Post by Admin on Jan 9, 2021 16:13:35 GMT
Author: Archeress of Silverbow
Summary: A painting. How can that possibly start such a difficult story? It can if it’s of Sirion.
Rating: T
“Adunathor?”
The singer lifted his head from his pretend doze “Welcome back”
The small boy lying on the bed gave a wain smile “What happened? Did I fall off?”
“No, the horse faltered at the jump, fell and landed on you, you hit your head on a rock.”
“Oh” then there was a flash of humour “that would explain why everything seems wobbly.”
“Severe concussion… you were lucky. It could have been worse.” He caught the flash of pallor over the boy’s face “Now, you’re consigned to bed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. He shifted his hair closer “What songs do you want to learn little singer? What can I give you?”
“Can I have a story?”
He smiled, as always the child asked for the least demanding thing possible “A story about what? The founding of Gondor? The Last Alliance? The ride of Eärnur? He paused certain this one would get a positive reaction “Thorongil?”
The boy shook his head, looking beyond him at something on the wall “Tell me about that place.
He turned, craning his neck to see where the boy spoke of. Immediately his eyes picked up the white shapes, backed by various shades of blue. After a moment they became recognisable, a great white ship moored at a quay with an elven city stretching back along the shore. The ship’s prow was carved to the shape of a swan, its sail glinting in the sun as though threads of silver were woven through it. Understanding made him sigh “The Havens of Sirion, home of Eärendil, Ardamírë and his wife Elwing.”
Then, hiding the sorrow in his heart he faced his protégée and charge “I’ll go one better than you ask…Listen well little one, as I tell of the Fosterlings of Sirion
First Age
He heard running feet coming through the smoke and turned, raising his sword to meet an attack. A flash of flame seemed to approach but blinking he recognised his brother, furious and eyes flaming with it
“I take it she got away?”
His brother nodded “Jumped clean into the sea, holding It to her chest”
He turned gazing in the direction of the coast “We’d never find it…” Then a thought took him and he bowed his head, tears seeping through his lashes. An arm ending in a stump rested across his shoulders in an attempt at comfort.
“What is it Macalaurë?”
Lady Elwing… She was born in Doriath, landlocked… She’s a Sinda, not one of the Teleri…” He met his brother’s eyes “What if she never learned to swim?” He could see the shock in his brother’s eyes “She wouldn’t have a chance, especially if she was holding the Silmaril.”
His brother’s eyes darkened with rage once more “It’s our Silmaril, she should have given it up, then she would still be alive…”
He raised his head to argue, then froze, turning his head and straining his ears in an attempt to catch a repeat of the sound that had disturbed him. It had been quiet anyway and yet apparently smothered, the tiniest squeaking sobs. Turning in slow circles he listened, waiting patiently, as he had waited when the Amburassi were playing hide and seek with him, waiting for something to give the hider away.
There.
Carefully, with soft tread he entered the room whose doorway he had been unknowingly standing by, crossed it, and glanced up at the wall he now faced. He was clearly in the library, or part of it for the wall was covered almost floor to ceiling by shelves line with volumes. He stretched up onto his toes, peering at the gap between the top shelf and the ceiling. There was something up there, he was certain of it. Whatever it was, it could climb very high. Shaking his head he crossed the room and returned with a chair. Once he could see the top he jumped in surprise and immediately found his brothers shoulder against his legs to hold him steady
“What is it?”
He was too startled to reply. There pressed against the wall, curled tight, was a small boy. Carefully, slowly, he lent against the shelf edge, reaching into the gap.
The child didn’t resist his grip, or the gentle pull from the alcove. However as the wood vanished it twisted, revealing grey eyes wide with terror. He held the gaze, trying to keep his own kind while allowing the child to reach out and grasp his neck tightly. Then he sprang neatly to the ground. Immediately he felt the child press against him, burying its head in his shoulder, muscles clenched in fear.
But he was distracted by a yell from his brother and turned to see a second boy being hauled out from under a chest next to the wall, spitting and cursing as he came.
“Little orc tried to stab me with the dagger.”
Shifting the child’s weight Macalaurë raised a placating hand “peace Russandol, he is frightened.” He gestured slightly “Let him go.”
With a glare and a raised eyebrow his brother complied, shoving the boy roughly forward.
“What’s your name, little one?” Macalaurë felt the boy he was holding flinch and saw a flash of incomprehension and fear over the other’s face
Silly bat, they don’t understand Quenya, Elwing and her companions came from Doriath.
He tried again “Man i eneth lîn?” His Sindarin carried a Quenyan accent but he hoped it was intelligible
The boy shrugged slightly “Im Alachon estar”
He nodded and tilted his head to look at the boy he carried “Ar chi?” “Idhrethor” It was barely a breath from his shoulder fabric, but the boy lifted his head after a moment, gazing at him steadily.
He looked from one child to the other then set his down, moving away to speak to his bother.
“Well? What now Macalaurë?”
He paused for a moment, musing aloud “I didn’t realise Elwing had sons, much less that they were twins.”
Maitimo glared at him.
“What does that have to do with it, whether they are Elwing’s or not? Whether they are twins or not? We have to leave now brother.”
He glanced back at the two boys, Alachon was now holding his twin close.
That sight confirmed what his mind had already decided
“They come with us.”
His brother stared at him, incredulous “Are you mad? There’s a death mark on our skulls already, we can’t be dragging two babies along everywhere we go.”
He met the gaze “If we leave them, they’ll be dead tomorrow, the next day, they’ll survive a week at best. Could you really live with that on your fëa Maitimo? Know you left two defenceless children orphaned in the ruins of their home?
Slowly, the red hair swung in a shaking motion “You win… but they’re your responsibility.”
Then the older elf moved away sharply, striding back across the room and out the door.
Macalaurë sighed and gazed out at the sea, straining his eyes for a sight of Valinor…
But there was nothing, and for him there never would be.
“Russandol!” He risked shouting as fear knifed his heart. The chestnut horse ahead swung on its haunches and cantered back.
“What’s the matter?”
He stared at the boy in his arms “He collapsed, suddenly just crumpled against the pommel”
His brother bent in to look then chuckled “Silly Kanafinwë, he’s just sleeping.”
Sure enough he heard the gentle breaths through the elfling’s lips “We still stop here for a while, let them rest properly.
“Agreed… But Macalaurë”
He turned back to his brother, aware the tone was firm despite its gentleness
“…Don’t play your harp.”
He opened his mouth to protest but was forestalled by wisdom
“Every Noldor on Arda knows you’re the best we have, it would lure them like bees to a flower… We can’t take the risk.”
As bitter as it was he nodded, accepting the truth.
“They’re so small…” The musing voice dragged him out of the lament that danced through his brain “Vulnerable, weak… helpless”
He gave his bother a sideways glance of confusion but wasn’t expecting what came next
“And I caused it, my bloody damn blindness caused it!”
“Once copper-top always copper top brother, but you’re not as bad as Curu or Mori” He gave a sly grin, naming the sourest of their brothers “More even with Tyelkormo.”
“And who would you pair with then oh Gold-cleaver?”
“I Ambarussi”
A sudden thought made him spin round where he sat looking back towards Sirion.
“Macalaurë? What is it?”
“Pityo.” He gasped out the word in pain, curling over as if he’d been gouged in the stomach “He wasn’t with us at the end… Oh Namo have mercy on him.” Hot tears ran down his cheeks, burning, scalding “I promised Mother I’d protect them, swore it on my harp…” He slammed his head against the ground, letting the jar rattle his bones “What use am I? I don’t make sure my youngest surviving brother is at my back… I…” He took a wrongly timed breath and felt saliva slide close to his lungs. Hacking coughs provided a counterpart to the sobs wrenching his chest.
“I’m as good as an orc!” He screamed the insult to the sky, venting his grief. As he struggled to his feet a hand grasped his arm. He wrenched it free and broke into a run
“Kanafinwe!… Macalaurë!” Maitimo’s yells rang useless in the night
Finally the first son of Fëanor gave up calling. Walking back to the small fire he leant down and shook one of the children awake
“Echuio!”
The boy rolled over and he gestured for him to get up. Immediately he obeyed, and to Maitimo’s surprise rolled up the blankets without asking before carrying them to the horse and attempting to tie them on. Smiling slightly he walked over and helped, then scooped the boy up and put him in the saddle, glancing around for the other one. He spotted him staring out over the plain
“Tolo”
The boy came obediently and didn’t resist as he was placed on the horse. But there was something in his expression that disturbed Maitimo, though he couldn’t name it. Ignoring the thoughts he also mounted the now almost overloaded horse, whistled for that of his brother’s and rode away. But not even the knowledge it was futile stopped him looking over his shoulder in the direction Macalaurë had run.
Finally, as the sun dipped he sighed and gathered up a few more words of Sindarin “I echad sí”
Dismounting was awkward as he tried to get down without knocking either child off. Still he managed it and lifted the first one down with a surprising ease. The second however he came close to dropping when a voice whispered in his ear.
“Mas Maglor?”
Recovering he set the boy on the ground “What did you say?” Then he swore mentally and repeated it in Sindarin “Man ebennil?”
“Mas Maglor?”
When he understood a sigh, slightly bitter, escaped. Already the boy had forged an attachment to his brother “I don’t know little one.”
The child obviously understood his tone if not his words, for the face sank into sadness, becoming unreadable in the same instant. Feeling guilty he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder “Maglor can survive, he’ll be back by dawn.”
But that was too long for the boy to comprehend, for he murmured something in his own tongue and tears slid down his face.
Tirion was dropping low in the sky when he finally heard footsteps. Without moving his head or changing expression he laid his hand on his sword hilt, ready to attack if his hope was wrong. But thankfully it was his brother who crumpled onto the ground next to him
“I knew you’d come back brother.”
“How?”
Maitimo tapped a bundle that lay at his side “You left your harp behind…You can never be separated from it for long Oh mighty singer”
The other elf took a swipe at him but halted at a finger on lips and a tilt towards the bundle of cloth laying by the fire
“How have they been?”
“Silent… almost dead to the world.”
Macalaurë moved closer and lowered his voice Don’t forget we have destroyed everything they have ever known… They’ll be in shock, and then will come resentment… Give it time.”
He was surprised when his brother huffed slightly
“‘Give it time’ you say… you don’t need time, the silent one already asked me where you were.” A hard glare came his way “You always win people over, while I’m left out.”
Stop it Maitimo, just stop it... He heard his voice crack “We’re all each other has now, so don’t lets quarrel over silly things… we’ve always shared, so we can share the little ones too.” Then he smiled “For twins that they are, I’m certain there are differences in interest, their epessi tell that much.”
“Hmmm”
“Alachon; Impetuous brother, Hórëon would be the closest translation in our tongue. Idhrethor; Wise or thoughtful brother.” He frowned “I suppose Sailon would equal it.”
“They suit them for it was…” his brother paused slightly “Alachon who tried to stab me… and it was Idhrethor who hid above the books.
“Indeed. But what they were is gone now brother, by destroying their home we made them our responsibility. Now we must educate them as best we can, being the closest to family they have in this land.
There was no answer but a nod, and Macalaure knew that was all he would get, still it was enough.
Clang, clang, rap “Good… Again.”
He looked over towards the sound, smiling as the younger of their twins leapt nimbly out the way. However immediately his attention was drawn back to his side where the other was fidgeting with impatience
Let me see your Tengwa”
Reluctantly the boy held out his rough stone, on which was scraped the letters. He inspected them, indicating errors with a finger and quiet words. But the boy scowled and stared pointedly at where his twin was finishing with Maitimo. With a sight he nodded permission to leave, dismayed by the speed at which the boy did so. However he shook of his dull mood and smiled at the other child
“Come Nandarollë, shall we play together?”
With a silent nod the boy settled into his lap and starched out his hands over the harp. Slowly, between them, the music began to come. Macalaurë gradually let the boy dictate, with slight gestures, where his own hands should go on the furthest strings, giving him control of the song.
As he listened he realised the tune wasn’t one that he’d taught the children, not even one he’d sung them to sleep on. This was new, fresh and alive, leaping from the harp strings and into his heart. It was counterpoint to the clashes of the training swords, it spoke of the green grass and the summer wind. But most hauntingly of all it seemed to speak of loss, of lashing waves and screams. Trembling slightly he carried on, knowing the boy would only cry if he stopped.
Finally the last notes thrummed from the strings. He picked himself up off the ground, gesturing for Nandarollë to keep practicing. By the time he thought to look for Maitimo his brother was already there. Side by side they walked away, far enough so as not to be overheard but so the twins could still see them. Macalaurë drew breath
“You don’t have to say anything brother” Maitimo looked at him “I heard the song as clearly as you did.”
“The boy has a gift, to weave images from music is a rare thing.”
“Those images weren’t of the present either. They spoke of the Third Kinslaying… Of Sirion”
Their eyes met, each knowing in their heart what would be said next. It was Mal who voiced it
“It’s time to let them go”
His brother nodded “We can’t keep them trouping from hill to valley for all their lives, they don’t deserve to live on the run. They’re both sharp, and other elves could teach them far more than we can. Besides, one day it will come to a battle, and I’ve no wish to drag tow innocents to slaughter simply for being in my company.”
“I thought you didn’t care a whit for them Nelyafinwë. When we left Sirion you gave them over to my charge without a second thought.
A shrug “times change, as do opinions.”
He detected an underlying message and pressed for an answer “But on this we are agreed?”
The eyes that met his own seemed to gaze into his fëa briefly “I’ll do it if you will”
I can’t, his heart cried I can’t just abandon them again. But knowing that part of him was being selfish he nodded, unable to frame words for a long moment. When they came they were choked and rasping “On one condition Russandol”
A raised eyebrow
“Círdan is still looking for them, I saw riders in the distance before we broke camp. I’ll only leave Nandarollë and Herumacil if we lead a search party to them.”
A warm answer came when he had expected scepticism “I thought you’d call me mad if I suggested that, but I won’t return the compliment.”
Ducking his head he walked through the narrow waterfall and into the cave. When he was sure that the other two had followed he dropped to the ground and set “Now Nandarollë, pay attention
The boy immediately stopped studying the rocks and fixed him with an unwavering gaze
“We; Maedhros and I, have to go. You and Herumacil are to stay here and someone will come for you soon.”
“You’re leaving?” The boy seemed stunned “Will you be back to sing after supper?”
He bit his tongue and decided to tell half the truth “Not tonight no, we have a long way to travel. But one day, Nandarollë, I will sing for you again… Now, you promise you’ll stay here?
The boy nodded, suddenly seeming to regress to the boy he’d lifted from the top of the bookshelves a year ago. Sighing Macalaurë rose to his feet and left, forcing himself not to look back, not to see the confusion and loss on his foster sons’ faces.
He did however allow himself a glance when they reached the top of the ridge. There was no sign of Nandarollë but Herumacil was diving through the waterfall and splashing in the pool it formed. Maitimo tapped his arm and he raised his eyes up the valley side to see a blue mass making its way down, a high King’s banner flapping in the breeze. He nodded briefly then turned his mare and joined his brother, riding over the crest and out of the lives of two little half-elves.
“Who are you?”
The soft voice, speaking his native language, startled the young child and he spun around. A silver haired elf blocked the cave entrance. Frigtened he looked for his twin in the waterfall beyond, but there was no sign.
“Maglor.” It was a weak plea, he knew there would be no answer
A different voice came from outside “anything there Círdan?”
The silver haired elf held out his hand “Come Eärendilion.”
He followed stepping out of the cave and into the light before dashing to his brother who was held by a tall black-haired elf. For a moment he believed it was Maglor, but this elf was too young, and there was no harp case on his back.
The silver elf crouched down to his level “Your father was my greatest friend, one who I would happily have spent all my days with. We’ve looked for you for a long time little one. Will you come with us… Elrond?”
Slowly he nodded, replying “I Elrond Eärendilion will come with you.”
Third Age
The singer smiled slightly, waiting for a reaction. Then Faramir frowned at him “Elrond, is that the same person who rules Rivendell?”
He nodded
“You said a lot about the sons of Fëanor…”
He smiled “It’s just the way I heard it.” And lived it he thought sadly.
The boy smiled “I liked it.” The last came out on a yawn and the boy’s eyes drifted shut.
Bowing low he pressed a kiss to the pale forehead “Sweet dreams, little one.”
Translations
Man i eneth lîn?= What is your name?
Ar chi?= And you?
Echuio!= Wake up
Tolo= Come
I echad sí = We rest here
Mas Maglor? = Where is Maglor
Summary: A painting. How can that possibly start such a difficult story? It can if it’s of Sirion.
Rating: T
“Adunathor?”
The singer lifted his head from his pretend doze “Welcome back”
The small boy lying on the bed gave a wain smile “What happened? Did I fall off?”
“No, the horse faltered at the jump, fell and landed on you, you hit your head on a rock.”
“Oh” then there was a flash of humour “that would explain why everything seems wobbly.”
“Severe concussion… you were lucky. It could have been worse.” He caught the flash of pallor over the boy’s face “Now, you’re consigned to bed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. He shifted his hair closer “What songs do you want to learn little singer? What can I give you?”
“Can I have a story?”
He smiled, as always the child asked for the least demanding thing possible “A story about what? The founding of Gondor? The Last Alliance? The ride of Eärnur? He paused certain this one would get a positive reaction “Thorongil?”
The boy shook his head, looking beyond him at something on the wall “Tell me about that place.
He turned, craning his neck to see where the boy spoke of. Immediately his eyes picked up the white shapes, backed by various shades of blue. After a moment they became recognisable, a great white ship moored at a quay with an elven city stretching back along the shore. The ship’s prow was carved to the shape of a swan, its sail glinting in the sun as though threads of silver were woven through it. Understanding made him sigh “The Havens of Sirion, home of Eärendil, Ardamírë and his wife Elwing.”
Then, hiding the sorrow in his heart he faced his protégée and charge “I’ll go one better than you ask…Listen well little one, as I tell of the Fosterlings of Sirion
First Age
He heard running feet coming through the smoke and turned, raising his sword to meet an attack. A flash of flame seemed to approach but blinking he recognised his brother, furious and eyes flaming with it
“I take it she got away?”
His brother nodded “Jumped clean into the sea, holding It to her chest”
He turned gazing in the direction of the coast “We’d never find it…” Then a thought took him and he bowed his head, tears seeping through his lashes. An arm ending in a stump rested across his shoulders in an attempt at comfort.
“What is it Macalaurë?”
Lady Elwing… She was born in Doriath, landlocked… She’s a Sinda, not one of the Teleri…” He met his brother’s eyes “What if she never learned to swim?” He could see the shock in his brother’s eyes “She wouldn’t have a chance, especially if she was holding the Silmaril.”
His brother’s eyes darkened with rage once more “It’s our Silmaril, she should have given it up, then she would still be alive…”
He raised his head to argue, then froze, turning his head and straining his ears in an attempt to catch a repeat of the sound that had disturbed him. It had been quiet anyway and yet apparently smothered, the tiniest squeaking sobs. Turning in slow circles he listened, waiting patiently, as he had waited when the Amburassi were playing hide and seek with him, waiting for something to give the hider away.
There.
Carefully, with soft tread he entered the room whose doorway he had been unknowingly standing by, crossed it, and glanced up at the wall he now faced. He was clearly in the library, or part of it for the wall was covered almost floor to ceiling by shelves line with volumes. He stretched up onto his toes, peering at the gap between the top shelf and the ceiling. There was something up there, he was certain of it. Whatever it was, it could climb very high. Shaking his head he crossed the room and returned with a chair. Once he could see the top he jumped in surprise and immediately found his brothers shoulder against his legs to hold him steady
“What is it?”
He was too startled to reply. There pressed against the wall, curled tight, was a small boy. Carefully, slowly, he lent against the shelf edge, reaching into the gap.
The child didn’t resist his grip, or the gentle pull from the alcove. However as the wood vanished it twisted, revealing grey eyes wide with terror. He held the gaze, trying to keep his own kind while allowing the child to reach out and grasp his neck tightly. Then he sprang neatly to the ground. Immediately he felt the child press against him, burying its head in his shoulder, muscles clenched in fear.
But he was distracted by a yell from his brother and turned to see a second boy being hauled out from under a chest next to the wall, spitting and cursing as he came.
“Little orc tried to stab me with the dagger.”
Shifting the child’s weight Macalaurë raised a placating hand “peace Russandol, he is frightened.” He gestured slightly “Let him go.”
With a glare and a raised eyebrow his brother complied, shoving the boy roughly forward.
“What’s your name, little one?” Macalaurë felt the boy he was holding flinch and saw a flash of incomprehension and fear over the other’s face
Silly bat, they don’t understand Quenya, Elwing and her companions came from Doriath.
He tried again “Man i eneth lîn?” His Sindarin carried a Quenyan accent but he hoped it was intelligible
The boy shrugged slightly “Im Alachon estar”
He nodded and tilted his head to look at the boy he carried “Ar chi?” “Idhrethor” It was barely a breath from his shoulder fabric, but the boy lifted his head after a moment, gazing at him steadily.
He looked from one child to the other then set his down, moving away to speak to his bother.
“Well? What now Macalaurë?”
He paused for a moment, musing aloud “I didn’t realise Elwing had sons, much less that they were twins.”
Maitimo glared at him.
“What does that have to do with it, whether they are Elwing’s or not? Whether they are twins or not? We have to leave now brother.”
He glanced back at the two boys, Alachon was now holding his twin close.
That sight confirmed what his mind had already decided
“They come with us.”
His brother stared at him, incredulous “Are you mad? There’s a death mark on our skulls already, we can’t be dragging two babies along everywhere we go.”
He met the gaze “If we leave them, they’ll be dead tomorrow, the next day, they’ll survive a week at best. Could you really live with that on your fëa Maitimo? Know you left two defenceless children orphaned in the ruins of their home?
Slowly, the red hair swung in a shaking motion “You win… but they’re your responsibility.”
Then the older elf moved away sharply, striding back across the room and out the door.
Macalaurë sighed and gazed out at the sea, straining his eyes for a sight of Valinor…
But there was nothing, and for him there never would be.
“Russandol!” He risked shouting as fear knifed his heart. The chestnut horse ahead swung on its haunches and cantered back.
“What’s the matter?”
He stared at the boy in his arms “He collapsed, suddenly just crumpled against the pommel”
His brother bent in to look then chuckled “Silly Kanafinwë, he’s just sleeping.”
Sure enough he heard the gentle breaths through the elfling’s lips “We still stop here for a while, let them rest properly.
“Agreed… But Macalaurë”
He turned back to his brother, aware the tone was firm despite its gentleness
“…Don’t play your harp.”
He opened his mouth to protest but was forestalled by wisdom
“Every Noldor on Arda knows you’re the best we have, it would lure them like bees to a flower… We can’t take the risk.”
As bitter as it was he nodded, accepting the truth.
“They’re so small…” The musing voice dragged him out of the lament that danced through his brain “Vulnerable, weak… helpless”
He gave his bother a sideways glance of confusion but wasn’t expecting what came next
“And I caused it, my bloody damn blindness caused it!”
“Once copper-top always copper top brother, but you’re not as bad as Curu or Mori” He gave a sly grin, naming the sourest of their brothers “More even with Tyelkormo.”
“And who would you pair with then oh Gold-cleaver?”
“I Ambarussi”
A sudden thought made him spin round where he sat looking back towards Sirion.
“Macalaurë? What is it?”
“Pityo.” He gasped out the word in pain, curling over as if he’d been gouged in the stomach “He wasn’t with us at the end… Oh Namo have mercy on him.” Hot tears ran down his cheeks, burning, scalding “I promised Mother I’d protect them, swore it on my harp…” He slammed his head against the ground, letting the jar rattle his bones “What use am I? I don’t make sure my youngest surviving brother is at my back… I…” He took a wrongly timed breath and felt saliva slide close to his lungs. Hacking coughs provided a counterpart to the sobs wrenching his chest.
“I’m as good as an orc!” He screamed the insult to the sky, venting his grief. As he struggled to his feet a hand grasped his arm. He wrenched it free and broke into a run
“Kanafinwe!… Macalaurë!” Maitimo’s yells rang useless in the night
Finally the first son of Fëanor gave up calling. Walking back to the small fire he leant down and shook one of the children awake
“Echuio!”
The boy rolled over and he gestured for him to get up. Immediately he obeyed, and to Maitimo’s surprise rolled up the blankets without asking before carrying them to the horse and attempting to tie them on. Smiling slightly he walked over and helped, then scooped the boy up and put him in the saddle, glancing around for the other one. He spotted him staring out over the plain
“Tolo”
The boy came obediently and didn’t resist as he was placed on the horse. But there was something in his expression that disturbed Maitimo, though he couldn’t name it. Ignoring the thoughts he also mounted the now almost overloaded horse, whistled for that of his brother’s and rode away. But not even the knowledge it was futile stopped him looking over his shoulder in the direction Macalaurë had run.
Finally, as the sun dipped he sighed and gathered up a few more words of Sindarin “I echad sí”
Dismounting was awkward as he tried to get down without knocking either child off. Still he managed it and lifted the first one down with a surprising ease. The second however he came close to dropping when a voice whispered in his ear.
“Mas Maglor?”
Recovering he set the boy on the ground “What did you say?” Then he swore mentally and repeated it in Sindarin “Man ebennil?”
“Mas Maglor?”
When he understood a sigh, slightly bitter, escaped. Already the boy had forged an attachment to his brother “I don’t know little one.”
The child obviously understood his tone if not his words, for the face sank into sadness, becoming unreadable in the same instant. Feeling guilty he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder “Maglor can survive, he’ll be back by dawn.”
But that was too long for the boy to comprehend, for he murmured something in his own tongue and tears slid down his face.
Tirion was dropping low in the sky when he finally heard footsteps. Without moving his head or changing expression he laid his hand on his sword hilt, ready to attack if his hope was wrong. But thankfully it was his brother who crumpled onto the ground next to him
“I knew you’d come back brother.”
“How?”
Maitimo tapped a bundle that lay at his side “You left your harp behind…You can never be separated from it for long Oh mighty singer”
The other elf took a swipe at him but halted at a finger on lips and a tilt towards the bundle of cloth laying by the fire
“How have they been?”
“Silent… almost dead to the world.”
Macalaurë moved closer and lowered his voice Don’t forget we have destroyed everything they have ever known… They’ll be in shock, and then will come resentment… Give it time.”
He was surprised when his brother huffed slightly
“‘Give it time’ you say… you don’t need time, the silent one already asked me where you were.” A hard glare came his way “You always win people over, while I’m left out.”
Stop it Maitimo, just stop it... He heard his voice crack “We’re all each other has now, so don’t lets quarrel over silly things… we’ve always shared, so we can share the little ones too.” Then he smiled “For twins that they are, I’m certain there are differences in interest, their epessi tell that much.”
“Hmmm”
“Alachon; Impetuous brother, Hórëon would be the closest translation in our tongue. Idhrethor; Wise or thoughtful brother.” He frowned “I suppose Sailon would equal it.”
“They suit them for it was…” his brother paused slightly “Alachon who tried to stab me… and it was Idhrethor who hid above the books.
“Indeed. But what they were is gone now brother, by destroying their home we made them our responsibility. Now we must educate them as best we can, being the closest to family they have in this land.
There was no answer but a nod, and Macalaure knew that was all he would get, still it was enough.
Clang, clang, rap “Good… Again.”
He looked over towards the sound, smiling as the younger of their twins leapt nimbly out the way. However immediately his attention was drawn back to his side where the other was fidgeting with impatience
Let me see your Tengwa”
Reluctantly the boy held out his rough stone, on which was scraped the letters. He inspected them, indicating errors with a finger and quiet words. But the boy scowled and stared pointedly at where his twin was finishing with Maitimo. With a sight he nodded permission to leave, dismayed by the speed at which the boy did so. However he shook of his dull mood and smiled at the other child
“Come Nandarollë, shall we play together?”
With a silent nod the boy settled into his lap and starched out his hands over the harp. Slowly, between them, the music began to come. Macalaurë gradually let the boy dictate, with slight gestures, where his own hands should go on the furthest strings, giving him control of the song.
As he listened he realised the tune wasn’t one that he’d taught the children, not even one he’d sung them to sleep on. This was new, fresh and alive, leaping from the harp strings and into his heart. It was counterpoint to the clashes of the training swords, it spoke of the green grass and the summer wind. But most hauntingly of all it seemed to speak of loss, of lashing waves and screams. Trembling slightly he carried on, knowing the boy would only cry if he stopped.
Finally the last notes thrummed from the strings. He picked himself up off the ground, gesturing for Nandarollë to keep practicing. By the time he thought to look for Maitimo his brother was already there. Side by side they walked away, far enough so as not to be overheard but so the twins could still see them. Macalaurë drew breath
“You don’t have to say anything brother” Maitimo looked at him “I heard the song as clearly as you did.”
“The boy has a gift, to weave images from music is a rare thing.”
“Those images weren’t of the present either. They spoke of the Third Kinslaying… Of Sirion”
Their eyes met, each knowing in their heart what would be said next. It was Mal who voiced it
“It’s time to let them go”
His brother nodded “We can’t keep them trouping from hill to valley for all their lives, they don’t deserve to live on the run. They’re both sharp, and other elves could teach them far more than we can. Besides, one day it will come to a battle, and I’ve no wish to drag tow innocents to slaughter simply for being in my company.”
“I thought you didn’t care a whit for them Nelyafinwë. When we left Sirion you gave them over to my charge without a second thought.
A shrug “times change, as do opinions.”
He detected an underlying message and pressed for an answer “But on this we are agreed?”
The eyes that met his own seemed to gaze into his fëa briefly “I’ll do it if you will”
I can’t, his heart cried I can’t just abandon them again. But knowing that part of him was being selfish he nodded, unable to frame words for a long moment. When they came they were choked and rasping “On one condition Russandol”
A raised eyebrow
“Círdan is still looking for them, I saw riders in the distance before we broke camp. I’ll only leave Nandarollë and Herumacil if we lead a search party to them.”
A warm answer came when he had expected scepticism “I thought you’d call me mad if I suggested that, but I won’t return the compliment.”
Ducking his head he walked through the narrow waterfall and into the cave. When he was sure that the other two had followed he dropped to the ground and set “Now Nandarollë, pay attention
The boy immediately stopped studying the rocks and fixed him with an unwavering gaze
“We; Maedhros and I, have to go. You and Herumacil are to stay here and someone will come for you soon.”
“You’re leaving?” The boy seemed stunned “Will you be back to sing after supper?”
He bit his tongue and decided to tell half the truth “Not tonight no, we have a long way to travel. But one day, Nandarollë, I will sing for you again… Now, you promise you’ll stay here?
The boy nodded, suddenly seeming to regress to the boy he’d lifted from the top of the bookshelves a year ago. Sighing Macalaurë rose to his feet and left, forcing himself not to look back, not to see the confusion and loss on his foster sons’ faces.
He did however allow himself a glance when they reached the top of the ridge. There was no sign of Nandarollë but Herumacil was diving through the waterfall and splashing in the pool it formed. Maitimo tapped his arm and he raised his eyes up the valley side to see a blue mass making its way down, a high King’s banner flapping in the breeze. He nodded briefly then turned his mare and joined his brother, riding over the crest and out of the lives of two little half-elves.
“Who are you?”
The soft voice, speaking his native language, startled the young child and he spun around. A silver haired elf blocked the cave entrance. Frigtened he looked for his twin in the waterfall beyond, but there was no sign.
“Maglor.” It was a weak plea, he knew there would be no answer
A different voice came from outside “anything there Círdan?”
The silver haired elf held out his hand “Come Eärendilion.”
He followed stepping out of the cave and into the light before dashing to his brother who was held by a tall black-haired elf. For a moment he believed it was Maglor, but this elf was too young, and there was no harp case on his back.
The silver elf crouched down to his level “Your father was my greatest friend, one who I would happily have spent all my days with. We’ve looked for you for a long time little one. Will you come with us… Elrond?”
Slowly he nodded, replying “I Elrond Eärendilion will come with you.”
Third Age
The singer smiled slightly, waiting for a reaction. Then Faramir frowned at him “Elrond, is that the same person who rules Rivendell?”
He nodded
“You said a lot about the sons of Fëanor…”
He smiled “It’s just the way I heard it.” And lived it he thought sadly.
The boy smiled “I liked it.” The last came out on a yawn and the boy’s eyes drifted shut.
Bowing low he pressed a kiss to the pale forehead “Sweet dreams, little one.”
Translations
Man i eneth lîn?= What is your name?
Ar chi?= And you?
Echuio!= Wake up
Tolo= Come
I echad sí = We rest here
Mas Maglor? = Where is Maglor