Surrogate Jewels
AfterEver
AfterEver@aol.com 

Era: 1st Age
Genre: Drama

Story Summary
Alternating perspectives from Maglor and Maedhros. During the third Kinslaying 
at Sirion, Earendil's young sons are discovered amid the ruin. With Elwing's 
demise, Maglor and Maedhros decide to take the Peredhil back to Himring- but for 
different reasons. In captivity, the children fall into despair, while the 
Feanorions become increasingly estranged. Late First Age, Silmarillion-based. 
Elros and Elrond featured. Continued in 'Picking up the Pieces'. 




Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: It is assumed throughout this tale that the sons of Earendil are 
in fact twins. If the reader wishes, debate this issue with HoME; but please not 
the author- she is weary of such disputes. 
Chapter Keys {important!}: Chapters subtitled 'My Brother's Others' are written 
from Maedhros' point of view. Likewise, chapters subtitled 'My Sons the 
Prisoners' are from Maglor's PoV. Chapters simply titled 'Surrogate Jewels' and 
preceded by a number are standard third person narratives. 

Summary: The end of the First Age draws near. The harbor town of Sirion is in 
peril of war, threatened by the remaining sons of Feanor, who demand that Elwing 
daughter of Dior relinquishes the Silmaril in her keeping. Five years 
previously, Elwing bared twin children, the sons of the bright Mariner, 
Earendil. This is the story of their fate. 

******* 

The lady stood still and calm, poised as a beacon of nobility to those around 
her, palpable encouragement for those who looked upon her. A matte bone-white 
was her gown, hanging lightly from her body, tugged gently by the wind. Behind 
her was a structure, white pillars lined across a wooden porch; her home, set 
near the edge of a sheer cliff, backed by the Sea, overlooking Sirion. Before 
her was battle; a bloody and horrible sort- the second of its kind she had 
witnessed in her relatively short lifetime. Elf slaying elf; the stuff of 
nightmares, the pinnacle of absurdity. She looked on, as cleave by cleave her 
world was changed before her eyes, and the swaying tide of fortune faltered- in 
the enemies' favor. The Silmaril suddenly weighed heavily against her breast, 
and despair clawed at every fear in her heart, panicking her mind, sealing her 
fate. 

That was the last Maglor saw of Elwing, before losing himself in the abandon of 
battle, the crazed fervor that one would be slain without adopting. It was a 
dark passion indeed, and one wholly necessary to embrace, in the name of victory 
and survival. Maglor assumed his role flawlessly, saving any remorse or pity he 
might feel until a time more appropriate. During the carnage, amid the brutality 
and madness, the second son of Feanor earned his name well; that of Kinslayer. 

But that was some time ago, and things had calmed to a degree. Maglor took the 
opportunity to seek for that which should never have needed recovering. That 
which belonged to him rightfully, that which he resolved would rest in his hand 
before the night crept into day. 

Inside Elwing's home, Maglor tore through room after room, searching for the 
blessed Light, the coveted Jewel, or any hope at all. All would be for naught, 
unless the Silmaril could be found. And so he searched, frantically, 
desperately. His orderlies he sent about, to check here and there, to quicken 
the progress and put an end to the suffering ere none were left to be saved. 

It was then that he heard the sound. A wave of deploring anguish and rage 
swelled from outside, sweet Elven voices raised in sorrow and wrath. It was a 
terrible noise, and Maglor rushed to the nearest window to behold its source. 
There looking sideways he witnessed Elwing cast herself to the Sea, the Silmaril 
shining in her unbreakable grasp as she disappeared. Her people's lamentation 
grew in volume and force, as their fears were confirmed, their pleads ignored, 
and all hope lost. A screech of frustration and failure escaped Maglor's own 
lips, and he rested a moment with his head against the pane of cool glass, 
before his gloved fist broke clear through it. 

He noticed two young voices wailing outside, somehow sounding apart from the 
rest, as if they had special cause to grieve, and he knew without seeing that it 
was Elwing's sons he heard. From wherever they were, they saw their mother 
plummet. A tear he spared for them as well, and while shedding it, did not see a 
white bird ascend from the Seafoam and fade from view beyond the horizon. 

Another moment he took to mourn, and wished for a whole year to do the same. 
Suddenly a new pain struck his heart, and he turned misty vision to the 
distance, where his youngest brothers were besieged and slaughtered before his 
eyes. It happened far enough away, but he could see as clearly as he needed. 
Local folk, townsfolk -not even surviving warriors from Doriath or Gondolin- 
overpowered Amrod and Amras, mighty and skilled, and left them in slain heaps on 
the dirt. As if that was simply all right, as if such were ever acceptable. 
Well, it never could be, not for any reason. Maglor knew that well enough, for 
he lived under the Curse and its unbearable weight- as much as one could live, 
doomed to the Everlasting Darkness. 

"An eye for an eye until we all are blind!" he roared. It was too much. Maglor 
felt something inside of him snap, cleaner than bone, and something else slip 
away, to a place fainter than forgotten memory, darker than hate. A great long 
table sat behind him, and he spun from the window, flipping the wooden mass with 
a single, mindless heave. In a fury he rushed from the room, and would not stop 
until he reached the entry chamber. 

***** 

It was by sheer luck alone that the children reached their house without being 
caught in deadly crossfire, or being borne away to salvation by friend, or death 
by foe. 

They were forced to climb over slain Elves to reach their home's porch, and a 
discarded log to pass the threshold, the front door itself shattered in 
splintered fragments all around. So harried were the children to get inside and 
hide that they did not realize until it was far too late that Maglor himself was 
standing in the foyer. With a gasp of terror, the children turned to flee from 
whence they came, but that way too was blocked by another elf walking forward, 
concealed by shadow and distance, but well-built and deadly in gait he was. 

With no more preferable options, the Peredhil darted to one side, dashing into 
the reading lounge, and through it to the dining room, headed for the pantry 
within. It housed another door to the cellar, and therein was a hidden hatchway, 
which opened to a crawl space, leading to a safe-room. But the dining room table 
had been overturned, and its impossible bulk was leaning against the pantry room 
door. The children need make no effort to know that they could not move that 
table for another twenty years worth of growing. Furthermore, they heard 
footsteps behind, distracting them from forming any solution to their dilemma. 
They turned in time to see Maglor come forth, raising a bloodstained sword with 
purpose, and the children knew that there was no hope left. They would die 
momentarily, if they were fortunate. 

"Peredhil," the Kinslayer's musical voice intoned unsteadily, comprehending, 
contemplating. He nearly growled then, seeing them huddle and shrink in fear and 
disgust. For an instant he thought his brothers had died for them, that the 
Silmaril was lost because of them, that all his pain would subside if not for 
them. He lifted his sword, the deadly weight hampering and familiar to his 
muscles, reminding him that there was only one purpose for a war-blade... But 
sense returned, and he saw not fault or blame through the red haze of his 
madness, but the sight for what it was. Two little children who had lost their 
mother and father to the Sea. Children whose home was ruined, and townspeople 
slain. Orphans whose lives changed forever the moment Maglor saw them... and 
knew that he must have them. 

The floor bore the considerable weight of a sword dropped thoughtlessly upon it. 
One child screamed, never one to go quietly, while the other sobbed anew at the 
injustice of being denied a swift, clean death by the Elven steel. The Peredhil 
backed against the uprooted table and waited for their cruel fate, even whilst a 
crueler one was delivered, in the form of a voice like the wind, and just as 
twisted by the elements it surrenders to. 

"Worry not, Peredhil; there, there, worry you not. I shall care for you, I 
promise. All is well, come now. Come over and meet me. My name is Maglor, 
children... what are your names?" 



Chapter 2 - My Brother's Others

I see them, ahead. Little silhouettes in the murky gloom of night and war, 
outlined by the vicious light of stray fire, blurred by the coal-black smoke of 
ruin. They run like rabbits avoiding danger; darting from cover to cover and 
pausing behind every shelter before dashing out again. Quite effective, in fact, 
and I make note that Earendil raised no fools, for all that he may be one 
himself. 
I follow them into the building, what used to be Elwing's home, if Elwing 
remained- but now, I suppose it is theirs; Earendil's sons, Sirion's little 
Lords. I follow. My steps feel heavy, every move of my body tiresome to my mind. 
I want to rest, with the three Silmarils and my six brothers. Thus I want what I 
cannot have, and how it angers me. From that anger I fend off my tears, for I 
now have but one brother left, and no Silmaril to present him with, and Maglor 
has plenty tears of his own. 

The doorway is in pieces, a discarded battering ram crossing the threshold, 
slain elves scattered about the porch. I do not care to discover their 
identities. I hear a defiant scream further inside, and something heavy falls to 
a wooden floor, the resultant clang echoing in my ears. I follow the sounds into 
the dining room, where the glint of a blade catches my eye foremost. But it is 
lying unused upon the ground; not hoisted as at first I thought, but abandoned. 
The Peredhil are alive within the room, along with my brother. 

Entering, I see Maglor stooped on his knees, and the children before him. Twin 
males, black hair, alike faces, young bodies... I should not look closer than 
that, but I do. Trembling with fear I wish I could extinguish, covered in soot 
from the inferno we did not mean to cause, crying tears I wish I could prevent, 
their eyes alight with that which my heart desires most. 

Maglor turns slightly and spares me one glance, from which I deduce so very 
much, then returns to his business. He is smitten, and already he denies it even 
as he silently warns me against interfering. 

You think I did not notice, brother? Think you that the Light in these 
Peredhil's eyes was lost on me? Nay, oh, nay indeed. Not the Light of the Two 
Trees, as only now preserved in father-Feanor's Silmarils... and in the memories 
of those who have seen It. 

It becomes them, the glorious Light to these harmless babes, and that infuriates 
me beyond rationality. Spite! I suppose they shall not covet the precious Jewel, 
either. I suppose to them the Silmaril was simply that which held more of their 
mother's faith than her own two sons combined. An object of their scorn, if a 
thing of any regard at all. Aye, so they reflect the Light in their eyes, but 
have naught lechery in their hearts. They saw the ember, but caught not aflame. 

In their eyes, the likeness of a storm over Sea, is purity foremost, but within 
that is a glow like lightning behind cloud...
And yes, Maglor -Iluvatar help me- but I do crave it too. Would that those eyes 
look upon me in kindness, and mirror my admiration, return my affinity. But they 
will never, and I know this! Why cannot you see? Amrod and Amras we lost to 
Mandos and his cursed Halls this day, and still claimed we not Elwing's 
Silmaril, now taken from us again thanks to Ulmo and his cruel favor. And there 
you are, coddling two wailing beasts. I could help you, brother. I could help 
you comfort them, and bring them under some sort of control. And then I could 
always Help you, and toss both those half-breeds out of the belltower with one 
heave. 

Approaching his side, I see tears gather in my brother's eyes. Tears of 
frustration, and loss, and despair, tears he has not the strength or will to 
restrain. Now this I cannot abide! Ah, Maglor, my dear little brother. He was 
never meant for this, nor it for him. So glad would he have been to simply sing 
happy songs for the rest of the world's days, and so glad would all have been to 
listen. But instead he is here, we are here. Amid the rubble of Sirion and the 
dead of our kin; Elvenkind... alas, even our very own brothers lie slain 
outside. 

I would spare you from this, Maglor, if I could. Though my own heart has no 
desire for bloodshed, I am already marred irreparably by the torment and torture 
of war. There is no turning back for me. But you... For you I would gladly 
suffer even longer to but keep you from one more day of anguish, one more moment 
of regret, one more second of grief. 

Poor Maglor... I wish I could ease his pain, even now. Even as I watch him in 
this futile act of benevolence, this hollow gesture of armistice. Senseless is 
it, because it will be unheeded. Meaningless is it, because it falls upon deaf 
ears. He wishes to win those children, to tame them, perhaps. Impossible! I 
cannot help him in that. But nor will I leave him here trying. 

"Maglor," I announce, coming closer now beside him. From his crouched position 
on the floor, he twists his shoulders to look up at me again. There are tears 
flowing freely down his grimy face, and for my part I cannot help but think of 
Amrod and Amras when I behold the matching twin sons of Earendil, but keep my 
emotions better in check. 

"They are Elwing's children," he explains a bit frantically. I suppose it is 
possible that I might not have guessed as much, but Maglor's statement only 
leads me to believe he is not thinking clearly. And he goes on, stammering, "I 
almost- I meant to..." 

He cries harder, and I see he has lost control for a moment. Elwing's children 
are crying openly as well. Terrified, clutching at one another, crammed against 
an overturned table and no doubt fearing for their lives, or worse. I put my 
hand on my brother's shoulder and squeeze reassuringly. I know he would never 
have harmed the children, but it is the fact that he believes he could have 
which has driven him past the brink. His nerves are but in shambles after this 
terrible day, as are mine, as is to be expected. 

"We must go, Maglor." I know he already is aware of as much, but I do not trust 
his judgement of time or priorities just now.


"They saw!" he gasps for the breath to continue, "They saw Elwing--" He turns 
towards the children and again tries to coax them over. "Come, children... come 
here. Please come here, I will not hurt you, I promise. Come!" 

I harden my grasp on his shoulder to get his attention. The children are only 
more frightened now, and Maglor is doing himself no good either. He will render 
himself deranged in short time at this rate, and probably the twins as well. 

"Why will they not come?!" Maglor blurts at me. I can see in his face that he 
truly does not know, and only more deeply do I feel for him. He is nearly insane 
with distress already. 

I explain, gently as I can, "'Tis because you are a mere stranger to them who 
are but children, Maglor... and because you are acting like a mad fool at that." 
I do not mention that his armor is also covered in the gore of battle, though I 
have no doubt the children noticed at once. 

He stops his sniveling all the same, and thinks. 

Then he actually laughs. I do too, more I think out of my own nearly 
overwhelming sorrow than mirth. I fall to my knees and draw Maglor into my arms. 
It is the only way I know of to try and pull him together somehow. And ai! It 
feels so good to hold a brother against my breast who yet lives. 

It does not take him long to calm down, and regain some composure. I heft us to 
our feet and hand Maglor his discarded sword, which I retrieved when I entered. 
He sheaths the blade reactively and I force him to take a few drinks from my 
'reserve' canteen. It is in fact filled with a very potent wine, and it has 
served me well on this day, just as it has on several other occasions in the 
past. Maglor does not even seem to notice what it is that he swallows, but I see 
with the rise and fall of his chest-plate that his breathing is made regular 
again. 

Suddenly it occurs to me that save for the lingering sounds of conflict from 
outside, the room has gone quiet. Maglor notices it too, and our eyes turn 
towards the Peredhil. They look still ready to scale the wall, if they could, 
but are no longer sobbing. Just trembling, and sniffling. 

"We must go," I say again, lost in my thoughts, and in the storm that ever brews 
within the Peredhil's eyes... the lightning, the Light... 

Maglor has regained all of the poise he was born with, and all of the 
stubbornness he assimilated from me. "We must take them with us," he states 
resolutely. 

The Peredhil hear his plan, and quake all the more violently. 

I look into Maglor's eyes and see the want there, the loneliness and the 
longing. And if I could cleave it clean out of him, my dear brother, I would. To 
spare him more heartache and failure, I would. For these children will never 
look upon him in the way that I too wish they would look upon me. But he cannot 
see. I can see. 

I examine and ponder Maglor, his foolish hope, his immature fancy, and I look 
again at the Peredhil. Ah, not only mere children, but also Earendil's sons. 
Hmm. 

Ai, Earendil, you fool! If you had just been home with your family, none of this 
might have happened! For you might have had the sense to convince that wife of 
yours to surrender to us our father's Silmaril. If you had been here to lead 
your kin, I might not have had to cut them out of my way. If you had been here 
with Elwing, she might not have sacrificed herself for my jewel. If you had been 
here with your sons... Ah, your sons. Hmm. 

I realize what it is that stilled them somewhat. 'Twas when Maglor and I 
embraced that they fell quiet. Whether in confusion or amazement I know not, but 
that is what settled them. Monsters do not hug each other, and monsters do not 
laugh or cry or share a flask... I wager the Peredhil are wondering why Maglor 
and I did all of the above, for surely we must appear to them in all other 
aspects as monsters and nothing else. 

My brother has been staring defiantly upon me. He need not have bothered. He 
thinks I do not see. He thinks I see not the Light, but I do. I think he sees 
not the invaluable worth of Earendil's sons to us, and truly he must not. He 
would take them indeed, but to care for them, maybe even rear them personally. 
And I would allow him, but for none of the same reasons. 

He sees the Light, and feels long-lost hope rekindled, and is burned by a 
familiar desire. 

I see the Light, and estimate immense value, and rightly covet such unequivocal 
protection. 

I believe Earendil would have bid Elwing surrender the Silmaril, if for nothing 
else than their sons' safety. Well, I mean to extend an offer indefinitely 
towards our friend the Mariner. He shall have the option to trade his matching 
pair of sons in exchange for my father's Silmaril for as long as I live. 

"Very well, Maglor... very well," I soothe. "As you wish." 


I step forward, my left hand on the hilt of my sword. The Peredhil stiffen and 
cease breathing. So does Maglor behind me. "Hail, Peredhil. I am Maedhros, first 
son of Feanor," I declare. "You have already met my brother, Maglor, Feanor's 
second son." 

They look briefly to him, then back at me- or rather, back to my blade and the 
blood on my hand. "Maglor has taken pity on you," I say, "thus ye shall be 
spared from his wrath." 

They seem to breathe again, and Maglor comes to stand firm beside me. "Now come 
you forward, children, and have no fear," he says with most of the determination 
returned to his voice. 

The children do not move, save that one has begun suckling his thumb. I no 
longer reserve much patience for this sort of thing, and these babes must learn 
to obey, as my brother and I have not the time for anything other than 
unquestioning compliance. 

I seize one of the children, the one who seems the more pacified of the two 
-what with his thumb in his mouth- and Maglor takes the other. Immediately they 
both begin to squeal and struggle. By Iluvatar, I possess no tolerance for this. 

"Silence!" I say, and simply shake the child in my arm so he knows to whom I 
speak. "Hear ye, sons of Earendil! You both are hereby apprehended as Prisoners 
of War to the last living Sons of Feanor." Maglor appears nearly as shocked as 
the twins, but I must continue with or without his support, "And know now that 
though my brother has spared you his wrath out of pity, I have done no such 
thing." Maglor looks ready to duel me, but I hold his outrage at bay with a 
glare. "So dare you never to cross me, Peredhil, for this is the only warning 
you shall ever receive," I finish, and the children resign their fight to 
pitiful whimpers and involuntary shuddering. 


I give Maglor an evaluating glance. He looks... far from pleased with me. Well, 
he will forgive me eventually. After all, these stranger children could not 
possibly hold a higher place in his heart than his last living brother. 

Maglor turns away, his glower never leaving me beforehand, and we depart in 
silence. 



Chapter 3 - My Sons the Prisoners

The shadow of this night is thickened by smoke; clouding vision, stinging eyes. 
The smell of burning Elven-flesh is heavy on the air; confusing senses, 
sickening hearts. This was the worst, I believe. The worst of all three 
Kinslayings. I wish it could be the last, but the Silmaril has again flown... 
will the Oath not compel us to pursue it, no matter where it goes? Who of even 
the wise can tell. I see nothing of the future, nothing of the strength in my 
heart; I see no further or deeper than the buildings consumed with dancing 
flames before my eyes. 
The fires are beautiful, in a way. 

The fires are also idiotically accidental to an infuriating degree, yes, but 
still radiant, for all that danger and beauty may agree to disagree in this 
dazzling show of devastation. I cannot deny the irony, but I derive no mirth 
from it. We Kinslayers are even unable to do a knowingly immoral thing 
correctly. We cannot even act rightly in our wrong deeds. Truly we are cursed. 
All that we touch, all that we attempt, ends in this: death and ash, shadow and 
flame. 

I am still angry about the fires, I suppose. It was no one's fault, and perhaps 
that should console me, but it does not. None knew such a harsh wind was to come 
-and this Seaside weather changes in the blink of a blasted eye! None knew the 
fires we purposefully set to Elwing's home and the convention hall would spread 
so ruthlessly. None knew my foolish esquire would put flame to the communal 
barn, successfully scaring the horses into flight and thus discouraging retreat, 
but incidentally killing himself in the process, overwhelmed by the blaze born 
from his own hand. Just as he did not know the inferno he caused would not yield 
until it reached the library house and beyond. 

And who would have known that the fires would be so terrible, so mesmerizing? So 
beautiful... 

I feel guilty for allowing myself to think such a thing, to accept it. But as I 
ride through the city once called Sirion, I dismiss the guilt as unreasonable. 
For my path gives me clear view to so many other deeds for which to rightfully 
feel guilt. Deeds delivered directly by my hands, at my order, on my word. My 
steed carefully treads athwart the dead and dying scattered about the ground, 
and I lean over to check its step, dull eyes staring lifelessly back at me from 
below, in tangled heaps of corpses not yet disposed of... Aye, they make for 
better reasons to feel guilt than the finding of beauty in the fires of 
destruction, I deem. And in my arms, indeed under my very nose, is yet another 
reason. 

Said reason gives a small stir, as if on cue to my very thoughts. I shift the 
bundle around in my grasp, thinking to ease some unseen discomfort by altering 
its position. And not for the first time in this last day, I find myself on the 
receiving end of a terrified stare. I could weep for the fear in those eyes, 
opened wide and shining brightly under the starlight. 

I wish he would not look at me so, and I smile down at him in a vain attempt to 
change his expression to something other than dread. I am not as fair as my 
brother, but I have faith the peaceable gesture might achieve desired ends. His 
tiny body begins to tremble against me, and that is not his only response to my 
'comfort', as tears also gather in his eyes, the color of a storm against blue 
sky. I put my smile away, much feeling like sharing his tears instead of 
preventing them. 

Hastily I do my best to ignore him, realizing with the sting in my sinus that I 
am closer to grief than I had calculated. If I allow myself to weep now I know I 
may never stop, so I distract my mind by wondering what name will be given to 
this day. What title to sum up the horrors we have visited upon this land and 
its people. I wonder what I would call it. Besides a massacre, besides 
unforgivable... A great composer of songs I am, a renowned poet and bard; I 
should be able to do this thing, I should be able to give a name to this... 
this... 

We ride on. I in contemplative silence, my small companion in muffled sobs and 
pained whimpers. 

I have done this to him, I remind myself. Certainly, wrongdoings of others have 
driven me to these desperate means, but here and now, it is I who has brought 
such anguish upon this child. His suffering is wrought by my hands, as it was my 
choice to deliver unto him this fate, my fate. He is not at fault for the 
bereavements of my own past, but now he shall share with me the consequences of 
my cursed Oath, for the rest of his life. 

I am hardly better than Morgoth himself, in this. I have learned no lesson from 
my own pain, and I relate my tribulation by example. Those twisted tendencies 
dominate my 'righteous' purpose indeed, yet at least I remember enough of myself 
to know it is a vile and shameful doom taken upon me. It is to a low level I 
have stooped, and such is no secret to my mind or heart. I sicken myself, and 
admittedly at that. 

The child's eyes are upon me still, wondrous, afraid... so bright. I can imagine 
those eyes glimmering in hatred, fueled by power and strength not yet contained 
in one so young. My fault, it would be, in that case. I wish not to be 
responsible for such a bitter outcome, when I am responsible for so much 
already. 

"Learn to forgive, little one," I say without thinking. He is so... pure. Today 
is the only interim of evil that has touched him, and I want to make it better, 
somehow less, even in a small way. I want to show him that even fire can be 
beautiful. I hug him closer to my chest, or rather to my armor, being as gentle 
with his delicate frame as I can. His head is rigid against my shoulder; he does 
not lean into me at all, there is no surrender in his tense muscles, no give, 
none. 

I must deny the offense striving to develop within me. What should I expect from 
him, at this time; a friendly conversation, a pat on the back? Forgiveness? 
Nevertheless how I crave those things, I know better than to obligate them from 
a timid babe. So he will not excuse me now, but he might eventually. If I can 
wait that long. 

I say softly, "Do not be as I was, child, as I still am. If you learn nothing 
else in your entire life, may it be how to forgive. Valar grant you all the 
understanding and mercy cleaved from us forsaken Exiles, and the wisdom to use 
it well." 

He cries out openly and I start, thinking him somehow in physical pain. In my 
brother's arms beside me, the clear ring of a second babe's wailing hurts my 
sensitive ears. Now both children cry as one, my bundle remaining as usual the 
quieter of the two, and I thank the Valar for small favors. 

I can barely discern my elder brother's groan through the din of the two 
grieving young sons carried between us. Scornfully, Maedhros murmurs something I 
wish not hear about the 'matching set', as he seems intent on calling the twins 
we hold. But I ignore his complaining, as it is what comes most naturally to me, 
and dedicate my attention to maintaining whatever might yet remain of my 
hearing. 

"Hush, little one," I sooth, patting his back. "There, there now... all will be 
well." Or so I imagine myself to be soothing, though my charge seems not the 
better for my efforts. Without consideration I press a kiss to the top of his 
head, his hair silky and soft to my lips. I realize at once it was a mistake to 
touch him so, and I vow from now on to think ahead before I act upon this child. 

The babe reacts to my affection by doing his best to jump out of my arms and 
hence off of our mount. Surprised by the speed of his actions, I barely catch 
him around the waist in time to stay his descent to the rocky ground several 
feet below. He flings both arms out of the blanket still wrapping him, reaching 
with all of his might for the night sky. What began as a shrill and wordless 
squeal forms the word 'mother', and instantly I understand. 

He is not futilely reaching for the stars; they are simply the closest things 
that hold the most likeness to his mother, or rather, to her Silmaril - to MY 
Silmaril. And by attempting to dislodge himself from me, he only meant to fly 
away after Elwing. 

Whether or no he understands that such is an impossible feat, I know not. He 
would have fallen like a stone to the dirt had I not stopped him, but such is 
probably beyond the knowledge of one so young, and I wager I shall never have 
his thanks for sparing him the harsh landing. 

He continues to struggle against me without reserve. I only want to keep him 
safe, to care for him and provide all of that which I have taken away; and he 
only wants to be gone from me. I eventually become angry at his behavior, but 
force the impulse to subside. What right have I to judge this child? His actions 
are not so unreasonable; in fact, his instincts are fairly accurate. He senses 
danger in me. And though I mean not to harm him, he knows that I could harm 
him... perhaps he even knows that I almost did. 

It requires me to use more strength than I would prefer to bring the child back 
under my control. Once I have him close again, I wrap the blanket tighter around 
him and tuck his now quaking form snugly into the nook of my arm. I believe my 
brusque manner frightened the child anew, for he fell quiet with haste whilst I 
rearranged him, and now again stares at me in horror. 

I tell myself that it cannot be helped, that this poor child will fear me no 
matter what. The thought brings me no comfort, but as it seems to be the fact of 
the matter, I can at least find contentment with some sort of closure. He does 
fear me, and thus is as it will be, possibly forever. 

I suddenly feel like weeping anew. 

Remembering that a moment ago in my peripheral vision I spied the other child 
making an equal attempt to escape Maedhros' hold, I look to my side upon 
noticing now that my brother's burden has also stilled. I raise my eyes at 
Maedhros in silent query. He says nothing in reply, but the wry grin on his 
mouth tells me all I need to know. The time will soon come when I shall teach my 
sibling, by force if necessary, that he is never, under any circumstances, to 
silence these children with threats of punishment or harm. I have witnessed him 
do so once already since our... acquiring of them, and feel certain that he has 
just done so again. 

For now, I look down with a weary sigh, surveying my own young riding partner. 
Though apparently resting at last, I see he is not relaxed. I doubt he will ever 
relax in my arms, perhaps not even in my presence. I accept this, both because I 
must and because it hurts. Such is no more or less than I deserve. 

True to my new vow, I contemplate first, and then I begin to sing. Whether 
deciding that there was no harm in a mere song, or that things could not 
possibly be made any worse, it matters not. I need to do something that does not 
remind me of the blood on my hands, or the stains I have unwittingly imprinted 
on the child I bear. The song I choose is simple, and I sing it softly, 
respectfully. 

My little Peredhil tries very hard not to listen. I believe he succeeds in the 
end, for eventually he ceases crying again, all on his own; his brother 
following his every example. After a long, heart-wrenching while, they both fall 
asleep. I know I will find no sleep, nor peace or rest, for very long. Not after 
this day... this unnamable day. 



Chapter 4

The night was calm, stirred only by an occasional breeze from the west. Elven 
singing was heard in the distance, an ethereal undertone to the earthy wind. The 
brisk air smelled clean, bringing the gentle and refreshing scent of pine from 
forests not far beyond, and the stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky above. 
Truly, more than anything, Maedhros wished to enjoy these simple pleasures of 
life, the welcome repose, and ignore all else- the memories of the slain, the 
heartache of failure. But that was made impossible, for the same reason as for 
several nights before. He stared at his plate and the meat upon it, his appetite 
gradually subsiding, and his annoyance heightening with every sniffle. 

"Children," the words fell like frozen rain, "enough of this. You test my 
patience." There was no doubting the seriousness of the speaker, or his 
irritation. But the two addressed had known nothing but fear for several days, 
thus a mite more, thanks to Maedhros' tone, was hardly noticed. Maedhros leaned 
forward over his crossed legs, and peered at the Peredhil in what he hoped was a 
discouraging fashion. 

"Why do you cry?" Each word was enunciated carefully, to assure that no 
misunderstanding was had. 

The children were only crying a little, and as such did not appreciate the 
negative attention received. After all, it had taken days to steel themselves to 
the point they had reached. Before, it was all they could do to cower in a 
tent-corner, or under a horse, without fleeing in madness. Kinslayers, 
everywhere there were Kinslayers. But presently, they were sitting by a small 
cooking fire, desperately trying to eat and keep the meat down- for it was 
cooked rare and looked to them like the flayed flesh of the Librarian they had 
seen slain at Sirion. 

Maedhros seemed to accept that no answer would be forthcoming, and he returned 
to his space grudgingly, shifting his disapproving glare to his own meal once 
again. 

Gentle as falling snow in the distance, another said softly, "Do not pressure 
them, Maedhros." There was unmistakable strength behind the words, but it was 
suppressed and adjusted, until released at a leisurely pace, in a controlled 
tone. This was Maglor, the mightiest singer since Daeron of Doriath, and his 
voice seldom chimed unshaped. 

Turning annoyed eyes to his brother, Maedhros replied, "For ears trained sharply 
as yours, brother, I would assume their constant sniveling to be unbearable." 

"It is indeed," Maglor replied somberly, coming closer to the fire, and the 
children. "But unbearable for my heart, and not my ears or anything else could 
suffer more." 

The Peredhil became more than mildly uncomfortable, both for Maglor's closeness 
and his dejected manner, and they abandoned the hopeless struggle to consume the 
gamy contents of their plates. Wary glances were given to both sons of Feanor, 
and in their worry more tears found the children's eyes. Maedhros as always 
seemed stern and displeased, and if the children could bear to look longer upon 
him they would see the stress and pain there also. And Maglor was, as usual, a 
bit too attentive for the children's liking. If they knew better, they would 
detect that a fair amount of unease already laid between the two brothers; but 
as it was, all they felt was the tension, and assumed it to be directed at them. 

Maglor had brought a kettle of prepared liquid, and set it over the fire to 
heat. He smiled at the children in greeting, and once through with his chore, 
settled on his knees beside them. Too close, too soon, and the children ached to 
separate themselves from this deadly Elf-lord's overbearing presence. 

"That is a treat for you, to help you sleep." Maglor gestured to the pot. "You 
may have some, but only once it is warm- that is how the magic works!" 

He spoke smiling, but the effect was lost on the children, who were suddenly 
nauseated by the firelight upon Maglor's face, and the scent of smoking meat 
creeping from across camp. They were reminded of the first time they had seen 
Maglor, with the smell of burning Elf-flesh heavy in the air, and spilt blood, 
and hot sweat, and spent fear. More tears gathered at the memories, and the 
children curled a little in on each other for comfort, seeking to escape 
Maglor's adoring gaze, and the sadness creasing his face that they had no will 
to mend. 

Maglor looked away, only more sickened at heart by the children's continued 
state of distrust and apprehension. Across the bonfire, Maedhros wore an 
expression that suggested he was knowingly correct about something, but Maglor 
did not envy his pride. He did not care to be right; he only wanted to do right. 

After a moment of private brooding, he came back to himself, and remembered his 
task. "Here," he said, leaning in to reach the kettle, "let me pour you some of 
this drink, Peredhil." His tone had not the same enthusiasm, but he forced it to 
sound close with fair success. 

"I want none," a timid voice ventured. 

"But you have yet to taste it!" Maglor laughed, his spirits soaring for the mere 
fact that one had spoken out. 

"I want none too," said the other. 

Maedhros turned sideways, and made a point to ignore the exchange, having no 
desire to see his brother come to grief over so small a thing, as he felt 
certain would happen in the end. 

Carefully hardening his tone only a shade, Maglor replied, "But I want you both 
to have a good night's rest." He poured a small amount into a cup, and handed it 
to the first child who spoke. "Just a sip, try it." 

The child's mother had taught him to be polite, and his father had taught him to 
be thankful. But in that instant, nothing was more vivid in his mind than the 
image of his parents, as dead as he feared them to be, and marred Sirion, 
littered with corpses. 

"I don't want it," the child repeated, and gained bravery from somewhere unseen. 
"And I don't want this." With that he pushed the plate away, bloody juices 
sloshing atop the red meat. 

Maedhros could not help but raise his eyes at this unexpected response, and turn 
back to watch after all. He was as interested to know what the child would do 
next as he was to see how his brother would react. 

Maglor examined the child for a moment before speaking. "These things I give to 
you out of the kindness of my heart," he stated smoothly. 

"I don't want your pity, either," the child's voice pitched with his distress. 

At least outwardly, Maglor remained calm. "But should you not thank me for my 
generosity, whether you appreciate it or not?" 

"No!" 

At that exclamation the second child made a tent with his hands, and covered the 
lower half of his face, concealing the tremble of his mouth, but not the dread 
in his watering eyes. 

"I see," Maglor replied. "Tell me then for what you desire, so that I may gain 
your esteem, and make these last leagues to travel less unpleasant for us all." 

The child hopped to his feet in a sudden outburst, but preparing to run or 
attack, even he did not know. "Nothing from you, nothing you have! I want my 
mother!" 

Maglor stood in an instant, sweeping the agitated child from the ground before 
he could do anything more impulsive or actually harmful. "Then you are at a 
loss," he remained composed in words and manner, even as the child fussed 
against his grasp, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"Many people want things denied them, but few throw fits." He grinned slightly. 
"Though I could be counted with you among those who do." His face straightened 
again, serious and sad. "But alas, for your mother is gone, and you cannot have 
her back. I... I'm sorry." 

"Then you cannot have me!" the child sobbed, but ceased his fight at last, 
knowing himself overpowered, and suddenly feeling the deep fatigue from a week 
of insomnia, anxiety, and tragedy. "You cannot have me..." 

"But I do have you," Maglor answered, lowering himself to his former position by 
the fire, the Peredhel thus cradled in his lap. "And I am glad for it." 

The child moaned in misery, knowing Maglor to be truthful, and despising him for 
it. He knew well enough that no stranger should be so happy for the company of 
another's child, especially under these circumstances. The child did not know 
what exactly, or how or why, but he sensed something was dreadfully wrong, and 
it made him shiver. 

"It's not fair..." he writhed once with his last strength, "that's not fair." 

"I know," Maglor answered, taking up the cup, and bringing it to the child's 
lips, who swallowed reactively when the fluid entered his mouth. 

Peering up with unwavering anger and fear, the child spoke in what was closer to 
a plead than anything he had uttered before, "Let us go." He was forced to drink 
again, then added, "Please." 

Maglor bent forward and kissed his brow, not noticing the child's feeble 
attempts to push him away, and forgetting his own vow. "Sleep," was all he said, 
coaxing another mouthful of the tonic into the child, and began a song, rocking 
gently to the melody. 

The child still on the ground stared at the scene in shock, much as he had gaped 
at everything as it transpired since his twin had become upset. Presently his 
brother's eyes were vacant, his body seemingly paralyzed in defeat; he had 
retreated to someplace between unconsciousness and sleep, where he would not 
hear the soothing music or feel the arms of a Kinslayer retaining him. 

Left behind, and much too anxious to doze, the child yet awake eyed his twin, 
held fondly by Maglor, and then Maedhros sitting across the fire, looking 
particularly peeved. The child imagined himself forced into such strong and 
dangerous arms, but never again welcomed into his mother's soft embrace, and he 
wept. Eventually there on the dirt he succumbed to his exhaustion and slept, 
barely and fitfully, dreaming of thralldom and spreading fire. 

***** 

"What are you doing?" the question was sharp and bitter. 

Looking up, Maglor did not conceal his frown. "What does it seem?" 

Maedhros frowned as well, and turned away again, watching the orderly bustle of 
camp with feigned interest. "You delude yourself, brother. But disregard it if 
you will." 

Maglor did just that, and his gaze returned admiringly to the babe he held. He 
thought on the child's outer beauty and inner strength, of what life would be 
like if he could earn his love, and of what the future might bring for them 
both- together. He did not realize that he had spoken, and still knew not what 
his words were, even when Maedhros answered detachedly. 

"They are our fourth half-cousins, and of mixed blood where ours is purely 
Nolorian. I truly doubt much familial resemblance is apparent, beyond that of 
most any Elven-folk." And he shifted again, his back nearly facing the fire by 
that time. 

Maglor blinked, as if waking from a daze; and perhaps he had been entranced, 
captivated by the echoing evils of his past and the innocence in his arms, and 
wondering if there could ever be common ground. But he feared two eyes alone 
could not find the path, and if one needs be cleared, he had not enough strength 
to forge it by himself. 

He said, "I want to do right by them, Maedhros; it is all I want now. Will you 
not help me, brother?" 

"I have been helping you," Maedhros replied over his shoulder. He thought of his 
riding with one child or the other every day, and time spent in watching over 
them. All of which he did without request or thanks, knowing it to be his 
brother's want, and Maedhros had not the heart to deny his last living sibling 
any single desire. Thus remembering his loyalty and love, he added quietly, "But 
what more assistance do you need?" 

"You say you help already, yet one child lies alone on the dirt," Maglor chided, 
more harshly than he intended. "What do you imagine I would ask?" 

"The Firstborn awoke by the shores of Cuivienen on the dirt," Maedhros casually 
noted. "I do not recall grandfather Finwe complaining about it." 

"You mock me," Maglor growled. 

Maedhros stifled his curt reply, and sighed, turning himself back towards the 
fire. "Nay, not you. I am weary from our deeds and this tedious journey home; 
forgive my foul mood." The sentence was smooth with practice; an apology he has 
made repeatedly throughout the years. And once looking at Maglor's face, seeing 
there the need clearly written, he was powerless to deny that which his sibling 
desired, as it had been since the very day Feanor's second son was born. A toy, 
a game, a story, a hug; nothing was denied Maedhros' beloved little brother. 

Maedhros rose, and walked to the Peredhel lying on the ground, picking him up 
with utmost care, having no will to tolerate his protests if woken. He 
remembered several occasions of carrying his siblings in such a way, when they 
were as small and young- but quickly banished the image. Earendil's sons would 
never be compared to the memory of his slain brothers; someplace a line must be 
drawn, and that would be where. 

"Come you to bed now, Maglor, 'tis late." 

"I shall, soon," he answered, looking down. His brother nodded, and left 
silently.

***** 

Entering the tent he shared with Maglor and the sons of Earendil, Maedhros set 
the young one down on his own bedroll, and paced restlessly. It struck him as 
ironic and wrong, how Maglor seemed content to substitute Earendil's sons for 
Feanor's Silmarils; two admittedly valuable babes for an undeniably invaluable 
jewel. An unfair trade, to be certain, and Maedhros could never bring himself to 
substitute the Mariner's children for his only living brother- not by far. 

But he feared the exchange would eventually be made on Maglor's behalf, with or 
without Maedhros' consent- if it were not already done. It was a painfully 
contradictory twist to the strategy Maedhros devised with harboring the Peredhil 
in the first place. How could they be traded for Feanor's jewels if they were as 
revered as a Silmaril itself? It was not supposed to happen this way, and 
Maedhros was not fond of his plans failing so swiftly and irrevocably. He felt 
as if standing suddenly in second place, where before he had always been first. 
A single fist clenched at the thought, that he had been somehow demoted, that he 
had been replaced or bested without trial or chance. His eyes found the sleeping 
Peredhel, and bore into him with emotions Maedhros did not previously realize he 
harbored towards the child. 

"Usurper," he seethed, and his feet carried him closer. 

He looked down upon the child deliberately, as he usually preferred not to do. 
He could see every part of him in his face alone; each feature told the tale of 
a different lineage, every curve tracing another kindred's history. Maedhros 
stiffened, considering for the first time that this crossbred child- by law the 
next rightful King of the Exiled Noldor after Earendil- was even less Noldor 
than the Mariner himself. 

"Hail Gil-galad, and may he never fall," he said, not sarcastically in the 
least, his eyes fixed on the King's sleeping heir. "For the crown will mean 
little by the time you inherit it." A strange satisfaction sated him from the 
words, followed by biting shame. He had no right to be resentful towards this 
child, and he knew it. But logic seldom triumphs when envy is involved. 

Maedhros looked away suddenly, hearing footsteps outside, coming closer. 

Maglor entered the tent without sound, the second child cradled in his arms, 
still sleeping. The sons of Feanor met each other's eyes and remained locked. 
Both spoke simultaneously, silencing just the same, and fate would have them 
look away at once. Maglor moved to his bedroll, and settled himself upon it for 
sleep, his precious charge kept securely along his side. Maedhros turned towards 
the child occupying his own place, and the child's twin doing likewise. 

If Maglor had cared to look, he would have seen his brother leave their tent, 
and his campfire-casted shadow pacing the outside until dawn. 

But he did not look. 



Chapter 5 - My Brother's Others

I was wrong. It is you, my brother, who does not see. You see not the Light, or 
rather, you do not know that you see it. You desire these children, just as do 
I... yet you know not why, and I do. I see, and I understand. You see, and know 
not at what you look. 'Tis strange... watching you fuss and suffer, try and 
fail, with such determination, such devotion... and to think you know not even 
why. Absurd. Intolerable. 
I wish to tell you, to enlighten you. But you would not understand. Indeed, you 
would rather not know, I wager. You would rather believe yourself attracted to 
the Peredhil's youthful innocence, you would rather think yourself acting out of 
kindness and good will than obsession and lust. 

You are bound now to those children, as surely and unconditionally as all of 
Feanor's sons are bound to the Silmarils themselves. I think it is your pledge 
to care for Earendil's sons which is occupying your sanity until we again have a 
chance to reclaim father's precious jewels. And I? 

I maintain my sanity by watching you, and assuring myself that someday those 
miserable brats will return your love, or at least have the decency to respond 
to your affection. You try so hard for them, brother... so very hard. At the 
expense of your own happiness, you spend yourself tirelessly for theirs. All for 
naught, as they will not be pleased. 

I cannot bear it, sometimes, seeing you with them. They who do not respect you, 
they who do not appreciate you, they who do not obey you... And I so wish I 
could make them. If for nothing else than to see you smile, to hear you laugh, 
to know that you received any amount of reward or gratification... If I could 
make them give it to you, I would. And you would never even have to know... 

No! What am I thinking? I cannot make them. As Maglor has already demonstrated, 
they cannot be made to behave in any certain way. Or... perhaps my brother is 
simply being too lenient. Maybe he is giving them options. I might have more 
success. I could at least try. Nothing to harm by simply speaking with them 
about... some things. 

It was a long journey returning from Sirion, and I think Maglor is still tired, 
though it was some time ago that we arrived home at last. But his energy is 
sapped by those children, and at this rate he will never recover. They are 
running him ragged, as he waits on them hand and foot. Nay, not that they 
request his services... but he tires, regardless. Always, he is trying. I must 
help him, or I must... stop him. 

"Your brother, my Lord?" The sentry confirms unnecessarily, never one to pass up 
using extra words. 

I simply nod. 

"Yes, he rode out with the border guards late last night. Did no one tell you?" 

"They did not." I frown deeply. "Maglor had a plan of this beforehand?" 

"Nay, Lord Maedhros... As I understand there was something brought up about 
discrepancies in the line of defense along the easternmost-" 

I hold up my hand, effectively hushing the always over-talkative sentry. "That 
is quite enough, thank you. Would it be sufficient to say that Maglor will not 
return for some time yet?" 

The sentry eyes me, ever so cautiously curious. "Well, yes, my Lord. I would say 
most definitely so." 

I smile without thinking, and hope no suspicion will arise from it. "Very good. 
Thank you." 

I leave him with his ponders and make my way to the prisoners' quarters... 
actually, the only 'prisoners' we presently keep are the Peredhil, and their 
bedroom is quite near to Maglor's own. So it is not any dungeon or special wing 
that I travel to, but rather to a chamber equally as ornate as any other. And 
nearer to my brother than even I sleep. 

"Peredhil," I announce upon entering. 

They spin from the mirror where they were playing, making faces and matching 
each other's expression. Now that they see me, standing alone in the doorway and 
effectively blocking any escape route, their faces do indeed match- in fear. 

They do not answer my greeting, and that annoys me dearly. "Hello, children," I 
say pointedly, expecting for sure that they will grasp my meaning. But still, 
they speak not one word of recognition. I grunt under my breath. "You two have 
no right to behave rudely," I grate, "not towards me or any of those who serve 
under me, and certainly not towards Maglor." 

They glance at each other, close to panicking from the looks of them, though 
still remaining silent. 

"Well? Have you no explanation? You cannot even say 'hello'?" Nothing. I feel an 
involuntary grimace take control of my face. "Answer me when I speak to you, 
sons of Earendil. I will not abide this blatant disregard for common courtesy." 

One looks nervously behind me, searching for what, I know not. "Where is 
Maglor?" the other one asks, with a trace of defiance that vexes me more than if 
he had said nothing at all. 

"He is away," I answer tonelessly. "And he will not return for some time." 

The silent one seems to quiver, as if I confirmed with my words some unnamed 
dread he held, and the one who spoke speaks no more. I move into the room, 
closing the door behind me. The Peredhil huddle a bit closer together as I 
approach, and they freeze in place as I search for which words I care to use. 

"You know," I begin, "my brother is quite fond of you both." I cannot tell if 
they purposefully shake their heads, or if they are merely shaking all over. 
"And I, of course, am terribly fond of my brother." Yes, they most definitely 
are shaking in general. 

I stop a moment to examine the quilt on their bed, which looks oddly familiar... 
Ah, yes. It used to be in Maglor's room. His favorite blanket, because it 
reminds him of one our mother made years ago... He gave the Peredhil his 
favorite blanket. Is it because they remind him of her? Of when our parents and 
we seven children were a complete family still? Or of the family Maglor might 
have had of his own? Surely he does not see these children as his own sons... 
That would be ridiculous! My teeth grind of their own accord at the thought. 

"Would it kill you," I hear myself say, "to show my brother the barest 
indication of affinity?" They are now holding on to each other, and it angers me 
that they would harbor such distrust when I have done nothing to earn it, yet 
they will display no gratitude after all the generosity Maglor has shown. Whence 
does their fear of me come? No, no, none of that- I need not concern myself with 
me; this is about Maglor, who tries so hard, who gives so much. 

"He has donated to you your own room," my thoughts bleed into words, "and he has 
gifted you with many toy-things... he lets you play at any time and nap by your 
whim or not at all, and you have privacy and personal attendants and-" I notice 
tears gather in their eyes... pending rain in the looming storm... 

"You have everything," I state. "You are treated like princes. And all he wants, 
all he needs, is a simple thanks, a little esteem. Why will you not reward him 
such?" 

I step forward, "Do you not see that you hurt him so?" One begins to cry 
silently, the other still keeping his tears in check. "Answer me, Peredhil. Do 
you not even care?" A thought comes to me, that they do not actually know of 
Maglor's efforts, or the harm their indifference does him... But no, I push the 
thought away. They deserve more credit than that. They must know. They must be 
doing this on purpose to spite Maglor and me both. They must. 

I pick the uncrying child up, lifting him from his underarms until he is face to 
face with me. "Why are you doing this to us? What pleasure do you take from my 
brother's woe, and from the rift you are driving between us?" I feel a weak 
tugging on the rim of my boot and ignore it. The child I hold has now begun to 
cry as his brother had before him. 

His tears, I ignore as well. I only have eyes and ears for what I want to see 
and hear. "Speak, child." I shake the one in my grasp, and he seems to twist 
backwards as if in pain. I must wonder if falling on his head would be somehow 
preferable to simply being in my close proximity. 

Now there is a faint, albeit perpetual, tapping going on. I glance down to see 
the other child pounding away at my shin, no doubt trying with all his might to 
crack the bone. I suppress a laugh and shake my head, setting the writhing babe 
I hold on the bed. His feisty brother, I heft and toss down beside him. 

They get their knees under them and haste to the opposite end of the mattress, 
watching me warily. I sit down, my back to them, defeated. Defeated by a couple 
of Half-mortal whelps, who have done nothing but hold their little tongues to 
thwart me so. 

"Sons of Earendil..." I sigh heavily, "your life here can be as pleasant, or as 
unpleasant, as you make it." I feel the blanket on which I sit pull taut under 
me as they clutch the cover tight in fists of anticipation. 

"I do not want to see anyone suffer with pain of any sort." I twist at the waist 
to look at them, slowly bringing up the stump of my right wrist for them to see 
closely. One winces, but the other looks more concerned than appalled. "I am no 
stranger to agony, and there are many different kinds of it... some severe and 
imminent, and some dull and ghostly." I turn away again, confident that I have 
their undivided attention. 

"My brother does not deserve any more punishment from the likes of you than he 
already delivers upon himself. And I have enough grief in my heart without 
watching him despair in his fruitless efforts to appease you." 

I stand, and walk to the door, stopping before opening it. "When he comes here 
tonight, thank him warmly for all the kindness he has shown to you." I think for 
a moment; an image of my brother smiling fuels my next words. "Then tell him-- 
nay, assure him, that you love him." 

Turning halfway, I give them a stern glance. "And someday very soon, I had best 
be convinced that you mean it." 

With that I leave quickly, unwilling to see the abhorrence no doubt manifest on 
their faces. 

My 'talk' somehow became a bit... distorted, I realize. I wish now that I had 
not acted so, but perhaps... perhaps it will be worth it in the end. 

***** 

My chest is tight with grief that is not mine, though mayhap it ought to be. 
Unable to sleep, I rise from the restlessness of my bed to dispel the burdensome 
anxiety that plagues me. Eventually, my midnight trek brings me to Maglor's 
quarters, where I find him sitting in front of a fiercely burning fire, singing 
mournfully with his eyes closed, as tears occasionally find their way down his 
cheeks. 

I only knew I would find him here in his study, like this, because such 
instincts are the bond of brothers. The room is a hue of crimson, illuminated 
only by the flaming hearth, all outside light denied by the window curtains 
drawn shut. It is a melancholy Maglor indeed, who would shun the starlight so, 
instead confining himself to this gloomy interior- and alone, no less. But I 
know my brother well; I know he would welcome company under any circumstance, 
despite his mood. 

I have heard this particular song Maglor sings many times before. He wrote it to 
commemorate simple sadness, and it does the job well. Coming to sit on the 
floor, nestled by my brother's feet on his left side, I finish the song with 
him; as always keeping my voice well lower than his, as it has never been and 
will never be as accomplished as Maglor's. I only consider my voice worthy of 
singing with his at all because it serves as pristine example of how glorious 
Maglor really does sound. We linger together on the last note, I enjoying my 
brother's sound, and he -I like to think- enjoying my company. 

He nods appreciatively in acknowledgement to me, and wipes his tear-streaked 
face with one hand. The other, he sets palm-up on the armrest of his chair, and 
I reach across my body to place my left hand in his. 

"Thank you," he whispers. 

I grunt. "Aye, 'tis a fine song... would that I could do it and its author 
justice." 

Maglor shakes his head, eyes still closed, and smiles in a way that looks more 
like a wince to me. "Nay, you do. You do." 

I feel that his hand in mine is barely shaking, and I surmise it is from 
suppressed sobs. I wish to say something to bring his attention away from 
whatever sorrows it lingers upon, and decide to converse on what I feel would 
make Maglor happiest, for all that it fills me only with ire. 

"You ought to teach the Peredhil to sing. As the distant sons of Melian, they 
should make apt pupils of the art." At my suggestion Maglor chokes on his breath 
and releases my hand, supporting his head with it instead as he weeps openly. 

And I cringe, my skin fevered with anger and guilt. If there is one thing I 
cannot bear above all other things, is it seeing my sibling grieve. Heavens, 
especially when it is my own words that bring the tears! 

"Speak to me," I say, and Maglor knows from experience that it is not a 
question. 

"They hate me!" he blurts, and shakes his head in bewilderment. "Tonight I went 
to them after my return, and I brought sweetbread and new toys, and they refused 
to eat or play, touching neither plate nor toy. And they said, 'we will never 
love you, even if you force us to say so'. But I only- they... why?" 

He bangs his fist down atop the armrest, and I scarcely snatch back my own hand 
in time to save it from being pummeled. 

"Why would they say such a thing?" He puts his head back in his hand, and rasps, 
"Ai, Maedhros, I do not understand. Ever have I been kind to them, and patient, 
and gentle. And for my part I- I sincerely like them..." a tinge of shame 
colored his last words, but he frowns deeply when he continues, "Yet they simply 
despise me!" 

I had been biting my tongue the whole while as he spoke, and now must wonder if 
it will work quite as well ever again. He asked me, clear and precise, why the 
Peredhil spoke to him so. It is because of me, because of the things I said to 
them earlier- but Maglor cannot know that! It was an accident, after all; I 
never meant for our 'talk' to fall apart the way it did. I was only trying to 
help. And some good can come of this still; I simply must be tactful about it. 

"Maglor, perhaps you are going about this the wrong way." He wipes his tears 
again and looks at me. "I think... they do not want what you want, and if you 
would put some distance between yourself and the Peredhil for a time, you would 
see that." 

"What do you mean?" He bristles a little, but I can see that he also considers 
my words. 

So I continue, just as mildly, "I too thought they would soften a bit after 
Sirion, but recently I have perceived that it is not to be so." I want to tell 
him that his method of being kind to Earendil's sons will never work, since I 
even failed to intimidate them into behaving graciously. But my brother will 
never hear that from me. And if he hears it from them, it might be the last tale 
they tell. 

Maglor seems to slump now, that is, more than he had already, and he sighs 
wearily. "It may be that you are right, Maedhros. Though I admit, my heart does 
not wish to believe it is as you say." 

I stand, coming behind Maglor in his chair, and place my hand on his shoulder. 
"And therein lies the problem, I think. Not in your intentions, but in your very 
heart. For it is too heavily laden with the burden of grief, and not enough 
enlightened with the joy you crave." I give a firm squeeze. "Find some 
contentment, Maglor, even if it takes you longer than it ought. But search only 
in places where it might be found, otherwise you would be spent just as well not 
looking at all." 

His head drops so suddenly that I see it bounce on his chest. "I wish we had 
them, Maedhros," he whispers, desperately. "So dearly do I wish we had them... 
and then all of this might feel worth it. If we only had father's Silmarils!" 

My stomach clenches in failure and shame, and my head drops as well. "I know," I 
answer. "Someday, Maglor. Someday." It is an empty promise, but I cannot help 
myself. I would say anything to make him feel even a little better... And 
besides, what is one more hollow, possibly insatiable, vow made on my part? I 
cannot be cursed twice. 

"I must take care of them," he says suddenly. "I cannot give them up for lost, 
not yet. I knew this road would be treacherous ere I set foot upon it- now is 
not the time to abandon this quest! Besides, if I meant to forsake them, 'twould 
have been better to have left them at Sirion, to await eventual discovery 
there." 

My mouth goes dry. Does he realize that he talks in the same tone whether he 
speaks of the Silmarils or the Peredhil? I suppose there is little difference 
regardless... Each is coveted, and both are seemingly unattainable. 

"See them cared for, brother, if you must... but do it from afar." He stiffens 
slightly. I lean down closer. "The farther you are from them, at least 
emotionally, the less they can hurt you." 

"I doubt it," he counters without hesitation. 

"Try it and find out," I plead. 

He laughs, softly. "When it hurts too much, I believe I will, lest I despair for 
my failure." 

"Thank you." I straighten. "I cannot bear to see you pained." Had I intended to 
admit such, I most probably would have worded it more subtly. But it is too late 
now, for so many things. 

Maglor laughs again, irony twisting his sad tone. "Perhaps it is we who should 
be more distant, in this case." 

I would sooner smother the Peredhil in their sleep and do battle with Morgoth 
himself for the Silmarils he keeps. Putting such thoughts aside, I force myself 
to smile, hoping it will carry to my voice. "I speak of lessening your 
suffering, and all you can think of is lessening the advice you receive." I 
sigh, "An elder brother's work is never done." 

Maglor leans his head against my hand for a moment, and when he removes it I pat 
his shoulder before taking my hand away. "I leave you to your thoughts, 
brother." Walking towards the door, I add before leaving, "Please, remember what 
I said." And I know that he will: such instincts are the bond of brothers. 



Chapter 6

Sweet songs were sung well into the night,
and all in range halted briefly with delight,
indulging the melody, closing their eyes from sight.
One single voice, both skilled and fair,
rose clear and strong into the air.
Out of harm's reach, above hate or retreat,
the voice rang gladly, of true love and great feats.
When the poems and tales had all been told,
lest his sound grow old,
the singer could sing no more,
so the children he bid goodnight- repeatedly as an encore.
At last they answered, thinking it more than deserved;
their voices like whispers, rather ignored than heard.
Relieved to tears, the singer smiled in thanks,
stood from his chair, and left without haste. 
***** 

The muffled sound of falling footsteps fading to silence in the distance, but 
the telltale creak of an old wood door told of Maglor's entrance to his own 
room. One child rose from the bed immediately, and crossed the room to draw the 
curtains open. 

Still tucked into the adjacent bed, his brother asked, "Do you like it here?" 

Gazing at the stars above, the other replied, "I hate it here." 

To better see his twin, the child sat up in bed and bit his lower lip. "Mother 
said not to use that word." 

"Mother's not here," his brother answered, bitterly. 

The sitting child frowned, and wiped at his face as unkind memories fought for 
his attention. Seeking a timely distraction, he asked, "Do you feel like 
singing? I remember some of Maglor's songs..." 

"About what, happiness and love and peace? No, I don't care to recall." 

The other sobbed once before catching himself, holding his breath to keep 
silent. But it was enough. Enough for his brother to feel ashamed and sorry for 
his words, and return to comfort his twin. 

"I'm sorry, Elenion." 

"Are you mad at me?" Elenion blurted, lifting his tear-streaked face, his pained 
eyes full of confusion. 

"No," replied his brother, crawling back into bed. "Of course not." 

So terrible was their mutual grief over recent occurrences that grudges were 
never held between them; to do so would be unbearable. They felt each other's 
pain as surely as their own, and both understood how frustration could sometimes 
warp one's heart and actions. They lay back against their pillows together, 
close in one another's embrace, and Eldahir dried his brother's tears with the 
sleeve of his shirt. For a while they remained thusly, without comfort or 
assurance needed in words. 

"Eldahir, I miss mother," one said suddenly. "It isn't getting easier, like 
Maglor said it would." 

"I know," answered the other, adding tensely, "He knows it too." 

"I think..." Elenion searched carefully for the best words. "I think I want to 
leave. I don't care what happens; I just want to go." 

Eldahir pushed his brother away gently, and only by a few inches, looking long 
at the face that was his own mirror image. "Do you mean that? You said you were 
so afraid, when I got angry with Maglor that time and yelled at him... You said 
you think they'll hurt us if we do things like that, if we make them mad at us." 

His brother frowned. "They cannot hurt us if we're gone, whether they're mad or 
not." Looking down, he said quieter, "And I hurt already, Eldahir, right now, I 
hurt inside. Please... can we go?" 

Eldahir lifted his brother's chin, and asked softly, "Do you remember which way 
we came?" 

"A little," was the hesitant reply. 

"The sun rose on our right and set on our left, did it not?" 

A smile came to Elenion, for he sensed his twin's thoughts. "Yes, but it will 
rise on our left and set on our right, when we go back." 

Eldahir smiled as well, though his was a bit less innocent. "Until tomorrow 
then, Elenion." 

"Until tomorrow." 


Chapter 7 - My Sons the Prisoners

The children are not well. Were they full-blooded elves, I would be doubly as 
worried. As it is, I merely cannot sleep for my anxiety. They, on the other 
hand, could very well die for their grief. Or can they? They are Peredhil. Only 
partially Elven on each of their parent's sides... even descended from Melian 
the Maia by their mother's line. I admit that I truly do not know if that leaves 
them susceptible to every Elvish weakness, few though there are. I do not know 
if these grieving brothers will perish if not brought from their despair, or if 
they will simply live miserable lives. 
Again, I remind myself that I have done this to them. Should they not mend, and 
indeed expire, 'tis my actions which would have delivered them unto death. 

I pace my room, unable to stop. They hardly even speak to me... I pour myself 
some wine, then some more. They will scarcely even eat... My restlessness brings 
me to the recreation hall, where I remove anyone in my aimless path with a 
dangerous glare copied from my brothers. And what's more, the children have 
already tried to escape, repeatedly. 

When they are not in my company and thoroughly ignoring my very presence, they 
are I know not where, hiding from their other caretakers. And they hide 
admirably well. In fact, it takes the servants all the time between events just 
to locate the twins for the next occasion. And when that meal or lesson or nap 
or bathing session is over with, the clever little Half-elflings always manage 
somehow to disappear again. And so the cycle repeats itself. Woe be unto those 
poor servants whose chore it is to hunt uncooperative Peredhil night and day. 
And their behavior is as innocent as it is convenient! For it is during their 
unsupervised excursions that they have twice slipped past the watch sentries 
unnoticed, and made it as far as beyond the first boundary circle! 

Even still, I feel nothing but relief upon their safe return. I do not believe 
they act as they do to spite or anger me- though the suspicion did cross my mind 
in the beginning of our... association. Rather it is now my belief that they act 
as they do out of desperation and unhappiness. Where they would go if I gave 
them leave I do not know. I hope I never find out. 

Eventually my wandering takes me to the afternoon's destination; the children's 
bedroom. I dally there, waiting. At length a female Elf-servant enters the room 
with a huff. She does not notice me until she removes a cloth from her forehead, 
immediately bowing in acknowledgement. I greet her with a nod, noticing the 
sheen of sweat covering her exposed skin. 

It is a warm day, true, but it takes much to make the Eldar sweat. More than 
mere summer heat... Like a desperate sprint through the woods, carrying two 
young Peredhil after an afternoon of panicked searching. By the exhausted, 
exasperated expression on the poor nurse's face, I wager that I am correct in my 
imaginings. 

"Forgive me, Lord Maglor..." she sighs and straightens her soiled, disheveled 
clothing, "they got away again. A thousand apologies for that, and our lateness. 
I am sincerely sorry." Her eyes remain downcast, but I know she means every 
word. She, like all others, understands how much Earendil's sons mean to me. 

Momentarily, two male guards step through the open door. They each carry one of 
the twins, and they each appear nearly as worn as the nursemaid before them. 

"Lord Maglor," they both salute and bow. I notice the children in their arms 
grasp them tighter in alarm as the guards bend at the waist to acknowledge me, 
their Lord. Apparently the Peredhil expected a prompt deposit onto the floor... 
I personally would not have blamed the guards. 

"All is well," I assure everyone with a nod and a relaxed expression. "You three 
are dismissed." 

The guards nod in turn and set the children to the ground. I think by their 
faces that the young Peredhil will not be missed. 

Then the nursemaid catches my eye with an unsure look. "Pardon, Lord, but the 
children are in desperate need of a bath and have not yet eaten... Should I 
attend to them before I go?" 

I consider this as a great opportunity and shake my head. "Nay, I shall see to 
their needs personally this noon. And you needn't return to put them to bed, 
either, for I've no other engagements today, and shall remain with them until 
they retire." I see the nursemaid is taken by surprise, but she does not betray 
her manners. 

"Yes, my Lord, as you wish. Good day." 

"Good day," I return, and wait until she is gone. Then my little troublemakers 
are awarded my full attention. 

"Had some fun today, did we?" I say it smiling, and there is no malice in my 
tone or meaning, but still they regard me warily, through slightly narrowed 
gazes. 

"Now, children... Did I not say that all is well? Have you no doubts! I am an 
elf of my word." I sit on their bed and pat both hands to either side of me. 
"Why not come sit a while, and tell me of your adventure!" 

They glance at each other but do not budge. I sigh, already becoming frustrated. 
This is invariably what happens every time I try to spend time with them. They 
rarely answer me, they never initiate any communication, and by their stormy 
eyes I am always left feeling that I have been judged and found wanting. Which I 
very well may be, but must they remind me of it? 

I decide to be forthcoming with them, as I often do. "Why do you flee, 
children?" My voice sounds defeated and tired. I do not expect an answer. 

"Because we don't like it here," one of them says simply. 

I blink and a frown takes control of my face. "So now of a sudden you answer me 
when I speak?" 

"He thought you really did not know," says the other one. 

They only reply to questions of which they think I do not already know the 
answers? Well, their little game is not without flaws. 

"I know not your names, and have asked you for them several times... Why then do 
you not answer me?" 

The children look down, and say no more. I refuse to be annoyed. If I am to 
remain in their company for hours yet, 'twill not be spent in anger. 

"Very well; I shall make some up for you!" 

That gets their attention, and they nearly glare at me. "We will not keep your 
names," one replies for both, and the answer seems acceptable to his twin, as he 
affirms with a nod. 

I sigh again and ask tiredly, "What else am I supposed to call you?" My head is 
beginning to ache. "Surely you do not wish to be known only as 'Peredhil'." 

"Call us free," starts one pointedly. 

"And then all shall truly be well," finishes the other. 

All words fail me as I behold their faces. So young to have already been so 
cruelly slighted by fate... I pray they will not grow to be bitter. "I cannot 
free you, children." Certainly they would rather not know that I am quite fond 
of them, whether they hate me or not, and that I have no intention to be without 
their company, no matter how... arduous. So I shall not tell them that. But I 
say, "You are safe here, because I will protect you. But I also need... certain 
things, and you provide me with such. Do you understand?" 

One of them looks down in thought, but the others' eyes bore into me with 
antagonism. "And who shall protect you from us?" he asks rather seriously. I 
carefully do not laugh out loud. Clearly he believes himself to be a threat, and 
I shall not be the one to disillusion him on this day. 

"Perhaps your brother will," I counter smugly, "for he seems the wiser of you 
two." 

The one in question looks up at that, and at first his innocently beautiful, 
boyish face is to me completely unreadable. Then he speaks. 

"Give to me a weapon of defense, Feanor-spawn, and I will slay thee with it." 

And thus his thoughts are made known. This little thing, this tiny Elf-boy who 
is not yet old enough to prepare his own meals, has just threatened the life of 
the mighty Elf-Lord Maglor, second son of Feanor, a Kinslayer. And yet still, 
even still, I am just as glad that he is at least speaking to me. This crossbred 
whelp, my prisoner by all intents and purposes, who has not in all this time 
even told me his name, has bewitched me so! How? How could it be, that I am so 
thoroughly smitten? How is it that my only thoughts now are bent towards how 
Earendil ever managed to sail himself away from these sons of his? 

I push the thoughts away, and gather myself to stand. Perhaps I am doing this 
all wrong. Perhaps it would be best as Maedhros said, and I should be working to 
put distance between these children and me, instead of the other way around... 

Perhaps, but I already dismissed the nursemaid, and made a claim which I shall 
honor. But today will be the last day of 'bonding' with Earendil's sons. After 
this, they are my prisoners of war; not my personal guests, not my adopted 
wards. 

"It is time for your bath, Peredhil, for I shall suffer the stench of you no 
longer." 

Both children stare, first at me and then at each other, first surprised and 
then embarrassed. They do not really stink, in fact, and I find myself 
unsatisfied to have successfully offended them. 

They lead themselves to the nearest bathing chamber, and I remember that as I 
sent the nursemaid away, there is no warm bath prepared; I shall have to draw 
their bath. 

I do not even draw my own baths... 

I sense their eyes on me, their amusement almost palpable. I do my best to 
ignore their stares and go about filling a tub. I put a pot over a fire to heat 
-a fire that I first must light- and draw up fresh well water from a pulley 
rigged to the window. That bucket I bring to the fire, deposit its contents into 
the pot to warm, and go to retrieve more water. Upon returning with the second 
amount, the first is ready to be poured into an empty washing basin, then I 
return to the window for more water as the other batch heats. And repeat, and 
repeat. The process takes me longer that it would if I were accustomed to the 
chore, I deem. 

Meanwhile the twins, I remain certain, are ever finding great delight in my 
task. Achieving emotional distance from them suddenly feels insufficient. 
Physical distance seems much more appealing. 

When finally the basin is filled high enough with warm enough water, I turn at 
last to my charges. They are not grinning, as I might have expected, but mirth 
or something like it does dance in their duplicate set of eyes. I bid one of 
them come forward, but neither moves. I grumble without intention and step 
towards them both, dropping to my knees and taking to the job of undressing the 
child I happened to choose first. In all honesty I still cannot tell them apart. 

They watch my every movement with utmost alertness. I take care to be gentle and 
slow, remembering well the only other time I tried to undress them. 'Twas early 
in our time together; during the journey home from Sirion, in fact, and also for 
the purpose of a bath. At that point their fear of me exceedingly outweighed any 
form of trust. They began to weep then, and I still know not exactly why. 
Perhaps it was that being undressed made them feel even more vulnerable, or 
perhaps it was simply that they did not want me to touch or see them thus. Since 
then a servant or nurse was appointed to those aspects of their needs, and never 
again did I take it upon myself to care for them in such ways. Until now. 

Having the one stripped to his trousers, I set the small, filthy shirt aside and 
make a note to bid the maids stop dressing them in white! Before continuing I 
check both twins' faces to evaluate their degree of unrest. Though their eyes 
never leave me, I see more curiosity than disquiet. 

Assured, I move on to the child's waist and untie his pants. I wonder if they 
remember the last time I did this, and the unhappiness it caused. I think to 
ask, but decide against it. Gain distance, I tell myself. Not understanding, 
Maglor; distance. 

Once finished with the first I gesture to the other. To my surprise they switch 
places immediately. I again take the same caution with the next child; being 
slow, gentle and as unobtrusive as possible -if possible at all when undressing 
someone. Again they both keep studious watch of me, and I cannot help but wonder 
if they eye their other caretakers in the same manner, or if I am just special 
in an unwelcome kind of way. I must remind myself to stop seeking their acclaim! 
No longer will I strive to appease these children -these prisoners. 

When at last I have them both unclothed and their garments set well aside to 
await a much-needed cleaning, I go to the side of the tub. Both children follow 
behind me. I find no words of direction are needed as I heft one and then the 
other into the bath. They watch me perpetually, quietly, deliberately, and at 
once I think I may go mad in such judgmental silence. No, no, I must not care. 
Not about what they think, and not for what they do. If anything, I should have 
their behavior curbed so as not to vex me so. Yes, that is how it should be... 

I take a deep breath and begin to wash one child, and then the other. It does my 
heart a terrible injury to observe their naked bodies... It is worse than I 
thought. Their depression has already begun to take a physical toll. They have 
hardly grown at all since Sirion, and that was too long ago now for no change to 
be apparent- or was it? Will they mature at an Elven rate or closer to that of a 
human? Or perhaps somewhere in between? Regardless, for what trivial amount 
their limbs may have lengthened, little to no muscle has been added. They are 
far too lean, far too delicate. It pains me more with every touch, every glance. 
They are only going to worsen, unless something does change, unless I can-no, 
no, I must not think that way! If prisoners do not eat, if prisoners become ill 
and have no desire to get better, then there is nothing to be done. 

When next I look up, one of their faces is concerned, and the other confused. I 
blink, taken a bit aback by the remarkable change from their previous stares of 
unnerving scrutiny. Had my expression slipped to mirror my thoughts? Was I 
scowling? I meant not to alarm them... Though even still, they do not speak, and 
I care not to ask questions that I feel certain they will not answer. So instead 
I ask a question which I at least have great hope may interest them. 

"Are you hungry, sons of Earendil?" My voice betrays my hopefulness, and my 
anxiety makes me go on before they could answer or no. "I will be joining you 
for your afternoon meal today. I shall have prepared anything you wish." 

Not being aware of my private concerns for their health, I imagine they wonder 
why I am so eager to feed them. I suffer their silence only a moment before 
dropping the subject. They will eat whatever I feed them, as any prisoner 
should... and if they don't... I shall feed them something else. 

"Well," I begin, my optimism significantly depleted, "we're all finished here. 
Out you go." 

One by one I remove them from the water. My attention is diverted for a moment 
as I go to fetch towels from a nearby shelf. Turning back around, I am startled 
and heartened to witness them frolicking around the room a bit, either dancing 
or chasing each other I cannot tell; neither can I tell if they are happy to be 
clean, or less modestly, happy to be naked. 


The display does not last long, for as soon as I kneel down with an open towel 
they come to me to be dried, one after the other. 

It occurs to me that I haven't brought anything to dress them in for our return 
to their room. I scan the bathchamber, thinking perhaps to find extra robes or 
undershirts... no, there are none. Naturally; when everyone else comes to bathe, 
they think ahead and bring with them all they should need for the task. 

I consider my embarrassment should I pass anyone in the halls while carrying two 
damp Half-elves clothed only in over-large bath towels... No doubt they would 
salute and bow and ask if I wouldn't like them to take the prisoners off my 
hands... But what they would be thinking is 'poor Maglor, who is as good at 
fulfilling his vow to care for Earendil's children as he is at recovering his 
father's Silmarils.' Or perhaps not... either way I pray the halls will be 
devoid of passers-by until we reach the children's bedroom. 

I turn to gather Earendil's sons, wondering if I might catch another glimpse of 
them celebrating their cleanliness and/or nakedness... only to find that I am 
alone in an otherwise empty room. So this is what it feels like to be a 
nursemaid in the service of the second son of Feanor: madness. 



Chapter 8 - My Brother's Others

I have never felt this way. I wonder if any elf ever has before me. It is... 
unpleasant, I have decided, and a little frightening. I want to do... strange 
things. I want to break things. 
Maglor, my dear brother... You foolish, persistent, silly elf. This is so 
infuriating for me. And it is so very like you. 

From my window, I watch my brother in the fields below, teaching the Peredhil 
how to ride horses. The actual lesson lasted for approximately one half of an 
hour. And now the children ride naturally, as if born on a horse's back. Maglor 
watches them with a smile. Even from here, easily from here, I can see that it 
is a prideful and parental smile he wears. 

Spite. Drat! Maglor, do not be dense! They are not smiling because of you; they 
are smiling because of the wind in their hair and the sun in their eyes. They 
are not happy for your company; they are happy for the distraction from it. Ai! 

I sincerely want to break something, and I do not enjoy wanting such a thing... 
I leave the window, then my chamber, and go sit in the darkest room I can find, 
and brood. 

A memory comes to my recollection of a time not long ago, when Maglor rushed to 
me in a breathless frenzy, his eyes red from suppressed tears and his face 
contorted with dire worry. I had actually been searching for him at the time, 
because I noticed a panicked hustle in the step of every elf I passed that day, 
though each of them I questioned insisted that nothing was out of the ordinary. 
So I meant to ask Maglor about it, naturally. 

"The Peredhil have escaped," he said before I could speak, nearly choking on his 
words. And then I understood the servants at least, for such was indeed nothing 
unusual. 

"Ah," I said, "so they are hiding again... Well, post sentries at the kitchens, 
for that is surely where they will reappear first, once the pangs of hunger 
assault their little tummies." 

Maglor nodded firmly, not at all sated by my attempted placidity. "No. It is not 
like the last times... They have been missing all day, possibly even since last 
night." 

I frowned. "How is this any different?" 

He became irate in short time, and scowled deliberately at me. "Because they 
normally are found within a matter of hours, Maedhros! Is there nothing you 
notice?" 

I could not help but retaliate, so foul was my mood already that day. "By the 
love of Iluvatar, do compose yourself, brother... You whine like a mortal." 

He took offence, visible only in his eyes. 

"They will be found eventually, like always. What is the worst that could 
happen?" I asked. 

"They could be hurt!" he snapped. 

I replied nothing, for reasons I still do not know. Maglor eyed me with daggers, 
and silently left on his way, on his senseless search, like a pup trailing 
devoutly after its misplaced pack. Just like that, he chose the Peredhil over 
me, and it was not the first time. 

That very afternoon I rode out on my stallion for higher grounds, to overlook 
the landscape. It took me not an hour to spot them; on the opposite range as I, 
much to my annoyance. I counted the amount of hours I had already traveled for, 
concluding that it would be nearing sundown by the time I reached them o'er 
yonder... 

I swore under my breath and prayed to Iluvatar that one of them would slip and 
sprain something, so they would not get much further before I caught up to them. 

It was indeed twilight ere I came upon them finally. "You are slow walkers," I 
said as I exposed myself from the dense swell of trees, halting my steed in 
front of them to block their path. They froze in surprise, knowing better than 
to attempt to flee, for I was mounted and they were tired. 

I was also more than a little bothered by that time, and slipped from my horse 
at once. I crossed the distance of mere meters between us and was hard pressed 
not to sling the little whelps over my shoulders like the insolent misfits they 
were. But I decided that they deserved a chance, if for nothing other than my 
brother's sake. 

"Speak this instant, sons of Earendil, for you do owe apologies and 
explanations... and I would hear them at once." 

One of them, in his seven year-old indignity, spat at my feet. The other, arms 
crossed, tipped his head towards my horse behind me and said, "Amazing he did 
not throw you like the troll you are." 

Him, I cuffed across the cheek, and when his twin leapt at me in his brother's 
defense, I repeated the heinous affront. They both recovered quickly and without 
a single sound of protest. My only thought was that my brother would have my 
other hand if he learned of what I had just done. 

"Peredhil," I said to them, their eyes firmly averted from my person. But that 
was just as well, for I did not want to see the pain and fear no doubt brewing 
in the storm. "You have no idea what distress you have delivered unto my brother 
this day. He is devastated with worry, thinking you fallen to some ill fate!" 

"Then he is wise," said one to the dirt between his feet. 

"Though he could still be confirmed his fears," added the other coolly. 

"Would that he only knew of our foul ordeal in these woods," spoke the first, 
now brave enough to again meet my eyes. 

"Wonder what he would do," finished the second, glaring up at me as well. 

It was almost as unnerving, watching them construct a single sentence between 
them both, as it was being on the receiving end of their matching gazes... Their 
eyes shone like unforgiving stars under the moon's light, glowing hatefully at 
me, and glittering with malicious intent. 

"Curse you both," I hissed. "You would see an even deeper chasm split twixt my 
brother and I, simply for your own twisted pleasure of control." 

They displayed matching scowls, one saying, "You do not need us for that." 

And the other, "You do not need us for anything." 

Then the first, "Save for your own twisted pleasure of control." 

My irritation warranted me to speak inaccurately. "No," I answered, "I do not 
need you at all." But of course I did. They were potential shields against 
seekers of vengeance for the crimes of my house, as well as bargaining stock for 
my father's Silmarils. "And nor do I enjoy your company," I added, and that at 
least was the truth. 

"Then you do keep us because it pleases you that you can," one sneered. The 
other remained silent, a sour expression on his face. 

"No, not I. But you do amuse my brother." Their lips curled in disgust, 
delighting me. I then stepped right up to the little whelps and one after the 
other slung them over each shoulder like the insolent misfits they were. They 
did not try to kick me in the face, as I might have suspected of them, and also 
to my surprise their bodies felt as light as the clothes they wore. 

At first I thought to tie a rope around their waists and have them walk behind 
my horse for the return journey, but decided that might be a tad severe. And 
besides, they already seemed overly tired. So I put them both on my horse, and 
would have fed them had I brought any food with me. As it was I could not even 
give them water, since my canteen I had also neglected to carry. But they did 
not ask for anything of the like, and probably would have refused any offer of 
mine, regardless. 

I mounted behind them, and as we began the long ride home, I said by way of 
provoking, "The last time we rode together you children sniveled and fussed the 
entire way... Is there something now the matter?" 

I saw from their profiles their little noses wrinkle at my subtle ridicule, and 
they stiffened in irritation. One murmured, "We were practically babies..." 

I did not bother to tell him that they practically still were babies. 

Then the other one said shamelessly, "I want to see the stars clearly before I 
am locked away." 

I choked back a laugh. He actually kept from crying so he could see the stars 
without them blurred by tears, because he thought he would be 'locked away'...? 
The child was as bright as he was dim. "Maglor will not lock you away for this," 
I said. 

"Why not?" the other Peredhel challenged. 

"Because he knows not what would be best for him." 

The rest of the ride back was uneventful. The Peredhil kept their little chins 
up the whole while, and made no apparent notice of the unfriendly glances they 
received once we arrived at the stables. I gathered that Maglor must have sent 
many riders out since my departure, for several horses were missing, and the 
servants looked quite overworked and harried. 

The horse-hand that came to take my stallion utterly ignored the Peredhil as he 
greeted me formally, then regarded my tired steed. "Well," the servant said 
dryly, "this poor horse has been quite put upon tonight... Trekking all that way 
and bearing so much weight." 

The Peredhil bristled at his innuendo, that they were at fault for my 'poor' 
horse's strain, and I couldn't help myself but to reply, "Nay, these two are not 
so healthy, and hardly weigh a thing between them. Light as little ticks, 
really. I doubt my good horse even noticed." 

I did not see the stable-hand's reaction, as I was engrossed with the flush of 
fury on the children's cheeks. Well, serves them right! I thought that perhaps 
then they would eat something, for the love of Iluvatar, and my brother could 
sleep at night. 

Once dismounted, I bid my horse a good night and promised him a special treat on 
the morrow for his service. Then I removed the Peredhil and brought them to the 
main house. 

I was sure by that time my brother had gotten word of my return with his wards, 
so I worried not for seeking him out. Instead, I took the children straight to 
the kitchens, and told them to sit down. I had ordered any servants therein to 
excuse themselves, so the room was empty save for us three. It occurred to me at 
the time that the library, or even my brother's own quarters, might have been a 
more appropriate place to await Maglor... But the fact of the matter was that I 
liked the kitchen room, for no particular reason. And besides that, I was 
hungry. Also, it seemed reasonable that Maglor would look for us there... or 
perhaps I do not think so clearly when I had not eaten in very long, and I had 
not. 

I fixed a simple but ample tray of breads, cheeses and dried fruits, then joined 
the Peredhil at the square wooden table, which usually was employed for kneading 
dough upon instead of dining. I set the tray in the center of the table, seated 
myself, and gestured to the plate. "Please, help yourselves," I offered 
politely, and waited for the refusal I knew would come. 

As I expected, the children were not hungry, or pretending such was the case, 
and thus ignored the food and their host. I shrugged, and ate. "Usually living 
creatures are born with the inherent sense to feed themselves, you know..." I 
remarked casually. The twins folded their arms and stared at opposite walls in 
response. 

After a while of waiting for Maglor in vain, I brought out some wine for myself. 
With a doubtful grin, I asked the children, "Do either of you care for wine?" 

They answered naught, as I thought they would. "A shame. Drinking some might 
have had a positive effect on your charming little dispositions this night," I 
sniggered, and sat back down. "Well, if there is anything you want, you shall 
have to ask me for it, because otherwise I plan not to get up again for a very 
long while." 

I leaned back with my wine, savoring the sweet flavor of the tonic as well as 
the tart look of frustration on the children's faces. I was fairly certain that 
if I had placed water in front of them, they would have drunk. Maybe even if I 
had put a biscuit under their noses they might have eaten. But it was not going 
to be that easy for them. Not after all of the grief they caused that day. No. 
If they wanted to eat, they would do so from the same plate as their caretaker, 
and if they wanted water, they should have to ask for it: nicely. If Maglor had 
been demanding similar behavior all along, they might have been humbled already. 

Eventually I finished the wine, and became bored with my rest. I decided to find 
my brother after all. Or at lease get the children off of my... hand. 

"Come along then," I said as I stood. "I'm certain you two will want to retire 
to your room and begin planning your next escape." I laughed plenty at myself, 
thanks to the wine, and ushered the children out to the main hall, where my 
brother was strolling straight towards us. 

Unbelievably, Maglor looked even more haggard than he had before. "Where have 
you been?" I asked. 

He spared me only a quick glance, saying, "Out looking for them, of course." He 
then dropped to his knees, and pulled the Peredhil into a hug. "Thank Iluvatar!" 
I heard him praise. He separated himself from the children and searched their 
faces carefully. "Are you both all right?" he asked, naturally receiving neither 
answer to his question nor appreciation for his concerns. 

I rolled my eyes as my brother thoroughly examined Earendil's sons limb by limb, 
I guessed checking for injury... "Stop fawning over them, Maglor. They are 
fine," I insisted, adding, "thanks to me." 

Maglor rose at that, and studied me with a blank expression. "Yes, I was told 
that you pursued them..." 

"Pursued, located, and retrieved them, and you are quite welcome for it," I 
snapped. 

He scowled at my tone and looked me up and down, as if searching for the source 
of my arrogance, or perhaps for the reason I swayed slightly as I stood. "It was 
the least you could do," he hissed scornfully, and picked up the Peredhil, who 
hardly even noticed, looking by then to be nearly asleep on their feet. 

With nothing else, he turned and left me. 

And now here I am, sitting in the dimmest corner of the darkest room I could 
find, realizing that from that night on, I have felt like breaking something. 

It has come to my knowledge that Gil-galad and a decent-sized host has sailed 
from Balar... 

I sense dark times ahead... 

My brother and I have not spoken in long... 

I find myself forfeiting my rest, and worrying ceaselessly about everything, 
anything, and nothing... 

The ghost of my right hand has been itching constantly... 

I am no closer to regaining the Silmarils... 

I fear I am losing my mind... 

All because of them. 

They are mending, and now I worsen. I who was always strongest, I who was always 
in control... I who wants for the first time in my life to break someone 
knowingly. No... some thing. Yes, some inanimate thing. Not a person, not a 
spirit, not a matching set of Mixed-breeds... I am glad that they are better 
now. Truly. 

I just wish they had not taken my last living brother from me in order to get 
that way. 



Chapter 9

The Elf-lord sat silently and waited. When no movement could be seen and no 
sounds had been heard for long, he leaned forward. "Peredhil?" he asked in a 
whisper. One head turned towards him slowly, dark hair pooled against the gray 
pillow, illuminated by the moonlight. 
"Ah, you're still awake." Maglor smiled, and sat back. 

The child, instead of nodding, quirked the corner of his mouth into a weak 
smile. Weak indeed, and the sum of all the strength he possessed. 

"It's your turn," Maglor went on. 

"But my brother is asleep," the child said, uncertain. 

"You may sing it alone," Maglor encouraged. 

"I'm too tired..." 

"But it's you favorite verse!" Maglor leaned forward again, and cradled the 
child's hand, ignoring its frailty. "Come, I will sing it with you." 

It did not take long for the small hand to go limp, and the voice that sang so 
weakly fall back into silence. Try as he might, Maglor could not bring himself 
to continue the song alone. Quietly he rose, and pulled up his quilt to rest 
under the Peredhil's chins, and left. He walked with heavy steps to his own 
bedchamber, oblivious to the figure watching from the darkest end of the hall. 

Inside, one child threw down his arms, freeing his neck from the thick blanket. 
"I hate when he does that." 

"What?" asked a drowsy voice. 

"Tries to bake us," the other panted. 

"He's trying to be nice," Elenion countered hesitantly, then added, "But I'm 
cooking too." 

"He treats us like weaklings," Eldahir continued to complain, then quickly 
stilled his voice. 

Maglor might indeed treat them like weakling, but the brothers could not deny 
that they deserved as much. It was understood between them that abundant energy 
and youthful vigor were things of the past. Often they were carried, and seldom 
did they run or laugh. Worst of all, they seldom noticed the change. 

"We could try to escape again," he said suddenly. "Maybe that would... help." 

"I doubt it," his brother replied. 

Eldahir thought for a long moment, as weariness tugged familiarly at his 
consciousness. But he fought to stay awake. "What's wrong with us?" he asked 
dully, halted by a yawn. "We used to... want things. But I've never been so 
tired as now, and sleeping never helps anymore. I feel like I'm-" lack of a 
proper description caused his silence. 

"Sinking," his brother added thoughtfully. "Falling, fading... I know, I feel it 
too." 

"We should try escaping again, just once more," Eldahir said determinedly. "We 
made it so far the last time, before we gave up." 

"And we gave up because it was no use. It's still no use." 

Eldahir sighed, turning his head to face his twin. "Do you not want to go home 
still?" 

"Of course I do," Elenion said, his eyes closed. "But I'm too tired now." He 
blinked his eyes open, and studied his brother. "We agreed to make the best of 
things here." 

"Only because we thought it would make us better. But we're still getting 
worse." 

"Was better, for a while..." 

"Elenion, wake up!" 

Elenion's eyes had fluttered shut again, and he did not correct the mistake. 
"I'm too tired to argue. I don't want to fight." 

Eldahir sighed, and watched out of the window for a while. The difference for 
him between sleep and wakefulness was so vague, that he did not realize when the 
stars were lost to the blue sky hours later. Nor did he pay much heed when a 
chambermaid entered the room, and sat him and his brother up in bed, and began 
to dress them for the day. 

Eventually he sat at a breakfast table, his thoughts still bent on those of the 
previous night, and his mind still watching out of the bedroom window. 

"Here, your juice, child," someone spoke. 

"Very well," Eldahir thought he replied. 

"Have some breakfast, child," was said next to his ear, and he was vaguely aware 
of someone cutting fruit for him on his plate. 

"Very well." 

"How well did you sleep, Peredhil?" questioned a voice that might have been 
Maglor's. 

"Very well," he replied, or Elenion did, or no one. Thinking on it, Eldahir 
decided it mattered not, and his eyes eventually focused on a mural across the 
dining hall. Later, after he was carried to the library, it took his mind twice 
as long to catch up until he actually saw the book under his eyes. And that 
night, the story he heard told in the early afternoon finally emerged in his 
recognition. 

"Elenion, every story ends, right?" 

No reply came. 

"Elenion, wake," he shook his twin. "Every story has an ending, does it not?" 

"I suppose," his brother finally murmured, and turned towards his brother, 
staring blankly at the ceiling. "Why?" 

"Are we a story?" 

"What?" 

"If we are like a story, maybe ours is over, and that's why we feel ended." 
Eldahir took a deep breath, and looked down to his brother. But his eyes were by 
then vacant in sleep, and suddenly Eldahir forgot what his thoughts had been, 
and without him noticing any passage of time the sun again rose, and so began 
another day. 



Chapter 10 - My Brother's Others

At least Maglor is speaking to me again. Though I admit, it is at times 
maddening, listening to him carry on about this 'love' he believes has developed 
between him and Earendil's sons... Still, I am glad that he is at last happy. 
And the Peredhil, too, seem somewhat content. I am not, as such... 
Maglor told me a while ago that he had taken my advice to heart at one time, and 
attempted to separate himself emotionally from the Peredhil. But he told me in 
laughter, and in past tense, so I knew even as he spoke that the effort was 
already abandoned on his part. He said that they seem to love him now, in their 
own fashion. He actually thinks that... 

I think, as I watch them interacting with each other little by little, day after 
day... that he may be right. 

Although, I also think that I see more than my brother does, usually. And what I 
see now is that this is not an entirely good thing, this change in the children. 
Time moves rather quickly -or more accurately somewhat inconsequentially- for 
the Eldar, and as such things have suddenly come to my attention that seemingly 
mere moments before were not there. Little... oddities. Like the way that the 
Peredhil do not object, ever, to anything anymore... and the way that they 
agree, thoughtlessly, always, to everything. 

I believe Maglor has noticed, but is denying what he knows to be true. I deny 
nothing. They are not well, I think, even if for a time they had become better. 
I suppose this would be a relapse then, and it is happening with haste. 

I remember not two months ago, literally bumping into the children as they were 
running down the hall, and accidentally crashed against my legs. I had seen them 
beforehand and stopped my pace, but their eyes were closed in giggles and they 
ran blindly until we collided. I did not move out of their path, judging that my 
body would hurt them less than the stone wall, and that they might have fewer 
bruises by the end of the day if someone simply suggested a mite more caution on 
their parts. 

They gasped in surprise as they landed on their rumps upon the floor, and froze 
in place once they realized whom exactly they had bounced off of. It had not 
occurred to me until that moment that although they had become less contentious 
towards my brother, there was still no love apparent between them and me. But 
such oversights are the price one pays for living through somebody else, as I 
had been living through Maglor, it seemed. 

"Peredhil," I said, rather uncomfortably, "are you all right?" 

They stood up, and answered me immediately for the first time that I could 
remember. Me. Not Maglor, or a nursemaid, or a cook, or even a horse; but me. 

"Yes," one said, his cheeks flushed all the way to the points of his ears, 
either from his sprint or pure embarrassment I could not tell, and his voice was 
not laced with the same tinge of hostility I was used to detecting. 

"Sorry," the other said softly. "We did not see you." 

"Well, I had guessed as much," replied I, and felt ashamed that I had fallen 
immediately into a reprimanding tone, when there was so little need, and no harm 
done. "You two should... be more careful." I forced my tone to sound gentler, 
"Next time you might be hurt." 

"My backside hurts from this time, but I'm still all right," said the first so 
frankly that I had to laugh, even while his brother hushed him with a quick 
hiss. "Sorry..." the first added to his candid explanation, lowering his eyes. 

Well, I thought, it was not 'a thousand apologies, Lord Maedhros', but it would 
have to do. "No cause to be sorry," I said, "just take more care." 

They nodded, and shifted a little where they stood, as if eager for something. I 
allowed myself to assume they had acquired the good manners to wait to be 
excused from the presence of their Lord, and so I said, "Now on your way, sons 
of Earendil." 

Smiling at that, they ran past, leaving me with nothing more but renewed 
laughter in their wake. Still, it was the longest and most pleasant exchange I 
believe we had ever shared. 

However, not more than two weeks ago, a dissimilar situation arose, which has 
led me to believe that things are... not right. This time I roamed into the 
kitchen room that I was so senselessly fond of, as I commonly did, and found 
that there was baking being done at an hour where usually the area would be 
deserted. 

Of the several Elven servants bustling about, some were seated at the wooden 
kneading table, with the Peredhil shuffled in among them. It seemed to me at 
first glance that the bread makers were showing the children how to prepare 
something a certain way. I could not tell immediately if the Peredhil were 
uninterested, tired, or bored... but they definitely were not having a grand 
time of the lesson. Perplexed, since I myself enjoyed learning to cook at their 
age, I came upon the square table, and leaning over, examined the unbaked goods 
being readied. 

"Well..." I observed lightly, "looks like something, for certain." The female 
servants giggled plenty, but it was not their attention I was after. The barest 
of smiles tugged at the corner of the children's mouths, but that was their only 
reaction to me... or anything, really. 

"No, no, dear child... Do it this way, or else the dough will fall apart in the 
oven. See?" An Elven maid of particularly fair features spoke sweetly, and gave 
her little pupil a kiss upon his cheek along with her polite correction. "Now 
try you again..." She urged encouragingly. 

But the child just frowned, looking -I thought- at his mistake, and said 
quietly, "I'm sorry." Then tears gathered in his eyes. 

The same elf cooed in sympathy and tickled the Peredhel's childishly puffy cheek 
with her flour-dusted finger. "There, there, my darling little helper..." She 
kissed his cheek again, much louder this time, trying to make him laugh, I 
guessed. "No need for tears now... It is such a simple thing! We can fix this 
easily, you and I, hmm?" 

With what seemed like great reluctance, the child looked up at his teacher. In 
that moment I saw as much, if not more, sadness in his gaze then I had seen 
during our entire ride home from Sirion, and it shocked me beyond words. I kept 
thinking, over dough was this caused? Dough was even less than bread, for the 
love of Iluvatar! 

"It's not that..." the Peredhel said so softly that even my keen ears strained 
to hear as he continued. "You just remind me of my mother, before she turned 
into a bird and flew away," he disclosed, before ducking his head back down and 
despondently staring again at the table. 

I heard at least four people gasp at his words... though one of them might have 
in fact been me. And then it was I receiving the sad gaze, this time that of the 
Elven maid, who looked at me dolefully with her own tear-brimmed eyes. Without 
thinking I studied her more closely. She had long dark hair, a narrow nose, 
large silver eyes and high cheekbones... indeed fair. And yes, she did resemble 
Elwing to some degree. 

I glanced back at the child, mostly to escape the pleading stare of the maid; 
for if she suspected I knew of some way to help, she was bound to be sorely 
disappointed. I found the Peredhel was by then in tears, though he continued to 
prod at his work joylessly. He appeared as though he was ignoring himself, if 
such a feat were even possible. 

I cleared my throat, and said, "Child, you are making this poor baker feel 
badly. No reason she should be put to guilt simply for her pretty face, now is 
there?" 

"No," the child replied, looking up again. "I'm sorry," he said to her, even as 
more tears trailed down his cheeks. 

She covered her mouth with the white cloth of her apron, and stared back at me, 
even more upset than before. 

I thought then that I should just leave, but I did not. If I could force myself 
to slay my own kin, thrice, then I could convince this child to stop crying. 
"Listen here, young one," I said, and bent over double to level my face with the 
Peredhel, "just think of something- someone else...understand?" 

He nodded. "Very well," he answered, still crying. 

"...Are you doing it?" I asked doubtfully. 

Again he nodded. "Yes," again he answered, though crying still. 

I sighed, and stood up tall. Everyone had stopped their work and was standing 
still, watching the display. Apparently the other Peredhel had also started 
crying at some point, for he too sat in quiet tears, mindlessly rolling some 
dough. 

In a moment I was going to be the only Elf or Half-elf in the entire vicinity 
not sobbing uncontrollably... So I did the only sensible thing, and left. 

I asked around that day, casually, and gathered that such was a common 
occurrence of late. Seemed that the Peredhil's personal attendants had become 
quite used to their charges' frequent and spontaneous bouts of depression... so 
much so that the servants thought nothing of recounting for me a few examples in 
detail. 

It occurred to me that Maglor must not have known, yet. I was almost positive 
that if he did, he would have spoken with me about it by then. No, he likely 
still thought them 'improving', I decided. Though it would not be long until he 
noticed their strange behavior for himself. Not when they seemed to fall into 
tears at the barest implication of anything even remotely sorrowful. 

And sure enough, a few days later Maglor's light-hearted mood had noticeably 
waned. I asked him in private what was wrong, but he was not willing to speak 
much of anything. I took the opportunity to mention my own observances, and I 
told him of my conversations with the Peredhil's attendants, as well as what I 
had witnessed firsthand. 

And he, in his usual manner of closing his eyes to things he wished not see, 
completely ignored me. He had responded listlessly, "I think you are 
exaggerating." 

"Then why are you downcast of a sudden?" I asked. 

"Because I learned long ago not to expect anything helpful from you, but still 
it disappoints me," he answered, a mite tartly for my liking. 

I said to him, "I have helped you in more ways than you know, brother." Then I 
left. 

But even after that, Maglor and I still spoke regularly. For whatever reason, 
that particular exchange of ours did not fall into the category of 'argument', 
and he was not left angry with me afterwards... probably because I had allowed 
him to keep his illusions that the children were still bettering. 

So, as I continue to watch my brother now and again, doing this or that with the 
children, I have grown weary. By day Maglor pretends all is well, acting normal 
and cheerful. But by night he does not sleep. I see him leave the Peredhil's 
room after putting them to bed, and his face is ever riddled with concern. 
Frequently he sits in his study, or in the library, or on some balcony or 
another, and he worries. I wager he worries as much for them as I do for him. 

It is time, I decide, to go have another chat with Earendil's sons. And this 
time I mean to keep my temper about me, whether they choose to answer my 
questions or not. 

Maglor has already left them for the night, but I hear from the hallway outside 
of their room that they are still awake. Soft, boyish singing filters through 
the thick wooden door, and I am lulled for a moment into listening. It is one of 
Maglor's songs, without a doubt, and they sing it well; very well... Heavens, 
but they are indeed Melian's kin! The song ends, trailing away like so much of a 
whisper on the wind, and I find myself lonely in the gloom of the hall without 
the fair melody, and I long for another tune. But none does come. I think they 
probably know I am here, standing by their door and waiting for them to make 
some kind of beautiful noise. Mayhap I could be more mannerly than this, and 
announce my presence as would be proper... 

Softly I knock on the door, determined that this visit will not be like the last 
ones. 

With an objecting creak of aged wood, the door slowly parts by only a few 
inches. I look down at the small Elf-boy's face wedged between the narrow 
opening, peering up at me, and I smile. He blinks a few times before 
disappearing to pull the door completely open. I imagine it takes most of his 
strength to do so, and I can actually hear his feet scampering on the floor as 
he struggles in the effort. 

As I am given full view of the room, I see the other twin is sitting 
cross-legged in the middle of one bed, which sits in the corner of the room to 
my left, the mattress' length adjacent to the far wall where a large window 
faces me directly. From his spot, the second twin is watching me with an 
unreadable expression, and he is doing it as meticulously as always. The first 
child reappears from behind the door, and props it open with a book that I bet 
weighs nearly as much as he does. He joins his brother on the opposite side of 
the room, but stays near the foot of the bed instead of climbing on top. 

I ask in my most polite tone, "May I come in?" 

They do not look at each other, as they used to do instead of answering me, and 
the one on the bed answers; "Yes, if you like." 

I walk in, leaving the door open behind me. "And may I sit down?" 

The standing twin answers timidly, "Yes." 

I see a chair placed by the windowsill, and think to pull it closer to the 
bed... but after consideration, I decide that I have no desire to impose on 
their space any more than I am already. 

I sit myself down in the chair, and look for a moment out of the window at the 
night sky. The moon is a mere sliver of bright pearl above; thus the stars shine 
ever so brightly in the freedom from any other veiling light. I am mesmerized by 
the random perfection of glittering wonders that is the star-speckled sky for 
longer than I intended, and turn back to the children half-expecting to find 
them gone. 

But nay, for there they sit, both of them now on the bed, watching me with that 
matching gaze I have come to detest. The two of them, side by side, are twice 
the amount of reminder I need; of Sirion, of the Silmarils, of Maglor... But it 
is not their fault, I suppose, that they remind me of things both terrible and 
beloved, forever lost and always just beyond my reach. Perhaps then it is not my 
fault that I probably remind them of their own pains and regrets. 

In that case, we should be friends. Or at least, other than enemies... Maybe we 
are already, less than friends but not enemies, and I simply have yet to notice. 

"So," I say softly, "how are you, Peredhil?" 

They have been blinking rather sluggishly, and I am reminded that it is past 
their usual bedtime. "Tired..." one says, and the other nods drowsily, adding, 
"Father-Maglor told us to rest plenty for a long day tomorrow." 

I cannot help but cringe. I remember when they began calling my brother 
'Father-Maglor'... and I would not care one bit except that Maglor himself 
instructed them to do so. That poor fool... Does he not realize that there is no 
great accomplishment in gaining the title if he appointed it to himself? The 
point is to earn the name 'father', or so Maglor once told me. But apparently he 
decided he earned it well enough at some point, and simply informed the Peredhil 
that it was time the official confirmation of him as their parental figure 
become practiced in everyday speech. Which would be acceptable, if not for the 
fact that the children agree to anything at all these days! 

"Ah, yes... Maglor told me about a very special event he has scheduled for you 
three." I reply, attempting to sound interested. And oh indeed, Maglor did tell 
me about this brilliant scheme of his, quite extensively. If I believed his 
implications, this trip will solve everything, and he will ride home with two 
smiling, healthy and happy Half-elves who will have completely forgotten about 
the morning not two years ago when they awoke in Sirion to the dying screams of 
their butchered townsfolk. But if I believed the bare facts, I would understand 
that Maglor means to take Earendil's sons out camping for a few days, in the 
hopes that it might lift their miserable spirits. 

"Are you... excited?" I ask them, trying still and I think failing to sound even 
remotely interested. 

"About what?" the twin who opened the door asks hollowly. 

"The surprise Maglor has planned that we were just talking about," I answer with 
strained calm, unable to tell if he is toying with me or not. 

"Oh... very well," the same child replies, without any change in tone to 
indicate comprehension. 

I wait for more, but none comes. The twin who has not spoken is just staring 
straight ahead, and I realize with confusion that he is not looking at me after 
all; he probably never was, and I wonder by the blank expression on his face if 
there is anything he sees. "Children..." I begin, and falter. This is... quite 
strange. "What is wrong?" I ask, at a loss for anything more subtle or 
articulate. 

They look at me, or I think they do, since their eyes seemed to flinch at my 
words, and the one who had been silent utters in a tone so pitiable I could 
almost weep, "We know not." 

That could not have been the same voice I heard singing so sweetly only moments 
ago. Not that frail whisper of defiled innocence that just echoed weakly from 
the mouth of the youth before me. "Why not?" I persist, "How not? If you know 
not what is the matter, who else could?" 

"Maybe mother would know," the first child says, a faint hint of hope coloring 
his childishly simple words. 

"Mother was always sad too," the second one replies wistfully, "she could not 
fix it either." 

I become angry, regretful and ashamed all at once, leaving me swirling in 
confused and conflicting emotions. "So you are sad," I think out loud, and 
glance around their ample room. I see toys, games, books and decorations among 
other things... I know they have plenty of lovely clothing folded away, and I 
know they would be fed anything they pleased if they would but eat, and I know 
Maglor would do or have done whatever they asked... My eyes make their way back 
to the children, and frustration takes command of me as I behold them. They are 
a matching set of beautifully unmarred children with perfect little voices for 
singing and laughing and perfect little bodies for dancing and running... but 
they could not care less. They might as well be baby Orcs or Balrogs; then they 
could be just as unhappy while someone more deserving of such good fortune could 
enjoy being blessed with their pretty faces and princely gifts instead. 

"But you have everything." I breathe hard. "And still you are unhappy?" 

They glance around the room for themselves, slowly, disinterestedly, their eyes 
eventually coming again to me... This time they study me with thoroughness, and 
there is no mistaking that it is me at whom they look. 

"You have everything except one hand," the second child says thoughtfully, with 
his brother asking in sheer innocence, "Are you happy?" There was that same 
tinge of hope in his voice, as if I may possess a phial of some infallible 
medicine that I might share with him and cure his sorrow. 

I tremble for a moment in bitter resentment, holding onto the armrest with my 
left hand to keep myself from using it for some ill purpose or another. It is 
true. I have everything I could wish for, just as they; fine clothes, plenty of 
servants, my fortress, my land, a small army... except for missing one hand and 
that I may come and go as I please, we are equally matched in our commodities. 
Yet I am haunted by the horrors of my past, and thus I am no happier than they, 
who suffer great pains of their own. When all is considered, and I feel 
relatively composed, I speak again. 

"When you address me, you should say 'my Lord'. It is only polite. Understand?" 


The first child nods, any animation that had surfaced in his eyes during our 
conversation sunk back down. "Yes, my Lord," he answers torpidly, and his 
brother slumps in the shoulders and stares back at the nothingness of empty 
space. 

"And you? Understand?" I ask pointedly, looking squarely at the quieter twin. 

He comes back from his study of air to meet my gaze, and nods. "Yes, my Lord," 
he repeats in the same lifeless tone as his brother, his dull eyes drifting away 
once more. 

I breathe deeply, and think. There is... no choice here, where before I thought 
it was otherwise. They are not pretending to grieve. They are not trying to be 
inconsolable. T