal, anguished cries and shouts of anger. They are not the center of it anymore, their men are now the ones sweeping through the ruined town, searching in vain, for Maedhros has told him of Elwing's leap into the sea with the jewel clutched to her. They will find nothing in their search.

Maglor is weary. Weary not only in body but in spirit. He looks at Maedhros-scarred, pale, the wretched weight of that hateful Oath bowing his shoulders down yet again. This was not how he had envisioned this. But when had anything they attempted gone according to plan? Had they not learned that lesson from their doom yet? He could hear the echo of the words still.

"To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well;"

His brother knew those words as well, yet time after time he put his hope in plans and actions, as if he could somehow overcome that fate. He was proven wrong every time, this occasion no different than the others.

Maedhros would blame himself again. As he had with the Nirnaeth, with Doriath, with the lost twins, with every other setback, defeat or death that had come to them. And now they had another set of twins to mourn.

He could see their bodies, together in death as they had been in life, the color of their hair still bright against the gloom around them. Maedhros stood vigil by them; he had not stirred since they had been found and brought here out of the fray.

It was over. Once again they had lost so much and gained nothing for their efforts.

"Maglor." Erestor's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"What is it, Erestor?"

"We've found something. You must come with me," Erestor said.

"There's nothing to find, Erestor. She took it with her. There is no Silmaril in Sirion now," Maglor met the eyes of their companion bleakly. He straightened at the sight of Erestor's face. He was agitated, eyes darting around the clearing, clearly ill at ease. "What is it that you've found?" Maglor asked, his voice gone sharp.

"Two boys. I think they are Elwing's twin sons. I cannot get a word out of them. I have men guarding them. You must come with me."

"Why do you tell me this and not Maedhros?" Maglor asked. Erestor was his brother's man, his companion and trusted counselor all the years at Himring.

"Look at him!" Erestor hissed. "He bears the burden of this on himself yet again. He mourns your brothers, he still mourns the lost twins of Doriath. Have you any idea how he will respond to the sight of these twins, that you and he have orphaned today?" Erestor leaned closer. "I was with him when this happened before, Maglor, when your brothers orphaned those twins in Doriath. You were not in the forest at his side when he searched for the lost sons of Dior. Their fate haunts him still. I do not need him to face another set of parentless twins right now, to decide their fate, not as his own twin brothers lie dead before him."

"They were my brothers too," Maglor snapped.

"You think I do not know that?" Erestor said. "But you were not the one searching Doriath for days on end, as he was. You were not the one who caused their mother to leap to her death, leaving them behind, as he was. I understand your pain but can you just shut up for a moment and come with me? Can you not spare him this at least?"

Maglor darted a glance at Maedhros, still leaning on his sword, his head bowed as he stood next to the bodies of the Ambarussa. "I will come."

They were huddled together, arms around each other and eyes fearfully taking in the strange guards around them. There was little doubt these were the children of Elwing. They had the raven black hair and grey eyes that he remembered from Dior. Twins were rare enough among their people-it was unlikely these could be any other children.

He stepped closer, schooling his face to a calm and pleasant demeanor, bending down to speak to them. "Hello, little ones."

They clutched each other tighter at being addressed. He realized he was still in his armor, stained with the blood of battle. He must be a terrifying sight. He smoothed his voice even further as he spoke to them again. "Would you tell me your names? Is there someone who was with you?"

"Naneth said not to talk to anyone," one whispered.

"Elrond!" the other hissed at his brother. "You musn't talk to him. She told us not to!"

"But she's not here. Ioneth's not here. There's no one here but them-these golodh," the one named Elrond said.

"I am sorry you are alone," Maglor said. "Who is Ioneth? Is that your mother?" Perhaps these weren't Elwing's sons. That would make it so much easier, he thought.

The other one spoke, disdain evident in his voice, even though it trembled. "Ioneth is not our mother. She is our caretaker, when Mother is not around."

"And your mother?" Maglor encouraged.

"She's gone," Elrond said.

"Hush, Elrond!" the other one said, fiercely, leaning back now to glare at his twin.

"If you will not tell me, will you let me guess?" Maglor asked, squatting down at their level now. Two pairs of grey eyes turned to him. "Might your mother be Elwing?" He knew the answer by their faces. His heart sank. These were her twins then.

His heart ached as he thought of the fear and despair that must have overwhelmed her-to hide her sons away, leave them in the care of another, that made throwing herself into the sea a better option than facing capture by his brother. What had they become, he thought (not for the first time), to make others fear and despise them so?

Best not dwell on that. He would come to despair himself if he thought on it long enough.

What to do with these two? They could not leave them here. The city was in disarray, no way to discern who could safeguard these children. There was no one from Sirion they could trust or who would trust them in turn.

Maglor had heard rumor of Cirdan, marching from the Havens, to aid Sirion's defenses. He would arrive far too late. They did not dare stay until those reinforcements arrived-their own army was depleted by this battle and it would not do to engage with Cirdan's as well. They had no direct quarrel with the Elves of the Havens. Until now, he realized. No, best for them to be gone before Cirdan arrived.

What to do? It made sense for the children to go to Cirdan and the safety of the Havens but there was no way to assure that happened. Maglor felt the twins' eyes on him as he struggled to decide what to do.

Leave them here? Too much death and unrest. No reliable guardian. Not a viable alternative.

Send them to Cirdan? Who to trust for that mission? There might be some among them who would think to hold them for ransom. He could only trust himself, his brother or Erestor and none of them could put themselves in such a confrontation with Cirdan. So that was not an option either.

Leave them as you found them, a voice whispered in his head. They were not his concern. Let them fend for themselves. Their own mother had left them and he was no direct kin of theirs. Could he not do the same?

He could not and would not. There was no other option. He would take the twins with him. They would be safe and protected. Few among their men had as much experience taking care of children as he and Maedhros did. They could send word to Cirdan and arrange to put the children in his care at a later time. For now, they were his responsibility. He and Maedhros had inadvertently brought this fate on them. It was their duty to take them from this carnage and keep them safe.

He looked at the boys again and reached out to gently stroke the silken black hair on Elrond's head. "You will be looked after, that I promise you. My brother and I had many younger siblings. Neither of us have forgotten how to care for children. I give you my word you will be safe and I do not give my word lightly."

He looked behind him to meet Erestor's eyes. "We will take the boys with us. That which we sought is not here anymore. We must be far away before Cirdan and his men arrive. We depart as soon as you have gathered our troops."

He motioned to the boys to stand and took off his cloak to wrap it around them even though he didn't think they were just shivering from the cold. They walked together back to where his brother stood, head bowed still.

"Maedhros."

Silver eyes met his and he heard his brother's sharp intake of breath at the sight of the twins.

"Maedhros, these are Elwing's boys. I think a battle ground is a poor place for them so they will be coming with us." His voice was firm and steady. He put a hand on each of the twins' shoulders. "This is Elrond. And this is . . ." He had not asked the other twin's name, he realized.

"It's Elros," said a small voice.

"Elrond, why must you speak to them?" the other one exclaimed. Maglor felt his stomach clench. How much they sounded like Ambarussa when they were this age, bickering like this.

His own brother was staring at them wide-eyed. "Elwing's sons?" he breathed. "You do them no kindness by bringing them with us, Maglor. We are no fit guardians for children."

"I think you are wrong, Maedhros. I think we are the only ones who can be."