Once Upon A Time And Long Ago by AdmirableMonster

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A Vision of Fire

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“They aren’t coming back, stop looking.”  Elrond’s voice was high and terse, but hard to hear over the nigh-omnipresent rumble and crack of thunder, groan of trees, and roar of wind.

“They might,” Elros muttered, but he dropped the tent flap and returned from the doorway to crouch beside his twin brother.  They were alone, but Elrond seemed unbothered, merely using a stick of rough charcoal to draw a leaf on a page of the bound leather sketchbook Maedhros had given him for their birthday last year.  Elros put his hand on the dagger that had been his own gift, not so elegantly beautiful as some of the older Noldorin weaponry, but sharp and deadly all the same.

Elrond looked up, his dark eyes unreadable.  Elros declined to try and pry through his head; he didn’t think he would like what he found.  “They’re not coming back.  They’ve gone for the Silmarils.”

“We’re alone,” Elros said.

“We’re alone,” his twin confirmed, his voice almost monotonous.

“Don’t you care?” snapped Elros, knowing it was unfair, but also quite unable to keep the sharp words at bay.

Elrond trembled, then, as he looked up.  “Should I?” he asked, with a queer bitter twist in his voice.  “They have orphaned us twice now.”

All the breath went out of Elros’s lungs, and he sank further down into the crouch, pressing his face to his knees as he tried to contain his sobs.  “Was there anything else they could have done?  They were always bound to go.”

“Then perhaps they should have killed us when they had the chance,” Elrond said, but his voice still held no emotion.

“Where do we go now?” Elros mumbled, helpless, hopeless, finding that the tears were running down his cheeks no matter how he tried to stop them.

“They told us to go to Gil-galad’s forces.  Isn’t that what we should do?”

“Is that what you want to do?”  Elros rubbed the back of his arm across his eyes, then crawled on his hands and knees over to Elrond, putting his hand down across Elrond’s drawing.  “Do you really want to let them go?”

“What else can we do? We’re not even of age yet, not really.”  But Elros saw the uncertainty twisting in his own heart reflected in his twin’s eyes.

“We could go after them.  We could make them stop.  They’d stop for us.”

“They’ll stop for nothing.”  Elros recognized their fathers’ words on Elrond’s lips, but Elrond’s hands were moving beneath his own, and he felt, suddenly, the queer sharp feeling, like lightning, of the twins’ combined foresight beneath his hands.  He felt a moment’s regret that they were going to ruin Elrond’s careful sketch of the herb, but there was nothing to be done.

It didn’t take long.  Elrond pulled his hands back first, his breathing harsh and heavy.  Elros—less willing, somehow, to strip the bandage from the wound—let his hands drop more slowly.  The stick of charcoal rolled away from the page.  On the page, drawn crudely but clearly in black and white, was Maglor’s frantic face, his hand outstretched.  On it was a ragged scar neither of them had seen, but he did not seem to care.

Before him, Atar fell, with flames all around him.

The twins looked at one another.  “I won’t let it happen,” Elros said.

“No,” Elrond agreed, in a very small voice.  “No, I’ve changed my mind.  Let’s go after them.”

They did not have very much they needed to pack.  If it had been up to Elros, they would not have bothered to pack anything, but Elrond refused to go out without some preparation, at least.  They didn’t take the tent, but they did take the bedroll, some dried meat, dried fruit, and bread, and Elrond’s pack of medicinal herbs.  “We don’t need to bother with the sketchbook,” Elrond said.

“Let’s take it anyway,” Elros responded.  “I just—” He sighed.  “It’s not foresight; it’s just a feeling.”

“Fine, but you’re carrying it.”

They brought the lantern as well, although the glass was cracked, and the candle would blow out in the heavy wind unless they were very careful.  Hand in hand, they went out to face the storm.

The rain was torrential, and they could barely see, even with the lantern tucked carefully beneath Elrond’s arm, with Elros throwing his own arm and cloak around his brother.  Despite the cloak, they were soaked to the skin almost immediately.  The lantern cast a wildly flickering glow across a tiny area.  All Elros could see was a ring of muddy grass.

Elros had never imagined that wind could be like this.  He rather thought Maedhros must have carried Maglor for their fathers to have made any headway.  Maglor, shorter than the twins and light, could not possibly have stayed upright in such a tempest.

They stumbled along, mostly blind.  They had intended to follow whatever footprints Maedhros and Maglor had left, but any traces had already been swallowed by the greedy storm.  How will we ever find them? Elros thought miserably.

If it is so difficult for us, they cannot be moving very fast, Elrond’s tight voice replied.  Elros, who had not realized he was projecting his thought, stumbled with startlement.  Both of them nearly went over.  The wildly dancing light illuminated rushing water to their left, but Elros could not tell if it was a stream or a river or only the rainwater forcing its way shallowly across unyielding ground.

His face was wet with rain, but he thought he was crying as well.  Please, he thought.  Eru.  Let us find them.

Elrond leaned against him, clutching at his hand.  His earlier bitterness seemed to have vanished, because Elros could hear his voice singing one of the old, silly lullabies Maglor used to sing them to try and coax them to sleep.  His words kept hitching with sobs.

“Please!” Elros shouted at the wind.  “I know they’ve done terrible things, but they shouldn’t be forced to do this too!  And we want our fathers back!”

“Why do we deserve to be orphaned!” Elrond screamed, suddenly, and the wind took his words and flung them back in the twins’ faces.  “Where are you, where are both of you, come back!  You bastards—we love you!”

For an instant, the rain and thunder quieted, the clouds drawing back to let a little light filter down, and the twins looked about at the desolate landscape of Beleriand.  Whole trees had been uprooted and flung down, as if some immense giant had thrown a tantrum.  Water swirled eagerly around, and looking down, Elros realized brown water was soaking about their feet, up to their ankles.

He had a sudden terrible feeling that they stood at the end of everything.  He tightened his arm about his twin’s shoulder.  Elrond’s voice rose in song, the healing song this time, the words of old Quenya that Maedhros had taught him ringing sure and clear across the ruined ground.  The light vanished; the wind rose suddenly, cold and shrieking, as if in answer.

The lantern blew out.

It was pitch dark, but the rain and wind had stopped as suddenly as the light.  Elrond fumbled with the lantern, trying to open it so he could get to the candle and perhaps relight it, but it slipped from his frozen fingers and fell.  He heard the sound of glass shattering on stone.

“What just—” Elros’s hoarse, fearful voice sounded in his ear.

“I don’t know! I dropped the lantern, I’m sorry!”  He made to go down on his hands and knees, but Elros caught his elbow and held him upright.

“You idiot, you can’t see—you’ll get glass right through your hands and knees if you do that.”

He was right.  Elrond took a deep breath and leaned against Elros.  He was supposed to be the levelheaded one.  Elros wrapped his arms around Elrond, pulling him close.  I’m scared, too.

I know.  Let’s just stay like this for a minute.

After a little while, the familiar warmth of his twin and the quiet all around them was enough to let him take a few deep breaths and let the tremors running through his limbs die.  “We should—try to keep moving, I suppose.”

“I think I can see some light ahead,” Elros said doubtfully, taking Elrond’s arm and turning him halfway about.  There did seem to be a soft twinkling glow, as if they were deep inside a cave somewhere and the light didn’t filter in far enough to reach them.  As there didn’t seem to be any other obvious indication, Elrond supposed it made as much sense to go towards that as to do anything else.  They could hardly just stay standing together in the darkness by the side of their shattered lantern.

Hand tightly in hand, they walked hesitantly towards the little glimmer, which grew swiftly larger, until Elrond could see that it was indeed the round entrance to a cave.  He could not think how they had come to be inside it.  The light, too, was strange—silver, like moonlight, but far brighter than any moonlight he had ever seen.  They walked out onto a strip of pale sand beside which blue waves lapped at the shore.  The air was warm and smelled of salt.  Dazedly, Elrond took a step forward, looking all around.  The silver light suffused everything—above them, he could just faintly make out the stars, but the light was not coming from overhead, or at least not from any origin point that he could discern.

“Where are we?” Elros said, voicing his twin’s thought as swiftly as it appeared in Elrond’s bemused mind.  “It’s—” he turned in a wide circle.  “It’s so bright.  It’s so quiet.  Is it night time?  I can see the stars.”

“I don’t know.”  Elrond took a few steps towards the shore, kneeling down to look through the pebbles and shells that lay in little clusters there.  “I don’t recognize these species.”  The shells were so delicate, marked with intricate speckles of gold and lavender—and here and there among them lay scattered clear stones, smooth and unflawed.  Elrond had never seen such a thing before.  He lifted one in his hand.  It lay heavy and cold and smooth, and he raised it to catch the silvery light.  “What is this?  Are these jewels?”

“That’s sea-glass, young one,” said a strange voice, and Elrond whirled, slipping behind Elros in a practiced motion.  “Have you never seen it?”

Elros had out his dagger, as always pushing Elrond back.  As always, Elrond chafed at the restriction, but there was no other choice.  All the people he loved most would have been dead twice over if he had given into the temptation to raise a weapon—Elros, Maedhros, Maglor, Hemmoril, Marta, Cúlalme…

“I will not harm you.”  The tall, hooded figure pulled back his hood to reveal a head of long silver hair and a craggy but kind face.  Though his ears were pointed, Elrond did not think, somehow, that he was an Elda.  Something about him seemed to tread very lightly upon the sand, and there was a strange blur in the air about him, as if he walked perpetually shrouded in mist.

“We beg your pardon, but we do not know you,” Elrond said, in his politest voice.

A chuckle.  “You have it.  Odd, though, to beg my pardon while your brother still holds a weapon trained upon me.”

“Please,” Elros said.  “We’re lost, and—and—and—”

“And for some reason you are terribly afraid.  So I see.”  He stepped back and away from them.  “Is there some way I may soothe your fears?”

Elrond shrugged, then stepped forward.  “Elros, I don’t think it will help,” he said, quietly.  “I think he could have killed us already, if he had wanted to.”

“You are very young to speak of death and killing,” said the stranger, and his large eyes seemed concerned.  A little frown appeared in his forehead.  “When I heard you upon the beach, I took you at first for Maiar, then for Eldar—but you are neither, are you?”

“We—we are peredhel,” Elrond answered.

The stranger’s head tipped to one side.  “What is the other half then?”  His eyebrows rose expressively.  “Has there been a tryst I was unaware of between one of the Maiar and one of the Eldar?  I shall have to update my engagement calendar.” The last was spoken with a soft laugh.

“Half Men,” Elros said, in blunt confusion.

The eyebrows tried to climb into the stranger’s hair.  “You are a little early, are you not?”

“Early?” Elrond echoed.

“May I approach you closer?  I want to get a look at your faces.”

They exchanged a look, then shrugged.  Elros put his blade away and took his twin’s hand.  “If you like,” Elrond said, a little diffidently.

The mist rose up around them, cool but not chilly, and the stranger moved from one to the other, peering down with clear, far-seeing eyes that left Elrond feeling quite limp and wrung out.  “The resemblance is striking,” murmured the—Maia?  “Who were your parents?”

“Our mother was Elwing, Luthién’s granddaughter, and our father was Eärendil, Idril’s son,” Elrond said, formally, presuming this to be the question being asked, but no recognition dawned in the silver eyes.

“We were raised by Maedhros and Maglor Fëanorion,” Elros tried.  Still nothing.

The Maia stepped back, brows knitting together in some puzzlement.  “An interesting conundrum,” he said softly, then paused.  “Ah—I believe now I must beg your pardon.  I have not even given you my name—it is Olórin, and I am a Maia of Nienna.  What are your names?”

“I am Elrond, and this is my twin brother, Elros.”

“And you are lost and do not know what you are doing here?”

“That’s right,” Elrond confirmed.  Elros squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

“I think I shall let the resemblance steer me,” Olórin murmured.  “Though, by Eru, I must say I do not know quite what to make of it.  I think—” he turned to them.  “I may know some relatives of yours, and I will deliver you to them—perhaps they can help you.  Would that be all right?”

Should we trust him? Elrond thought to Elros.

I’d rather.  I’m very weary, and we cannot reach our fathers from this strange place by ourselves.

Elros had always been more willing to ask for help, but Elrond thought he was probably right in this case.

“Thank you,” he said.  “You are very kind.”

“Very kind,” Elros echoed.

“Then I think—can you speak Quenya?”  His last question was asked in the language he spoke of.

Elrond stumbled a little but nodded.  “Our fathers spoke it to us growing up sometimes, and we learned it, though it isn’t our usual tongue.”

“That will help.  And you are coming from the Lonely Isle, so I suppose it is true to say that you have been sent from there.  I think, perhaps, you ought to go by other names, though.”

“Why?” Elros asked.

“I do not want to say, for I will sound very foolish indeed if I am wrong, and I think you will be in a much better position to discover it either way than I am.”

The thought sent a light shiver down Elrond’s spine, that even this gentle stranger thought unwise to bandy about their real names, but he nodded.  “We—we will think of names to go by,” he said awkwardly.

“Good.”  Olórin put out one hand to each of them.  “Come with me, then.”  He paused.  “And heed this warning—tread lightly upon these sands, changing little, for I do not know what will happen if you do not.”

Elrond did not quite understand this cryptic warning, but it made him shiver all the same.