The Bloodline of Luthien

Elwing awoke to the aroma of baking bread and the sounds of their faithful servants bustling about, preparing for the morning meal. They made so much noise that it was a wonder that anyone got any sleep. She rose from her blankets and stretched, eyes still closed. She threw on a robe, the color of crimson, yawned, and dumped her face into the washbowl nearby. The water was cold, and she sputtered as she dried her face with a handkerchief. Then she awoke her brothers.
Elúrin had slept in the twins’ bed across from her own chamber, but little Elúred had slept nestled beside her that night. Whenever one had a nightmare or the other was frightened by a storm, they came to her. Sometimes neither of them could sleep for whatever reason, and so they both slipped in with her to listen to her tell tales or listen to her lullabies. Her bed was large enough to fit half a dozen people. Besides, she rather liked the feel of little arms about her and the smell of her brothers, the clean smell of little boy.
It was queer that Elúrin would be frightened of storms and Elúred of dreams. They looked alike in every aspect, and yet they were so different. They each had tumbles of dark curls and gray eyes. At five years old, they still had their baby roundness and button noses. They were very active children, and so they were slim, but she knew that they would both grow tall and strong. They dressed alike too, so only Elwing could tell which was which. Elúred had lost his first tooth, while Elúrin had a tiny scar beneath his chin from a dribble of scalding hot soup. Elúred liked tales of swords and warriors, Elúrin liked tales of wizards and animals. Elúred was a good swimmer, but Elúrin preferred tree climbing. Elúred liked honey cakes while Elúrin enjoyed blueberry tarts. Both were completely and utterly hers.
The twins complained loudly at being woken so early, but as soon as they scented fresh bread, they sprang out of their beds and hurried for the pantries.
“Elúrin! Elúred! Stop! You are running much too fast! Wait for me! Please? Stop! I said stop!”
But the boys ran with unflagging vigor as Elwing struggled to prevent them from causing some mishap or disaster. As the boys were about to open the doors to the kitchens, however, a woman sprang before them with lightning speed.
“Grand mamil,” the boys were apprehensive. They loved their grandmother and were in awe of her, but they feared a lecture. To stop it before it started, they quickly said, “Let us pass! We are so hungry!”
The woman hesitated, then said, “You two are always hungry. That is healthy for growing men, but it would be far more pleasant if the whole family could sit down to a meal. Besides, the servants are still working as speedily as they can to finish it. Wait until they are done, and then there shall be more food and a greater variety. Fetch the King and Queen instead. By the time you return with them, breakfast will be ready. I will save a honey cake and blueberry tart for you.”
The boys were relieved and flattered. She had called them growing men and not boys, and she had been reasonable and did not reprimand them. She had almost spoken to them as though they were her equals! They each gave her a kiss and set off after their parents as Elwing laughed. They did not see the look of pain on their grandmother’s face, but Elwing had noticed it.
“Thank you,” she said to Lúthien. “They would have gobbled everything within sight before anyone else could get a mouthful in. And the servants work so hard! Those two are quite a handful.”
“Yet you handle them well,” she answered. “You shall make a very good mother someday.”
“Perhaps so,” Elwing was flattered and a little embarrassed by the praise. “I hope that I do not have to raise twins like them, though. I would rather have one child at a time, not in pairs.“
Elwing smiled with amusement. She knew that she deeply loved her brothers and enjoyed nothing more than to make them laugh. Her mother seldom had time to spare to care for them, for she was a Queen and assumed her duties with all her vitality and dedication. Dior, their father, spent even less time with them. When he did he was teaching them such things as how royal children were to behave. They learned some kingcraft, but the people expected Elwing to become the next ruler, if it was even necessary. Dior had not chosen, as his mother did, to become a mortal. Elwing was the eldest child, and the Eldar did not require a leader to be a male. They had no preference. They knew maidens could just as easily rule in times of peace or war.
Elwing was the heir and learned kingcraft and often cared for the boys as though they were her sons and not her little brothers. She had changed their swaddling when they were infants and taught them much that they knew with the occasional help of nannies and the household servants. She was a little angry that her parents barely took charge of their own brood, but as she matured, she realized there could be no helping it. Her parents were busy. She was very proud of the twins, for they were growing so big already. Not very long ago they had been babes in her arms, one in each.
“My husband shall likely want sons, but I want to have a little girl.”
“Ah, every mother wishes that, I suppose,” Lúthien smiled. “I had myself a boy child and could not bear another. I conceived not even once after he was born. I was very happy at the way your father Dior turned out, but it might have been nice to have a little girl. I often wonder how Beren might have taken it if I had only had a girl child instead, but I am sure he would have loved her just as much. I was an only girl-child, and my father spoiled me. I am sure Beren would have been just like him with our daughter. Nimloth is lucky to have all of you. In truth, I am a little envious of my daughter-in-law that she was blessed with both boys and a girl.”
“I want a little girl so badly. She could carry on your line, grand mamil! Or would she, because the blood carries on through the father?”
“It matters not, Elwing,” Lúthien explained. “For Dior carries both your father’s and mine. The father starts life but the mother creates it and nurtures it. Whatever you have, boy or girl, you shall have, and you shall carry on my line. You are worthy of it, darling.”
Elwing looked into her grandmother’s face with all the love her heart was capable of. Lúthien was indeed the most beautiful maiden that was or that ever would be, and she was the sweetest, gentlest, wisest woman that the girl knew. She admired her, respected her, and even feared her a little. Her grandmother possessed an almost otherworldly aura about her, and Elwing was not ignorant of her lineage. Lúthien was nothing short of divine, and some of that same blood flowed in her veins. It was no secret that the people spoke of Dior and Nimloth only as the Lord and Lady of Doriath. Lúthien was their true Queen, and they worshiped her as they had worshiped her mother Melian the Maia, even though Beren and Lúthien dwelt in Tol Galen and had come to Doriath for a rare visit. They loved her even more so, for Lúthien was also one of them. They had watched her grow up and faced their own hardships when she set out with Beren her mortal lover upon the Quest for the Silmaril.
The past few months, however, Lúthien’s usual demeanor had changed. She was seldom seen in public. She spent less time with her grandchildren, who were her sun and sky. She was often shut away in her bower. The color drained from her face, and she was becoming more dispirited as the days passed by. She had even aged a little. Elwing was sure of it. She noticed that her hair was beginning to lose its luster, her eyes were duller, and dark circles had appeared beneath them. It was whispered that the Nauglamir caused her illness, for it was said to have been cursed many times over by the Dwarf-folk, by the Worm Glaurung and by Húrin. The people tried to guess what the malady was in concerned whispers. The family prayed for her. Even Beren was concerned for her health and flabbergasted that his wife was ailing. Lúthien would give no explanation for it. She seemed to be just as puzzled as everyone else.
“Is grand tatanya awake yet?” Elwing asked.
“No, not yet.”
“You should wake him or he shall get nothing to eat!”
“We shall not take a breakfast this morning.”
“Oh,” Elwing was disappointed. She had been helping in the kitchens last night to prepare for the meal and had wanted her grandmother to partake. “Are you feeling ill?”
“Very,” Lúthien struggled to get the word out.
“That is all right. I shall tell mother and father that you and grand tatanya are retiring for the day.”
“Before you go, here are the treats I promised those little ruffians.”
Elwing went to oversee the cooking. Lúthien returned to her bower where Beren lay still in bed. He had aged somewhat over the years. There were stray hairs of gray hue amongst the black, and there were several wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but Lúthien was not repulsed by it. In fact, it made him seem all the more beautiful to her. Gray hair was not even a matter of ageing for her. Her father had had fine silver hair, and he was one of the Eldar and never aged. The wrinkles were barely noticeable, and made him seem wiser-looking. Even though he had aged, Beren was still the same man she loved. His looks alone were not what had moved her those many years ago.
As for Lúthien, she need not look into a mirror or a pool to know that she too had changed. She knew that she had aged and had no desire to watch her youth and vigor drain from her until she became at last a toothless old crone. She was far from that point yet, but the fact that she had aged at all was not lost on anyone, especially herself. She had felt that the past few years were like countless centuries, and she felt them as a mortal woman. She was disgusted by her ageing body and feared that Beren would be revolted by it. It was a natural thing to fear, but very foolish. Beren noticed but loved her no less. He had made his own sacrifice to prove his love for her.
Her diminishing beauty and rapid aging was one of the hardest ordeals that Lúthien had had to face because of her choice, and she had not yet even sprouted a gray hair. It was not the worst of her ordeals, but she still did not regret her choice.
She leaned over her husband and whispered his name. His eyes fluttered open.
“My lovely wife,” he said with a smile.
Lúthien winced. She still found it difficult to believe sometimes that he still thought her beautiful. Beren sighed with exasperation and looked at her with love and pity.
“Are you feeling better?”
Her face darkened, and she sat beside him upon the bed. “I am afraid not, Beren. I have been feeling faint and weak. I could not sleep, and I sweated blood last night... I do not know what is happening to me.”
He wrapped his arms about her and tried to soothe her, but she rose and began gathering her things.
“We must leave now.”
“Is it that bad?”
She nodded and forced a smile, “I know that my time is coming, but I am glad of it. I do not want to live forever, and if we remain here, eventually, we shall become entangled in the woes of Men and Elves yet again. I am weary, Beren. I am weary of the world and weary of myself.“
“Very well. I am growing weary also. Though my time upon this earth was short, I believe I have done it my share. We shall go home to Tol Galen, Land of the Dead that live.“
“I have never heard you call it that.“
“So it shall be soon. It shall be our resting place, where we built our home, and bore our son and reared him. It is a fitting place.“
“It shall be so.”
“And what of our children? What shall become of them? Do you still have the foresight you did in our youth?” Beren asked.
Her face became grim and she said, “Before she departed, my mother prophesized that our line should never fail, but I know now that it cannot be protected from sorrow. All my hopes now rest upon Elwing.”
“What of the boys? I am quite fond of them, as are you, I know. Elúrin and Elúred are healthy and strong. They shall find wives of their own and bear children. At least one of them will. Won’t they?”
Lúthien sighed and shook her head, “I have looked upon the stars and searched my heart, Beren, and of their fate, nothing has been revealed to me. Perhaps it is better that we never know.”
“That is a shame.”
Then Lúthien wept and cried, “I would that we could remain and save our children from all perils and grief. I would not have them suffer as we did! It is the wish of every mother. But now I know that it cannot be so. Even if we were immortal, we would never be invincible or could ever alter the fates of our children. We have no right to do so, and if they all live in misery, so be it. We can do nothing but give them life, a memory of happier days, and a hope for their own future. Say your farewells to the children, if you will. I could not bear to look upon them once I had made my decision, nor upon our son and his wife. We shall meet them soon enough, perhaps.”
“No,” Beren said. “It cannot be helped. “If we went to our son to tell him farewell, he would beg us to stay, and I would not have the heart to refuse him. As for our beloved grandchildren... It would be just too difficult. And how could we explain? I cannot do it.“
“It is better than remaining here until we are ancient as Hirilorn and senseless as a dumb beast or dead. I wish no further distress to our family.“
“But you speak of them all as though they have some horrible doom upon their heads.”
Lúthien was silent.
“You still possess the foresight,” Beren knew it for certain now. “You said that you had lost the ability! You lied to me!“
“I renounced it!“ Lúthien defended herself and was hurt at the accusation. “I thought myself incapable of it, but it still comes upon me at unawares, in dreams or while I am in the proper state. I tried to force it to leave me, but it was too strong. My premonitions were about my loved ones. I could not block them out, especially when I am around them. Then it haunts me even as I am awake and looking upon my children. Such a thing can never abandon me. It is part of me, and I had forgotten it.”
“And you know what is to become of our family and will not say, nor even tell me of it. It is this sickness of the heart, knowing and unable to do anything and not a disease or some curse that the Nauglamir has wrought upon you that has caused you to be ill! And you want to leave so soon because you do not want to witness it.”
“Can you blame me!?” she hissed, and Beren was surprised. They rarely spoke harshly to each other, even when domestic disputes plagued them. “Do you wish to remain here and see what fate has in store for our family? If you wish to do so, you may, and I shall go alone into the forests and die waiting for you.”
“Never!” Beren clutched her fiercely. “I will never be parted from you again! But I must ask you, does the Silmaril have anything to do with our children’s suffering? Should we not take it with us?”
“We cannot, Beren. Where would we take it? We cannot take it with us where we are going. Then the Silmaril would fall into the wrong hands. We must leave it here, Beren. When it is time, we shall give it to our son.”
*******
Celegorm, high prince of the Noldor, third of the seven Sons of Fëanor, had heard a great deal concerning the deeds of Lúthien and Beren. His brother Meadhros was inspired by the feat of recapturing the Silmaril, well-nigh pick-pocketing Morgoth upon his dark throne in his full majesty. The eldest of the Seven Sons was filled with hope and believed again that Morgoth was not unassailable. Celegorm, however, felt the opposite. Beren and Lúthien’s deeds were chronicled in the Tale of the Quest for the Silmaril and the Tale of the Nauglamir. He had lived for more than four thousand years, and that is indeed a long time to sin. He had never felt remorse over any of his transgressions, save for the charges he had against Lúthien and Beren.
During the Quest, Celegorm had abducted the once naïve Lúthien Tinúviel in order to save her from the wrath of Morgoth, of which she was flying into obliviously, to save Beren her mortal lover. Celegorm had also been enamored of her beauty, for Lúthien was a comely girl indeed. She was revered as the fairest of Men and Elves. Finrod had decided to aid Beren. The two would perish, and then Celegorm could seize his throne. He had planned to make Lúthien his bride, and thus the political power they might gain from their union would have been enough to merge the Eldar into one people again. So Celegorm committed a grievous sin. He made a spurious promise to assist Lúthien, and when they had traveled into the wild land Nivrim, he and his brother Curufin had held her fast and took away her enchanted cloak. Then they brought her to Nargothrond and held her there as their captive.
She only despised Celegorm for his betrayal and escaped. He pursued her and might have slain Beren out of malice and envy, but he failed to do so, and the couple disgraced him and sent him on his way, sparing him and his brother from death. Lúthien would not permit bloodshed, and he was grateful for her mercy. Then the lovers continued their quest and won the Silmaril. It was a deed beyond belief, and they would never be forgotten for it. Lúthien became mortal, though she was an Elf, binding herself to Beren. Celegorm‘s hopes were utterly foiled and his heart broken.
But that was only the beginning. Celegorm had to face his own people next. He and his brother were accused of treachery and expelled from Nargothrond. He could not return to Himlad, his own land, burnt and defiled long before in war, so he and Curufin journeyed to dwell with their eldest brothers Meadhros and Maglor in Hithlum. There he had lived in great loneliness and undying shame. He had loved Lúthien and repented of the sins he had committed, and he could not seek her forgiveness.
Thirty years passed. The beloved city Nargothrond had been destroyed. Not only had the Enemy ravaged the city and slaughtered all of the soldiers that defended it unmercifully, but they also herded out the women, young lads and maids. When there was a desperate attempt to rescue the prisoners, it quickly became a tragic fiasco. Their captors turned on the prisoners and slew them all. They started with the women first, and the men that remained, chained and bound together, could only look on and scream in anguish as their wives and daughters were stood in a line and their throats were slashed. The Battle of Unnumbered Tears had begun. The Elves would be converted into thralls and the race of Man would be nullified. There was no divine intervention to prevent the bloodshed. The Valar seemed to have forgotten them all, the faithful as well as the unrighteous.
Doriath was not spared of the growing darkness either. Thingol pined so for his daughter that he wanted the Silmaril bound into a necklace so that he could have it near his heart always. The Dwarves he hired to do the deed lusted for the jewel and slew him in his own treasury. Then they sacked the rest of the city. Melian abandoned the realm, and the Girdle that once protected it was gone. The Enemy moved in, and it seemed that all would be lost. But Beren and Lúthien appeared with an army of Laquendi Elves and the strange creatures called Ents. The Silmaril was reclaimed, and Lúthien wore the Nauglamir about her neck. The Enemy was driven out and Lúthien and Beren’s son Dior took up the throne and the task of rebuilding Doriath.
After so much toil, the couple returned to their land and rebuilt their home. They then ceased to meddle in the affairs of Elves or Men. Beren and Lúthien were Lord and Lady of Tol Galen, and their secret kingdom was filled with the divine light of the Silmaril, making it as a foreshowing of the gardens of heaven. None dared to go near that land. Those that wished evil feared it, and the curious were circumspect about it. Lúthien herself had become queenly and mighty so that none dared to oppose her.
Lúthien bore a Silmaril, and Celegorm’s oath required that he reclaim it, despite aught else. If he had not fallen for the maiden, he should have done his duty and killed her for it and all those that might possess the Silmaril. As the exiled prince slept, he dreamed of the Silmarils. He imagined those still captive lying in the dark caverns of Angband, Morgoth’s hand upon them, his skin unaffected by the touch. Then he saw the third Silmaril, and it lay in the open palm of a woman. Slowly, Celegorm realized who the woman was. Desire came over him to see Lúthien again that was overpowering, and the less spellbound part of him said: There is a Silmaril burning away in Tol Galen. You swore an oath, and you cannot allow your emotions to break it.
The Sons of Fëanor felt the oath awaken from its long slumber, and they gathered together in Himring without need of a messenger. They felt the call in their bones, and arrived at the same moment in answer to that call to debate what they should do. Meadhros ordered his servants not to disturb the Council, and so the room was dim and empty. The fire from the hearth that had been lit early that morning was little more than ash. The remaining embers was the only source of light, save for several candles. The brothers took their places in a ring, sitting upon large wooden chairs decorated with their family emblem, one that had already become infamous in the history of the Eldar: A single star with many rays. This had been the first time that the seven brothers had reunited for many years, but there was no jesting or warm welcomes. Each was grave and prepared for a long night of council, for they all had their own thoughts and notions about what should be done. Some had already fixed their minds to following through with the inevitable, but others had learned from their mistakes and were loath to be as impetuous as they had been previously.
Maglor did not like the look in his brothers’ eyes. They were ready to spill blood for their cause. They had spilled blood before and would not hesitate to do so again. Even Maglor had done so, and he had a terrible throe remembering it. He intended to fight tooth and nail against violence, although his brothers never took him seriously because he was ‘only a bard’, a minstrel. Ordinarily, bards were shown as much respect as warriors, sometimes even more so, but their father had been a smith and a very war-like king. He had always scoffed at Maglor when he was a child because he was often in Lórien strumming his harp. Fëanor had always favored Celegorm. Maglor was not the eldest brother either. He was only the second born and had not the right to decide. Meadhros was the first-born and would ultimately approve of the final choice.
As Maglor sat in his chair to the right of Meadhros, a supposedly honorable place, he felt very unsettled. His brothers sat in their chairs, their faces, which were fair elfish faces, looked grim and seemed to glow strangely in the candlelight. Their eyes were keen and hard, and there was a look of resolution and expectancy in each of their faces. It not only unsettled Maglor, it terrified him. He felt as though he were sitting at a council of war.
Meadhros, being the firstborn and ‘natural leader’ of the Seven Sons, spoke first, “My beloved brothers, you have all gathered here in my home tonight, but this was certainly not my doing. Strange that Caranthir and the twins would have the sudden desire to seek my counsel. Now the Seven are united again. How often do we assemble together like this? That is proof enough that the Oath of Fëanor is at work again, and we must take action. It has slept for far too long. Therefore, there shall be no kind words or good cheer here. We are all called here together for a purpose. We must decide what is to be done about it.”
“A Silmaril burns away in Ossiriand,” Celegorm said. “It is being withheld from us in Tol Galen by Beren Camlost, an insolent mortal-“
“A very noble and worthy man. Who upon this earth has earned the jewel more?” Maglor interrupted with rage. “We have stood by and waited yes, but did Beren not die and return from the dead because of it? Is it not then conceivable that he has a small claim to it? Mandos himself was the one that allowed his soul to go forth from his halls and live again!”
Celegorm only stared. Maglor looked at each of his brothers for support, but they wore the same expression. Then Caranthir spoke, and Maglor cringed, for he never had anything good to say.
“You not only forget the extensive intervals of waiting and the hard labors of the years, the curses thrust upon our names, the sacrifices we were forced to make, but you also fail to remember that we swore an oath that we would pursue those that refuse us our birthright even if it means damnation!”
“That is no excuse to sack and rampage all those in our path regardless of whether they are innocent or not! I do not care if I condemn myself, but I do not want to cause others to suffer or bring any of my good servants to hell with me!”
“Maglor!” Meadhros said hastily to prevent any unwanted altercation. “We called the everlasting darkness upon ourselves if we were to break that oath! Do not be self-righteous now!”
“Maglor is only a craven and cannot bear to fight simply because he is afraid to die,” Celegorm said. “He has too gentle a spirit. His hands are more often upon the harp-string than that of the bowstring. He has always been the black sheep, the jester, the fool.”
The brothers were silent as Celegorm and Maglor surveyed one another. They knew that once these two’s morals clashed, there was no stopping them from renting their rage. They had always been rivals, even when they were very young. Celegorm was the egotistic warrior, Maglor the tranquil scholar. They quarreled about everything, and since Celegorm had the thing that Maglor lacked, brute strength, he usually won those arguments with his fist.
Maglor pierced Celegorm with his gaze and answered his challenge, unafraid. “I value certain things that so many others take for granted, despite their lineage and principles of youth. If you say that I am weak for valuing life that should last, then yes, I am so. I do not seek power or shiny jewels, and if there were a life worth the taking, it would be yours. I would be glad to take it and rid the world of an oppressor and a tyrant.”
“Ah,” Celegorm said with the greatest mockery, “sure you may kill me, but then you will go and sing about it afterwards!”
Celegorm had said this to intentionally provoke the minstrel, but Maglor was of easy temperament. Instead of attacking Celegorm, as he in no doubt desired, he smiled grimly and did not answer with physical force but with civilized words.
“Our oath requires us to aid each other in all things,” he said quietly, “although I cannot think of a time that you ever helped me. You only seemed to hinder me. Let us be friends, for that we never were as children.”
“And that we never shall be!” Celegorm snapped.
“I thought we were called to a parley, not to fling petty insults at each other,” Curufin spoke.
“We could try to persuade Beren to give us the Silmaril,” Amrod, one of the twins suggested.
“Yes,” Amras said in accord. “We gave King Thingol fair warning long before we thought of resorting to violence.”
Maglor wanted to kiss the two of them. The twins rectified any flaw to their character with quick wits, and they were very adept at sporadic discourse. Maglor was very grateful for their words. Meadhros usually ignored what they said because they were the youngest and least seasoned in politics, but he knitted his eyebrows, giving serious thought to their words.
“But how would that avail us?” Curufin asked. “Thingol answered nay twice, and before he could give his final answer, he was assassinated. I doubt it shall be any different with his daughter.”
“And they will deny us, if I know anything about Beren and Lúthien,” Celegorm added quietly.
“Yes. It is Lúthien that bears the Silmaril,” Maglor reminded him. “Not Beren. According to the tales, a mortal cannot even touch such a holy icon, but he did. He cut it from the Iron Crown unscathed, and that was before he had been brought back from the dead by Heaven’s will. And what of Lúthien? She was offered to become a Maia and dwell with the Valar in the Blessed Realm. I doubt anyone could harm her. We all became enamored of her.”
He turned to Celegorm and saw that his face had darkened at the mention of Lúthien. Maglor noticed this and laughed.
“We all know that you love her more deeply than us all,” he said in the same mocking tone Celegorm had used against him. “You know she is Beren’s wife and mortal now. No one can rectify her chosen fate. Not only that, she loves you not at all! Would you dare slay her despite all the other pains you have caused her? You would only be adding to your transgressions, and this would be a most vile sin!”
Celegorm rose in wrath, but Meadhros finally rose and put himself before his brothers.
“You may go to Doriath and persuade the couple to hand over the Silmaril.”
“Why Celegorm!?” Maglor cried. “Despite their history and his deteriorating good sense, you would still send him to negotiate with the pair? Are you mad! Beren does not trust him! He tried to kill him and force his wife into wedlock! The list goes on! I gained their trust once. Send me!”
“No. Not you. You are one of the Sons of Fëanor same as all of us, and they bear no love for that name and those of his line. What difference does it make?”
“Then what shall I do, Meadhros,” Celegorm asked, “when they refuse? They are resolute in their ways. Do you advise me to stand and cheer and applaud when they deny me?”
“Very well,” Meadhros consented. “Use force if all else fails, but only if all else fails! Beg, kiss their feet, settle old scores if you must! We do not need innocent blood upon our hands!”
“You shall not go alone,” Curufin said. “I shall come with you.”
“And I,” Caranthir said grimly. “You will likely need our troops.”
“Use force if all else fails,” Maglor scoffed. “Are they really so expendable? What about their family and their servants?”
“If they refuse, all must be put to the sword.”
******
The twins had been quite a nuisance that morning. They wreaked havoc in the Caves until Nimloth summoned Elwing and harangued her for allowing her brothers to run wild.
“Elwing, you must look after your brothers,“ Nimloth began with a frown upon her face. “If you cannot look after two young boys how can you be expected to rule a kingdom one day? An unfinished one at that?“
“My queen,“ Elwing was annoyed. “Why cannot the boys’ nannies watch them? They are old enough now that they should not even need such governing.“
“Few can be spared from the construction,“ her mother said firmly. “My hand-maids are exhausted, and Elúrin and Elúred need such guidance. The boys have been flitting about in the damaged areas of the Caves. The servants have their duties, and our people are working hard to repair the damage done by the Naugrim. The children could be hurt. Take them away from here. Take my father Kúvion with you, if you so desire, but I will hold you responsible if anything should happen.“
“But, mamil, it should not be my responsibility always to watch over them! Can you not do it? Or father?”
“Elwing, we are far too occupied! It is a very simple request! Why can you not obey?”
“Darling, our daughter is right,” Dior said. “I shall send your father Kúvion in my stead to serve in the council today. He was always a stout fellow and will keep the builders in check. I will watch the boys then. Is that acceptable, Elwing?”
Elwing nodded, but she was irritated. Once again, she wished that the queen could set her duties aside for one day and be a mother to her children. The boys were becoming so stubborn and rambunctious that even she had trouble keeping them under control. But she was grateful to her father.
Elwing sent her two brothers into the forest of Neldoreth and watched them from afar. She had them away from the Caves. She cared little now what they did. She was anxious about her father’s promise. The council often did not adjourn until very late in the evening. She was hoping he would come after noon. She wanted to be in the Caves, talking with her friends and dreaming of her future husband.
Meanwhile, the twins wasted no time to amuse themselves. Elúred, the elder twin, was trying to catch doves. Tiring of his futile attempts, he turned on Elúrin. They were engaged in fierce combat when a rider clothed all in black rode up beside him on his powerful stallion. Without warning, he snatched the child up with one hand and set him before him on his steed. The child let out a squeak of alarm, and Elúred sprang to his feet and let out a cry for help. Curufin seized him as well, but none too gently.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the boys demanded.
“We seek the Lady of Doriath and her consort!” Caranthir answered.
“You mean our mother and our father?”
“These must be some of Dior’s brats! So the tainted spawn dares to name himself King in Doriath when he is only Half-Elf?” Celegorm hissed. “Thingol’s line is no more! Instead the Sindar are ruled by half-bred children fathered by Man!”
His words confirmed to the boys that this was an enemy. The boys’ cries rang in the air, and they had not been wandering far from home unwarily, nor were they unguarded. A figure in red velvet with a small escort of soldiers appeared before the brothers, riding upon a graceful mare.
“Who are you?” came a young girl’s voice, “and just what do you think you are doing with these boys?”
“I am Celegorm, prince of the Noldor!” he answered. “I have come seeking the Lord and Lady of Tol Galen, hearing word that they had come to visit their descendants in Doriath.”
The girl tossed back her hood and Celegorm started. Then the brothers stared at her in wonder. They thought at first that she was Lúthien herself, for the girl looked so much like her. She possessed the same, twilit eyes, shadowy dark hair and shining skin. She also had the same bearing and manner about her, and she stood proud and straight and spoke with a fiery tongue. But at a second glance, Celegorm realized that she was shorter than Lúthien, with dark brown hair rather than raven black. It appeared darker in the wrong light. She was more of a pretty youth than a great beauty as her grandmother was, and she favored the color red. Lúthien had always been fond of blue.
“Unhand them!” she commanded. “I am Elwing, daughter of Dior Aranel and Nimloth of Doriath, granddaughter of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Camlost! I know very well who you are, and do not expect to be able to toy with me. You shall be dead before you can harm a hair on their heads!”
The escort, seven archers, raised their bows. Caranthir strode his horse towards her, testing her resolve. The archers bent their strings, but Elwing voiced a command for them to hold. She pulled on the reins of her mare and the little horse bit Caranthir’s mount, a large black stallion. He would not take a step nearer, though the mare was a slender thing.
“That goes for you also, brute,” the girl said sternly.
“We have our own men at hand,“ Celegorm said. “But there is no need for any violence yet. That is the last thing that we want. Our quarrel is not with children. Tell me, where is Lúthien?”
“I shall say nothing with you holding my brothers captive,” Elwing replied. “That is a provocation if I ever saw one.”
Celegorm set Elúrin down carefully, but Curufin snickered and flung the other child from him precariously. They both ran into their sister’s arms.
“Are you hurt?” she asked in paternal manner.
“No,” they answered, but the two were apparently shaken.
Elwing turned to the brothers with intense dislike.
“You are not welcome in this place. I am surprised that you even managed to get here.“
“That is because there are too few wardens where there once was a battalion, and the Girdle of Melian is no more. It has become quite easy to expose this ‘Hidden Kingdom’. It is vulnerable to attack. I would expect nothing more from a king that is half-man.“
“Do not forget that the blood of Melian the Maia is also in my father’s veins! Half-man indeed! Now you must leave before I set these soldiers upon you!” Elwing warned.
“Elwing,” Dior stepped beside her. “Enough.”
“Dior,” Curufin flaunted an unauthentic smile. “You have grown exceedingly since we last saw you. Like your father, you too have interbred with one of our women, though you are only Half-Elf. Speaking of your father, where is he?”
“Even if we knew where he was, we would never tell you!” Elwing burst out.
“Elwing, lead your brothers to the Caves.”
“I have no intention of leaving you alone with these three, father.”
“Do as I say!” Dior said fiercely.
Elwing cast the brothers a dark glance and hesitated to leave, but she obeyed. She took Elúred and Elúrin by the hand and led them away. As she went, Celegorm’s eyes followed her intently.
******
“What was said?” Elwing asked that night when her brothers were safely tucked in their beds. “Are they demanding the usual with their dignity and manners of old?”
“I told them Beren and Lúthien are gone. Then they asked for the jewel, warning me that they would kill us all if need drove them. I ordered them off my land, but I know that they may attempt to carry out their threat. I have prepared our host, but it shall be as nothing compared to theirs, if they should attack.”
“Where are Beren and Lúthien? We need them now!”
“Yes,” Nimloth chimed in. “They would certainly know what to do if they were here.”
Dior paced in nervous silence.
“Husband, what has happened? Where are your mother and father? They returned to Tol Galen, correct?”
“Well, yes,” he consented at last. “At least, I thought they had.”
“Father, what has happened?” Elwing demanded. “We know something has happened.”
Dior sighed then nodded. “Several days ago, a messenger came to Doriath from Tol Galen. He handed me a silver box. Inside was the Silmaril, as well as Angrist and the ring of Barahir. Lúthien and Beren are dead.”
There was a long silence.
“What hope have we without them?” Elwing cried. “And Celegorm-“
“You are too young to be meddling in political affairs. These matters concern your mother and I,” Dior told her.
Elwing was royally offended. She had thought that she was the heiress of the throne. These matters should concern her, and she was no child. Dior kissed her brow and she smiled weakly.
“Sleep now, Star-spray. Your brothers were asleep hours ago. I trust that you can tuck yourself in, my little one?”
Elwing frowned, hating to be babied, then nodded in submission. She was more exhausted than she had realized. Then Dior had a sudden change of heart.
“Elwing, your mother and I shall prepare you for bed. Come.“
She was shocked. Her parents had not done this for her since she was four years old, but she allowed this odd procedure to continue.
“Your mother and I love you and your brothers the same, and we are very grateful that you have been so responsible with them. You have taken good care of them. We love you very much. Please understand that.“
“Of course I do,“ she moaned, feeling sleep crawling up her toes and into her eyes. “I love you too.“
“Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always,” her mother said.
As she slept, Dior fastened the Nauglamir about her neck and concealed it inside her mantle. Then he and his wife stood over their children, watching them for the longest time before they went to bed.
******
Elwing had little trouble falling asleep, but she had disturbing dreams. She dreamed of her grandparents. Elwing realized that she was looking through Lúthien‘s eyes. The wounded Beren was before her on a bier of branches. He was coughing up blood, and even Elwing knew what that heralded. Beren was dying, and suddenly, tears overwhelmed her. She felt a great feeling of anguish and desolation all at once. The gloom was so horrible that she felt she could never be happy again. Then she heard her grandmother’s voice.
“It will be painful, dear one. I felt such grief, but you must trust me that everything will be all right. You must prepare for a rebirth. A fiery spirit such as yours must be bathed in blood before it draws its first breath.”
The next moment, she was herself again, and her grandparents had vanished. She wandered in search of them, like a little lost child or as one that had been enchanted with a spell of forgetfulness. After searching for what seemed to be ages, she found someone she knew at long last. It was not Lúthien and Beren, but her little brothers playing upon the hill of Amon Siren. For some strange reason, she felt a powerful wave of relief sweep over her. Never before had the faces of her brothers seemed so dear to her.
“Elwing!“ they cried. “Elwing!“
They were rolling about in the grass when they stumbled upon something and became very excited. Elwing dismissed it as a mere gopher hole, but she became strangely curious when they squealed and suddenly fell into an awed silence.
“What have you found?” she asked cheerfully.
“It is so beautiful!” Elúrin cried.
Stooping, Elwing saw that it was the Silmaril and gasped.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“On the ground!”
“You must put it back at once!“
“Why? What is wrong?“
“Because it is dangerous!”
“Sister, look behind you!” Elúred pointed.
She turned about to find herself in a ring of spears. She heard screams and felt the chill of cold steel at her throat.
******
Startled awake, Elwing found that the last part of her dream was a reality. She gasped and many hands went to cover her mouth.
“No sounds,” said a cruel voice in her ear. “Lie still!”
Elwing was taken aback, for her captors were Elves, not Orcs. She looked closely and saw that they wore none other than the mark of Fëanor upon their black mail: A single star with many rays. Rage was inflamed in her as an unquenchable fire at the sight of it, but she obeyed out of horror and amaze. Seeing this, the Elves removed the restrain from her lips. There passed a long silence, and Elwing feared to move or breathe too heavily. If she moved, her captors followed her movements with sharp, menacing eyes and held her gaze for a while afterwards. They were awaiting orders.
Elwing clasped her arms about her knees.
“Where are my brothers?” she ventured to ask. “What have you done with them? They are just little boys!”
“I would not worry about them. They are with their own guards,” answered one of the Elves, glaring at her as though she had done some unforgivable thing by speaking. “No more talking.”
“Are you here to kidnap us to subdue my father to your will, or have you come only to pillage and murder?”
The Elf pinned her down on her bed and lay on top of her, covering her mouth with one hand and raising a cold blade in his other. Elwing let out a muffled cry. The Elf interpreted the cry as the word father.
“Your father is a traitor and a fool,” he hissed venomously. “You are the daughter of a traitor, and since you are our prisoner, you are also mine for the taking! I know what will silence you!”
He moved the knife and pricked the skin upon her thigh.
“Stop!” the others whispered urgently. “She is only fifteen! We do not want any trouble!”
“I care not for our Master’s wrath! He shall only kill her anyway! Why can I not use her body first?”
Elwing’s eyes were wide with fright at these words, but she was helpless. It was then that some command was given. The Elf took her by the throat and lifted her from her bed. They bound her hands and hastily led her forth from her room.
Elwing had been wondering exactly how Celegorm’s servants could have found their way around in the Caves. There were countless tunnels and chambers, but they knew the ways out into open air and sunshine. She blinked and started at the sudden light. Then she saw her brothers.
“Elwing! Elwing!” they screamed for her, fighting their own captors wildly. Two boys are cumbersome indeed.
“Elúrin! Elúred! Don’t let them take you anywhere!“
But their legs were bound, and the Elf with the cold blade elbowed Elwing in the stomach to silence her. Then they tied a rope about Elwing’s neck and led her like a show-horse. He found it very amusing and laughed as though it were a capital joke. Her brothers were being carried like sacks.
Elwing bit down on her tongue until blood filled her mouth. She stumbled and cut her feet upon stones, for she walked barefoot, and the winter air chilled her. She wore only a little white nightgown. She was humiliated, for her nightgown was a little revealing, and the Elf, her driver, fingered his blade thoughtfully as he led her along. She noticed he had twelve different killing tools upon his baldric and shuddered.
They finally halted at the hill of Amon Siren. Elwing was not alarmed or even surprised. She had been forewarned of this hill in her dreams. Perhaps Beren and Lúthien had sent them? Well, if they had, their intentions were good, but the timing was evil. At least Elwing was a little more prepared for what she was about to see.
Upon the hill, Nimloth and Dior stood amid-most a ring of Elves. Celegorm was there, dry blood soiled his fine clothes, and his brothers Curufin and Caranthir lay dead at his feet.
There was a heavy stillness, filled only with the drone of anger from these Elves as from an angry mob of bees that had been stirred with a stick. Many Elves lay lifeless upon the knoll, but Dior and his wife were alive for the moment, tethered together.
There was a dangerous light in Celegorm’s eyes as he said slowly, almost painfully, “Your servants are all slain or fled. My brothers you have murdered. Will you not yield and give up the Silmaril?”
“It is hidden,” Dior said curtly. “And it shall remain so.”
Celegorm gazed upon the cadaver that had once been his brother Curufin. He had lost much of his will and desire for life when he had heard Lúthien was dead. He had heard it once before and doubted if it may be true, but she was gone and part of him knew it. Now that Curufin lay dead, he had abandoned sense and logic as well. He nursed a wounded shield-arm, and when Elwing looked closely, she saw tears fall from his eyes. She realized he was a shadow of his former self, of Celegorm the fair. She would have felt pity for him if the weeping of her little brothers were not so piercing and piteous in her ears.
“We have your children,” Celegorm said tenuously.
“Where are they?” Dior demanded. “They had better be unscathed, Celegorm!”
“They are here.”
Elwing and her brothers were cast before Celegorm. He took up Elúrin into his arms. Dior shook his head.
“Do you enjoy killing families?” he cried.
“I shall do what I must,” Celegorm answered and repeated himself over and over. “I shall do what I must.”
“Please spare my children,” Dior pleaded. “They know nothing of the Silmaril. Let them go!”
“I am afraid that I must have something in return,” Celegorm replied, holding Elúrin before him and staring into his eyes. “This little one alone, how precious is he to you? Could you give him a value?”
Dior started, but stared helplessly.
“I always wanted a son,” Celegorm said nonchalantly.
“Please put him down,” Nimloth spoke.
“What is his significance to you? Or this boy here!” Celegorm set Elúrin down and put a hand on Elúred’s trembling shoulder. “Or her!” He clasped Elwing and she let out a cry. “Your first-born and only daughter? How much is she worth?”
“Do not touch them!”
“If you gave me the Silmaril, I would release you all!” the prince said with sudden anger. “Do you think I really enjoy killing families?”
“The Silmaril is not mine to give,” Dior explained desperately. “For the sake of my mother and father, I must not relinquish it.”
Celegorm said sadly, “Then you have sealed their doom.”
“You would not dare harm the offspring of Lúthien Tinúviel!” Elwing cried. “It is known that her line shall never fail!”
“Elwing,” Nimloth had the faint trace of a smile on her haggard face, “think of your brothers. You must care for them now and for always. I am unable to.”
“Yes, child. Listen to your mother,” Celegorm added and then turned to Dior again. “I beg you to let go of your pride, for pride is all that this is! You are like the heathen kings that slew themselves during war in despair and pride! You are Lúthien’s son! I have no desire to kill you, no never did! You can prevent more bloodshed. Then I shall be released from my cursed oath!”
Celegorm paused, in a throe, but Dior was unmoved by his words. They rather inflamed him.
“Are you glad they are dead?” he said spitefully. “Are you glad Lúthien and Beren shall meddle in your affairs no more?”
“I wept for both of them,” Celegorm answered.
“Rather you wept for one of them!”
“I came only for the Silmaril.”
“Ah, but I know that is a lie! You came here only to see my mother! I can read your heart as easily as you can read mine! A heathen, you call me! Prideful you say! You and your brothers rebelled against the Valar in the Age of the Trees and slew your kin at the Havens! You committed the theft of pilfering their ships! You have murdered before and ever shall! You would have slain me as a boy many years ago. You tried to slay Daeron the minstrel when he meddled! I remember! I witnessed the crime myself! You are cursed and shall forever suffer the torment of your own vanity! I am willing to defend my family, but you shall never possess the Silmaril nor my mother!”
This quickened Celegorm at last, and he drew his sword and ordered that his servants untie the prisoners.
“Come now,” he said to Dior. “You asked for this!”
Dior drew his sword and they began the duel. Celegorm seemed to have the advantage. He had fought in many battles before and was very quick and precise. Dior was filled with wrath and was desperate to protect his family. His sons were cheering for him. The two thrust their blows at each other and shared equal near misses until at last; Celegorm bore down with all his strength. Dior was driven through.
Nimloth was screaming and Elwing and her brothers stared in disbelief. Celegorm thought he had defeated his opponent and thought he had won, but Dior, with his last breath, drew a shirt knife and thrust it into Celegorm’s ribs. Blood fell upon the grass, and Celegorm fell to his knees, pressing his hand to his fatal wound, his breathing labored. He took a brief moment to recover himself and seized Nimloth.
“Where does the Silmaril lay hidden?” he said menacingly.
Nimloth gave no reply. Celegorm ignored his wound and took her before him, his expression changing from a look of pain to that of rage.
“Your husband slew my brother and spitted me! I will kill you and your children if you go on with this most annoying silence! What good will it do you? Where is the Silmaril?” he repeated.
Nimloth laughed grimly and answered, “I will never tell.”
Celegorm flung her from him and snatched up Dior’s young sons. They both squeaked with fright and began blubbering. Celegorm gasped for breath.
“I shall drive these two into the wild to starve if you do not cooperate.”
Elwing wailed, but Nimloth was silent and made some sort of communication with her sons with her eyes, and their minds touched. What was said? Elwing would never know. Nimloth nodded but did not say a word.
Celegorm beckoned to his servants after waiting patiently for several minutes. They reared their horses and took the boys up before them. Then they carried them off deep into the forest where they would be left in the forest to die. Hungry beasts may kill them before they starved to death.
They knew their fate and cried out for Elwing and wept.
“Elwing! Elwing, help! I do not want to die!”
Her mother’s words tormented her, Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always. Soon, their pleasant little voices became distant and frail. Then they were silent. Elwing let out a strangled moan and Celegorm suddenly caught her by the throat and spoke to Nimloth again.
“You have condemned your sons to death, but you can save your daughter! You can save yourself.”
“Mother, do not tell him! Do not tell him anything!” Elwing said shrilly. “Do not dare tell him anything!”
Celegorm made no effort to silence her.
“You fool!” he said. “You can save her! Break your silence!”
“Elwing is strong, nor can I tell,” Nimloth answered.
Celegorm at last gave up. With a sigh, he released Elwing and slashed Nimloth’s throat. Elwing sobbed as her white gown was soaked scarlet with blood. Celegorm turned to her and raised the bloodied sword.
Elwing did not plead. She was too overborne with grief to beg for her own life. She fell upon her hands and knees and wept. Then she quenched her tears and rose to her knees. She closed her eyes and waited. She waited for the stab of pain that would sear her heart and put its ceaseless beating to an end.
“Know that once you have slain me,” she spoke what she was sure would be her last words, “I shall return to torment you.”
But Celegorm looked upon her then, a beautiful, tender maiden of fifteen. He saw how hopelessly accepting she had seemed of her fate, and then the sudden spark of hope. He was reminded sharply of Lúthien, the one maiden that had always defied him. Surely this girl had received a tithe of her spirit. The Eldar believed that if an immortal such as themselves was slain, they were reborn among their descendants. Therefore, he could not will himself to harm her.
“Do you know where it is?” he asked.
“It has driven you mad!” Elwing said through countless tears. “It has betrayed us both to death! But why oh why did you condemn my brothers to such a fate? What part did they play in this fiasco? They were innocent! We used to just sit by the fire together and cuddle!”
Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always.
Celegorm was moved to pity. He cast away his knife.
“You do not know where the Silmaril is. That is plain.”
This was true. The Silmaril was hidden in her mantle. No one knew, not even Elwing herself.
“Believe me,” she said, “if I knew, I would never give it to you!”
Celegorm stroked her cheek, “You are so much like her...”
She did not recoil but continued to weep.
“Shall I silence her, Master?” one of Celegorm’s servants took her from behind and drew his sword.
He would have slain her without waiting for an answer, but Celegorm cried out against him and snatched Elwing from his grasp.
“No!” he bellowed. “What are you doing with this child? She is my captive, and I have the power over her life and death!”
He then drew out his own sword and she misunderstood the gesture and began struggling.
“Hold still,” he said gently.
She nodded and he cut her bonds
“I will spare you,” Celegorm told her. “Now go, Elwing, and may you suffer no more.”
He kissed her lightly upon the lips and lifted her to his horse. His servants spoke amongst themselves and tried to reason with their master.
“She shall want revenge,” they said. “She may be young and she may only be a female, but she shall marry, and she shall demand of her husband to reclaim her lost honor.”
“I care no longer for that,” Celegorm answered. “Who shall she want revenge from? Look at this! Look at this wound! I am dying!”
His servants cried out in horror and he began weeping.
“Aye Elbereth, I am dying!” he cried and turned to Elwing and staggered with his words. “I am so sorry! I am sorry! I am so ashamed! I did not mean to! I am sorry! Please forgive me! Please! Please!”
Elwing would never see such a pitiful sight again. She nodded and reached her hand out to him.
“Go,” he said with a strong voice. “Fly! Noro lim, Thalion!”
Thalion bore her away, and at the coming of dawn, Celegorm died, redeemed or not, not even the Eldar know.
******
Elwing rode on until her horse collapsed. Then she sat and wept bitterly, the anguish of her grief was unendurable. She had hoped to find her brothers, but that hope was finally dashed after many days of wandering and discovering no trace of them. Elwing had become lost in the effort, and she fell into despair and cast herself down under a great hemlock.
“This is to be my grave,” she said to herself.
Then she fell asleep, worn with sorrow and her toil. Her dreams were full of laughter. She was with her family. They were alive again. Then she awoke to cold reality and lay where she was. She had expected little Elúred to be beside her or to awaken to her father’s face. She lay there where she was, wishing Celegorm had not spared her life but killed her instead.
Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always.
She might have stayed there and perished, but then she heard soft footsteps. They were so soft and so light that that only the elfish ear could hear it. She rose a little as an Elf came upon her. She recognized him at once.
“Grandfather!”
“Elwing!”
He embraced her, and she clung to him like a little child. He was overjoyed to see her. He allowed her a little solace and then they asked questions.
“How did you escape?” he asked.
“Celegorm allowed me to live. Everyone else is dead.”
“Aye Elbereth! Even the little ones?”
She nodded and began to weep again.
“How on earth did you escape? I thought that they had put everyone to the sword!”
“Not me,” Kúvion answered grimly. “I am not a servant. I am a warrior as well. I cut my way through Celegorm’s servants. It was I that slew Curufin and Caranthir.”
Elwing was not listening, for she could not hear. Kúvion could say nothing, and instead, he held her in his arms for the rest of that evening.
Elwing was very young, you must understand. She was an orphan now with only Kúvion to care for her. She mourned for her murdered family bitterly. Kúvion thought she mourned overmuch.
“Celegorm spared you,” he said. “You should be joyful for that at least. You are alive, and that is enough. It is enough for me.”
“Chide me not!”
She buried her face in her hands. Her tears duplicated themselves, and his words only seemed to upset her. Kúvion left her alone for a little while to explore the forest and try and guess where they were. Elwing was utterly lost, but Kúvion had scouted these woods before and memorized maps. He was her only guardian now, and he wished that she would be more helpful. But how could he blame her? She was only a girl; she had stayed in the Caves caring for her brothers. She was not her grandmother. How could he expect such things of her?
He came back for her and led her to a stream. She washed her face, rubbing away tears and blood.
“My Lady, for that you are now,” Kúvion said at last. “I know you have suffered greatly, and your horror must have been unimaginable, but you must be strong and bear the burdens that are upon you now.”
“Be strong!” she cried. “My home is in ruins, and my family was murdered before my eyes! The only burden I must carry is to remain alive and not slay myself! The other Sons of Fëanor may yet hunt me down, and the Silmaril overall is lost! Oh, if only Lúthien and Beren were here! They would know what to do, would make the right choices. Perhaps they might have stopped all this! Why did they leave us now?”
“Tinúviel and Echermion are not here, Elwing. Their part in the tale of the Silmaril is finally at an end after two lifetimes of toil and grief. Do not shift the blame upon them. We can ask no more of them. But remember; try to remember, all that they once said and what they have done. Imagine what they may have done in your place. You must be strong. You are the last remaining link to their bloodline, and it is was said by Melian the Maia that her line would never fail. Does that comfort you?“
Elwing stared up at him in awe. She had stopped weeping and was silent, at least.
“Meditate on these words. Meanwhile, I shall find some wood and maybe something for our empty bellies!”
Kúvion sprang out of sight, leaving Elwing with his words of wisdom. She was much too depressed to think on them long. Her physical and emotional state would not allow analytical thinking. She decided to bathe in the waters, though it was ice cold. She must try to wash the blood from her gown. It was all she had to wear, but she felt defiled with it on.
Elwing was taking off her gown when she realized that she was wearing a necklace. She had not noticed the weight, and she tore the thing from her neck and gazed upon it in the palm of her hand.
It was the Silmaril.
So it was not lost, as she had once thought! She had been wearing it about her throat all along!
Elwing let out an anguished cry. “Father! Oh father, if I had only known! If I had known I had this cursed thing, I might have ransomed for our lives! Vain was your trust in me to keep it safe! Your intentions were good, but your timing was evil! I cannot keep this thing, vile with as much blood as it is beautiful! I shall not keep it! I cannot believe that it has touched my skin!”
She would have cast it to drown into the stream, but she remembered how desperately her parents had tried to protect it. They had died for it, and she remembered the deeds of her sires. She would not wear it, however, and she cast it inside the folds of her garments that she had failed to rid of blood. Then she dived into the waters. The water was far too cold, and aroused her somewhat. She spluttered and puffed and climbed out of the stream. Then she sat upon the rocks, water dripping from her hair, and gazed into the waters of Esgalduin. The waters were tinted red with blood.
Kúvion had heard her cry in the distance and rushed to aid her as soon as he could, thinking that Celegorm‘s vengeful servants might be wandering the woods. He found her quite alone, cold, naked, and trembling. She had burst into tears again. He tried not to be cross with her.
“Where are your clothes?” he demanded, shielding his eyes.
She merely pointed.
“Put them on!”
She shook her head vigorously.
“You cannot run naked like a wild deer!”
“The blood will not come out,” she whispered. “No matter how much I soak it and rub it. It simply will not come out.”
“I refuse to look at you like this! Put your clothes back on!”
“Do not make me put it on!”
Kúvion took off his cloak and cast it to her to cover herself with. Then he waded out into the water and tried to wash the gown. He used lime wash that he had found, but nothing dimmed the full color of red away.
“Cold water and soap should do it!” he said in frustration. “Very well. But you will wear it. I need my cloak back.”
But Elwing would not give up his cloak and defile herself. Kúvion became more angry than frustrated, but he saw how she trembled and her horror at the sight of her nightgown that once had been pure white and was now entirely red.
“Very well! You may wear the cloak until you dry! We shall try to wash the dress then. Whether the blood comes out or not, you will wear it!“
She nodded.
“Now why did you scream?” Kúvion asked her with gentleness, his anger evaporating.
“There was a snake slipping through the water,” she said evasively. “A great, big one.”
Hearing this, Kúvion quickly became angry. He ventured to wash the dress again, but it remained red. Equally frustrated, he cast it to Elwing and ordered her to wear it. She forced herself into the gown without complaint. She was sincerely sorry that she could not tell him the real reason why she had cried out. Snakes, unless they were yellow and black or snuck up on her in the water, never frightened her. Kúvion thought she was being silly, but she could not confess openly that the death of her family was her fault. She had had the power to stop their murder, but she had been too scared and was too foolish to realize it. What was to become of her now?
******
Maglor had made good speed to Himring. It was a long journey from his place in the Gap. He had gone there to look upon its ruin and reflect upon himself and his deeds. As soon as he received the terrible news of Doriath, he had chosen his swiftest steed and rode like a general to war, for his rage was that of righteous indignation. He passed the guards, and they thought it wise to stand aside and evade his wrath, for he was red in the face and a letter was crumpled in his fist. He burst into his brother’s chambers where Meadhros was deep in pious meditation. Maglor was disgusted, sprang upon the table, and with one kick scattered his books and papers about.
Meadhros was rather calm and said nothing. Maglor laid the letter there before him in the books’ and scrolls’ place.
“There!” he bellowed. “Read it!”
“I know what it is,” Meadhros answered, as grave as could be. “I received news of it two days ago.”
“A whole family murdered! You have destroyed the line of Lúthien! And our brothers slain?! See what has become of your choice?”
“Maglor, you must sit down. Contain yourself!”
“NO! I WILL NOT!”
“You are not improving the circumstances.”
“I do not see how the circumstances could be any worse!” Maglor snapped, putting a hand to his throbbing temple.
“I am sorry about Celegorm and Curufin and Caranthir,” Meadhros murmured. “Now the seven is down to four. Celegorm was full of life, the most passionate among us, the aspiring one. Curufin was very gifted and loyal. And Caranthir, despite all his vanity, I loved him. I loved them all as much as you.”
“THAT IS NOT THE POINT!”
“Then why did you come here? Did you come here because you had no peace unless you had hurled petty words at me? Did you come here only to reproach me as though you were the eldest of the Seven Sons of Fëanor or our father himself?!“
“It takes more than blood to make a leader, Meadhros.“
“Then tell me, Maglor. What is your point?”
“The point is that you have slain an elf-maid and her three children. Children! A fifteen year old girl and her two brothers! You murdered two five year old kids! Those deaths were entirely unnecessary and you know it!”
“Yes. I do know it! And of that deed I do repent. I will kill Celegorm’s servants myself in penance.”
“Spare the servants!“ Maglor said in revulsion. “We do not need any more deaths hanging over our heads, especially those of our own servants. They only did as they had been told.“
“Just as Celegorm only did what he had sworn.“
“We swore to win back the Silmarils and slay any that defied our oath, but how can children so young oppose our oath? And what was our reward for all this bloodshed? NOTHING! No Silmaril, and what exactly happened, Meadhros? Did Celegorm’s cruel servants slaughter the males and rape the wife and daughter?”
“No such barbaric thing was done. Many of Dior’s servants escaped save those that could fight in defense of their lord, and fight they did, slaying many of our servants. Celegorm rounded up the family. By then, Curufin and Caranthir were dead. When Dior said a few haughty words and refused to say where he had hid the Silmaril, Celegorm slew him and received a deadly wound to his left lung. The two boys were left to starve in the wild and Nimloth suffered the same doom as her husband.”
“So then there might be a small chance that the children are still alive? You did not tell me that they were all dead for certain. What of the boys?” Maglor asked hopefully.
“I do not know,” Meadhros said sadly. “I sent scouts to find them. The boys cannot be found.”
“And the girl?” Maglor pressed. “What became of her?”
Meadhros paused and looked through his notes.
“Elwing, known in her mother-tongue as Star-Spray, has not been discovered either.”
“What?”
“She was never with her brothers, and Celegorm’s servants claimed that he would not slay her and had let her go. He gave her his own horse, and no one has heard even rumor of her since then.”
“Where could she be?”
“It is beyond me, but I suspect that she is in hiding, and that she has the Silmaril with her.”
“Why?”
“The Caves were searched and it was never found. I have strong feelings that Dior gave the Silmaril to his first-born, female though she was.”
“And what will you do about that?” Maglor said with apprehension.
“We must find her.”
Maglor scoffed and asked, “Would you bother searching for her if you did not have such a feeling? You would waste all your effort to find her and yet abandon the two boys to death?”
“You are out of line, minstrel! I searched for those boys-“
“For two straight days!”
“Yes! Two days and nights with the best scouts and trackers among our people! My best guess is that they were devoured by wolves or drowned in the river Esgalduin the first day! The latter is more likely because that would explain why no trace of their bones was found. The current is strong enough to sweep their bodies out to Sirion and ultimately to the Sea.”
“Well I have a feeling that the boys are alive and an inch from death, suffering because you spared no expense to save them!”
“Why must you always stir the bitterness in my cup?” Meadhros cried.
“I wish you could hear yourself sometimes,” Maglor answered. “I mean, really hear yourself. You mean to go after the girl?”
“Yes. She has it. I know she does.”
“And will she die the same way that her family died?”
“Not unless she resists and does something very foolish. After our massacre, I doubt there shall be any resistance when we find her. At least I hope so. I do not wish to harm her any more than you do, Maglor.”
******
Elwing turned out to be more clever than Kúvion had credited her for. Her fear of the Sons of Fëanor was profound, but it was also very real and natural considering the circumstances. They would seek for her until her dying day, and they would spare no expense or trouble to do so. He had wanted to leave the forest and bring Elwing to his home and his kin, but Elwing wanted to leave to seek Tol Galen in Ossiriand instead, believing immaturely that no harm would come to them there. Kúvion strongly disagreed, but the more he pondered this notion the more he liked it. They traveled then to the Green Isle.
They found Beren and Lúthien’s house, but there was no trace of the couple. The house, beautiful as it was, was empty and forlorn.
“There is no one here,“ Elwing said.
“Did you really expect there to be?“
She blinked back tears. Perhaps new hope and courage had sprung within her at the sight of her grandparents’ home, and she remembered their tale.
"I know now what I must do," she said. "We will make for the River Sirion, and follow to its end. For there, maybe, the lands will be fair and unspoiled, if only for a little while. Also, listen! I hear the sea calling."
Kúvion nodded slowly. "So be it. I will follow you, my lady, as you are now the last hope for the people of the once-mighty Realm of Doriath."
He bowed low, swelling with pride. This was the first time that she had spoken like a queen. Elwing cast him a grateful look; then set her gaze upon the stars.
Elwing and Kúvion had certainly bonded. Kúvion had become exceptionally parental of her. He panicked even if a snail crossed her path. They were already bound by blood, but they were brought closer together by tragedy. Still, they were lonely and spoke seldom. Elwing’s grief had become more unbearable and when they found the house, she walked abroad alone, still hoping to find her grandparents.
She was walking in mournful solitude despite the fact that the sun was unclouded and birds held concert. She did not feel the warmth of the sun on her heart nor see or hear the beauty about her. Her eyes were downward, and she was drowning in her own tears. When she looked up at last, she espied someone walking though the trees. Elwing hid behind the bole of a mighty tree and watched him closely with hard eyes.
He wore a green cloak like the sea and lavish clothing. There was an elfish air about him, and that meant power and beauty. He was tall and muscular so that Elwing knew he must be Half-Elf. He had human traits as well as elfish. He had the elfish look and man-like build. His ears were slightly pointed, and he had a young, boyish face. His hair was dark; his eyes were blue and as keen as sapphires. He was perfect and inhumanly beautiful. The stranger was not alone, for he was in the company of several servants. They were here seeking timber, she supposed.
The stranger seemed to feel her presence and looked up at her from afar. She shied away, not wanting to be seen by those piercing eyes, but she felt a childish excitement too under his gaze. She did not flee. Elwing was no flirt, but Kúvion was gone and she thought that it was time to test her seductive powers. She planned to lead this Half-Elf away from his servants and away from his task so that she might talk to him and learn his name at least.
Elwing came out from hiding and gave him the most luminous smile she could muster, wishing she that she had Lúthien’s talent. She must have done something right, for the stranger could not take his eyes off her. He smiled back at her. Then Elwing innocently waved and slipped around the bole of the tree and slipped from his sight. She did not see his look of astonishment. It was indeed comical. Then he told his servants to continue as he studied the trees and followed after her.
They began the slow chase. Elwing was reminded of Beren and Lúthien. She had been told the tale of Beren’s hunt for Lúthien and race to do so by dawn to prove his love so many times.
“Come lady,” said the Half-Elf. “Show yourself so that I can introduce myself properly.”
“You must catch me first,” she answered.
He felt his hand around the trunk of the great tree, found her hand, and seized it.
“Ah! There!”
Elwing was startled and gasped, and he pulled her to him. Then he impulsively put his lips to hers. She pretended to be outraged.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded.
“Why not?” he grinned.
“I did not give my consent.”
“You did not have to. You were trying to attract my attention with that beguiling smile. You have it.”
“You kissed me because of that?”
“No. I did it because you are beautiful.”
“Why am I so beautiful? Tell me.”
“Your eyes are bright. It is as though moonlight were in your eyes, as though they were liquid and reflected the sun as the moon does. Your hair takes the form of night, your lips are ruby red as your gown is. You are the Lady in Red, seductive, enigmatic, and perilously beautiful. You are as fair as Lúthien Tinúviel herself!”
This Half-Elf had her at her knees with such sweet flattery. He had proven that he too had his own power in seduction. When he said she was as beautiful as Lúthien that was the greatest flattery of all.
“You are only exaggerating,” she said.
“No, I mean it, and I could say a lot more.”
He kissed her hand and saw that she wore a string about her forefinger as though it was a diamond ring.
“Elwing?” he said incredulously.
“You know my name?”
“Of course! I gave you that bit of string years ago!”
“Eärendil?”
He nodded and they embraced.
“So we have found each other amid ruin,” she said softly. “What brought you here after all these years?”
“I come here often these days,” he answered. “I had a year of happiness here and I am drawn to it every now and then. The wood here is good and I am building a ship so that I may sail out to sea again.”
“You are a mariner?”
“Not yet. I plan to be the greatest. I intend to search for Valinor like my mother and my father, but who knows if they even reached the Enchanted Shores? It is said no one can pass the mountains of Pelori.”
“And if you went to sea, would you take me with you?”
“I will take you with me,” he proclaimed. “I would marry you today. I have never forgotten the vows we made to each other and our love as children.”
“Neither have I,” she said. “But you cannot have two brides. You might share my bed, but then you would flee to your other lover: the Sea!”
“The Sea shall be my life but you shall be my love!”
“Ha!”
She turned away from him, but he sprang before her.
“I thought you and your family left Tol Galen behind when Doriath was rebuilt. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I came here to seek my grandparents. I am headed for the Mouths of Sirion now.”
“That is where I am headed! Perhaps we can journey together?“
“Perhaps.“
“Where are the Lord and Lady? I had hoped to see them again.”
“Lúthien and Beren are gone. They died mortal deaths.”
“And where are Elúrin and Elúred? They usually run about you.”
“They are not here.”
“Where is your father? I would ask him for your hand.”
“My mother and father lie in Doriath.”
“Why are they not here? You cannot tell me that you are all alone here?”
“No. I am not alone. I have Kúvion.”
“Your servant? What has happened?”
“Nothing short of murder,” she answered bitterly.
She fell and began to weep. Eärendil’s lips parted in his astonishment, and then he stooped and held Elwing in solace.
“Lord!” his servants’ voices sounded in the air. “You have been gone overlong. Are you all right?”
“Yes! I am here and I agree that we have tarried. We have wood aplenty. We shall depart.”
“No!” Elwing pleaded and clutched him tightly. “Do not leave me here alone! I shall die if you do! Please do not go!”
“Of course not,” he said soothingly. “Sh.”
She laid her head against his breast.
“Kúvion,” she reminded him. “We cannot leave him here. He has become very dear to me.”
“Then take me to your house so that we may meet him there. I would gladly house you both.”
******
Eärendil took the two vagabonds into his house at the Mouths of Sirion. Elwing was given new dresses to wear, and she burned her old nightgown. Eärendil was often with her, and Kúvion noticed how close the two had become. He teased Elwing, saying she was a terrible flirt.
“Chide me not!” she said. “He is no stranger to me. Eärendil and I knew each other long ago.”
“I did not know.”
“When Eärendil was eight, he lived in the White City of Gondolin. When it was destroyed, his family sought refuge in Tol Galen. I was five, and we would play together in those gardens, chasing butterflies and catching frogs in the river Adurant. It was young love, I suppose. He dwelt in our house for two years. When he left, we made a pledge, first with our word and then with our blood that we would wed one another when we were grown up and had found each other again.”
“Oh,” Kúvion scoffed. “How sweet.”
“We gave it with all our hearts!”
“And you think he shall remain faithful to such an oath?”
“Once an oath is made, it cannot be broken or everlasting darkness passes upon the oath-breaker,” Elwing said grimly. “One such binding oath was the cause of my family’s death.”
“But the boy made that oath with the innocence of a child. He cannot keep it. You know he dreams of the Sea. If he marries you, he shall have two brides. A mariner’s wife is a lonely life indeed. I do not want to see you as one of those miserable housewives that serves her lord only to see him leave, but not without burdening you with his seed. That should not be the fate of the last descendent of Lúthien Tinúviel!”
“Eärendil would not abandon me so, and I would gladly travel the Sea with him. I shall not be as those housewives and refuse to cling to my husband.”
“Once you have seen the Sea, Elwing, you shall pine away,” Kúvion said firmly. “That is the fate of the Eldar. Beware of the Sea-longing! And even a mariner wearies of the Sea. Eärendil is likely to tire of it and tire of you! It would be better if you never married him at all.”
“And would you have me refuse him and live to be an old gammer? Should I really be the last descendent of Lúthien and Beren?”
“You have forever to find your essential mate, child, for that you are. You are three years younger than Eärendil and not at the age women are accustomed to marry!” Kúvion insisted.
Elwing could not argue that. She was only fifteen and was frightened at the thought of marriage. She absentmindedly drew out the Silmaril. Kúvion stared for the longest time. He tried to sound calm and fatherly.
“Have you been carrying that thing this whole time?”
Elwing nodded, “I have, but I did not know it until after the massacre.”
“Keep it secret.”
“I cannot tell Eärendil?”
He scoffed again. “You are a very stupid girl.”
Elwing was taken aback and deeply injured.
“What have I done to deserve your chiding me?” she cried.
“Eärendil is a prince, son of Tour and Idril.”
“I know his lineage. Why is that so disastrous?”
“We do not know if he has morals. He may be greedy and lustful for power.”
“No!” she insisted. “The Sons of Fëanor are the immoral ones! Eärendil would never desire such a thing! I have known him as a growing boy, and I know that he would never betray me.”
“But you are forgetting your family history. The Silmaril ensnared Thingol your great grandfather and he simply looked at it. There is a curse upon that bit of glass and stone. Do not let Eärendil see it or know of it.”
Elwing did as her guardian had told her, and several months passed. Elwing and Eärendil's friendship blossomed. They walked together near the Mouths of Sirion where they dwelt one morning, and Eärendil climbed into a little boat and aided Elwing inside. He paddled as they talked.
Elwing was wearing her usual red velvet; Eärendil wore only a plain tunic. He was exhausted, for he had worked long to repair his ship and Círdan had had to come and give him a hand. The two had become fast friends, and without his help, Eärendil would have never finished his repairs.
“If you would only sing to me,” he said. “I would tell you all that I remember of Gondolin and its fall.”
Elwing knew very few songs, but she squealed with delight and said, “I shall sing the Tale of Tinúviel! Daeron the minstrel wrote it himself!”
She sang the song, a song she knew by heart. Eärendil's heart was warmed, and since Elwing was a full-blooded Elf and not a Halfling like he, her voice was smooth, beautiful and enchanting. He sat in the boat, frozen as though a spell was upon him and it was long after the song that he could speak.
“I have never heard the full tale,” he admitted. “Even when I dwelt within their house and you told me part, I did not then have the heart or understanding to listen. I was too young and uninterested in the poetic romance of the tale. I was also terrified and moved to pitiful tears by the horror and sorrow of it all. I only cared that I saw the two lovers together with their children about them. Now I am come to manhood and the tale has great meaning. My father was often inspired by it and tried to write a song about it. He was neither a minstrel nor a bard, but he loved music and played his harp well and had dexterous fingers. He said he had not the elfish tongue that was required to justify the story. Instead he sang often to me of Ulmo the Vala of foam. That was the tale that most inspired me.”
“And the song that first attracted you to the Sea,” Elwing added.
“Yes,” he nodded. “But there are many that do not know the true ending of the Tale of Tinúviel. They say she died as Beren did.”
“Then how could she have borne a son?”
“It is believed that she bore him in secret before the Quest. But where then do their bodies lie? I asked the people that said so. They do not lie in the tombs that were built for them! Of course they had no answer for me.”
“As for that,” Elwing confessed herself, “their bodies may never be found.”
“I often wonder what became of the Silmaril and what shall become of their last descendant.”
Elwing was torn with grief and guilt suddenly, and she slumped her shoulders and wept.
“Hey now,” Eärendil cupped her face in his hands. “Why are you weeping?”
“I miss them all, and I might have saved them!” she wailed.
“You have never told me what happened, Elwing. Tell me now and I shall never ask again. Perhaps it shall give you some resolve. Tell me.”
“They were all murdered by the Sons of Fëanor.”
Eärendil was amazed, she could tell by his expression. He was shocked by it, and then he buried her in his arms.
“Oh, Elwing,” he said. “No! How could you think such could be your doing?”
“I should have been stronger,” she answered, regretting more than ever that she could not tell him the real reason. “I was the only one spared, and I failed to find my brothers! They screamed for me, knowing they would die, knowing they would perish alone in the cold forest. I could not save them!”
She continued on in this manner, her tears and heart breaking sobs became more severe. She trembled violently. Eärendil tried to listen to the babble of self-convictions, but then he clasped her close and rocked her in his arms as though she were no more than a child.
“Elwing, look at me! Were there many?”
“Yes, and they had killed or scattered our people.”
“Were they armed?”
“The cruel guard that was my driver had a belt with twelve killing tools on it and they all wore mail, the black chain mail with the piercing white star of Fëanor upon it with its many rays. I shall never forget that symbol and that malicious Elf! His eyes were always upon me, and the humility was unbearable!”
“So you were well outnumbered and they were all armed to the teeth. Do you think if you had been a stronger fifteen year old, that you might have stopped them on your own?”
Elwing paused, and then sobbed, “No.”
“Then stop condemning yourself.”
She became silent, save for the sounds of her weeping. He reached out with one hand and seized the paddle and steered the boat to shore. Then he let out a sigh and leaned over to lie upon his back. He was still holding Elwing with his free hand and pulled her down with him so that she lay her head upon his breast. She did not resist, and he did not say anything more. She continued to weep until she was too weary to weep anymore. Her wails were muffled against him, and then those wails became sobs, and then her breath shuddered from her and her tears were quelled as she regained herself. Then it became deep and rhythmic, and Eärendil realized that she had fallen asleep. He wrapped his other arm about her, and they slept there in each other’s arms until the afternoon sun awoke them.
******
“I’ll be damned if you two do not get married now,” Kúvion said bitterly the next morning. “I suppose you are the prefect union, however. The exiles of Gondolin and the exiles of Doriath shall be merged into a kingdom.”
“What do you mean?” Elwing said crossly.
“You have not seen him? Oh yes, he has been avoiding you because he is waiting for the perfect time to ask you. He has been rehearsing to himself as though he were some babbling idiot.”
Terrified, Elwing ran from the house only to bump into Eärendil himself. She tried to flee from him, but he held her in place.
“I have only one question to ask. Answer me now and I shall never ask again, and you may have great mirth at the answering. Will you marry me today?”
Elwing wanted to say yes, but shook her head with tears. She had too many secrets to hide.
“Let us fulfill the vows we made as children!“ he cried. “Do you not feel the same inside as you once did?“
“I can’t.“
He said nothing, but kissed her hand and walked away. Elwing bowed her head, and Eärendil hastened to finish his great ship Vingilot. He would depart Sirion and go to the Sea and never return.
“Are you leaving because I rejected you?“ Elwing asked.
“It has always been my dream to set sail,“ he answered.
The ship was finished and he arranged to set sail. Eärendil prepared to unfurl the sails, but Elwing ran to him in the starboard and fell before him.
“Do not go! You must stay!” she cried. “You made a pledge that you would wed me. I have not forgotten mine, spoken whole-heartedly and sealed with blood. Here is the Ring of Barahir! Lúthien herself wore it and now I shall.”
“I would have married you yesterday,” he answered coldly.
He cast her away, and though she wept bitterly, he turned his back on her.
“My life, my love, and Lady is the Sea.”
“Kúvion was right about you!”
She rose to her feet, collecting her wits again and wiping her tears away. Eärendil was hurt by her words, and he knew he had hurt her as much, but he was a man and had a man’s pride, and Elwing had strength of her own and was wise beyond her years by the sorrow that had befallen her. They both concealed their pain and cloaked their true thoughts. His back remained to her, and Elwing brushed her disheveled hair from her face, and a dismal look came to her eyes.
“Perhaps it is for the best,” Elwing said at last. “You shall sail the Sea as you have always dreamed and I may devote myself wholeheartedly to my dying people. Who knows how long you might have remained faithful to me? Once your aspiring dream has become reality, the glamour shall fade and there will be nothing left for you. I once dreamed that we could heal our lands and each other. I was wrong. Time has hardened both our hearts.”
******
Eärendil was at Sea for seven months. Those months were long and lonely, the loneliest days that he had ever known. The Sea did not seem as blue as it had once looked, and his crew, though they were brave and noble men, were yearning for their families, for each had a family that they had left behind. His first voyage was haunted by his altercation with Elwing, and her words seemed to have cast a curse upon the entire venture. Eärendil took up a piece of wood and began carving to take his mind off himself. He had subconsciously caved a figure of Elwing. He saw her sweet face in his dreams and remembered his cruel words at their parting. The scene repeated itself in his head again and again. The thing that was most clear was the sight of Elwing weeping at his rejection. He felt her agony, like a thousand icy knives piercing slowly into his flesh. He could not stand such torment for much longer. He sailed for shore in longing for her.
Kúvion was there waiting for him, looking as though he had swallowed a lemon. Eärendil was very cautious in his presence.
“Is Elwing here?” he asked boldly.
Slowly, Kúvion’s features softened into a smile.
“No,” he said. “She is not here. She went out riding a few moments ago. She has done so often in the past year. She may not return for a long while, but you might still catch her if you are fast enough.”
Eärendil sprang out to find her, and he did catch a glimpse of her red velvet in the trees.
“Elwing!” he called. “Elwing!”
She saw him and gasped. Then she spurred her horse away, but Eärendil's limbs were swift by love. He ran beside her, then behind her, then before her, and so on and so forth.
“Too often have I deserved this,” he said. “But please hear my words!”
“Do you really believe I am running from you because of your brutal words?” she asked.
“There is more? I cannot fathom the graveness of my sins! Do tell me my crimes and I shall pay my debts.”
“I am only fifteen!”
“But that does not matter! You practically raised your two brothers and have no family. Let us create one together!”
“You are a mariner, and a mariner’s wife has little mirth!”
“Even a mariner wearies of the Sea. Please stop!”
Elwing checked her horse to a walk, but held her head high, her eyes facing forward.
“I would marry you today! I love you, Elwing, and I want to marry you. More than anything. Please forgive me and I shall not let the Sea come between us!”
Then Elwing halted and leaned down and kissed him. He lifted her from the horse and set her before him.
“I forgive you,” she said, “and now I care no longer for secrets.”
She drew out the Silmaril, and Eärendil gasped and stared in wonder at the divine jewel. For a moment she feared he would seize it with mad desire as Kúvion had warned, but he tore his eyes away from it and gazed at her with mad desire.
“Then, Dior’s daughter,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
******
Kúvion was not happy with the announcement, or he at least pretended not to be. However, he insisted that Elwing wait three years so that she could be called a full grown maiden. The law allowed marriage even at fifteen, but Elwing wished to delay it out of love for Kúvion and for sake of her own modesty. Eärendil thought it a grudgingly long wait, but he was patient. Elwing knew that Eärendil could not escape the longing in his heart for the Sea, so she commanded that he sail for those three years in which they would have to wait. She hoped that this would stay his sea-longing for a while. When he returned, he brought exotic gifts for his bride, and they were wed.
Elwing, now called the fair much like her grandmother, bore to Eärendil... Twins. Two sons. But once she became pregnant, she could no longer join her husband on his voyages. Eärendil found it more difficult than he had thought to stay upon dry land. Only the chains of love, the most potent, kept him there at all. He remained with Elwing while she carried his children and dwelt there happily on shore while they were infants. But after several years he would grow restless again and depart for a year long journey. Kúvion did not have the heart to reproach Elwing and remind her of his words concerning mariners’ wives.
When Eärendil was absent, Elwing looked to her sons for comfort. They were certainly a joy. Elrond and Elros were their names. She knew that she was blessed, even though her husband was gone for such long spells. The twins reminded her often of her two little brothers, and the moment she looked upon them when they were first placed into her arms, she remembered little Elúrin and Elúred and broke into tears.
Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always.
Elrond and Elros looked alike in face and form, for the most part. The blood of Man was more dominant in Elros so that he was not as slender as his brother and a little more masculine. Elrond took after his mother‘s kin and was taller than his brother, and their personalities were as different as round is to square. They were both dark-haired and gray-eyed. They were fair, for their mother and father were renowned for their beauty as well, and the blend of traits created a marvelous effect upon the two children and symbolized the union of Man and Elf, Noldor and Sindar, and the far more powerful blood of the Maiar.
Elrond was the patient and enduring one, for he was the eldest twin and assumed that responsibility with cool stoicism. He tried not to cause his mother any grief and scuttled away whenever his father seemed preoccupied. He was a very affectionate child, kind and soft-spoken. He spent most of his superfluous time studying his lineage, fascinated by the tales his mother told them when they were young. That interest led to a passion for history and languages, and it was clear that he was a born scholar. He was more like his mother and was proud of the ancient Elfish blood and the omnipotent blood of the Maiar as well.
Elros was the younger twin and vivacious. He was polite but forthright, and often participated in many deeds of mischief. He was not too fond of books, though he was willing to learn, and he would read accounts of ancient battles and pored through any scrap of paper that had to do with ships. Though he did not love his mother any less, he admired his father and was more interested in the valiant deeds of his ancestors. Man did not recall their origins as Elves did, and Elros was intrigued by this great mystery. He built models of ships and pretended he was a mariner like his father. He would discover the mystery with exploration.
Despite the difference in character, the brothers were inseparable. There was a bond between them that only twins have the privilege to experience. They understood each other’s needs and communicated well. Since Elrond loved languages, and Elros loved mischief, they constructed a ’secret language’. They had always been close, even before the horrors they faced.
******
Elrond and Elros were twelve years old, an important age. They were training with blades, which meant that they were about to cross the threshold of man-hood, leaving boy-hood behind eagerly. Kúvion was their instructor, and he was not a bad swordsman. After a pleasant lesson, the brothers went to their chamber to pass away the leisurely hours. Elrond had his nose in a book, Elros was fencing with an imagined foe, fencing with the steel that his father had given him. Elwing had thought it a little early for him to be wearing steel instead of wood, but Eärendil wanted to give him something special to make amends for the time lost at his birthday.
“Father should be back soon,” Elros said nonchalantly. “I cannot wait. He said that he would take me with him on his next voyage.”
“How do you know when he will arrive?” Elrond said critically. “Father is almost always late. Remember when he was almost a month late? He had Mother worried and I felt so wretched. Do you not see her now standing at the shore with yearning in her eyes?”
Elros had no answer. He did not deny that he did not like it when his mother wept because she missed their father, but he could do nothing to ease her grief. Neither could Elrond, though he was painfully aware of it. If his father wanted to sail, nothing could stop him, and his mother would not stop him and would not be comforted. She bore this grief as though it were a light burden. Indeed it was compared to those that she had had to bear in the past.
Curious, Elros peered around his brother’s shoulder and skimmed the page of his book.
“What are those characters?” he asked with a moment’s interest. “Those are not Sindarin.”
“It is a prayer to Elbereth in Quenya, the ancient language,” Elrond said as though it were common knowledge. “There was a time when it was the only language spoken. It was the first tongue, and it became the seed of the family tree of languages. Sindarin was invented by Daeron the minstrel and bard. He invented it when he was a child, so Sindarin is a sub-set of Quenya. I am trying to learn the language, but it is not easy to learn without a decent instructor. The mode is different too, not just the language and-”
“No one cares,” Elros said, his interest diminutive now.
He tried to steal away his book, but Elrond made a gesture so that it hit him in the face instead. Elros flinched in a moment of mock pain, for he never truly felt pain, and then dove at his brother, laughing. There was some mild struggling, then Elrond rose and sat atop his brother. He was the elder twin and had not yet lost a battle with Elros. He ruffled his hair until it was a hopeless tangle.
“Boys! Boys!” Elwing entered with a smile on her face. “You look like you are trying to kill each other!”
“Sorry, mother,” Elros’ voice was muffled.
“We will try not to be so rough,” chimed Elrond.
“Carry on.”
They attacked one another, fighting like animals. Elwing shook her head and then returned to the shore and watched the rides of foam as they swept upon the shore and kissed her bare feet.
Then Kúvion suddenly ran to her, panting.
“Milady!” he cried.
“Yes, Kúvion,” she said, smiling at the sight of him. “What is it?”
“The scouts reported that they have seen a host nearing the havens.”
“A host?” her smile quickly faded. “With what sigil?”
“There was a star upon their armor. A single star with many rays.”
Elwing’s lips parted in surprise. Horror as powerful as an ocean wave swept over her, and Kúvion embraced her.
“They have found us!” he said weakly. “The Sons of Fëanor have found us at last. They shall be here soon.”
“Send for Círdan!”
“By the time that they reach here, the Sons of Fëanor shall have already slaughtered us all!”
“Send for him! Now!”
“Of course, Milady. Time is everything.”
Elwing remembered the words that she had once said when she had last had a skirmish with the brothers. The intentions were good, but the timing was evil.
******
Elwing stood upon the shore, waiting for the ships of Círdan or the sounds of Meadhros’ hosts. She wore the Silmaril about her throat, and then her son Elrond stepped beside her.
“They found us, Mother, as you said they would,” he said, rather detached and solemn. “They will kill the Exiles.”
“Where is your brother?”
“He wants to go and fight!” Elrond’s voice flowed with emotion now. “Shall I find him?”
The silence was shattered by a piercing scream. It was quickly cut off, only to be replaced by the sounds of more screaming and the ringing of metal against metal. Elwing looked at her son and saw that he was inevitably torn. He wanted to protect his mother and save his brother as well.
“Well,” she said. “Go to him. You look after your brother for me. You always have, just as I looked after my brothers before...” she swallowed the words.
Elwing, take care of your little brothers. Always.
“Go on, son.”
Elrond gave her one last look, and indeed it would be his last. The memory of her face would never be blotted from his mind. She was beautiful beyond measure, dried tears upon her cheeks, and a look of resignation and, strangely, serenity upon her face. Then he bolted away, his wooden sword in hand. He began running towards the house again, the opposite in which everyone else was fleeing. His instinct was to protect his home and find his brother. But there was no need, for he felt a heavy hand seize him by the shoulder and drag him away. It was one of the loyal house servants, and he found that Elros had already been found and was being tied to his horse by Kúvion.
“Elros! We have to get you out of here now!“ Kúvion yelled in his ear.
“I want to fight!” Elros shot back, keeping Kúvion busy with his knots. “I refuse to flee!”
“Do not be concerned about your honor or your foolish pride, boy! You inherited that from your fathers, unfortunately. You are not running from battle,” Kúvion said venomously. “I am kidnapping you!”
“But what about my mother and brother?”
Kúvion ignored his question and seized Elrond by his arm. The boy gave him a piercing look at being so mishandled.
“Do I have to tie you up too?” Kúvion said wearily, catching the boy’s murderous look. “I thought that you would be sensible about all this. Elwing promised me that you would help me, and I was looking forward to your aid. Only you can control your brother.”
“She asked you to take us away?” Elrond answered in a smooth voice, shifting his weight, and Kúvion let him go.
“Yes. In fact, she did, and you listen to what I have to say before you go and try to dissuade your mother. She is a resolute woman. She will not change her mind when it comes to the safety of her children. I have been with this family for four generations. I was Beren’s captain when we defeated the Dwarves at the Ford; I was there at Dior’s coronation, and I was there to find your mother when he was killed. Elwing is my mistress, but she is also my daughter. Yes, I said she is my daughter!”
Elrond and Elros were abashed. It was true that Kúvion had always been a servant to the family, even before his daughter Nimloth wed Dior, and he had saved Elwing’s life when she was left an orphan. He was her guardian, and there was a strong bond between them. He had every right to claim that he was her father, but he had never dared to do so and never made her feel obligated to him. Elwing may have only been a child, but it was she that had decided her own fate. She was, as he had said, his supreme ladyship. Her sorrows had fashioned her early to woman-hood and had given her the virtues of a far-sighted queen whom he was proud to serve.
Pink spots appeared on Kúvion’s cheeks. He was uncomfortable with his open display of sentimentality, but he quickly rehabilitated his military manner and took the reins of his horse.
“It is too late for Elwing,” he said. “Now my main concern is you two. Would you please come with me willingly and restrain your brother?”
“I will,” Elrond nodded with determination.
“I knew that I could count on you.”
Elrond mounted the horse and took his brother’s arm firmly as Kúvion untied him and took the reins of the horse and they started off. But Meadhros was prepared for just that, and an arrow whizzed past them. He had posted many of his archers to watch for escaping parties. He had learned from his brothers’ mistake at the sacking of Doriath and wished to end the ordeal with the descendants of Lúthien forever and obtain one of his heirlooms at once.
Kúvion cursed under his breath and gave the horse a good kick. His voice rang in command and the beast sprinted into the trees. The speed at which they rode was remarkable. Elrond could not remember riding any horse with such speed and his stomach leaped into his throat. Elros was the better rider.
The horse was swift, but not swift enough. Kúvion was regretting that he had not fetched a war horse instead of a horse used for errands when an ill-fated arrow struck its mark. Kúvion fell to the ground and the horse suddenly halted, nearly dismounting her two young passengers. Elros let out a hiss of breath and Elrond let out a cry of despair. He did not care that there were probably a dozen archers amongst the trees, he sprang and stooped beside Kúvion’s prostrate form.
Strangely, not another arrow was loosed. Perhaps the archers knew they had slain the twins’ guardian and were a league from further aid. Elrond put his finger to Kúvion’s neck, searching for the throb of life, but there was none. Elros was not struggling to get out of the saddle. He was staring, open mouthed at the lifeless Elf. Elrond remained where he was. False hope had led him to believe that there was a faint heart beat for a moment, but he realized that Kúvion was dead. He bowed his head and lifted his eyes to look upon the white feathered arrow lodged in Kúvion’s breast. An influx of emotions passed through him.
“Elrond?” Elros whispered. “Is he dead?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Four generations.”
“Those bastards!” Elros hissed.
Then an archer stepped into their path. Elrond looked at the twelve different killing tools upon his baldric and remembered a shady character from his mother’s tales. This was undoubtedly the cruel servant of Celegorm’s that had dragged his mother from her bed that terrible night in Doriath.
“You!”
“You know me, boy?” he was surprised.
“I know of your deeds. I do not care to know anything more!”
“Is that so? It is thoughtful of your mother to remember me. I would like to see how much she has grown. She was once an insipid young teenager.”
“You leave our mother alone!” Elros shouted.
“Our mother?” the cruel servant scoffed. “Just looking at you two gives me dejavu. You look a lot like those two little boys that probably drowned in the river Esgalduin. What were their names?”
“Elúrin and Elúred,” Elros said stiffly. “You killed him, did you not?”
“Him?” the servant cast a quick glance at the carcass that was once Kúvion. “Yes. I recognized him and could not allow him to deliver the heirs of Elwing and Eärendil to some haven across the sea with the Silmaril. It is more than likely that Elwing hid it among you. Where have you stowed it?”
He reached for the throwing knife at his baldric, but Elrond’s eyes were sharp and his instinct was sharper, taking the place of his logic. He drew Kúvion’s sword from its cold sheath and thrust it forward as the cruel servant began aiming. Elrond did not hear his cry as the point of the blade pierced his flesh and inserted itself into his rib cage, but he was aware of his own heart beating rapidly in his ears, his breath coming out in a gasp, the grinding feeling of metal upon bone, the ring of the sword. Then blood dripped profusely down the blade and soaked his hands with hot, red liquid.
They both sank to their knees, the weight of the sword pulling the boy down. Then he looked up into the dying Elf’s face, and as it blanched, he realized what was happening. He was not even aware that he had grasped the sword until now. Then the cruel servant slumped upon the earth and Elrond recoiled and crawled away from his corpse. All this happened in the fraction of a second, and for the next second, a torrent of thoughts raced in his troubled mind again and again. He turned slowly to his brother.
“I think I killed him,” he said, his voice betraying no emotion.
“Good for you!”
Elrond gave his brother a look so sharp that Elros shut his mouth, and he held out his bloody hands. Then he took the reins of the horse in a firm grasp, soiling the rope with blood.
“What are you doing?” Elros said with caution.
“Getting us out of here,” was Elrond’s curt answer.
“Mother is back there!” Elros reminded him.
“Would you have our great-grandfather’s death be made in vain?”
“Would you have our mother die as well?”
Elrond frowned and then nodded. In this alone, Elros had defeated him. He joined his brother upon the horse and they made for the Mouths of Sirion.
******
Maglor did not raise his sword against anyone. His heart had long been sick with the burden of the oath. He avoided the battle and searched for Elwing and the children instead. If it was true that Eärendil and his men were gone, he did not desire the poor girl and her sons to fall into the wrong hands. He sighted her upon a cliff overlooking the sea, far from the battle, and he came at her side slowly.
He had heard much about Elwing the fair. He looked upon her now and agreed that she bore the likeness of Lúthien. Maglor had never loved Lúthien as Celegorm had, but he had had a strong feeling for her. He did not realize until he looked upon her granddaughter how much the news of her death had grieved him.
“Why do you stand amid battle and ruin to look at the waves?” he asked.
“Why are you armed as if for battle but do not fight?” she answered.
Maglor sighed. “Because my cause is a lost cause.”
Elwing drew out the Silmaril, and Maglor turned his eyes away.
“Círdan is too late,” Elwing said. “I sent him a message that we were about to be attacked. I have the eyes of my Elvin kindred, but I cannot see his ships, nor that of my husband’s.”
Maglor heard this and indeed pitied her, but he said, “If you gave me the Silmaril, all this would end. I must ask that you give it to me.”
“Long ago I might have given it to Celegorm to save my family,” Elwing answered after a long silence. “But I cannot now. Where are my sons?”
“I do not know.”
She nodded and bowed her head, tears flowing freely now.
“If you want the Silmaril, you are bound to take it, are you not? Why then did you ask me for it?” Elwing asked with genuine curiosity.
“I would never take it against your will,” Maglor insisted. “You have your own claim to the jewel. That is what my brothers do not understand!”
But at that moment, Meadhros came upon them, crying, “Maglor, our brothers are dead! Amrod and Amras have been slain. We are the last!”
Then his eyes fell upon Elwing with the Nauglamir about her neck, and he caught her in his arms and tried to wrest it from her before Maglor could stop him. Maglor watched helplessly. Elwing, however, tore herself from his grasp, and the Necklace snapped.
The Silmaril lay upon the rocks.
Meadhros dove for it, but Elwing was quicker. She seized it and cast herself over the cliff and into the icy Sea.
******
Elrond and Elros were spared of such a sight, for they came upon the shore too late. They were calling for their mother, but they found only their enemies to greet them. They cried out and turned to ride in the other direction.
“Where is our mother?” Elros cried.
He began to weep, like a little girl, Elrond thought bitterly, but he found that he was fighting back tears and wondering the same thing. They returned to the house to see if anyone was there to help them, but there was no one left alive. Elros opened the door and stepped upon the dead.
“AAAHHH!“ he screeched.
“Aye Elbereth!“ Elrond gasped.
They heard voices, but they did not recognize them.
“Run!” they cried to each other.
“Split up!” Elrond added. “It will not likely increase our chance of escape, but every fraction counts!”
They fled in opposite directions and hid. Elrond hid among the dead bodies, and wiped some of their blood across his chest and lay motionless. Elros hid in a cupboard. Meadhros and Maglor entered through the door. Elrond did not dare raise his head to look upon his enemy for fear of showing signs of life. Elros peeked through the cupboard crack.
“But Elwing has the Silmaril!” Meadhros winded. “Now what are we supposed to do?”
“Meadhros-“
“You should have taken it from her on sight!“
“You should have let her be!“
Elros, in his excitement at the mention of his mother, tried to push the cupboard open just a little to improve his peripheral vision. Unfortunately for him, it creaked just a little. Meadhros motioned to Maglor to discover what had caused the noise. Elrond immediately stood up and cast a piece of shattered china at the elder brother.
“Over here!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Elrond was swift. He sent Maglor upon a long chase. They stumbled through the halls, receiving scars and bruises. Maglor was no energetic youth nor a great warrior. He did not truly wish to catch the child, but he did not want him to wander off into the wild alone and come to harm either. He did not want Elrond to die the same way as Elúred and Elúrin had. He began to lag behind, and for a moment Elrond thought that he might escape.
But then Elrond was struck with the futility of the situation. Before him lay a vast woodland, behind him, his brother had likely been taken captive. His mother was gone, his father was upon the Sea. There was no company in the Wild. He could not abandon his brother to the merciless Sons of Fëanor. There was mud all over his tunic, blood upon his hands, and his heart was not the muscle moving his legs. He stopped in his tracks and turned towards Maglor. The prince, seeing the boy had no intention of running any further, doubled over and panted with weariness. Elrond remained in place, his eyes like ice.
“Thank you for stopping.”
“I only stopped to have an answer, because I cannot bear not knowing,” Elrond replied. “What has become of my mother Elwing the fair? Has she been taken captive as well?”
Maglor felt a pang of guilt, but he did not deprive the child. “She escaped...into the waters.”
“A ship came?” hope sprang into his voice, hope that Maglor was reluctant to dash.
He shook his head and said slowly, painfully, “She cast herself into the Sea and was carried away.”
“Is she alive?”
“I could not tell. She was under the water for some time.”
“That is enough, I do not want to hear any more,“ Elrond took Maglor’s hand in resignation, “Lead the way.”
Maglor was astonished at how calm the boy seemed to be. He led him back towards his brother’s legion. Meadhros grabbed him roughly.
“There is another! I know there is another! Where is your brother?“ he demanded.
“He is among the bodies, you bastard!“ Elrond did his best to act. “Your soldiers murdered him, and they murdered Kúvion!“
Meadhros struck him and Elros sprang out of hiding.
“Leave him alone!“
“Elros!“ Elrond cried. “What are you doing!“
Elros clung to his brother, and Elrond drew his dagger desperately. It was truly desperate because Meadhros scoffed and raised his powerful sword.
And then Maglor took pity upon them.
“No, wait!“ he cried and stretched out his hand to prevent him. “Stop! These are Ewing’s sons!“
“And if we set them loose, will the act of kindness not come back to haunt us?” Meadhros answered.
“Remember Elúrin and Elúred? This is our chance to redeem ourselves. Would you murder them a second time?”
At these words, Meadhros stayed his hands, but his eyes grew hard upon the two boys.
“You are coming with us. Be helpful now!“
Elrond, seeing that Maglor had saved them, surrendered his dagger, but Elros would not surrender.
“Are you mad?” Elros cried. “They probably murdered our mother as they murdered the Exiles! They will not have me without a fight!”
He drew out his sword, but Meadhros snatched it. Though his precious sword had been seized, Elros continued to resist. Elrond watched as Meadhros bound him. Even then, Elros tried to wrest himself from the rope. Then the eldest of the Sons of Fëanor seized Elrond with unnecessary force and took his wrists in one hand in order to tie them before him firmly, but Maglor stopped him.
“I shall handle this one myself, brother,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The other is trouble enough, and this one is fiery.”
He gave Elrond a quick smile. The boy only narrowed his eyes. Now was not the time to try and humor him, but Maglor knew that he must win his trust if he was to help him and his twin.
******
“What do you think of your choice now, Meadhros?” Maglor asked for the second time. “We have once again begun a bloody foray and still, we have lost and gained nothing save two children as captives. We have lost two brothers. Amrod and Amras have joined Celegorm and Curufin and Caranthir. The seven is now down to two.”
“If only it was one!” Meadhros said venomously.
“Well, what shall we do with the two boys? Leave them in the Wild to starve as you allowed to happen to Elúrin and Elúred?” Maglor gave it right back to him.
“I do not know.”
“Meadhros the wise, the all-knowing, the eldest of Fëanor, does not know? Shall we vote? We do not have our brothers to vote, but perhaps the two of us could put our heads together and come up with a plan!”
Meadhros sighed and buried his face in his hands as Maglor laughed mockingly.
“I can tell you what to do with the boys,” Maglor was suddenly grave. “Spare them and give them into my care.”
“Ah no!” Meadhros looked up at him sharply. “I know what you would do with them! You would only set them free!”
“And what else would I do? What did you expect?” Maglor demanded.
“They have no one. You do not understand that.”
“You may have slaughtered their people and drove their mother to kill herself, but you have forgotten the other essential. Eärendil shall return to harbor. When he finds the blood of his people upon the grass and recovers his wife’s body from the Sea, he shall want answers and vengeance.”
“We must ransom the boys.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me? What?”
“Why would I want to do that to those boys? Have you actually looked at them, glanced into their eyes for one moment or spoken to them? Can you even tell which boy is which?”
“And you can?”
“Elrond is taller than his twin. His nose is more narrow and his hair thicker. Elros is of stronger build with a more discernible cleft in his chin. I could tell these things with one glance at them.”
“Have you studied their features so earnestly? Be careful, Maglor. I think that you are getting too close to your prisoners!”
“You try and decide their lot. I must figure out where to keep them while they wait to learn what is to become of them.”
“Very well. You do that. Play the mommy to two frightened little boys. Remember that I may choose to dispose of them if I think for one moment that they may be a threat to us in the future!”
******
Eärendil stood in the prow of Vingilot, alone, watching the waves. He was several days late in returning home, which was not bad at all for him. He was troubled because he had tried so hard to return home and surprise his wife and children, but an evil wind had blown them off course. They had had a month’s delay. He was eager to see Elwing and Elrond and Elros. He yearned for a glimpse of his home, a sight that became more pleasant after each long voyage.
Suddenly, Eärendil glimpsed a she-bird. As the creature came nearer, he saw that it was a beautiful sea gull, and she cried out with gladness, as though the sight of him delighted her. He smiled, then gasped in surprise as she dove down and rested upon his shoulder. She nuzzled him with her beak and bowed her proud neck. There were tears streaming from her eyes. She clasped something in her talons and let it drop to the deck of the ship.
Eärendil goggled in amaze, for there lay the Silmaril. He knew then that something terribly wrong had happened at the Mouths of Sirion and this bird was no ordinary bird. He took her into his room below, offering her water and the crumbs of bread that he had left. She would not take any of it and hid her head underneath her wings.
“Speak to me,” he commanded. “Tell me what has happened. Tell me what has become of my wife and sons!”
She cast him a mournful glance, and the look in her eyes showed that she was weary with the flight over the waters. Eärendil went to his bed, troubled. When he awoke, he found that he was not alone.
Beside him was a beautiful maiden, her dark hair was upon his face, and she was deep in slumber. The she-bird has gone, not even leaving a few feathers to prove that it had existed at all. Eärendil would have cried out with joy, for he knew that his wife slept beside him. He did not wish to wake her, so he restrained his voice. Instead, he lay down again taking her in his arms and blanketing her with kisses.
Slowly, her eyes opened. She smiled luminously, then she burrowed her head in his shoulder and sobbed.
“Eärendil!” her voice was muffled, but he could hear her cries of anguish just as well. “Thank Ilúvatar I found you! The sons of Fëanor murdered the Exiles and have taken our sons captive!”
“What!”
He took her face in his hands and she pulled away from him and covered her face as she wept.
“They assailed us, knowing that you were gone with many of the men,” she began after she had collected herself again. “They came for the Silmaril, but I cast myself into the Sea and sank to the bottom. I thought that I would drown, but a sudden whirlpool or great tumult brought me to the surface and I gasped in the sweet air and cried aloud to the Valar for aid. Then I heard a deep voice, deeper than the foundations of the earth. It was terrible and throbbed in my ears. The Sea frothed and lightning forked the air.
‘You called upon the Valar. Ulmo answers. I know who you are, Elwing daughter of Dior the son of Beren Echermion and Lúthien Tinúviel. I know what it is that you bear,’ the sonorous voice said.
‘Oh Lord of Waters, I cry for mercy. What is to become of me?’ I answered.
‘I shall bear you wherever you desire, Star-Spray. I only ask that you never allow that Silmaril to return to the shores of Arda.’
‘That I would never do. But tell me what has become of my sons and of the Exiles?’ I asked.
“There was a pause and he replied, ‘This has been the most shameful massacre the Sons of Fëanor have committed yet. They shall never receive our pardon now. Some of the Exiles were slain. Brother slew brother, and two little boys embroiled in it all...’
‘My sons?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what shall become of them?!’
‘That you cannot know. You cannot know all things and I am only a Vala, a worshiper like you.’
‘Well, what of my own griefs?’ I shouted in anger. ‘Why was there no divine intervention when the Sons of Fëanor murdered my family? You abandoned me!’
‘Ye of little faith! To think the granddaughter of Lúthien Tinúviel should doubt Eru’s love and mercy!’
‘He allowed these murders and did nothing to help me when I was only a girl orphaned at fifteen!’
‘We brought Kúvion to you and reunited you with Eärendil. We led you from the rubble and gave you new strength. You are alive, but you are ungrateful.’
“I realized the truth of his words, and I wept and prayed.
‘Forgive me!’ I cried. ‘Please forgive my doubt. Deliver me to Eärendil and I shall never wrong you again!’
“His voice became gentle now, and a piece of wrack was brought to me by a calm wave so that I might cling to it and not drown.
‘It is no sin to doubt,’ he said. ‘Now whither shall I take you? To your husband, you said? Very well.’
‘But Ulmo, Lord of Waters,’ I called desperately. ‘Should we not try to rescue my sons Elrond and Elros? I fear they might be slain, and they are only children. What is to become of them?’
‘I shall guide them from afar,’ was his answer.
“Then I was given the guise of a she-bird and flew with my strange wings for two days. And Ulmo gave me only one command: To never return to Middle-Earth with the Silmaril. That means that we cannot aid our sons, and perhaps we shall never see them again. We must be content with each other. We must find the Straight Road and take the Silmaril to Valinor.”
******
Maglor led Elrond and Elros to a chamber of their own. It was small, yes, but it was as comfortable as the prince could make it. He had hung tapestries of beautiful design, beds not of straw but stuffed with feathers and wool blankets instead of cotton. He had sent servants to light the fire, and the fireplace had a plentiful supply of wood. There was also a shelf with many books, and Elrond was eyeing them with great interest.
Elros sat upon the bed, his arms folded over his breast.
“I want my sword back!” he said darkly.
“It shall be returned to you soon,” Maglor said gently. “I saw that it was notched. I shall have it repaired for you.”
“Liar,” he said ferociously. “And do not speak to me as though I were nothing but a ninny child!”
Maglor sighed. He could expect no less from the boy. He turned to Elrond and saw that he had taken one of the books from the shelf.
“Oh,” Maglor said, startling him. “I am so sorry. I do not think you will be able to read those books. They are all written in Quenya.”
“They are? I was trying to learn that language. I have trouble with some of the vowels. Other than that, it is just like Sindarin.”
“I would love to teach you. Quenya is my native language, and I grew up with none other.”
Elrond smiled with delight, but Elros scoffed.
“Are you boys hungry?” Maglor asked.
“I would like beef stew and bread, if you can spare it,” Elrond piped. “I am famished.”
“I am not hungry,” Elros said, casting a dark glance at his brother.
“Very well, but I am sure you cannot go long with an empty stomach.”
“I think I can manage,” Elros said curtly.
His stomach rumbled as he said this, and Maglor grinned. Then he left the two of them alone.
“Sucking up to your captors, brother?” Elros said. “How could you do so to the ones that murdered our people and our mother?”
“You do not know that our mother is dead. There is no proof of that. She may have escaped. At least she is out of their reach now, but we are at their mercy. Uncooperative prisoners are slain, but those that are otherwise may be rewarded,” Elrond explained. “I would not want to provoke them to dispose of us.”
“We did not ask them to take us from our home! They are only keeping us alive as ransom! We are barter for the Silmaril!” Elros was still bitter.
“The Silmaril was swallowed by the Sea with Mother. They took us because we have nowhere else to go. We have no home now. They could have killed us then and we would have been no further trouble, but they did not. I feel that that was Maglor’s doing. Meadhros does not heed what becomes of us. Maglor is undoubtedly the more ethical of the two. I trust him, and if we both work this to our advantage, one day, we may be set free!”
“You talk moonshine. I once thought you were the strong one. Now I see that I must fight for both you and I!”
“Listen to yourself! You speak of fighting, but that you cannot do. You must tolerate your captors. They are far older, wiser, and stronger than we! They have our blade! How could we possibly escape them? Acceptance of what you cannot change you understand not!”
“And I don’t want to!” Elros cried. “You are only a coward! Why don’t you admit it?”
“And you are a fool!” Elrond hissed back. “If you fight, I shall not aid you, but neither will I thwart you!”
“You would sit back and allow yourself to be treated as a knave?”
“If it will help us to survive, I will do whatever is necessary.”
“You so easily killed that servant. Why are you about to take every blow aimed at you now?”
Elrond lost him temper and said, “You are too belligerent and opinionated to understand reason!”
“Stop using those big words!”
“I am sorry, I will try to be more sensitive to the fact that you are less intelligent than I am.”
Elros sprang from the bed and Elrond was prepared for a quarrel. He stood in battle stance, his eyes ablaze. Then the door opened. The two boys returned to their natural place. Maglor had come with the bread and stew. He set a bowl and plate before Elrond and set another plate with bread and honey before Elros.
“I said I was not hungry!”
“In case you have a sudden change of heart,” Maglor winked.
Elrond began eating, but Elros shoved his food away and sat in the far corner. Elrond shook his head and Elros stuck his tongue out at him.
“I want my sword back!” he said again.
“What good will it do you?”
“I just want it back! Give it to me now! Where you have stowed it? That was my father’s!”
“Is that so? Did Elrond receive a like sword?”
Elrond would not say, so Elros spoke for him, “My father offered my sword to him because he is the elder, but he refused the honor.”
“An honor!” Elrond burst. “A blade is a thing of craft only, and if I am mistaken, I do not wish to carry such an honor!”
“One must hope they never have to. It is very wise,” Maglor said with a smile, then turned to Elros. “It is also wise to be prepared to defend your true honor, which you have a lot of. To many warriors, their sword is the only one they can trust. Ironically, it will cut your hand as aught else.”
“I want it back!”
“You will have it back! Now sit down and stuff yourself!” Elrond shouted.
“That’s it!”
They pounced on each other, but Maglor pulled them apart before either could inflict damage.
“Enough!” he said angrily. “What is the matter with you two? What are you thinking? You should be working together at a time like this! Why should you quarrel at a time like this? This is a matter of life or death!”
Even Elros stopped at these words. Maglor gave them each a piercing glance and left them alone again. They eyed each other darkly. Then Elrond cast his eyes to the floor and gave the floor a dig with his foot.
“He is right, you know,” he said at last. “I apologize.”
“I do not.”
“You shall have pardon as long as you ask.”
******
Maglor returned with their next meal and sat with the boys, deciding that he would dine with them. Elrond noticed that they had never once seen Meadhros, not since the day he had turned their world upside down. He was amazed that he hated Meadhros but felt nothing but warm feelings and absolute trust towards Maglor the moment they had met. He had never been so quick to become friends with anyone. He knew love was not something you ’fall into’. It was something that developed by your own choice. Even so, this relationship was rather unexpected.
Maglor felt the same way, and since he was a bard, he had always been set apart from his brothers. His father had never favored him, and he did not see eye to eye with Meadhros and the others. He did not give love cheaply either. These two boys were uncanny, different than others. They were half-Elvin, and that in itself was unusual, but they also had the blood of Lúthien Tinúviel in their veins. They reminded him of Elúrin and Elúred, the two boys that he had failed to save in the Ruin of Doriath. He did not doubt that since the boys had died so young, the Valar had allowed them to be born again by their sister.
Elros was given his sword, and he saw that it had been polished and emblazoned with gold. His name was engraved there in the tongue of the Noldor, and the sword and sheath were of Noldoli make, for it had been bound with many enchantments. He took it with mouth gaping in amazement. He drew the sword and hardly recognized it as his own. Power surged through it, and he began to practice fencing with the same enthusiasm that Elrond had shown at the sight of those books written in Quenya.
“Thank you, but you told me that you were only repairing it!” Elros said.
“That is why it took so very long to return it to you,” Maglor answered. “I pray that you pardon me.“
Elros made no reply, though he smiled mischievously.
“I notice that you never touched your food.”
“Does that mean no supper?” Elros asked with despair, for he was famished.
“No supper, but there is still dessert to look forward to.”
He gave him many sweets and they began to gorge themselves on a splendid honey cake. Then Elrond dropped his fork.
“I want to go home.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I know,” Maglor sighed. “But you know there is nothing left to go home to, and Meadhros will not allow the last of the descendants of Lúthien to go free.”
“You can help us,” Elros spoke up. “Please. I know you want to help us. Will you not help us?”
“I could slay you for asking me such a thing,” Maglor said bluntly.
“But you would not,” Elrond said.
“Of course not.”
“What is to become of us then?”
This question had been put to Maglor so many times. He sighed and shook his head.
“I do not know,” he answered at last. “But I shall take good care of you until I have fabricated a plan. It is for you that I feel responsible now.”
Maglor grew to love the twins and used all the charisma that he had been blessed with to achieve more and more lenience from Meadhros for the boys. Meadhros allowed them to wander about in carefully selected chambers, so long as there were several guards about, and after a few weeks had passed and the boys were no trouble, he allowed them to move about in Himring, so long as they did not pass the borders. Even if they had tried, an archer would have shot them dead where they stood. They were prisoners, but they were gaining more and more liberty every day.
Maglor tutored Elrond in the ancient language and began teaching him Silvan, the last language of the Eldar. He instructed Elros in the fighting arts and soon, Elros could wield the bow and the axe, and he was beginning to show a knack for knife throwing. Elrond timidly took up a bow one day and hit the target dead on. Maglor loved to teach and encouraged Elrond to practice. He could tell that the twins shared several of their traits, and athleticism was one of them. He began showing him the right stance and grip, but Elrond refused to be instructed.
“Why should I do something I hate just because I happen to be good at it?” he demanded.
“Fair enough.”
“Coward,” Elros disguised the word as a cough.
“We shall have none of that, Elros,” Maglor said as though he was the one that had been insulted. “Your brother will learn someday, just not so early in his life. He has an eternity to learn.”
Elrond laughed. He laughed from his heart. He sounded like an ordinary, happy child for a moment. Then Elros began laughing.
But their liberty was suddenly withdrawn the next day. Meadhros had them locked within their chamber. Apparently, he had received no news or rumor of their father, and Meadhros did not see that as a good sign. He feared that Eärendil was raising a battalion of ships and foot soldiers to destroy what was left of the Sons of Fëanor. Maglor was helpless to stop him, and he could no longer visit them as he had. Meadhros would let no one lay eyes upon them.
The boys lived a life of misery and loneliness. The servants would bring them their meals and avoid their eyes. They had only each other for company.
Meadhros came to their door with their meal. The brothers stared, guarding their thoughts, not daring to speak to their captor. He set their plates on the floor and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Elros cried a moment before Elrond. “What news can you tell me of the outside world?”
“There is none,” Meadhros answered, his nostrils flaring with irritation. “None that is credible. The common folk whisper that Elwing the fair’s ghost warned her husband of the massacre, and he sailed to Valinor. Others say she became a bird and flew away, and your father is raising armies to avenge the Exiles. All that I can discern is that your mother perished in the waters and your father is plotting some mischief. That is why you are here.”
“Where is Maglor?“ Elrond said boldly.
“He returned to his Gap two days ago.“
“Why?“
“Because he does not like little boys that ask too many questions.“
Elros let out a growl when he took away his sword. Then he left them. Elros began pounding at the door in a rage.
“I want to go home! Let us out of here! I-want-to go-home!“
“Stop it, Elros!“
He turned to Elrond.
“What are we going to do now?“
“Remain calm first.“
“I AM CALM!“
“I do not believe Meadhros at all. Maglor will return, and when he does, I forebode that we will be free.“
“You are not our mother. You cannot predict the future!“
“We could if we tried, but it does not take the Sight to know that Maglor is a decent fellow and wishes us all the good in this world.“
“You had better hope you are right, brother. I do believe that our father has likely gone over the Sea. If he learned of Mother’s death, I am not sure he would want to remain entangled with Arda’s troubles, even for our sake. He probably thinks we are dead too.”
“Or, he never loved us, and would never come for us even if he knew of our predicament,” Elrond said bitterly.
With that, Elros curled himself into the corner of the stone room, wrapped his arms about his knees, and bowed his head. Elrond covered his face with blankets to protect himself from the cold. Meadhros had neglected to replace their supply of wood for a long while now so that it was very low, and in the darkness of that empty room, the sobbing of the children echoed.
******
Maglor returned to Himring a fortnight afterwards. He had been studying the stars, a habit and passion from childhood. He had memorized the heavens as though it were a map, and indeed that is what he thought it was. He noted that there was a new star in the sky in the constellation of the drinking gourd. He knew exactly what such a significant change in the cosmos meant. He pointed the star out to his brother and crossed his arms over his breast.
“It is the brightest object in the sky, save for Venus, which is no star at all,” Maglor said solemnly “It is not new, for I had studied the skies for hundreds of years and have committed it to memory. It just appeared without any explanation. All stars form from the cloud-like substances in the sky, so it cannot be a star, and I do not think it is a planet or comet. There is only one other item that has such a luminosity. It is the Silmaril. Elwing and Eärendil reached Valinor.”
Meadhros glanced long at the stars and nodded.
“Do you know what this means?” Maglor asked.
“The Silmaril is lost forever.”
“Yes and no. It is beyond our reach now, but that is not what I wanted you to realize. The boys are no longer any use to us. Tell me: What shall you do with them now?”
Meadhros sighed heavily, “Only what is necessary.”
He lifted his sword. Maglor was horrified.
“What are you doing!”
“They are no use to me,” Meadhros said in a casual manner.
“So you are going to kill them?!” Maglor cried. “I will not allow you to murder those children!”
“I have no choice. I have never desired children, and certainly not children that may grow to become bitter enemies.”
“The Silmaril is gone, they can no longer oppose our oath. Our oath did not require that we kill children I will take them and leave them in the road. Someone will take them in, and they shall live a normal life. Their people are scattered or dead and all they want is to go home.”
Meadhros paused, considering. Then he nodded at last.
“Take them and do with them as you will. Abandon them on the road or throw them off a cliff somewhere. I do not care to know.”
Maglor breathed a sight of relief.
“Thank you, brother,“ he said. “You shall not regret this.“
“If ever I do, I will know who to blame,“ was his reply.
Maglor set the boys loose from their small chamber and prison. Elrond and Elros sprang at him and tackled him and hugged him.
“Maglor! Where have you been?” Elros demanded. “Have you come to set us free?”
“We thought you had forgotten us!” Elrond said at the same time, grinning triumphantly.
Maglor laughed and clasped them both, “I did not forget.”
“He took my sword,” Elros said. “I want my sword back.”
They burst into laughter, and then Maglor became grave.
“Gather whatever possessions you might have. I will ride with you as far as the road.”
“You are not coming with us?” Elrond was devastated.
“No. I cannot, though I wish I could. You have been great pupils, but you are no longer my prisoners. You are free, and that is enough.”
“What about our mother and father?” Elros pressed. “And of the Silmaril?”
Maglor’s smile faded, and the two boys frowned.
“They are dead, aren’t they?”
“No,” Maglor answered.
“Then what has become of them? Where are they? Why have they never come to claim us, to take us away from this wretched place?!” Elros was irate.
“Here,” Maglor led them out of the house and pointed to the heavens. “I will show you.”
The twins looked sad and downcast, and their eyes were downward.
“Do not look down!” Maglor said. “Look to the stars!”
So the brothers looked up, and Maglor pointed out a single star with many rays. The light reflected in Elrond's gray eyes.
“There,” Maglor said. “That is the star of Eärendil. He is in his ship Vingilot with the Silmaril on his brow. Your mother is in the form of a she-bird and flew out to meet him, for the light guides her, and now it shall be a light and guide to all of us here in the darkness. Now your mother and father will be as legendary as Lúthien and Beren themselves.”
******
The journey upon the road was one of the greatest gloom. Elrond turned to his brother and guessed that he was weeping under his hood. His face was pink and his head bowed low, his hood brought down over his eyes. He knew better than to question or comfort his brother, so they spoke no word, and Elrond tried not to even look at him. Maglor rode at a fair distance from them, often pausing and looking about him. Then he would sigh and urge his horse forward, speaking gently to him and patting him. Then he would turn and smile at the brothers and speak cheerfully, but Elrond read past the facade. The truth was that Maglor did not know what to do.
Finally, Maglor stopped, his phony smiles gone. He turned his horse about to face Elrond and Elros and took a deep breath.
“Elros, may I please see your face?” he asked.
Elros looked up but did not pull his hood back an inch. That was enough for Maglor.
“I have done all that I could for you two,” he began. “But now I think that I have done not nearly enough. Meadhros would only kill you if you remained with us at Himring.“
“What of your Gap?“ Elrond asked.
“Could we not dwell with you?“ Elros spoke, croaking a little.
“I am afraid that I cannot take you in. The Gap is inhospitable, and you have no close kin, do you?”
They both shook their heads. Their kin were slain or scattered.
“I feared it was so.”
“What is to become of us?” Elrond asked.
Maglor felt his heart break. What is to become of us? He had heard that question countless times now, and each time it became more pitiful and condemning.
“I no longer know, and I cannot change that. It is up to you.”
“You are leaving us?” Elros sounded angry and in despair.
Maglor nodded, “I do not know what to do.”
“I understand, and Elros will too, once his wits return to him. We can manage ourselves now. Our mother had to do so, and our ancestors faced such ordeals when they were young. Perhaps we will find our mother and father.”
“It is possible,” Maglor answered and suddenly burst into tears.
Elros threw back his hood in astonishment, and Elrond opened his mouth to say something, but what could he say?
“I am so sorry,” Maglor spoke in a thick voice. “I am so sorry about everything. You were my chance to redeem myself, and I do not know if I have done that.”
They were all silent, and then Maglor, knowing that nothing more could be said, turned and galloped away. The two boys looked at each other.
“Now what do we do?” Elros asked.
“Ride on,” Elrond replied. “The next person that we come upon may have the answers.”
He goaded his horse forward, and they rode on, never knowing where they were headed. They made camp when their horses needed rest, for they did not need as much rest as their beasts. They could have continued riding for days without a pause. They soon lost track of the days as well, and their rations were becoming low. They rarely spoke to one another. Neither of them had the answers that they sought, and they had not met a soul upon the road yet.
One starry evening, the two boys heard the sound of wheels and many voices breaking into song on the road behind them. Elrond pressed his ear to the ground and heard many conversations going on at once and the clopping of many horses. His spirits rose and his wits returned to him.
“Get off the road,“ he said to his brother.
Elros was already ducking in the undergrowth. They were guaranteed to find the answers they sought, but what answer may they receive? They hid themselves and their horses as the people approached. It was a small group of people, and Elrond suddenly recognized that they were the Exiles of Gondolin and Doriath, their people. There were about twenty-five. There were a few men, but mostly women and children. They were all carrying light packs filled with hastily gathered food and clothing. There was a tall Elf, apparently their guide, that made a signal. The people stopped gratefully and quickly set up a makeshift camp.
With a joyful cry, Elros sprang out into the road. Elrond laughed, for he had startled some of the company’s horses! Some of the big war-horses reared, the more skittish mares unhorsed many of their riders, and the commotion caused chaos throughout the entire party. Children laughed, those walking rushed to the aid of those about to fall off their horses, mothers scolded the young, babies wailed, and several carts keeled over so that the contents spilled out before their frustrated owners.
The tall Elf before Elros, the leader, struggled to control his own horse, a bay stallion. His hood fell over his face in the confusion, and after he had let out a command of restraint in a tongue that only Elrond recognized, a marvelous change came over the horse. He had been rearing and kicking his hind legs, trying to dismount the Elf. Now he was on all fours again, breathing deeply. The Elf let out a sigh of relief and began patting the stallion, speaking soothing words. Then he turned him about and helped calm the others and restored order with his words.
The Elf gave Elros a severe look and asked, “Where on earth did you come from? Did you spring out of the very road?”
Elros looked up at the Elf and wished he were on his horse so that they were at eye-level. Perhaps then he would not feel so small before him. The hood had fallen over his face before he could get a glimpse of him. He was dressed in rich array. No doubt he was some sort of over-lord among the people. Elrond knew that he was even more so. He had spoken in Quenya, the High-Speech. He was Noldoli, but he could not think of what House he belonged to. He stepped out of hiding and waved.
“Ah!” the Elf smiled. “Two renegade boys running about in the woods. Where is your mother and father?”
“We do not know,” Elrond answered.
The Elf’s smile quickly faded and asked, “Where are you going?”
“We do not know that either,” Elros said. “Who are you and where are you taking our people?”
The Elf’s lips parted, the only hint he gave of surprise. He beckoned to them and looked at them closely. Then he nodded.
“Now I know who you are. Have you horses?”
“Yes.”
“Call them and you may ride beside me if you choose.”
Elros called for them immediately, and the brothers mounted their horses. The Elf rode in-between them.
“Elrond and Elros. Is that not your names?”
They nodded.
“It is a miracle that you have found us. My mother name is Ereinion, and I am the only son of High King Fingon.“
Elrond and Elros were astonished. They had never known that Fingon had a child. This meant that he was their cousin. He read their expressions and laughed. He pulled back his hood. His hair was golden and long and his eyes were gray. The Noldor did not often have golden hair, but the gray eyes were certainly a dominate feature in their culture. His mother must have been of the Vanyar. He was very young, and they wondered how old he was.
“I was still a youth at the time of the Bragollach,” he said as though he could read their thoughts as well, “so my father sent me to Círdan at the Havens for safekeeping. My father was lost in the Bragollach, but the crown passed to my uncle Turgon in Gondolin rather than directly to me (presumably because of my youth at that time). When Gondolin was lost, I received the Kingship of the Noldor. When I learned of the attack upon the Mouths of Sirion, I had just been coroneted, and Arminas and Gelmir gave me the eppesse Gil-Galad. Then they reminded me that it was there that the remainder of my people were scattered. They told me that Elwing and Eärendil were missing, and that their children were either dead or captive and I was ripe for kingship. My first task as King has been to gather my people, and I have gathered what is left of them. I am taking them to Lindon in Ossiriand. There is a reason why Beren and Lúthien chose that land as their own. It is uninhabited and as far from the Beast in the North we can possibly get, unless we were to sail over the sea, and the gate into the West is closed to us.”
“We have never been to Ossiriand,” Elros said. “But that is the only haven left for us. The Hidden Kingdoms have been utterly destroyed and-”
“So has the Mouths of Sirion,” Elrond finished for him.
“Yes. I am afraid so,” Gil-Galad was grave. “Now you two must explain yourselves. What became of you after the massacre?”
“Meadhros planned to barter us for the Silmaril. He took us captive,” Elros said bitterly, and that was all that he would say.
“Meadhros feared that our father would return from his voyage and learn of all that had taken place at the Mouths of Sirion and take vengeance. The Silmaril was lost, and he knew it,” Elrond told the tale without his brother interrupting. “Our father did not return, and so we remained in Himring, waiting. During that time, Maglor cared for us as though we were his own. He saved us from boredom and despair, and somehow, he convinced Meadhros to set us free. We owe him our lives, I think.”
“So he set you free?”
“He left us upon the road,” Elros blurted out, “rambling something about redemption. He said he could do no more for us. We have been riding for many days, I know not how many. And then we found you, your highness. What exactly does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“You claim that you are King, but what of our claim? It was Tour and Idril that led the Noldoli from the Ruin of Gondolin, and Elwing that led the Sindar from Doriath. When she wed the son of Tour, the people were merged into one. You are ‘King of the Noldor’. Now there is no such people. These are the Exiles and they have no leader but my brother and I now, perhaps.”
“You believe that you should have a crown as well?” Gil-Galad laughed, but the laughter was not mockery. “Which one of you should claim lordship? Which twin brother?”
“The responsibility lies upon both of us. It is our birthright.”
“It is true. I am King of the Noldor, and they are now merely the Exiles. My crown means nothing, but I have the same blood in my veins as do you. By right, you are my kin, but you are also boys. What are you? Twelve?”
“How old are you?” Elrond demanded.
“I am of age. I was only a teenager during the Bragollach, but time has molded me into a respectable adult. I am a full-blooded Elf. I am over two hundred years old. I do not deny that I am still very young, and I do not deny your birthright either. You are orphans now, and since I am your last surviving relative, I must accept you. So you shall be as my own children. The three of us may rule together, but then there is the choice that is before you two.”
“What choice?” the brothers asked in unison.
“The day you are of age, you must make a terrible choice. You are not full-blooded Elves. You have the blood of Man and Maia mixed in as well. Your parents were offered that choice, so was Tour and Idril. And we all know of the choice Lúthien made. That choice will pass on to your children as well. Will you live as mortal man, or immortal Elf?”
The brothers were silent for the longest time. They glanced at each other and at the ground. Then Elrond said, “Our mother warned us of this, but she said we could postpone the choice until we are of age.”
“The lordship depends upon your choice,” Gil-Galad warned.
“So many things do,” Elrond sighed.
“Where is your mother and father?”
The brothers smiled, and Elrond pointed to the sky.
“Are you an astronomer, Gil-Galad?”
“No. I was taught mostly king-craft.”
“See that bright object? That is the star of Eärendil,” Elros told him.
“That is no star.”
“No. It is our father,” Elrond thought of Maglor’s exact words. “He is in his ship Vingilot with the Silmaril on his brow. Our mother is in the form of a she-bird and flies out to meet him, for the light guides her, and now it shall be a light and guide to all of us here in the darkness.”

Elrond and Elros spent the rest of their childhood in Gil-Galad’s house peacefully. They both made their irrevocable choice on the day of their coming of age. Neither of them was quite sure what they wanted, and though they could not bear the thought of choosing separate races, they were divided.
Elrond chose to remain immortal and became a fountain of wisdom for his people. He outlasted Gil-Galad and all the ancient kings. He wed Celebrian daughter of Galadriel and sired three children. Elladan and Elrohir were his sons (Elrond fathered twins, an event that passed through three generations), and he had one daughter Arwen. She was often compared to Lúthien, and she too sacrificed her immortality for her mortal lover Aragorn. Elrond, heartbroken and weary of the world, sailed across the Sea to Valinor.
But Elros chose mortality and wed a human woman. Thus he sired a new race and became the first King of Númenor. The Númenoreans were men that had Elf-blood in their veins and lived five life-times of Man because of it and were given their own land, Númenor, to dwell in. That life-span dwindled, however, to a meager two hundred years. The Númenoreans were a most noble race until their fall during the Second Age. The foundering of their continent inspired the legends of Atlantis. But Elros’ line did not fail, for they had the blood of Lúthien in their veins, and the prophecy said that her line would never fail. It was traced to the very last to Aragorn that wed Arwen.
During the Second Age, Lindon was the most important place in Middle-Earth. During the War of Wrath, the end of the First Age and beginning of the Second, most of Beleriand was sunk under the sea in that battle in which the Eldar and Man played small part. It is said that the Valar could no longer endure Morgoth’s evils. They destroyed Angband, and Eärendil cast down Ancologan the Black, and Morgoth was chained up and will not be set free.
Meadhros received his wish. He and Maglor seized the remaining Silmarils in the moment of Morgoth‘s Fall. There was one for each of them, but the Silmarils burned their flesh because of their past sins. Meadhros could not endure the pain and cast himself over a cliff and into fire. Maglor’s skin burned at the touch of the jewel as well, but this he had expected. He cast his Silmaril into the Sea. So he was the last of the Seven Sons of Fëanor , the only one that survived. He full-filled his Oath and cursed himself for it, but he was willing to pay the price for his deeds. What became of him is a mystery. It is said that he remains by the Sea, singing with regret. He was one of the greatest minstrels, second only to Daeron of Doriath.
Elrond and Elros never saw Maglor again since the day that he had willingly set them free.