In the Elm-Woods of Ossiriand by StarSpray

In the Elm-Woods of Ossiriand

FA 546

Crossing the Gelion felt like taking a deep breath after holding it for hours—or days. Maglor looked back from across the Sarn Arthrad as the last of their small party made the crossing, at the wide plains of Estolad and the dark clouds in the north. It was evening, and above those clouds the Valacirca blazed. He did not know if it was his imagination or if those stars really did shine brighter these days. There were other lights also in the north—flickering lightning, flashes of red fire, the lights of war.

“Maglor, what’s this?” a voice asked from somewhere to his left. Maglor looked to find Elros standing nearly knee deep in the river, a piece of something glittering in his hands.

“Come out of the water, Elros, it’s getting too cold,” Maglor replied; it was spring now, but though the days were warm the nights were not. Elros splashed onto the bank, getting himself even wetter in the process, uncaring as only an adolescent could be of the chill. Elrond, who had remained beside Maglor on the bank, stepped forward to peer at whatever it was Elros had found. Maglor expected it to be an interesting-colored rock, but instead it was a chain of gold, its links made to look like leaves, set with green enamel, and tiny garnets placed among them to resemble berries.

“Why would someone leave this in the river?” Elrond wanted to know as Elros held it out to Maglor to examine.

Maglor took the necklace and turned it over in his fingers. It was Sindarin work, though the garnets had undoubtedly come from the Blue Mountains or even somewhere farther east. He gave it back to Elros. “That is from the treasuries of Menegroth,” he said. “There was trouble between Elu Thingol and the Dwarves of Nogrod, and they stole a great deal of treasure, and made it all the way here before they were stopped by your grandfather and great-grandfather. Much of it spilled into the Ascar. Beren did not care much for gold, so it was left there. That is why some now call the Ascar the Rathlóriel.” Both boys’ eyes were alight with fascination. “Keep the necklace, but don’t go looking for more. It’s too late in the year for swimming, and even here at the fords the currents can be dangerous.”

“Yes, Maglor,” the boys chorused.

The order was a little pointless, as they did not intend to linger near the ford or even near the Gelion; Maedhros was taking them farther east and farther south, nearer to the mountains, and away from the Ascar, toward Thalos instead. There were still some of the Laiquendi who lingered in these lands who remembered old friendships with Amrod and Amras, or so Maedhros hoped—and hoped also that they would be willing to aid the brothers of their old friends. The presence of Elrond and Elros, whose great-grandparents had lived in Ossiriand in peace for so long, surely would help.

Maglor just hoped to keep the boys away from the worst of the war.

They moved quickly and quietly; pausing only for short periods when the boys grew too tired to continue. Maglor ranged from the head of the party to the rear, keeping eyes and ears open; Maedhros remained in front, pausing every so often for a quick exchange with Bregolon about their route. They did not stop that night. Dawn came a little brighter than usual, as they fled south away from the clouds that obscured the daylight.

At last, Maedhros called a halt. They made their camp in a hollow between a few hills, where a fresh spring bubbled up. The boys washed their faces and hands with gasps and giggles at the cold, and a few of their number vanished to hunt what game they could find.

It was very quiet. Maglor had roamed through Ossiriand before, in the days when the siege had held and there was peace in Beleriand, and he remembered it being full of song—of the Laiquendi, but also of birds and beasts, and the quieter hum of the elm trees as they grew and reached their branches toward the sun. Now even the trees were silent and still, watchful, fearful. There were no birds.

Maglor left the boys bickering over the setting up of their small shared tent, and climbed the tallest of the surrounding hills. It was bare of trees at the top, and someone long ago had made a circle of stones around it, and in the very center was a circle of bare earth and ashes. Maglor crouched by the stones and placed his hand on one; they recalled immediately the Elves that had come here beneath the stars, long before the Moon or Sun rose, to dance and sing. It was only lately that they had stopped.

The stones whispered too of what was to come, of rushing waves and of power that would crack the very foundations of the earth. When Maglor closed his eyes he could envision it as though someone were singing it into being, of liquid fire rushing up from the earth as it split open, as the lands of Beleriand that he had wandered through and delighted in for so long crumbled into the Sea in a hiss and rush of steam and thunder. Even the hill upon which he stood would not be spared.

He rose to his feet and took a deep breath; he had the taste of smoke in his mouth, though there was no fire nearby, not even one yet for cooking down in the hollow.

Light rustling in the grass heralded the twins ’ arrival. Elrond and Elros tumbled over one another into the stone circle, and looked around with interest. “What is this place?” Elros asked.

“Elves used to come here to dance and to sing to the stars,” said Maglor. He shook the weight of foreboding from himself. All three of them looked up to the darkening sky. The Silmaril shone far away in the west; over their heads the stars were beginning to appear like tiny pinpricks of light in the twilight. “Elrond, will you fetch my harp?” Maglor asked.

“Are we going to dance and sing to the stars tonight?” Elros asked dubiously as Elrond hurried away.

“Why not?” Maglor replied lightly. He took a seat on one of the stones and hummed a few bars. He did not know what songs the Laiquendi had sung in this place, but he had a good store of his own.

“I don’t know,” Elros said. He had the golden chain around his neck; it gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun. “It just—it doesn’t seem as though there’s much reason for singing, these days.”

“All the more reason we should,” said Maglor. In defiance of the encroaching dark at least, if not in hope of escaping it. Elros frowned thoughtfully, gaze turning westward toward the evening star. Elrond returned bearing his harp, and many of their party following; even Maedhros came to sit on the grass at Maglor’s feet. Glamren and Ellomir had their flute and drums, and Glamdor took the lead when the music was struck up, taking Elrond and Elros’ hands and showing them the steps. Maglor’s fingers skipped over the strings of his harp even faster than the dancers’ feet passed through the grass. There was laughter and soon there was singing. They lit no fire, but when the moon rose round and full and white there was no need for it.

Where Maglor sat the stone seemed to grow warm, and he could feel the hill ’s pleasure at hosting a gathering of music and laughter once more.