Little Stars by fingonsradharp

Little Stars

Read Little Stars

Elrond and Elros huddled together as best they could as the Men who had taken them steered them through the encampment, manhandling them, shoving them roughly even as Elrond cried out in pain when they jerked his arm.

Elros’s vision went red as he lunged at the man who had hurt his brother. His arms were being held, so he bit, his teeth sharpening into needles as they pierced flesh.

The man howled and backhanded Elros across the face, causing him to see stars.

He heard Elrond yell his name, but he didn’t register anything beyond the pain in his cheek and the pounding of his heart as their kidnappers dragged them further away from Amon Ereb, further from the terrifying Edhil that Elros would have referred to as their kidnappers less than an hour ago.

But now he desperately wished for their too-bright eyes and frightening expressions. The Fëanorians, despite their evil, had never hurt them, not the way these men were, gripping their arms tight enough to bruise, and maybe even break, if the pain from Elrond’s side of their fae-bond was any indication.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elros saw a banner painted with a black hammer and iron crown, and his blood ran cold. 

The men forced Elrond and Elros into what looked to be the main tent. It was much bigger than the others, with furs lining the edges and lanterns lighting up the darkness.

“These are the half-elves, Captain,” said the man whom Elros had bitten. “The spawn of Lúthien.”

The Captain stood and turned to face them. His shoulders were broad, and covered by a mangy fur cape that made him look even bigger. When he came into the light Elros could see that his cape was made from the skin of a brôg, its jaws open in a roar.

His dark smile was almost covered by his beard, but it could still be heard in his voice. “Good,” he said. “Great will our reward be when we deliver them to the Black King. To steal them from right under the Fëanorians’ noses—”

“They’ll kill you.” Elrond blurted, interrupting him. “They’ll come for us, and burn your encampment to the ground. They’ll kill you all.”

He sounded so sure of it, and Elros supposed he was right to be. He and his brother were the only chance the Fëanorians had to get their precious jewel back, and if they were dead they would have nothing to bargain with.

The Captain laughed, leaning down to their eye level. “Well, I suppose you would know, wouldn’t you, little one?”

Elros didn’t like the look in his eyes. It seemed almost hungry, dark and powerful in a way Elros couldn’t quite comprehend. All he knew was that he wanted to be as far away from it as possible, but there was nowhere for him to go.

“I suppose we’ll just have to make it extra hard for them to find you.” The Captain stood and barked something in an unfamiliar language. Elrond and Elros knew both Taliska and Sindarin, and had even picked up quite a bit of Quenya in the past year living in Amon Ereb. But whatever these men spoke was completely unfamiliar to them.

They were dragged to a different tent and left there, tied with rough rope so that they were back to back, and while there were no guards inside the tent, they could see their shapes on the outside.

“Do you really think Maedhros and Maglor will come for us?” Elros asked finally. They had been left there for hours, given no food or water, and still there was no sign of the Fëanorians.

“Of course they will,” Elrond said, though his voice wobbled with uncertainty. “They… they wouldn’t just let people take us.”

“They’re going to sell us to Morgoth,” Elros whispered. The Captain had said ‘the Black King’, and there was no one else that could be.

He could feel Elrond shake his head. “No. They won’t… Maedhros and Maglor will rescue us.”

Elros wished his hands weren’t tied so he could seek the comfort of his brother’s arms. Not long ago they had been hoping to be rescued from Maedhros and Maglor.

They could hear shouts and clanging of metal coming from across the camp, and Elros maneuvered his hand so that he could squeeze Elrond’s. 

“Do you think they’ll be angry with us?” Elrond whispered.

“I don’t think so,” said Elros. “They never have been before, even when we’ve tried to escape.”

Maglor’s voice sliced through the air, haunting and terrifying in its intensity, and while the twins heard screams from the Men that had taken them, the music didn’t hurt them, even as they saw the guards outside the tent fall to the ground, one of them landing partially inside, bleeding from his ears and eyes. 

Elros squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself up against his brother. 

More men burst inside their tent, their ears stuffed with wax. Without a word they grabbed each twin and carried them outside, unaffected by the boys’ shouts and attempts to wriggle out of their arms. 

They were set on horses in front of the men that held them, and they took off at a gallop, further away from Maglor’s singing. 

“Maedhros!” Elros screamed. “Maglor! We’re over—”

His cries were muffled as the man behind him roughly grabbed his jaw, his glove holding Elros’s mouth shut. Tears streamed down his face as his heart sank. They had been taken again, and these captors were not nearly so courteous as the Fëanorians. 

Their horses reared up suddenly, almost throwing Elros off. When they returned to the ground, he could see a ring of Fëanorians in their path, Maedhros and Maglor at their center. 

They looked furious, anger rolling off them in waves. Even at Sirion they hadn’t seemed so enraged. 

“Release them,” Maedhros demanded, the terrible light of his eyes like stars in the darkness of the night. 

The Captain at the front of their company laughed. “Oh no. These little elflings are the property of the Black King. Perhaps I should bring you back to him as well.”

Maedhros’s face was stone, Narþil gleaming in his hand. “If you put one mark on them there is no place you will be able to hide from me.”

The Captain drew his own sword and gave the order to attack. 

It was, in short, a complete slaughter. 

The Fëanorians were ruthless, cutting down the men with ease. The two who held Elrond and Elros stayed in the center of the company, as they were completely surrounded. 

In minutes the brothers reached them, the men that held them the only ones still standing. 

“Release them,” Maglor demanded, “and you can walk away with your life.”

Elros could hear the man behind him considering it, his heartbeat pounding against Elros’s back. “You must give me your word that you won’t kill us.”

Maglor sheathed both of his blades, holding his hands palms up. “I promise you will not die by my hand.”

“Nor mine,” Maedhros agreed. 

The man holding Elrond looked over and nodded, and they dismounted and picked up both boys again, lowering them to the ground. 

As soon as their feet touched the ground they sprinted to the Fëanorians. Elrond threw himself into Maglor’s arms, but Elros hesitated to hug Maedhros, who was objectively way scarier. 

But Maedhros knelt down and drew Elros into his chest, and he couldn’t hold back his sobs any longer. 

“We let them go,” the men said. “Now let us go.”

Maedhros pulled away slightly and studied Elros’s face. His eyes held immeasurable worry, and Elros realized that this was the most emotion he had ever seen Maedhros show. 

He raised his right arm, and his stump ghosted across Elros’s cheek, where the bruise had formed after the man had hit him. 

Concern turned to anger, and Maedhros stood. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

They had no time to mount their horses again before Maedhros ran them both through. 

Elros trembled, and before he knew it Maglor’s arm had wrapped around him, and he cried into the Fëanorion’s chest, holding Elrond’s hand. 

“We gave our word we wouldn’t kill them.” Maglor said once Maedhros joined them, kneeling down in the mud and putting his hand on Elrond’s shoulder. 

“I gave my word that they would not die by my hand,” Maedhros said flatly. “I made no mention of the sword.”

“Should’ve strapped it to your other arm for that,” Maglor muttered. 

Maedhros snorted before lifting Elros up and setting him on his hip. “I am sorry you had to see that, little stars.”

“Are you hurt?” Maglor asked, holding Elrond similarly. 

“My arm,” Elrond whispered. The pain had faded to a dull ache, but it still hung at an awkward angle. 

“Alright, we’ll get you to the healers right away,” Maglor said gently. “You’re safe now.”

Elros buried his face in Maedhros’s chest as they began to walk away from the razed encampment, the unyielding surface of his armor not deterring him in the slightest. Maedhros’s arm tightened around him, and Elros marveled at the fact that he actually felt safe here. 

“We should get your cheek checked out as well,” said Maedhros. 

“It’s only a bruise,” said Elros. “It doesn’t hurt that badly. Besides, it was worth it.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Elros nodded. “One of the men grabbed Elrond too tightly. That’s why his arm hurts. I bit him.”

Maedhros’s hand stroked Elros’s back softly, and he leaned into his embrace. “That was very brave.”

It hadn’t felt brave. It was just instinct; Elros would never let anyone get away with hurting his brother. 

The trip back to Amon Ereb was uneventful, thankfully, though Elrond and Elros still had to be on separate horses since they were too small to ride together but too big to ride together with someone else. 

Back in the safety of the fortress, Elrond and Elros let the Fëanorians clean them up without complaint, relieved to be… well, not home. Elros certainly hoped he would never think of the Fëanorian fortress as home, but he knew he was safe here. 

“Thank you for coming to rescue us,” Elrond told them after they had taken their baths. 

Maglor smiled at them, his eyes still sorrowful. “Of course. We would never let anything happen to you.”

“As long as you remain with us, we will keep you safe,” Maedhros added. 

Elros knew it was just because of the Silmaril their mother had. It couldn’t be because the Fëanorians actually cared about them. 

Could it?

“Alright, little stars,” Maglor said. “This has been quite enough excitement. It’s time for bed.”

“Can we stay with you?” Elros asked suddenly. He felt Elrond’s shock at his statement, and winced as he realized he hadn’t asked his brother first. But Elrond nodded and looked up at them with pleading eyes. 

Maedhros and Maglor looked stunned. While the twins had started to warm up to them, they had never really asked for anything from their captors, save food and other necessities. 

Elros worried that they had gone too far. The Fëanorians didn’t care about them, not enough to stay with them until they fell asleep, they just had to keep them unharmed so that when their parents came for them, they’d get their jewel back. 

“If that’s what you want,” Maglor said, his voice strangely hoarse. He took Elros’s hand, and Maedhros took Elrond’s, and together they climbed into Maglor’s bed: two terrifying, glowing warriors and the small children they protected. 

Elros and Elrond snuggled together between them, the warmth from the Fëanorians chasing away the night’s fear. 

No harm would come to them here.