Trinkets by Independence1776

Tears Unnumbered

Maglor and Maedhros talk about the Prophecy of the North. This was written for Tic_Tac_Woe, the apocalypse mini-bingo community on Dreamwidth, for the prompt "Prophecy of Doom." Ficlet; rated Teens for mature themes.

Maglor leaned against the tree, watching the two boys playing in the middle of the cleared ground near the campfire. “Do you ever think about what Mandos said?”

Maedhros snorted. “You mean the prophecy? ‘Tears unnumbered ye shall shed…’ We fought a battle and lost so badly that’s its name. Damn right I think about the Doom-- and damn ourselves for thinking we could escape it or that songs would matter. They don’t.” He froze and then looked at his brother. “I didn’t mean--”

Maglor gently touched Maedhros’ shoulder. “I know you didn’t. Songs can’t bring back the dead. They can’t solve anything. Maybe inspire a little courage-- but what else is there? There are so few survivors, no matter if they were our followers or not. Morgoth has all but won, brother. We can only hope the end is swift.”

Maedhros shook his head. “It won’t be if Morgoth captures us, not for us two. You know he’ll delight in our suffering. Remember Húrin-- and we were far more annoying than a mortal.”

“If Morgoth doesn’t capture us?”

Maedhros sighed. “There’s barely a hundred of us left. Everyone else is on the Isle of Balar and that too will be breached in time. Our only safety is being constantly on the move. Even then, our numbers will be slow attrition until there is no one left. There are simply too many Orcs in Beleriand now and no one will help us.”

“Rather deservedly,” Maglor muttered. “Do you think we should give the children to Círdan?”

“Could you give them up?”

Maglor looked back at Elrond and Elros. “It may spare their lives. It may not. We don’t know if Morgoth will attack Balar first or if he’ll concentrate on finding us or simply let all of us be. He knows we are no threat to him.”

“We have done his work enough.” Maedhros ran his hand down his face. “We are neither of us cowards, but I grow weary. The boys are soon to be adults; let them know their other kin before the end.”

Maglor glanced at his brother. “Do you truly believe that?”

He shrugged. “What else is left but hard-scrabble existence and death? There are simply too few of us left.”

Maglor nodded, knowing his brother spoke some truth. “I will at least ask their opinion. If they wish to leave us, we shall bring them to Balar. If not, they will stay with us.”

Maedhros nodded. “Do as you see fit, Maglor. They are your foster sons.” He strode off into the woods, silently slipping among the trees to check on the guards. Maglor sighed and turned toward the fire and the children.