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.