Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof.  No profit is being made from this work.

 

 

 

Foreword

 

Greetings!  Welcome to this story.  It is, in large part, the result of my basic inability to leave well enough alone.  Most a year ago, I wrote a story called “Four Hands Around.”  It had a solid, fairly dramatic conclusion, people seemed to enjoy it, and I was pleased with that.  But then, that old, treacherous worm came to my mind.  What happened next?  Where did the characters go from there?  Eventually, I wrote this story to explore those questions.

 

Currently, Maglor is living as something like a gentleman farmer on a fief in Maedhros’s realm.  Elros and Elrond are in the last stages of true childhood; adolescence lurks just around the corner.

 

If you haven’t read “Four Hands Around,” don’t worry.  I think you’ll be able to follow this one just fine.  Enjoy it, and I’ll meet you at the end.

 

 

 

1.  The Tatters Of Old Snows

 

 

 

Elros slurped the sweet liquid from his dish of preserved mirabelles, earning a giggle from Elrond and a half-serious glare from Maglor.  He shrugged an equally half-serious apology for his manners, and popped the last tiny plum into his mouth.  The skin burst as soon as it touched his tongue, and the sweet-sour flesh dissolved in his mouth, making his eyes crinkle.  He spit out the pit and carefully placed it next to the others arrayed around the rim of his dish.  Elrond caught his eye, and Elros nodded to his brother.  Now that they had both finished their fruit, they could begin the ritual.

 

Beginning at the right end of their arcs of pits, the twins chanted aloud.  “Lord, warrior, bard, smith, trader, sailor, candy maker.”  They repeated the verse until they had come to the end of the row of pits.  Elrond finished first, triumphantly crying, “Candy maker!”  Elros counted a few more and ended with “bard.”  Maglor smiled indulgently at his two young charges.

 

“That is all well and good,” he said.  “Elros will sing in lovely harmony with me, and Elrond will keep us well supplied with sweets.  Now, go and do the dishes.  I have some mending to do, and then perhaps there will be time for a story.”

 

Elros jumped up and began to gather the supper dishes together onto a tray as Elrond went outside to draw wash water from the rain barrel.  Just a month before, he had begged permission to fetch water from the well, but Maglor had forbidden that.  “You are not yet big enough,” he said.  “If you fell into that well, you might drown before Elros or I even noticed that something was amiss.  I will tell you when I think you are big enough to go to the well alone.”  So Elrond used the rain barrel to fetch water. 

 

By the time Elros had carried all the dishes into the kitchen, Elrond had filled a basin with the soapy water.  He washed the dishes, and Elros wiped them.  This, along with cleaning and tidying their room and making their bed, was their particular housekeeping chore.  After Elros had wiped the dishes, Elrond dried himself with a kitchen towel, and Elros began to put the dishes away.  He noted with some pleasure that he was tall enough now to reach some of the shelves without using a step stool.

 

As soon as the last dish had been put away, the twins bounded into the great hall.  Maglor had just finished sewing a patch onto the knee of a pair of Elrond’s trousers.  His great harp sat on its stand next to the bench, ready to accompany the chosen story.  Maglor looked up when the twins entered, smiled, and knotted the thread.  “Are the dishes done?” he asked.

 

“Yes, Maglor,” Elrond said.

 

“Can we have our story now?” Elros added.

 

Maglor bit off the thread, shook the trousers out, folded them, and set them on top of his mending basket.  “I think so.  What story would you like to hear?”

 

The twins settled down on the bench, one on either side of Maglor.  Elros grinned.  “The Noldolantë!”  That was his favorite story.  The part with the battle of Alqualondë was exciting and adventurous, but it made him cry a little, in a comforting sort of way.

 

Elrond rolled his eyes.  “I do not like the Noldolantë,” he complained.  “Anyway, Elros always asks for it, and we hear it a lot.  I am tired of it.”

 

“Well, what would you like to hear?”  Maglor seemed mildly relieved at the excuse to sing something else.

 

Elrond considered his request for a while.  He was silent for so long that Elros was just about to jump up and demand the Noldolantë again, when Elrond spoke.  “Will you tell us about the battle at Sirion?” he asked.  “How you adopted us?”

 

A shadow passed over Maglor’s face, and Elros thought he was about to refuse.  That alone was enough to drive the Noldolantë out of Elros’s mind.  He had to admit that he, too, had always been a little curious about Sirion, a place he could barely remember, and how he and Elrond had come to live with Maglor, who was not even their father.  The silence deepened, and Elros exchanged a worried frown with his brother.  Perhaps asking for the story of Sirion had not been such a good idea after all.

 

At last, Maglor sighed.  He cast a weary, longing glance at his harp, but made no move to pick it up.  “All right,” he said.  “If that is what you truly want.  I do not know that I approve of this, for the story of Sirion is not a tale that young boys should hear.  But it is your story, and I suppose that I do not have the right to keep it from you any longer.”

 

Maglor did not pick up his harp, but instead put an arm around each of the twins, snuggling them close against his sides.  “I will tell you the story in words rather than song,” he explained, “for I have not yet had the heart to smooth the horror of that battle with music.”

 

Something knotted in the pit of Elros’s stomach, and he could see that Elrond looked just as worried.  However, they could not withdraw their request now.  No matter how terrible the story was, they would be brave and listen to all of it.

 

“The story begins when my brother Maedhros learned that Elwing your mother held one of our father’s Silmarils at Sirion,” Maglor began, in a voice so soft that the twins had to strain to hear him.  “He wrote to her and asked her to surrender Father’s handiwork to him.  Had she done as he asked, things would have turned out much differently.”

 

In the same soft voice, Maglor told about Elwing’s refusal and Maedhros’s challenge, of how he had gathered together his remaining brothers and their armies and had marched on Sirion, and of the terrible slaughter that had claimed the lives of the two youngest brothers as well as almost all of the defenders of the keep.  He spoke slowly and haltingly, as if each word hurt him.  Elros found himself crying, though he was not sure if he cried for the battle that had claimed his mother or at the thought that Maglor’s brothers had died.

 

Elrond choked a little.  “Your little brothers were twins, right?” he asked.  “Just like us?”

 

Maglor nodded.  “Yes.  Amrod and Amras.  They were the first twins ever to be born in Valinor, my little baby brothers.  You would have loved them, if you had ever known them.”

 

“But where were we?” Elros asked.  “Were we in the battle?”

 

“Yes and no,” Maglor said.  “The battle raged all over the keep, and you were in the keep, so you were both there.  But your mother’s ladies-in-waiting tried their best to shield you from the fighters.  No one wanted to see either of you hurt, for you were little more than babies at the time.”

 

“But how were we saved?” Elrond asked.

 

Maglor looked pained.  “When one of the ladies-in-waiting died, her body fell on top of you and kept you safe.  The soldiers could not see you, so they did not come after you.”

 

“If those soldiers had found us,” Elrond mused, “they would have killed us dead, right, Maglor?”

 

“Yes.  It is fortunate for all of us that they did not.”

 

Elros screwed up his courage to ask the question that had been lurking in the pit of his stomach.  “What about our mother and father?  What happened to them?”

 

“Mother flew out the window,” Elrond said.  “I remember that.”

 

Maglor nodded.  “She was too quick.  She had the Silmaril in her hands, and she fell before anyone could stop her.”

 

“No,” Elrond said.  “She flew.”

 

“Elrond, you know that people cannot fly.”

 

“I saw it!” Elrond insisted.  His face was beginning to turn red, as it often did when he was upset about something.  “I saw my mother fly out the window.  I did!”  He sniffed, and stuck out his lower lip.  Elros could see that he was trying very hard not to cry.

 

Maglor saw it as well.  He sighed, and shifted the twins against him.  “Perhaps that is how you remember it, Elrond,” he said.  “In any event, we could find no trace of her after the battle.  Eärendil your father was nowhere to be found, and nearly everyone who lived in the keep was dead.  You two were too little to be left alone.  You needed someone to take care of you.  It so happened that I needed someone to take care of.  That is how I came to adopt you.”

 

It sounded simple and straightforward.  But Maglor’s face was grim, and Elros suspected that he had not told them the full story.  He knew that Maglor sometimes omitted details from stories that he thought Elros and Elrond were not old enough to hear.  Once, during one of Maedhros’s visits, Elros had crept out into the corridor after he and Elrond had been put to bed.  He had heard Maedhros and Maglor talking in soft voices, and had gone to investigate.

 

They had been discussing a recent skirmish with Morgoth’s Orcs that had occurred recently.  Elros knew about this encounter, because Maglor had ridden off suddenly, in the middle of the night, to aid Maedhros.  When Maglor returned, he had made the battle into a rollicking, rhyming story for the twins, all about the bravery of the Elves and how the Orcs had fled when Maglor’s troops rode over a hill and surprised them.  But Elros had noticed a new stiffness in Maglor’s gait that was not explained in the story. 

 

When Maedhros visited a few days afterwards, Elros sat at the top of the stairs, hidden in shadows, and listened to them discuss the battle.  He heard about the soldiers they had lost, the plans that had not worked out as designed, and about the stab wound that Maglor had received in his hip.  Maedhros had wondered aloud if the resulting limp would be permanent, and advised Maglor to favor the leg somewhat over the next month.  “You do not wish to live forever lamed,” Maedhros said, casting a brief glance at the stump of his right arm.  “Especially since you have the boys now.  You must be healthy to take care of them.  Do what you must, but let yourself heal fully.”

 

Suddenly, Elros had not wanted to hear any more.  He went back to bed, and neither Maglor nor Maedhros ever knew that he had overheard.  He had discussed the matter with Elrond, of course, and they had made sure to be especially helpful around the house until Maglor could walk normally again.  But Elros had not forgotten the shock of learning that some stories had darker sides to them. 

 

Now, he wondered about the dark side of the story of Sirion.  He desperately wanted more details, but he could tell from the pain in Maglor’s eyes that there would be no more of that story tonight.  Elros sighed, and leaned his head against Maglor’s shoulder, and Maglor’s arm tightened around him.

 

“Thank you for the story, Maglor,” Elrond said.  “I am sorry that it made you sad.”  Just as he said it, a fat tear dribbled out of one eye, and rolled down his cheek.  Maglor gave a somewhat watery smile, and brushed Elrond’s tear away.

 

“It seems that I am not the only one saddened by this tale,” he said.  “I think that we have all dwelled on this disaster entirely too much.  I will not tell you any more, for I do not wish for you two to be up all night with bad dreams.  There are still a few more nights for storytelling left, so let us be sure to think of happy stories.”

 

“Yes, Maglor.”  Elros did not want to admit, even to himself, just what a relief the prospect of happy stories was to him.

 

Maglor hugged them one last time, then nudged them off the bench.  “Go get ready for bed now,” he told them.  “Do you think you will need a warm iron in the bed tonight?”

 

“Yes!” said Elrond, whose feet were always cold.

 

“No,” Elros said at the same time. 

 

“I do not want to freeze,” Elrond complained.  “And you do not like it when I snuggle up to you.”

 

“That is because you always put your feet on me, and they are always icy cold.”

 

“Boys, enough!” Maglor laughed.  “I will warm an iron for you, and then you may place it in Elrond’s side of the bed.  Is that fair?”

 

Both twins nodded, although Elros knew that, no matter what happened, he would wake in the morning with Elrond cuddled against him.  But, by that time, the bed would be warm and cozy, so it did not matter so much.  He and Elrond scampered off to their bedchamber.  They took turns at the basin washing their faces and cleaning their teeth, and then changed into their nightshirts, their teeth chattering as they did so.  Winter was gradually giving way to spring, but the nights were still cold.  They climbed into the big wooden bed that they shared and pulled the quilt up to their chins just as Maglor entered the bedchamber bearing a warm iron wrapped in a towel.  He tucked it underneath the quilt at Elrond’s feet, then leaned over to give the twins their bedtime kisses.

 

“Good night, sleep tight,” he said.  “I will see you in the morning’s light.”  Then he snuffed the lantern and left the bedchamber, closing the door as he went.

 

At last, Elros and Elrond could speak to each other privately.  To Elros’s surprise, Elrond spoke first, whispering in the gloom.

 

“That was a sad story.”

 

Elros considered this for a while.  “Most of Maglor’s stories are sad.  Except for the ones about when he was a little boy, with all of his brothers.”

 

Elrond shivered, and stretched his toes down toward the hot iron.  “It must be sad to see all your brothers die.  Now Maedhros and Maglor are the only ones left.”

 

“We are the only ones left of our family,” Elros pointed out.  “That is just as sad.”

 

“I wish I remembered more of Nana than just seeing her fly out the window.”  Elrond wiggled so that he could snuggle his head against Elros’s shoulder and still be able to enjoy the warmth of the iron.

 

“You did not really see such a thing, Elrond!” Elros said.  “Did you?”

 

Elrond nodded against his shoulder.  “I did.  I do not remember anything else about the battle, but I remember that.  I wonder why she did that.  Do you think she meant to do it?”

 

That was a frightening thought.  “Of course she did not,” Elros said, hoping he sounded more certain than he actually felt.  “Mothers do not leave their little boys behind.”

 

“Maglor’s mother left him and his brothers behind,” Elrond said reasonably.  “And his grandmother left his father behind.  I know. Maglor told me once.”

 

“Maglor says a lot of things,” Elros retorted.  He swallowed the urge to start crying.  “Why does Ada not come for us?”

 

Elrond sighed.  “Ada is busy being a star.  And Maglor loves us.”

 

“He does not!  I think Maglor killed Nana.”  As soon as he had said it, Elros clapped his hands over his mouth, but he could not unsay the terrible words.  Elrond stiffened next to him, and, in the moonlight, Elros saw his eyes fill with tears.

 

“Maglor did not kill Nana!  Nana flew out the window.  And Maglor does too love us.  He does!”  Elrond sounded almost hysterical, and Elros had to wrestle with him until they were both burrowed underneath the quilt, so that Maglor would not hear. 

 

“She wanted to get away from him.  He said so.  That is as good as if he had killed her.”

 

“She took the Silmaril, but she left us behind.”

 

The boys were silent for a long moment.  Both of these statements had a terrible truth to them, and neither boy wanted to face the implications of that truth.  At last, Elrond turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.  He made no noise, but Elros could tell from the way that the bed shook that he was crying.  Slowly, he moved to cuddle against Elrond, and put his arm around his brother’s back.  Gradually, Elrond’s sobs died down, and he fell asleep. 

 

Suddenly cold, Elros stretched his toes down toward the warm iron just before he, too, fell asleep.

 

 

 

When Maglor came to wake them in the morning, Elros did not want Maglor to touch him.  He squirmed to the far side of the bed and glared.  Elrond sat up and wrapped his arms around Maglor, clinging to him as if he were a log in a swift-running stream.  Maglor sat down on the bed and shifted Elrond to a more comfortable position without quite managing to break Elrond’s hold.

 

“What is the matter this morning?” he asked.  “Did you two have bad dreams last night?”

 

“No,” Elros lied.

 

Maglor raised an eyebrow at that, but did not say anything about it.  Instead, he gently pried Elrond’s arms from around his neck. 

 

“Well,” he said, “morning is here, and it is time for little boys to wash and dress so that they may be fresh for breakfast.”  He patted Elrond’s back until Elrond hopped out of bed and stood shivering a little on the thick rug.  Maglor reached out to Elros next.  Elros jerked backwards, and rolled off the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a thump.  Elrond giggled, and Maglor looked contrite.

 

“Oh, Elros,” he said.  “I am sorry that I startled you.  Are you all right?”

 

Elros stood up quickly, crossed his arms over his chest, thrust out his lower lip, and glowered at Maglor.  Maglor smiled at him. 

 

“I see that the only thing bruised is your dignity,” he said.  “And that will heal soon enough.  I have brought warm water for your basin.”  He rose from the bed, rooted under the quilt until he had retrieved the iron, then took it out into the corridor.  He returned in a moment with a wooden bucket full of steaming water, which he poured into the twins’ wash basin.

 

“Wash and dress yourselves quickly.  I will make breakfast.”  Maglor took the bucket and iron and left the room.

 

Elrond and Elros trotted over to the basin.  The warm water felt good against their cold skins, and Elros scrubbed his face with his washcloth until he tingled.  They pulled on their clothes, and went to make the bed.

 

“You were rude to Maglor this morning,” Elrond observed, as they pulled the quilt and sheets smooth.

 

Elros shrugged, and bent down to pick up his pillow.  “I do not want to be touched this morning.”  He shook the pillow to fluff it.

 

Elrond came around to Elros’s side of the bed.  He knocked the pillow out of Elros’s hands, threw his arms around his brother, and planted a big, sloppy kiss on Elros’s ear.  Elros squealed, but it came out as half a laugh, and he did not pull away.

 

“You liar,” Elrond said, grinning at him.

 

Elros picked up the pillow again.  “Am not.  I am feeling better now.  I . . . “ he tried to remember the phrase that Maglor used, “ . . . merely woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

 

“No,” Elrond said.  “You fell off of it.”

 

That was too much.  Elros squealed, seized the pillow, and brought it down on Elrond’s head with a satisfying whack.  Elrond laughed, took up his own pillow, and bounded across the freshly smoothed quilt to retaliate.  The boys danced around the room, hitting each other with the pillows until they could barely stand up from their laughter.

 

When they paused to take a breath, they heard Maglor calling them from downstairs.  “Boys!  Breakfast is ready!”

 

Quickly, they smoothed the quilt again and set the pillows neatly on the bed.  Then they ran their fingers through their hair and hurried downstairs to eat.  As he took his place at the table and waited for Maglor to dish up hot scrambled eggs and fried parsnips, Elrond caught Elros’s eye, and they both suppressed giggles.

 

Elros was glad that he had a secret to share with Elrond that morning.  It made the burden of his own secret worry about Maglor feel somewhat lighter.

2.  Every Secret Of My Heart

 

 

 

The rain thudded against the glass windows, drumming a steady rhythm that dulled the mind and the heart.  Inside, Maglor had supplemented the weak, watery daylight by lighting two lamps, one for Elros and Elrond as they did the sums he had assigned them, and one for himself as he completed his correspondence.  The three worked diligently at their tasks.  Occasionally, one of the twins would look out the window and sigh, but not a word was spoken.  It had been raining for several days, and there was nothing to be said.

 

Elros nudged Elrond, and they conferred briefly over a problem.  Maglor did not allow outright copying of answers, but he did not mind the occasional consultation.  Nerdanel had permitted his own twin brothers to work that way, and both Amrod and Amras had learned arithmetic perfectly well.  There was no reason to think that Nerdanel’s method would not work with Elros and Elrond.  Thus far, they had made adequate progress in their arithmetic, and the opportunities to chat seemed to relieve some of the frustration of sitting still and working at problems.

 

The conference seemed to go on for longer than usual this time.  Maglor guessed that there was some disagreement over how to solve that particular problem.  Just before he could step in to offer a hint, the twins ceased their discussion, and each turned back to his own slate.  From the hunch of Elros’s shoulders and the defiant toss of Elrond’s head, Maglor guessed that they had agreed to disagree, and that he would receive two different answers from the twins.  He smiled, and turned back to the letter he was writing to one of his reeves.

 

There was silence in the hall for a while, and then Elrond looked up.  “Maglor,” he said, “do you think it rained this much in Sirion?”

 

Elros glared at Elrond under his eyelashes.  He had been withdrawn and quiet for several days now, ever since Maglor had told the tale of the sack of Sirion.  Elrond, on the other hand, had been full of questions.  Elros grumbled and glared whenever Elrond brought the subject up, but Maglor noticed that he always quieted down to listen to the answers to Elrond’s questions.  So he smiled at both twins when he answered this one.

 

“I think it must have rained even more than here.  Sirion is on the coast, and it always rains more on a coast than it does inland.”

 

“Why?” Elrond asked.

 

“Because that is where the water is, silly,” Elros retorted.

 

Elrond’s jaw hardened, and he thrust out his lip.  Maglor could see that an argument was brewing.  “Are you both finished with your arithmetic?” he asked.  “If you wish, we can discuss this matter further when you have done your sums.”

 

Elros sniffed, and turned back to his own slate, bowing his head and curling his arm around it so that Elrond could not see.  Elrond sulked for a moment longer, then bowed his head over his own slate.  Maglor sighed, and glanced out the window, wishing that the rain would cease so that he could send the twins outside to rid themselves of some of their frustrated energy.

 

 

 

Dinner that night was a silent affair.  Maglor served a thick stew of lentils and barley, with a variety of root vegetables from the cellars.  The twins poked at it listlessly, though Elrond tried to offer a weak smile.  Maglor nodded understandingly at him.

 

“I know that you are tired of roots and cabbages,” he said.  “But soon it will be warm enough to plant new vegetables in the garden, and there will be more things to eat.  In the meantime, it is cold and wet outside, and this will warm your insides and fill you up.”

 

Maglor sat down and began to eat his stew.  After a moment, Elrond followed suit.  Elros stirred his spoon in his bowl, and finally lifted a spoonful of barley and broth to his mouth.  He touched the broth briefly with his lips, then set his spoon back in the bowl.  Elrond glanced at his brother, a worried look on his face.

 

“Why do you not eat your dinner, Elros?” he asked.  “It is good stew.”

 

Elros did not answer, but pushed his bowl away.  Maglor frowned.  It suddenly occurred to him that these children were partially descended from the Secondborn, and therefore might be susceptible to illnesses that never troubled full Elves.  “Are you ill, Elros?  Let me see if you have a fever.”  Maglor rose and moved around the table to where Elros sat.  He reached out to feel Elros’s brow, but Elros flinched away from his touch.

 

Now, Elrond looked genuinely frightened.  “Elros, tell Maglor what is wrong with you!” he cried.  When Elros still refused to look at Maglor, Elrond reached out and gingerly laid a hand on his brother’s cheek.  “He has no fever,” he reported, and his lower lip began to wobble.

 

Maglor knelt down between the two boys.  He laid one hand on Elrond’s back to steady him, then twisted his head so that he could catch a glimpse of Elros’s face.  “What is wrong, Elros?” he asked.  “You are obviously in great distress, and it hurts both me and Elrond to see you like that.  I would like to make you feel better, but I cannot help you unless you tell me what is distressing you.”

 

Elros twisted and squirmed on his bench, in an agony of indecision.  Maglor reached out slowly and tipped Elros’s chin up.  Elros sniffled, and made a brave but futile effort to hold back the tears that started to spill down his face.

 

Maglor made a soothing noise in the back of his throat, and seated himself on the bench between the boys.  Without saying a word, he put his arm around Elros’s shoulders.  Elros stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, and allowed himself to melt into the embrace.  He wept bitterly against Maglor’s shoulder for a while.  Maglor held him tightly and rocked back and forth, and Elrond reached over to pat his brother’s hand.  Eventually, Elros stopped weeping.  He lay quietly in Maglor’s arms and murmured something indistinct.

 

“What did you say, Elros?  I could not hear you.”

 

Elros raised his tear-stained face.  “I am not hungry,” he said, the first words he had spoken to Maglor in days.

 

Maglor sighed.  “I can see that,” he replied.  “You do not have to eat the stew if you do not want it.”  Elros nodded, and laid his head back on Maglor’s shoulder.  “You look exhausted,” Maglor went on.  “Would you like to go to bed now?  I will wash the dishes with Elrond tonight.”

 

Elros nodded again.  Maglor opened his arms, and Elros slid off the bench and stood staring at his feet.  Maglor gave him a quick kiss and squeezed his hands.  “Go wash your face and go to bed.  Let us hope that the morning will bring you good cheer.” 

 

Elros turned, and trudged to the stairs.  Without a word or a backward glance, he went upstairs to bed.  Maglor and Elrond finished their meal quickly, then took the dishes into the kitchen.

 

 

 

Elrond went up to bed after he and Maglor had washed the dishes.  He crept quietly into the bedroom and put on his nightshirt and washed his face in the dark, so as not to wake Elros.  When he climbed into the bed, however, he saw that his precautions had not been necessary.  Elros was awake, and his eyes glittered in the darkness.  Elrond curled up and pulled the quilt over his shoulders, but did not reach out.  There was something in Elros that did not want to be touched.

 

“Maglor loves you,” Elrond whispered.  “He loves both of us.”

 

“I know,” Elros whispered back.  “I wish he did not.”  Then he rolled over, turning his back on Elrond.

 

“Elros, why?” Elrond asked.  But Elros made no reply.

 

 

 

The sky shed the last of its rain that night, and the next morning dawned clear and sunny.  Maglor woke Elros and Elrond with a song about daisies blooming in a field.  It had such a jolly tune that Elrond rolled on the bed laughing, and even Elros had to crack a smile.

 

After breakfast, Maglor released Elros and Elrond into the front garden to run and play.  They wore their oldest clothes, so that they could play in the mud as much as they wanted.  The garden was alive with earthworms that had come out during the rain and had not yet crawled back into their secret underground holes.  Elrond got down on his knees and began to grub up some of the fatter ones.  Elros raced over to his favorite old oak tree and began to climb.

 

Every move he made caused the tree to shiver and dump cold water on him, but Elros did not mind.  The water felt fresh and alive, and the coldness made his skin tingle.  At last, he reached a particular crook where he could sit on a branch and look out over most of the valley.  The great house where Elros and Elrond and Maglor lived looked small from this height, and the outbuildings and the nearby cottages looked like toys.  Far away, Elros could see the creek where he and Elrond loved to go fishing during the hot summer days.  There was a little hollow in the riverbank that made a perfect secret lair.  The creek, brown and swollen from the spring thaw and the recent rains, rippled thickly.  It reminded Elros of the belly of a pregnant mare, bulging and heaving as the foal within writhed.

 

Elros sat in the tree, watching the river, for a long time.  The wind blew chill, and he wrapped his cloak tightly about his body.  Maglor’s portion of Himring really was a beautiful valley, Elros thought.  There were meadows to run across, small thickets of trees to hide in, and the creek where they could go swimming in the hottest part of the summer.  Maglor’s soldiers maintained a constant watch to keep the valley secure from any evil creature of Morgoth that might want to disturb their peace.  Elros and Elrond were lucky to live there.

 

A squirrel ran along a branch near his head.  It stopped short when it saw the boy sitting in the tree and chittered at him.  “Maglor loves Elrond and me,” Elros told the squirrel.  “He takes care of us just as if we were his own children.  Our real father is a star in the sky, and he can never come for us, and our mother vanished into the sea.  But Maglor loves us, so we are his children now.”

 

The squirrel sat on its hind legs, its front paws pressed tightly against the soft white fur of its breast.  It looked so soft and inviting that Elros had to stroke it.  He reached his hand out as slowly as he could, but just before his fingers met the squirrel’s fur, it dashed away through the branches.  Elros sighed.  He pulled his cloak closer around his body and tried once again to make the knot of terror growing in his stomach go away.

 

The faint cry of horns roused Elros from his thoughts.  He grabbed at the branches around him and twisted until he could see the road leading into the valley.  A small company of riders was coming over the hill.  They came at a leisurely pace, wearing cloaks against the spring chill, but no armor or helms.  Their leader was tall and pale, and his red hair tumbled about his shoulders and blazed in the sunshine.  Elros let out a delighted whoop and scrambled down the tree.

 

Elrond looked up as his brother appeared.  “What is it?” he asked.

 

“I saw them, up in the tree!” Elros cried.

 

Elrond glanced up at the branches.  “Who was in the tree?”

 

“I was!  I saw them.  On the road.”

 

“Who?”

 

Elros had to laugh at the look of complete befuddlement on Elrond’s face.  “Maedhros, Elrond!  Uncle Maedhros is coming to visit!”

 

He tore off down the road, with Elrond close at his heels.  It was not long before they rounded a curve and spotted the traveling company.  Maedhros spied them at the same time, and raised his left hand to call a halt.  He dismounted quickly, and strode toward the twins with his arms held out and a smile on his face.

 

Elros ran just a little bit faster, so that he could be sure of getting to Maedhros before Elrond did.  He liked it best when he could hug Maedhros on the left side.  Though he was not exactly frightened of the stump of Maedhros’s right arm, it did make him somewhat uneasy.  He fetched up against Maedhros with a thump, and thrilled to feel his arm wrapping around his shoulders, and a hand ruffling his hair.  Elrond arrived just after he did, and attached himself to Maedhros’s right side.  Maedhros held both of them close, and laughed his deep, rolling laugh.

 

“Well met, you two!” he cried.  “Oh, you have both grown so much since last I saw you.  Soon you will be as tall as Maglor, and you will squeeze the life out of me when you greet me like this.”

 

Elros and Elrond responded by tightening their arms around Maedhros’s middle.  He squeezed them back, and then released them.  “Now that is a greeting,” he said.  “Are you the advance party?  Where is my little brother?”

 

“I think he is at the stables,” Elrond said.  “I do not know if he knows you are here.  Elros was in the tree, and he saw you.”

 

“Well then, let us go and inform Maglor of my arrival,” Maedhros said.  “How would you like to ride my horse?”

 

Elrond and Elros both jumped and clapped their hands.  “Oh, yes, please!”  Maedhros signaled to a valet, who boosted the boys onto the back of Maedhros’s enormous charger.  Elrond buried his hands in the horse’s mane, and Elros held tightly to his brother.  Maedhros, walking beside the horse, laid his stump on its neck to guide it, and the small party continued on down the road that led to Maglor’s house.

 

 

 

Maglor had spent the morning repairing harnesses in preparation for the spring planting.  He had just finished working the winter stiffness out of a set of traces when he heard the noise of horses and riders in the stable yard.  Quickly, he hung the traces on a peg, wiped his hands on a rag, and went out to greet his guests.  A delighted smile spread across his face when he beheld Maedhros, standing in the yard with his arms open.  Maglor rushed to embrace him, and the sons of Fëanor held each other close for a moment.

 

“Oh, Maedhros, it is good to see you!” Maglor said.  “I had not expected you to come so soon, especially after such rains as we have had.”

 

“It is no matter.  A small party of riders can press through a rainstorm where a wagon cannot.”  Maedhros smiled at Maglor.  “It has been a year since I saw you last, and I did not wish to wait.  Every opportunity to see my little brother is precious to me.”

 

The delicate sound of a child clearing his throat interrupted their reunion.  “Will someone help us get down from the horse, please?” Elrond asked.

 

Maglor raised an eyebrow at him.  “How did you get up on the horse in the first place?”

 

“Uncle Maedhros’s valet helped us.”

 

“I see.”  Maglor regarded the two boys.  “Well, this charger is certainly a great deal taller than your ponies, but you should dismount just as you always do.  Swing your leg and jump.”

 

Elrond looked down at the ground.  His eyes grew wide, but he took a deep breath and set his jaw.  Carefully, he swung one leg over the horse’s withers so that he sat sideways on its back.  Maglor held out his hands.  Elrond grasped them for support, and jumped.  As Maglor had taught him, he flexed his knees to absorb the shock of landing, and then stood straight and giggled.  “I did it!” he said.

 

“Yes,” Maglor replied.  “You did.”  He turned and looked at Elros, still sitting on the horse’s back, and held out his hands.  “Elros, it is your turn.”

 

Elros started and shied away from Maglor.  “No!” he cried. 

 

Maedhros frowned at Maglor in confusion.  Maglor shrugged at him, equally puzzled.  He had ascribed Elros’s recent bad temper and irritability to the rain, but it seemed that a morning in the sunshine had not improved matters.  Elros looked at the ground, then glanced at Maedhros.  “I want Uncle Maedhros to help me,” he said, in a very small voice.

 

“All right.”  Maedhros moved to stand near the horse.  Elros moved his leg and prepared to jump.  Maedhros held out both of his arms.  Elros glanced at the stump of the right, then seized Maedhros’s left hand with both of his own.  He jumped quickly, and landed well.  “Good for you,” Maedhros said.  “You were very brave.  Perhaps I shall teach you how to dismount from my charger by yourself while I am here.  Would you like that?”

 

“Oh, yes, please!”  Elros nodded his head vigorously.  Elrond looked to Maglor for permission.  Maglor shrugged, then nodded.

 

“I see no reason why not.  You are both outgrowing your ponies anyway.  If you can dismount from a war charger such as this one, you will have no trouble with the smaller horses in our stables.”

 

 

 

Maedhros’s arrival caused a great deal of activity.  He would stay at the house with Maglor and the boys, and Maglor arranged for Maedhros’s small party of guards to be billeted with some of his own men.  Over the years, many friendships had formed this way, friendships which had proved invaluable when the remaining sons of Fëanor allied in some minor skirmish against Morgoth’s forces.  Once he had seen to Maedhros’s men, Maglor inspected Elros and Elrond.  Elros was the cleaner of the two, so Maglor sent him to fetch linens and help Maedhros make up the bed in the best guest chamber.  He directed Elrond to go outside, wash his hands, and then fetch onions and dried sage from the cellar.  Maglor went to the yard to select a goose to roast for dinner that night.

 

The news about the goose pleased Elrond.  He did not like the flock of geese that flapped their wings and honked at him, and had chased him more than once when he was little.  As far as Elrond was concerned, the best goose was a roasted goose stuffed with sage and onions.  This treat did not appear on the table very often, but Maedhros’s visit demanded a special company dinner.  He went outside, dipped cold water from the rain barrel into the battered metal basin that stood nearby, and washed the dirt off of his face and hands.  Then, before his body had a chance to warm up, he hurried down into the cellar.  He took three onions and a big bunch of sage, and brought them into the kitchen.

 

Maglor was not there.  Elrond went out back to the poultry shed, and found Maglor busily plucking the goose he had killed.  “Maglor,” Elrond said, “I brought the sage and onions.”

 

Maglor looked up and nodded, but did not stop pulling feathers.  “Good.  Thank you, Elrond.  Will you move the feather bin over to me?  I am almost finished with this.”

 

Elrond located the feather bin in the corner.  It consisted of a wooden frame that held two large sacks.  One was half-full of down, and the other held quills that they would carve into pens.  It was not heavy, and Elrond easily dragged it over to stand next to Maglor. 

 

“Thank you.”  Maglor began to dump handfuls of down into one bag.  Without being asked, Elrond picked out the quills and put them in the other bag.  They worked together in silence for a time.

 

“Maglor?” Elrond asked. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“What will you do with the down feathers?”

 

“I am saving them to make a featherbed for you and Elros,” Maglor said.  “It will keep you warm in the wintertime without hot irons in your bed.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Elrond was quiet for a while longer, as he separated the last of the quill feathers and laid them gently in their bag.  When he finished, Maglor was wiping the table clean.  Elrond pushed the feather bin back to its corner, and came back to the table.  He knotted his hands, and stared at his feet.

 

“Maglor?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is Elros angry at me?”

 

Maglor stopped wiping, and looked at Elrond with a small, concerned frown on his face.  “No,” he said.  “I do not think Elros is angry at you.  He has been very angry for the past few days, and I am worried about him, but I do not think his anger is directed at you.”

 

“Oh.  Maglor?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you think Uncle Maedhros can make Elros happy again?  I do not like it when Elros is angry.”

 

Maglor wiped his hands and put an arm around Elrond’s shoulders.  “I do not like it when Elros is unhappy, either.  I do not know if Maedhros will manage to cheer him, but you may take heart.  Elros cannot remain angry forever.  Eventually, something will happen, and he will release his anger and become his cheerful self again.”

 

This was not exactly encouraging, but Elrond supposed it was the best answer Maglor was likely to give him.  “I hope it happens soon,” he said.

 

“I do, too.”  Maglor gave him a friendly nudge.  “Come.  Let us take this goose into the kitchen and start him roasting so that he will be done in time for dinner.”

3.  Cares Like A Wild Deluge Come

 

 

 

The warm, rich, mouthwatering aroma of roast goose filled the house that evening.  In the kitchen, Maglor was transferring the bird from the spit to a serving platter.  Elrond and Elros dug roasted turnips and beets out of the ashes, brushed them off with towels, and arranged them on another platter as quickly as they could, so as not to burn their fingers.  Maglor, wearing thick quilted mitts, pulled the spit out of the goose and motioned for the boys to stand back as he replaced it in its holder over the fire.

 

“How do you do that?” Elrond asked, fascinated.

 

“I have been cooking for several hundred years,” Maglor replied.  “It is mostly a matter of practice.  The goose must sit for a short time now.  Which one of you wants to go help Maedhros get ready for dinner?”

 

“Me!”  Both boys jumped up, but Elrond had shouted first.  Maglor nodded at him.

 

“All right.  Elrond, you may go up.  Elros, will you bring the dishes and cutlery to the table?”

 

Elros gave an exaggerated sigh, but went to the cupboard anyway.  When Maglor’s back was turned, he winked at Elrond to show that there were no real hard feelings.  Elrond grinned back, and scurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  He skidded to a stop at the door to the guest chamber and knocked politely.

 

“Come in.”

 

Elrond poked his head around the doorframe, and saw Maedhros combing out his hair.  Maedhros stopped combing and squinted at him.  “Let me see.  Elrond.”

 

“Yes!”  Elrond smiled.  “You can still tell us apart.”

 

“I have been an expert at telling twins apart since before the Sun rose in the sky,” Maedhros said.

 

“That is a long time.”

 

“Yes, it is.”  For a moment, Maedhros’s eyes had a faraway look.  Then he blinked and turned back to Elrond.  “Elros has been in a bad mood all day, and it is showing on his face, though he is trying to hide it.  You are more cheerful.”

 

Elrond wrinkled his nose.  “I am not much more cheerful.  I do not like it when Elros is unhappy.”

 

“I do not blame you.  Do you know what he is angry about?”

 

Elrond shook his head.  Elros had refused to talk about his problem to anyone, including his brother.  Usually, both twins shared their troubles, and Elros’s refusal to do so only increased Elrond’s worry.  He glanced up at Maedhros.  “I thought perhaps you could help him.  He likes you, and I thought that, if you were going to teach him about riding your horse, perhaps you could . . . “ his voice trailed off.

 

Maedhros smiled a little.  “First of all, I was planning to teach both of you.  But I will talk to Elros, if you would like.  I cannot promise that I will be of any help to him, but I can certainly try.”

 

“Thank you, Uncle Maedhros.”  Already, Elrond’s heart felt just a bit lighter.  He straightened, and then remembered his errand.  “I am supposed to tell you that dinner is nearly ready.  And I am supposed to help you get ready for it.”

 

“Thank you for telling me.”  Maedhros pulled a small velvet sack out of his traveling pack.  “Will you help me with my third hand?”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Maedhros’s “third hand” was a device made of steel.  It had a cuff that fit over the stump of his arm, and it ended in a clamp, shaped like a real hand, that was sprung so that it could hold a small object.  The whole affair buckled onto Maedhros’s arm with several leather straps.  Maedhros usually wore it at meals so that he could hold both fork and knife and not suffer the indignity of waiting for someone to cut his meat for him.  Usually his valet helped him strap it on, but the twins had been fascinated by the device since they were small, so Maedhros allowed them to help when they had occasion to dine together.

 

“Why do you not wear your hand all the time?” Elrond asked, as he pulled one of the straps tight.

 

“It is not very comfortable,” Maedhros answered.  “No matter how much padding I place in it, the cuff chafes me, and the straps sometimes pinch.  Besides, if I were to wear it all the time, there would be that many more chances for it to break, and I do not know that I could ever acquire another such hand.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it was made for me by my little brother Curufin, and he died a long time ago.”

 

Elrond frowned.  “But surely there are other smiths who could make you another hand.”

 

Maedhros shook his head.  “This is highly skilled work.  The only other smith I know who is capable of duplicating it is Curufin’s son, my nephew Celebrimbor.  And Celebrimbor has not spoken to Maglor or me for a very long time, since before your parents were born.”

 

“Oh.”  Elrond wanted to ask why, to learn what had made Celebrimbor shun his family for so long.  But Maedhros’s mouth was set in a thin, tight line, and his jaw was hard and unyielding.  It seemed that the subject of Celebrimbor was still a painful one, and Elrond knew that Maedhros would refuse to answer his questions.  Besides, Elrond admitted to himself, he really did not want to hear about people being so angry that they would not speak to their family for years on end.  He tightened the last strap and stood back.

 

“All done.  We can go downstairs now.  Elros has laid the table, and Maglor has roasted a goose for us, with sage and onions and beets and turnips.”

 

Maedhros’s face relaxed into the easy smile that he usually wore around the boys.  “That sounds delicious.  Maglor’s cooking is not to be missed.  Shall we?”

 

Elrond clasped Maedhros’s living hand in his own, and they went downstairs.

 

 

 

The roast goose was delicious, and even Elros seemed content.  Elrond relaxed and concentrated on enjoying the food and listening to the adults talk.  Maedhros told Maglor interesting bits of news he had learned from traveling parties that had stopped by his halls on their way through Himring.

 

“I met with a party of Dwarves recently,” he said.  “They brought news of Artanis.”

 

“Oh?”  Maglor grinned.  “And what has our dear baby cousin been doing with herself recently?”

 

“She and that Wood-elf she married – I never can remember his name . . . “

 

“Celeborn,” Maglor supplied.

 

“Yes, thank you.  She and Celeborn have settled in Balar, near Gil-galad.”

 

Maglor nodded thoughtfully.  “It is good to know that at least part of our kin are still alive and together.”

 

“Oh, but that is not all.”  Maedhros’s eyes twinkled.  “She has taken a new name.  Our baby Artanis is no more.  She has cast that name aside permanently, and she has become Galadriel instead.”

 

“That was what Celeborn called her, was it not?” Maglor mused.  “They are clearly very much in love.  I am happy for her.  She, alone among all of us Exiles, seems to have found what she sought.”

 

Maedhros reached across the table and laid his hand on Maglor’s.  “Do not give up hope,” he said gently.  “Two Silmarils still remain.  We may yet fulfill our Oath.”

 

“Our Oath . . . “ Maglor glanced at the boys, and a shadow passed over his face.

 

Elros ducked his head, looked at Maglor through his eyelashes, and mumbled something that Elrond could not make out, though it did not sound complimentary.  Maglor turned a pointed expression on him.

 

“I did not hear what you said, Elros,” he said.  “Will you repeat it?”

 

Elros pressed his lips together to indicate that he would not.  Elrond carefully laid his knife and fork on his plate and tried to make himself as small as possible. 

 

Maglor raised an eyebrow at Elros.  “The dinner table is not the place for secret commentary.  If you have something to say, you should let everyone hear it.”

 

Elros sat up straight and looked Maglor in the eye.  “I said your Oath is silly, and you were stupid to make it.”

 

Maedhros shifted in his seat, and the warm expression vanished from his face.  Maglor’s jaw tightened, but he did not move.  Elrond shrank a little smaller and tried not to disturb the air by breathing.

 

“That is very likely true, Elros,” Maglor said evenly.  “Can you think of a more polite way to express it?”

 

“No.”  Elros’s eyes blazed.  “You are stupid.  You like to pretend that you are our father, but you are not.  Our real father has your Silmaril, and you can never get it back.  Stupid!”

 

“Elros,” Maglor said, “I am always happy to entertain reasonable conversation at the dinner table.  However, I will not tolerate rude remarks and name-calling.  You may apologize for your behavior, or you may be excused from the table.”

 

Elros’s face screwed up, and for one hopeful moment, Elrond thought that he would swallow his pride and say he was sorry.  But Elros tossed his head and rose from the table, leaving his dinner half-eaten on his plate.  Without a word, he stalked away and climbed the stairs, his head held high, and his back straight and stiff.  Maglor, Maedhros, and Elrond watched him go, then turned back to look at each other.  Maglor slumped forward onto his elbows, his face in his hands, and sighed.

 

“He has been like that for days.  Something is clearly troubling him, but I cannot determine what it is.”

 

“You will discover it, sooner or later,” Maedhros said.  “Very likely sooner, if the look on his face was any indication.  But let us finish our dinner on a more pleasant note.”  He picked up his knife and fork and looked expectantly at Elrond.  “What have you to say for yourself, Elrond?” he asked.  “Would you like to go riding with me tomorrow, if the weather is fair?”

 

Elrond could not stop the smile that spread across his face.  “Yes, Uncle Maedhros!” he said.  “I would like that.”

 

“Good.  It is settled.”

 

The rest of the meal passed in pleasant conversation.  After the goose and the vegetables, Maglor served plates of tiny sugar biscuits.  When he was not looking, Elrond slid two of them into his belt pouch.  Maedhros caught his eye and winked, and Elrond knew that Maedhros would not betray him.

 

After dinner, Maglor excused Elrond to bed.  “I will take care of the dishes tonight,” he said.  “Maedhros and I will be awake very late.  Sleep well, and I will see you and Elros bright and cheerful tomorrow morning.”  Maglor and Maedhros both embraced Elrond, and Elrond went upstairs to bed.

 

As he had expected, Elros was not asleep.  Elrond undressed and washed his face and hands.  Then he took the biscuits he had saved out of his belt pouch and gave them to his brother. 

 

“Thank you,” Elros said.  He ate the biscuits hungrily as Elrond slid into bed beside him.  “Are they still angry at me?”

 

Elrond shook his head.  “I do not think so.  But Maglor will punish you if you do not apologize.”

 

Elros crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

 

“Why will you not tell us what is wrong?” Elrond asked.  “Whatever is troubling you, Maglor can make it better, and then you will not have to be unhappy any more.”

 

“I do not think Maglor can make this better.  I will just have to live with it.”  With that, Elros rolled over and shut his eyes, indicating that the conversation was at an end.

 

 

 

The next day, Elros was in disgrace.  Instead of apologizing, he had snubbed Maedhros at breakfast, and as a consequence, Maglor had not allowed him to go out riding.  He spent the day sullenly helping Maglor with household chores.  He fed the geese and chickens, picked through a bowl of dried beans, stirred a pot of soup, and finally settled down with a slate full of arithmetic problems.  Towards the middle of the day, Maglor brought him a plate of bread spread with butter and Elros’s favorite gooseberry jam and a little pot of tea.  “Do you feel like talking?” he asked.

 

For a moment, Elros did want to talk.  He was lonely and frightened and wanted nothing more than to lean on Maglor’s strong body and listen to him sing, with his ear pressed against Maglor’s chest to feel the vibrations at the same time.  But that was a pleasure he could never have again.  He sighed, and shook his head.  A look of disappointment flashed over Maglor’s face, but then vanished, to be replaced by one of calm understanding.

 

“Elros,” he said, “I know that I am not your father, nor have I ever pretended to be.  But neither am I your enemy.  I think we both know that I love you very much, and that, even though your behavior right now is unpleasant, I am worried about you, and I would like to see you happy again.  If you will not tell me what is wrong, I cannot help you.”

 

His voice was so soft and so warm that Elros’s lower lip began to wobble.  He was tired of being angry and frightened, tired of trying to keep Maglor away from him.  Maglor had always been a source of comfort, and perhaps it would not be so bad to share his fears.  Elros could always run and hide if he needed to.  He was smaller than Maglor, and could hide in places Maglor could not reach.

 

Elros took a deep breath.  But, just as he was about to tell Maglor his troubles, the door burst open, and Elrond bounded inside, pink-cheeked and windblown from his morning in the fresh, cold air, with Maedhros close behind him. 

 

“I had the best time, Maglor!” Elrond cried.  “Uncle Maedhros and I went out onto the high moor, and we got to gallop, and Uncle Maedhros let me ride his war horse all by myself, and it was so big, and it went so fast –“

 

“You should not ever ride that horse!” Elros shouted.  All his anger boiled up inside him again, mixed with jealousy.  He swept his arm across the table and knocked slate, dishes and food to the ground with a satisfying crash.  Elrond gasped.  Maglor stared at Elros in angry shock.

 

“Elros!” he cried.  “What has gotten into you?  You have been behaving like a beast for days on end.  You have been rude to me and to Maedhros, you have ignored your brother, and you have made an enormous mess on the floor.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Elros did not respond to Maglor, but stared at Elrond.  “We must never trust Maglor and Maedhros ever again.  One day, when we are big enough, they will swoop down on us and kill us.”

 

Elrond’s jaw dropped.  He glanced at Maglor, and then at Maedhros, but neither one looked at him.  Maglor looked as if he could not decide whether to scold Elros or laugh at him.  Maedhros’s eyes blazed with anger.

 

“Elros,” he said, in a voice soft with fury, “if you seriously believe that Maglor is capable of harming you in any way, you are sorely mistaken.  It was because of the peace you gave him when he first held you in his arms that you live to insult him today.”  Maedhros’s hand flexed, as if remembering the grip of a sword.

 

The bottom dropped out of Elros’s stomach when he saw that, but he held his ground.  “That was at Sirion,” he said.  “I know all about what happened at Sirion.  Maglor killed my mother at Sirion, and you were going to kill me and Elrond, and maybe you are planning to kill us right now.  I will not let you do that!” 

 

Elros reached down, picked up a handful of bread and jam off the floor, and hurled it at Maedhros.  Maedhros dodged the missile easily, and it splattered against the wall.  Elros started to charge at Maedhros, but Maglor caught him by the arm and restrained him.

 

“Elros, stop this,” he said, in his deepest, sternest voice.  “If you cannot behave like a reasonable creature, I will send you to the shed until you can be calm.”

 

Elros shrieked with fury, twisted in Maglor’s grip, and rained blows on him with his fists.  “No!  I will not be calm.  You killed my mother, and you are going to kill me and Elrond!  Let me go!  No!”

 

“Do not threaten Maglor,” Maedhros said, grinding the words through his teeth.  “I have come to care for you more than I ever thought possible for a son of Elwing, but I will not tolerate an assault on my brother, even from one so small as yourself.”  He took a step toward Elros.  Maglor, without even attempting to defend himself from Elros’s fists, shoved his hand against Maedhros’s chest.

 

“You will not touch him, Maedhros,” he said.  “He is rude, and mad with fury, but he is a child, and you will do nothing to harm him.”

 

“I swore,” Maedhros replied.  “I swore when those children were barely out of baby napkins that if they ever grew to harm a hair on your head –“

 

“They have not.  You did not touch them then, and you will not touch them now.”

 

Elros howled, and began to kick.  He wanted to hurt Maglor, he wanted Maglor to protect him from the towering menace that was Maedhros, he wanted to run far away so that no one would ever be able to find him, he wanted to curl up and weep for the argument he had caused and mourn the home he had destroyed, and he wanted to go back and confess his fear and eat bread and jam with his family.  Maglor held him tightly, so that he could not thrash about, and placed his own body between Elros and Maedhros.

 

“Elros,” he commanded, “take deep breaths and calm yourself.  Maedhros, take Elrond upstairs.  He does not need to watch this.”

 

“Maglor . . . “

 

“Go!”

 

Maglor held Elros’s head firmly against his chest.  Elros could not move, but he saw Maedhros turn away from him and glance around the room.

 

“Elrond?” Maedhros called.  “Elrond, come here.” 

 

There was no answer.  Maedhros strode across the room and looked into the kitchen.  “Elrond, come out.  You have nothing to fear.”  He went to the foot of the stairs and peered up into the shadows.  “Elrond?  Where are you?”

 

A draft blew through the house.  Elros looked around with his eyes, and noticed that the front door was open.  Elrond’s cloak lay on the floor where he had shed it, and there were fresh scuff marks on the floor leading outside.

 

“Elrond is gone,” he spat.  “Elrond has escaped, and you will never find him again.”

 

To Elros’s surprise, Maglor stiffened.  Maedhros stood frozen, his face nearly white beneath his red hair.  Maglor set Elros down and raced to grab cloaks from the closet.

 

“Come,” he said, handing cloaks to Maedhros and Elros.  “There is no time to lose.  We must find him.”  Without another word, he strode out the door.

 

“Why?” Elros called.  “Are you going to kill Elrond right now?”

 

Maedhros hauled him to his feet.  “Silly child,” he snarled.  “Your brother is distraught, and running without his cloak through a valley that is hardly as free from danger as you would think.  Maglor is going to find him before he comes to harm, and you and I are going to help him.”

 

A new terror surged through Elros, and he did not resist when Maedhros marched him out the door.

4.  Waters Deep And Cold

 

 

 

Elrond raced across the stubbled barley field.  The cold spring air stung his face, but he did not care.  He was out of the house, and away from the terrible argument, and that was all that mattered.  Elros’s words had terrified him, as had the rage boiling up inside Maedhros.  As they shouted at each other, the world had begun to swim before Elrond’s eyes, and he had fled the house quickly, before anyone noticed and tried to stop him.  He had left with no real destination in mind, but as the chill penetrated his mind and cooled his feverish thoughts, he knew where he wanted to go.

 

There was a little hollow in the riverbank that he and Elros had discovered years ago, when they were little.  The river curved at that point, forming a calm, protected cove, and the trees grew in interesting twists, leaning out over the water.  The boys would play in the mud and wade in the shallow water, looking for minnows.  Even after they had grown too big for splashing and mud pies, both Elros and Elrond had continued to go to the hollow when they needed to be alone with their thoughts.  Deeply in need of the soothing sound of the river, Elrond decided to go to the hollow now.

 

It was not far from the barley field to the river.  Elrond climbed over a stile, and carefully walked down the slope.  He could hear the river even from here, and it called out to him.  He was so intent on reaching his destination that he did not notice just how loud the river was.  It was only when he was close enough to see it that he stopped short in surprise.

 

The familiar little hollow and cove had vanished.  Instead, the river, swollen by the spring thaw and the recent rains, roared and boiled over its banks.  It was no longer a pleasant place to sit and think; instead, it was as furious and menacing as the scene he had left at home.  Elrond turned to leave, intending to find another place to hide.  But, as he did so, the riverbank, softened and weakened by the rain, gave way.  His foot slid out from under him, and then the whole bank was moving.  A large piece of earth slid into the river, taking Elrond with it.

 

His scream of surprise was cut off as the frigid water closed over his head.  But Elrond was a strong swimmer, and he struggled to the surface.  As he gasped for air, he realized that he was in a situation more dangerous than any he could remember.  He was caught in the current, and the river was carrying him swiftly away from his familiar play places.  He could breathe, but he swallowed gulps of cold, brown water with each breath.  The cold, which had been bracing when Elrond was on dry land, pierced his body like a sword, and numbed his mind.

 

Elrond flailed his arms and legs just enough to keep his head above water, but even that movement soon became too difficult.  The roar of the swollen river grew louder, and Elrond twisted around to see that he was approaching a rocky area.  If he did not do something, the river would dash him against the rocks and kill him.  He summoned a burst of strength, and wrapped his arms around the first large rock he saw.  He had only enough strength to hold on, but it was enough.  His body shook uncontrollably, but he held that rock tighter than he had ever held anything before.  Water splashed and sprayed around Elrond, and he could no longer feel anything.  Drawing a deep, wet breath, he screamed for help that he feared would never come.

 

 

 

Elros dashed through the poultry yard.  The flock of geese scattered at his approach, honking angrily, but he paid them no attention.  He knocked at the door to the privy.  When he received no answer, he poked the door open and peered inside.  Elrond was not there.  Elros could hear Maedhros calling for Elrond from the horse barn.  Elrond had enjoyed his ride that morning.  Elros hurried to the horse barn door, just in time to see Maedhros emerge, alone.

 

“He is not in any of the stalls,” Maedhros said.  “Nor is he in the hayloft.”

 

Maglor’s boots made a squishing sound as he approached.  “He is not in the grain bins, either.  That, at least, is a relief.”

 

Elros glanced back at the poultry yard and hung his head.  Maglor sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.  Suddenly, he stopped, and looked again at a particular patch of ground.  “Look,” he said.  “Tracks.”

 

Maedhros squinted at the marks.  “Elrond?  Or Elros?  They both have the run of this area.”

 

“Elrond.  Look, they lead away towards the fields.”

 

Elros did not wait for Maglor and Maedhros.  He trotted off in the direction of the tracks.  As he approached the end of the vegetable garden, he realized where Elrond had gone, for he himself would have done the same thing.  Elros broke into a run and headed for the river.

 

He climbed over the stile, and stared in horror at what he saw.  The river raged in thick, brown torrents over the hollow, and there was a freshly exposed swath of bare earth at his feet.  For the first time, Elros realized that Elrond might be in very serious danger, or be badly hurt, or even – his stomach tied itself into knots at that possibility.

 

“Elrond,” he moaned.  “Elrond.  Elrond, Elrond, Elrond, where are you?”

 

His feet began to move, and he ran downstream, his heart thumping in his throat with every step.  Just as he was beginning to fear that Elrond was lying drowned at the bottom of the river, he came to the rocky place.  In the middle of the river, the first rock jutted out of the water.  As Elros approached the water’s edge, he saw the small, wet figure clutching it.  Elrond was crying in terror, and Elros almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

 

“Elrond!” he shouted.  “I have come for you!  It is all right, you can come back to us!”

 

Elrond’s reply was almost lost in the rush of the water.  “The current is too strong!  I cannot swim to shore!  I am too cold and tired!”

 

Elros glanced around and spied a branch that had fallen from a tree during a winter storm.  It was sodden and difficult to lift, but he managed to maneuver it out across the water.  For one brilliant moment, he thought it would be enough, but it came up short.  It did not quite reach Elrond’s rock, and Elrond either could not or would not let go to reach for it.  Elros pushed forward until his toes were in the water, and then pushed the branch just a little farther into the river.  The end jerked, and then the current caught it and whirled it away from him.  The branch floated for a brief moment, then smashed against the rocks.

 

Elrond screamed, and Elros began to cry as well.  This was a situation far more dangerous and frightening than he was prepared to face alone.  As long as he could remember, there had been one person who was always there to solve problems and make things all right.  In that moment, Elros forgot all of his anger and resentment, and turned to run.

 

“Where are you going?” Elrond cried.  “Do not go away and leave me alone!”

 

“I will come back,” Elros told him.  “I am going to get Maglor.  He will help us!” 

 

Elrond’s screams echoed in his ears as he ran back to where the hollow had been.  When he arrived, Maglor and Maedhros had just leaped over the stile.  Maglor’s eyes were wide as he took in the damage from the flood.  He whirled around when he heard Elros’s approach.

 

“Maglor!”  Elros flung himself into Maglor’s arms.  “Maglor, come quickly!  Elrond fell into the river, and the current took him, and he is holding a rock, and he cannot swim to shore, and you must help him, come quickly, please, please!”

 

Maglor did not waste time on a reply.  He gave Elros a nudge, and Elros led him and Maedhros to the place where he had found Elrond.  Elrond had slipped a little lower on the rock, but his head was still clear of the water.  Maglor did not stop at the river’s edge, but shed his cloak and waded into the water, which foamed about his knees.  Maedhros shoved past Elros, and seized Maglor’s arm.

 

“What are you thinking?” he cried.  “You cannot simply walk out and fetch him through that current.”

 

“He cannot let go of the rock unless someone is there to pull him to shore.”

 

Maedhros frowned.  “If you are going to do that, you will need an anchor.  I will hold your arm.”

 

Maedhros braced himself in the soft mud, and grasped Maglor’s wrist with his powerful left hand.  Maglor waded out again, stretching as far as he was able.  Elrond almost lost his grip on the rock, but managed to hang on, though he slipped a little lower in the water.

 

“I cannot reach him!” Maglor cried.  “He is just a little bit further out.”

 

Maedhros stepped forward, planting his feet once more.  It was still not enough.  Maglor strained desperately, but his hand closed on air.  Maedhros looked around for aid, and his glance fell on Elros.

 

“Stop crying, Elros,” he said, not unkindly, though his voice was rough with effort.  “We will rescue your brother, but you will have to help us.  Come here.”

 

Elros obediently moved to the water’s edge.  “What must I do?’

 

“Maglor and I are going to step further into the river.  You must hold my other arm, and pull back as hard as you can to anchor us.  Can you do that?”

 

Elros could not see how his small body would help to anchor two grown Elves against such a current, and the idea of grasping Maedhros’s stump sent a chill up his spine, but he did not argue.  He reached out and clasped the stump between both of his hands, twining his fingers into the cloth of Maedhros’s sleeve.  The stump was hard with muscle, and surprisingly smooth and clean.  There was no mystery to it now.  It was simply flesh and bone, just like the rest of Maedhros.

 

 Elros leaned back, so that he was almost squatting on the riverbank.  Maedhros took one cautious step, then another.  Maglor stretched as far as he could.  His hand flailed for a moment.  Then, with a supreme surge of effort, he managed to grasp Elrond’s arm.

 

“I have him!” Maglor cried.  Maedhros and Elros both pulled, and Maglor gathered Elrond into a firmer grip and brought him ashore.  Elros looked at his brother, cradled safely in Maglor’s arms, and began to cry again with relief.

 

Elrond was dripping wet, and his lips were purplish blue.  He had stopped screaming, and shivered uncontrollably.  Maedhros picked up Maglor’s cloak and draped it over Elrond.  Maglor mopped some of the water from Elrond’s hair, then tucked the cloak around him.  “Hurry,” he said.  “We must get him home.”  He strode back up the incline, with Elrond clasped firmly to his chest, and Elros and Maedhros close at his heels.

 

 

 

When they approached the house, Maglor began to issue orders.  “Elros, go to the shed and bring lots of firewood.  Maedhros, go upstairs and fetch dry clothes for Elros from the twins’ chamber and blankets for Elrond from the chest at the top of the stairs.  Hang several in front of the fire in the kitchen, and bring two up to my bedchamber.  Elrond is too cold, and he must be warmed quickly.”

 

Reluctantly, Elros headed for the shed, pausing once to watch as Maglor carried Elrond inside the house.  He took the leather firewood carrier off of its hook and filled it with as much wood as he could lift, then added a handful of kindling sticks.  He hauled the carrier into the house, and found Maedhros in the kitchen, setting blankets on chairs to warm before the fire.  Maedhros took a log and some kindling from the carrier and added them to the blaze.

 

“That should warm the blankets quickly,” he said.  “I will carry the rest of the wood upstairs to Maglor.”  He hung the soup kettle over the fire, and thrust a shirt, stockings, and a pair of trousers at Elros.  “Here.  Change out of your wet things and hang them up to dry.  Watch the soup, and when it is hot, ladle some into a bowl, and bring it up to Maglor’s chamber.  Can you do that?”

 

Elros nodded, and Maglor left, taking the wood with him.  Alone in the kitchen, Elros stripped off his clothes and rubbed at his hair with a kitchen towel.  He pulled on the dry clothes that Maedhros had given him, and realized that the stockings did not match, and the trousers were Elrond’s.  For some reason, this distressed him, and he choked a little.  He stirred the soup, and tried to concentrate on the fact that Elrond was safely back at home, and that Maglor was taking care of him.

 

Maedhros came downstairs a short time later to collect the warmed blankets.  Elros looked up from the soup.  “Is Elrond all right?” he asked.

 

“He is still very cold.  These blankets will help him.  What about the soup?”

 

“It is almost ready.”

 

“Good.  Bring it upstairs soon.”  Maedhros folded the blankets, and carried them away.

 

When the soup steamed, Elros wrapped his hand in a towel, as he had seen Maglor do, and removed the pot from the fire.  He put some soup into a bowl, found a spoon, and carefully carried it up the stairs, making sure not to spill a drop.  When he reached Maglor’s door, he nudged at it with his foot.  Maedhros opened the door, took the bowl from him, and brought it to Maglor.  Elros had a glimpse of Maglor hovering over Elrond, who was lying on a pillow by the fireplace, wrapped in blankets.  Then Maedhros returned, put his hand on Elros’s shoulder, and steered him away from the door and down the stairs.

 

They did not speak as they returned to the kitchen, where Maedhros prepared two more bowls of soup.  He made Elros sit at the kitchen table, and set one bowl in front of him.  “Eat that,” he said.  “I am sure you are hungry after all that has happened.”

 

Elros stirred his soup, and even managed to swallow a few spoonfuls.  He stared morosely at the chunks of meat and vegetables, and wished once again that he could start the day over. 

 

Maedhros ate half of his own soup, then looked at Elros.  “Elrond will be fine,” he said.  “Maglor will make sure that he is warm inside and out, and then put him to bed.  In a few days, Elrond will be running around as though this had never happened.”

 

That reassured Elros a little, and he ate a few more spoonfuls of soup.  He realized that he was, in fact, very hungry, for he had thrown his lunch at Maedhros instead of eating it.  He thought of the stain on the wall, and bowed his head in shame.  Maedhros regarded him in silence for a while, then spoke again.

 

“Some of the Secondborn have a custom, when their children have misbehaved, to strike them hard, many times, on their legs and bottoms.”

 

Elros looked up at that.  He was partially descended from Men.  He wondered if Maedhros planned to strike his legs and bottom.  If so, he guessed that he deserved it.

 

Maedhros met his gaze, his face stern.  “For myself, I think that is a savage custom, and I believe that Maglor thinks so as well.  It was certainly not part of our upbringing, nor that of any Elf that I know.  Since the first time I witnessed it, I was horrified that an adult would strike a child in the name of discipline.  However,” he added, “for the first time, I believe I can understand why someone might want to do so.”

 

Elros gulped.  “Are you going to strike me?”

 

Maedhros raised an eyebrow.  “Of course not.  It is a terrible custom.  My views on that have not changed.  Even if they had, Maglor is your guardian, not I, and any discipline you earn is his responsibility.  But I will say that I am extremely displeased with your behavior today.”

 

Elros hung his head again.  He could not think of an adequate reply, for Maedhros was right.  He had been beyond naughty, and Elrond had paid the price for that.  Thoroughly miserable, Elros resumed eating, though the rich soup tasted like water in his mouth.  Maedhros finished his own food, then took the bowl into the kitchen.  Elros choked down the last of the soup and followed him.

 

They washed the bowls in silence.  Maglor did not come downstairs, so Maedhros took the last of the soup upstairs for him, along with some bread.  When he returned, he directed Elros to a chair.  “Maglor asked me to keep you busy and inside the house for the rest of the afternoon,” he said.  He walked to the elaborately carved bookshelf, thought for a while, then selected a volume.  He flipped through the pages, then opened it to a particular point near the beginning, and set it in Elros’s lap.

 

“That is the story of the Darkening of the Two Trees and the death of High King Finwë, my grandfather.  Read it through, and then write a short composition on the response of Fëanor to Fingolfin’s offer of reconciliation.”

 

All through that long, silent afternoon, Elros read the story, and considered Fëanor’s distant response to his half-brother’s forgiveness.  Maedhros moved in and out of the main room, doing small chores, and occasionally going upstairs to look in on Maglor and Elrond.  Elros tried to concentrate on the story and on what he should write for his composition, but the details seemed as insubstantial as the mist that sometimes hung over the hay meadow in the mornings.  He thought Fëanor had been rude, and he felt sorry for Fingolfin, but he could not think of an adequate way to express that in writing.

 

At last, the shadows lengthened, and Maedhros came in from the stable, smelling comfortably of horses.  He lit two lanterns from the kitchen coals, and brought them into the main room.

 

“I have not finished my composition yet,” Elros admitted.  “I cannot think of what I want to write.”

 

Maedhros picked up Elros’s slate and examined the few lines he had written.  “This is adequate for tonight,” he said.  “You may finish it tomorrow morning.  But it has been a long day, and you are exhausted.  Go to bed, and sleep well.  Elrond will be all right.”

 

He handed one of the lanterns to Elros, and they climbed the stairs together.  Elros opened the door to his chamber to find it dark and empty.  “Where is Elrond?” he asked.

 

“Maglor will keep him in his chamber tonight,” Maedhros replied.  “He is slightly feverish, and Maglor wishes to be at his side until morning.”

 

“Oh.”  Elros set his lantern on the night table.  The bed looked enormous without Elrond to share it, and shadows flickered ominously on the wall.  He turned back to Maedhros, who was standing in the corridor, just outside the door.

 

“Good night, Uncle Maedhros,” he murmured.

 

“Good night, Elros.  I will see you in the morning.”

 

Maedhros closed the door, leaving Elros alone in the bedchamber.  Slowly, Elros undressed, draping his shirt and Elrond’s trousers carefully across the back of a chair.  He did not take off his mismatched stockings, but put his nightshirt on over them.  He would search for their proper mates in the morning.  Quickly, he washed his face and cleaned his teeth with the cold water in the pitcher, then crawled into bed and snuffed the lantern.  Usually, Elrond would snuggle against him as they wriggled to find comfortable positions.  But tonight, Elros had the bed to himself.  It was cold, and he curled up into a little ball underneath the quilts.

 

Although his door was closed, Elros could still hear noises from the corridor outside.  He heard Maedhros’s deliberate footsteps moving from the guest chamber down the hall to Maglor’s chamber opposite his own.  After a moment, he heard both Maedhros and Maglor come out into the corridor.  For a while, they talked together.  Elros could not make out what they said, but he could hear the low sounds of their voices.  He had almost drifted off to sleep when a strange, rough sound came from the corridor.  Elros opened his eyes and strained to hear what was going on.

 

Maedhros’s voice rumbled low and smooth, in familiar, soothing cadences.  Elros realized that Maglor was weeping.  It struck him that he was the cause of that.  A tear escaped from his eye, and rolled down his cheek before he could stop it.  He pulled the quilt over his head to muffle the sound of Maglor’s grief, and at last slipped off into dreams.

5.  As Little Might Be Thought

 

 

 

Elros woke the next morning when the sun shone on him through the window.  He stretched and squirmed, luxuriating in the warmth of the quilt.  It seemed to be much later than when he usually awoke, and he realized that this was because Maglor had not come to wake him.  Curious, he turned over to ask Elrond what he thought of the matter.  Elrond was not there.  Elros suddenly remembered the horror of the previous day, and all his joy in the morning settled down into a cold lump in his stomach.  He wished that he could go back to sleep, but it was no use.  He was awake now, and he would have to face the day.

 

He crawled out of bed, and straightened the bedding as best he could without Elrond to help him.  Then he went to the washstand, washed his face and hands, and dressed himself.  His stomach rumbled, and he remembered that he had gone to bed without supper, as he and Maedhros had both forgotten about it the night before.  He hoped that Maglor did not intend to make him go without breakfast this morning.  Taking a deep breath, Elros squared his shoulders, and left his bedchamber.

 

The door to Maglor’s chamber, across the corridor, was closed.  Elros knocked politely.  When he received no answer, he pushed it open just enough so that he could peer inside.  Maglor was not there.  Elrond lay in the middle of his bed, wrapped in blankets and sleeping soundly.  Elros stood and looked at Elrond for a while.  In the muted light, he could see scrapes and bruises on Elrond’s face.  His hands were tucked under the blanket, but Elros did not doubt that they were injured as well.  Silently, he closed the door, and went to the stairs.

 

He did not quite have the courage to go down, however, and instead, he sat on the top stair and peered down into the main room.  Maglor sat at the table, his head bowed over a half-eaten bowl of porridge and a cup of tea, so that Elros could not see his face.  Maedhros sat opposite him, looking weary.  He picked up the teapot and filled his cup, then sipped at it.

 

“Why did you tell them?” he asked.

 

Maglor looked up, though his face was still hidden from Elros.  “Because it is their story,” he said.  “And Elrond asked to hear it.”

 

Maedhros took a deep breath.  “Yes.  Forgive me.  As I know you, that should have been obvious.  I suppose that the better question would be:  what did you tell them?”

 

“I told them of the message you sent Elwing, her refusal to surrender the Silmaril, and our assault on Sirion.  I also told them of how I confronted Elwing in the tower, and of her fall from the window.  I could see that the tale disturbed the boys, so I finished by telling them a little of how I took them in afterwards.  I think that is what Elrond wanted to hear most of all.”

 

Maedhros nodded.  “I cannot fault him for that.  I still cannot see how Elros came by the idea that you intended to kill him and Elrond.”

 

“I will ask him, if he ever consents to speak to me again.”

 

Elros almost jumped up and ran down the stairs at that, but Maedhros’s next question made him sit very still.

 

“Tell me something first, before he rises.  As your brother, and as the head of this House, I ask you:  did you kill Elwing?”

 

Maglor sighed.  “It happened so fast, and it was so long ago – I do not know if I remember it correctly.  I pleaded with her to give me the jewel, and she refused.  I put my hand out, but I did not touch her.  I do not know why she fell, whether I startled her, or whether she –“

 

Elros must have made some noise then, for Maglor stopped speaking, and turned to look up.  His face was pale, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.  Still, he gave a wan smile when he located Elros.  Maedhros spotted him a moment later, and raised an eyebrow, but he did not seem nearly as angry as he had been the night before.

 

“Good morning, Elros,” Maglor said.  “Come downstairs.  Would you like some breakfast?  There is porridge, or I can scramble an egg for you.”

 

Elros rose to his feet, and slowly came downstairs.  He stood at the bottom, not quite sure what to do next.

 

“Is Elrond awake?” Maedhros asked.  “Does he need anything?”

 

Elros shook his head.  “He is still asleep,” he murmured.

 

Maglor nodded.  “I left a small bell with him when I came downstairs to start breakfast,” he said.  “If Elrond needs anything, he can ring it, and I will go to him.”

 

The wan little smile disappeared from Maglor’s face, and he suddenly looked weary.  Elros remembered the fear he had seen in Maglor as he carried Elrond back to the house, and how he had wept in the corridor after Elros had gone to bed.  Even though he had just woken up from a very sound sleep, Elros felt as weary as Maglor looked.  He wanted to stop being angry, but he did not know how to end a fight that had lasted for days on end.  “You did not come to wake me this morning,” he said.

 

“I know,” Maglor replied.  “Yesterday was so difficult for all of us that I thought you would be exhausted, and I decided to let you sleep until you woke on your own.”

 

To his surprise, relief washed through Elros.  “You did not forget me!” he cried, and he trotted over to the table, stopping just before he could throw his arms around Maglor.

 

Maglor seemed to understand what he wanted, however, and he pulled Elros close.  “How could I possibly forget you, Elros?” he said.  “You and Elrond have held my heart in your hands since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

 

Elros could not speak.  He put his arms around Maglor’s neck and held tightly, reveling in the knowledge that he had not destroyed his family after all.  For now, at least, he still had a home and an adult who would take care of him.

 

Maedhros reached out and touched Elros’s arm.  “You must be hungry,” he said.  “Shall I get you some porridge?”

 

“Yes, please!”

 

Maedhros brought him the porridge, drizzled with honey, and Elros ate happily.  His appetite had returned, and the porridge tasted delicious, better than it had in a long time.  He knew from experience that his difficulties were not yet over, and that there would be painful questions asked that day.  But right now, sitting next to Maglor and eating breakfast, that did not seem to matter so much.  Elros’s world was still intact, and he would face all the other problems as they came.

 

 

 

Maglor and Maedhros let Elros have his peace for much of the morning.  Maglor brought him a cup of weak tea, and left him in a sunny corner to finish his composition about Fëanor and Fingolfin.  The words came more easily than they had the night before.  Elros wrote far more than he expected about the difficulties of apologizing, how good forgiveness made someone feel, and how unhappy Fëanor must have been to snub Fingolfin’s offer of friendship.  When he finished his composition, Maedhros read it through, and then showed it to Maglor.  Maglor corrected some mistakes Elros had made in his spelling, but did not discuss the contents of the composition, as he often did.

 

“I am glad to have read this,” he said.  “It is good to see some of your thoughts on this subject.”

 

Just then, they heard a faint tinkling from upstairs, and Maglor went to tend to Elrond.  He was not gone very long before he came downstairs again, with Elrond at his side.  Elrond wore his nightshirt and one of Maglor’s large woolen shawls wrapped around his shoulders.  He walked carefully, but his cheeks were pink, and his eyes were bright and alert.  Elros had never been so happy to see anyone in his life, and he jumped up and ran to embrace his brother.  Maglor stopped him.

 

“Gently, Elros.  Elrond is still sore.”

 

So Elros gave Elrond a very gentle hug, and sat with him as Maglor brought bread and butter and tea.  Elrond looked nervously at his food, then glanced at Elros out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Are you and Maglor friends again, Elros?” he asked.

 

Elros chewed his lip.  “I think so,” he said.  “I am not so angry as before.  I think I will have to have a talking-to, though.”

 

Elrond nodded soberly.  “So will I.  But I think a talking-to will not be so bad now.”

 

“No.  It will not.”  Indeed, Elros found that he was almost looking forward to being scolded.  The scolding would not last forever, after all.  And now he could hope that, when it was over, everything would be as it had been before.  That thought almost made him smile as he watched Elrond eat his bread and butter.

 

 

 

After Elrond had finished eating, Maglor cleared the dishes away and washed them while he considered the conversation he would have to have with the boys.  The physical actions of washing the dishes soothed him, and he was glad of that.  Elrond and Elros were both still upset, and it would not do to talk to them if his own emotions were not under control.  Maglor acknowledged that he was both hurt and angry over recent events, but it would benefit no one if he indulged himself.

 

Instead, he focused his thoughts on the children.  He readily admitted that his decision to adopt them had not been at all rational or well-planned.  It had been an impulsive thing, born of grief and thwarted rage, but that did not diminish the depth or tenderness of his feelings for them.  With each lullaby he had sung, each grazed knee he had cleaned and bandaged, each goodnight kiss he had given and received, the twins had embedded themselves firmly in his heart.  They had given him a new sense of purpose in his life beyond the constraints of his Oath, and he feared that it would break him to lose the boys now.

 

Maglor returned the dishes to their cupboard and leaned forward, bracing his hands against the work table, his head bowed.  A great weight seemed to rest on his shoulders, and he wanted desperately to go back upstairs, curl up in his bed, and go to sleep.  Part of it, he knew, was simple physical weariness.  Even after he had made sure that Elrond was safe and warm, he had been too agitated to fall asleep.  Maedhros had given him what consolation he could, but Maglor had spent the night awake, lying on the bed next to Elrond, occasionally checking to reassure himself that the child was still breathing.

 

There was more to it than that, of course, but Maglor could not make sense of his confused thoughts about the matter.  He straightened, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.  Sooner or later, he must emerge from the kitchen, and he must be able to speak calmly and seriously to the boys, making sure they understood the severity of what they had done.  At that thought, he let out a low groan.  He could not force himself to begin such a scolding, not in the state he was currently in.

 

Maedhros appeared in the doorway, breaking Maglor’s concentration.  “Do you need help with the dishes?” he asked. 

 

Suddenly, Maglor had an idea of what he could do with Elrond and Elros.  He looked up, smoothed his hair, and smiled at Maedhros.  “No, thank you,” he said.  “I think it is time for a chat with the twins.”

 

 

 

Elrond and Elros were already sitting next to each other on the padded bench in the main room.  Their nearer hands were clasped together, and they wore identical expressions of shame and nervousness on their faces.  They did not take their eyes off of Maglor as he drew a chair around to sit before them.  Maedhros leaned against a wall.  Maglor regarded the twins in silence for a long moment.

 

Elrond squirmed.  “I am sorry that I fell in the river, Maglor,” he said.  “I was going to the hollow in the riverbank, where you can sit and play with the minnows.  Only it was not there when I went to look for it.  I did not mean to fall in, truly I did not.”

 

“Thank you, Elrond,” Maglor said.  “When the flooding goes down, I am going to take a look at the riverbank.  Clearly, the ground is not as stable as it looks.  If I cannot guarantee your safety, I may have to end your visits there until I can be reasonably certain that you would not come to harm.”

 

Elrond and Elros looked somewhat crestfallen, but not as much as Maglor expected.  That was good.  Maglor suspected that the accident had frightened both of them, and that they would not mind being kept away from the river for a while.  He turned his gaze to Elros.

 

Elros opened his mouth, but did not speak.  Finally, after searching for words, he hung his head.  His lip quavered, and his face screwed up.  “I was bad,” he murmured.  “I deserve to be struck very hard on my legs and bottom, like Maedhros said Men do with their children, but he said that you would not do that.  And, anyway, Elrond was not bad.  Are you going to scold just me, or are you going to scold Elrond, too?”

 

The corners of Maglor’s mouth turned up at Elros’s words.  “No,” he said.

 

Elros wrinkled his nose.  “So you are going to scold just me?”

 

“No.  I am not going to scold either one of you.”

 

The twins stared at him, both mouths open in shock.  Maglor gave them a mysterious little smile.  Maedhros caught his eye, and raised an eyebrow at him, but did not look especially displeased.  Elrond found his voice first.

 

“Why?” he asked.  “Have we not both earned a talking-to?”

 

Maglor shrugged.  “You have,” he admitted.  “But I do not feel like giving you a talking-to at the moment.  I would rather hear you talk while I listen.  What do you think about that?”

 

The twins looked at each other, then Elros glanced back at Maglor.  “What do you want us to talk about?”

 

Maglor leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.  “Talk about whatever is in your heart, Elros.  I will listen to you.”

 

Elros shrank down even more, squirming on the bench.  Elrond squeezed his hand in sympathy.  Maglor waited silently, neither prompting nor cajoling.  It would be difficult for Elros to move past his childish pride and the inertia of keeping his worries to himself, but he must do it with no help from Maglor.  The choice to speak must be Elros’s, and Elros’s alone.

 

Finally, Elros looked up at Maglor, his eyes shining with unshed tears.  “I was scared of you,” he confessed, in a tiny voice.  Maglor nodded.  He had guessed as much after Elros’s outburst the day before, but it was still disconcerting to hear Elros confirm it.

 

When he did not immediately scold or laugh at Elros for his confession, Elros straightened, and his voice became a little bit bolder.  Once the words started, they came out in a great rush.  “You told us about Sirion, and about how you and Maedhros attacked it, and I guess I knew some of that already, but I never really thought about it, and you talked about how Nana fell out the window, and I did not want my Nana to go away and leave me and Elrond behind, so I thought you had pushed her, and then I thought if you pushed Nana, you would push me and Elrond, and I was frightened, and I did not know what to do, and, and, and . . . “  Elros choked, and scrubbed his hand across his eyes.  Elrond wriggled even closer to Elros, and laid their heads together for comfort.

 

Maglor’s heart seized in his chest as Elros spoke.  He had known from the moment he had made the decision to take the twins with him that they would be entirely justified if they grew up and hated him for what he had done.  He had tried to steel his mind and accept that possibility even as his own love for them had deepened.  But it seemed that none of that discipline made any difference when faced with the reality of Elros’s words.

 

“Do not cry, Elros,” Elrond said.  “Maglor loves us, right, Maglor?  You took care of us, and you sang songs, and you mended our clothes, and you are going to make us a featherbed, and you would not do all that if you wanted to push us out the window, would you?”

 

“I thought maybe Nana had been bad, because she would not give you your father’s Silmaril back,” Elros added, “and that was why you attacked her, and maybe if I was bad, you would attack me, too, but it is so hard to be good all the time.”

 

Maglor remembered his own childhood mischief, and a smile crept across his face as he agreed with Elros’s observation.  Maedhros caught his eye and smiled as well. 

 

Elros sighed, and slumped forward a little.  “I am sorry,” he said quietly.  “I did not mean to be so naughty.  I was frightened, and then I was angry, and then I did not know how to stop being angry.”  Guilt, shame, and a tiny bit of hope were evident in his face.

 

Maglor regarded Elros solemnly.  “Elros,” he said at last, “your behavior these last few days has been by far the worst I have ever seen from you.  You have been secretive, rude, sullen, and combative, without rest or reprieve.  You have hurt and angered everyone in this room.  And yet,” he said, looking into Elros’s dejected eyes, “throughout all that, none of us ceased loving you.  We were angry, but we were also worried.  It was clear that something had happened to make you upset, and we wanted to discover that and soothe it, so that we could have our Elros happy again.”

 

“I thought I would never be happy again,” Elros admitted.  “After Elrond fell in the river, I was afraid that he would die, and it would be all my fault, and you would push me out a window or send me away, and I would never have a family again.”

 

Maglor smiled and shook his head.  “Elros, even if you do not live with your Ada and Nana, you still have a family, and it would take much more than a few days of bad behavior to destroy that.  You and Elrond are not my prisoners.  You should never fear that I will try to harm you or banish you.  I love you, Elros, with all that I am, and that will never change.”

 

Finally, Elros managed a real smile.  Maglor’s heart soared at the sight.  Elrond relaxed, and leaned against Elros, and Maedhros came to kneel down next to the boys.

 

“That was a courageous thing to do, Elros,” he said.  “It is never easy to admit that you have done wrong and to face the consequences.  But there is one more thing you must do to set things right.”

 

Elros took a deep breath.  “What is that?”

 

“You must apologize formally.  Though he has been gracious about it, you have wounded my younger brother deeply.  I do not like to see him hurt, and I ask that you apologize for doing that to him, and ask his forgiveness.”

 

Elros nodded, and turned to Maglor.  “I am sorry that I hurt you, Maglor,” he said.  “I made you feel bad, and I made me feel bad.  Will you forgive me?”

 

“Of course.”  Maglor smiled, and held out his arms.  Elros jumped off the bench and ran the few steps into the waiting embrace.  Maglor clasped Elros close to his chest, and thrilled to feel the child’s heart beating against his own.  After a moment, he opened one arm so that Elrond could come to him as well.  The twins were rapidly growing too big to be hugged together, but Maglor was not ready to give up that privilege, not yet.  For a moment, the thought of the two remaining Silmarils flickered through his mind, but he banished it immediately.  Fëanor’s obsession had already cost Maglor his mother, his wife, and his little brothers.  He would not allow his father’s fëa to reach out from Mandos and take away his last, best chance for a family.

 

Maedhros briefly clasped Maglor’s shoulder, then left to give him some privacy with the twins.  Gradually, Elros’s fierce hold on Maglor loosened.  Maglor gently eased Elros and Elrond back to the bench.  “You are both forgiven for your various deeds,” he said.  “However, that does not mean that there will be no consequences.”

 

The twins glanced at each other, then straightened, squaring their shoulders bravely.  “We can go without supper tonight,” Elrond volunteered.

 

Maglor suppressed a smile.  “No, Elrond.  That was not quite what I had in mind.”

 

“Then what will you do?” Elros asked.

 

Maglor raised an eyebrow at him.  “Elrond’s accident means that I must spend several days working down by the river.  I must test the ground to see how secure it is, and I will probably have to take the time to repair and extend the fences between the homestead and the river.  This will cost me a certain amount of liberty and time that I had planned to spend in composition.  Since I must bear this burden as a result of your actions, I will require that you share it with me.”

 

“What do you mean?” Elrond asked.

 

“Simply this.  I cannot go out and do the work along the riverbank alone.  You and your brother will come along and assist me.  I will not release you from lessons or chores.  This work will come out of your play time.  In addition, you are both forbidden from going near the river, unless you are accompanying me, until I decide otherwise.”

 

Elrond and Elros exchanged another glance, then nodded, chastened.  Maglor was pleased to see their acceptance of their punishment.  It spoke to their understanding of the part they had played in the whole unfortunate affair.  Perhaps, he thought, they were ready to comprehend the full story of their lives, all the complex, detailed motivations that had led to his decision to adopt the children of the woman in whose death he had participated.  It was a story that Maglor would have to tell with the utmost care and honesty, especially the parts where he himself was no longer certain of all the details.  The twins would be his most challenging audience yet, but Maglor found that he relished that challenge.

 

He smiled, to show the boys that life, even under punishment, could not possibly be as dreary as they currently imagined.  “It will not be so bad,” he said.  “If it would interest you, we might talk further about Sirion as we work on the fence.  Would you like that?”

 

“Oh, yes, please!” the twins chorused.

 

“Very well, but only on one condition.”  Maglor tried his best to look stern.  “If there is anything I tell you that you do not understand, you are to ask me about it first, before you become upset.  Have I made myself clear?”

 

Elros smiled, and even managed a little laugh.  “Yes, Maglor,” he said.  Then, as if making up for the days he had lost, he moved forward to lean against Maglor once more.  Maglor put an arm around Elros, and held him loosely.  Elros leaned his head against Maglor’s shoulder.

 

“I love you, Maglor,” he said.  At last, Maglor’s heart was at peace.

 

 

 

END

 

 

 

Afterword

 

 

 

Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story.  Maglor’s pity on and subsequent cherishing of Elrond and Elros is one of the more interesting psychological aspects of the Silmarillion, but one that the book, as an action-based tale, treats as a throwaway line.  I’ve seen many explanations of the love between Maglor and the twins, from pure Stockholm Syndrome to an equally uncomplicated parent-child bond.  I think the truth lies somewhere in between, and is much more complicated than any of the three people involved care to think too much about. 

 

There is a family here, but it is fragile, and its bonds must be renegotiated every few years as the twins grow older and wiser.  It does seem that Maglor did end up doing at least something right by the twins, as the Silmarillion, in its role as a history book, presents him in the most ambiguous and complicated light of any of the sons of Fëanor.

 

I am glad that so many people seemed to like this story, and I am grateful for all the responses to it.  I do have one request, though.  Either JastaElf or Jay of Lasgalen must come clean and tell me the name of the book they have been discussing here!  It sounds very intriguing.

 

Thanks once again for reading, and I will see you later.