Summary

"What if Lord Elrond never existed?"Would the plot proceed the way it did? Would the dwarves finally reclaim their homeland? Would Frodo succeed as a ring-bearer? Would the Fellowship even exist? And most importantly, What would be the fate of Middle-Earth? In this fan-fiction, I've tried to put together, what I imagine, would happen if the Peredhil's were never a part of J.R.R Tolkien's legendarium. In the great author's own words, Lord Elrond's "part in the story of Bilbo's great adventure is a small one, though important." It is this importance that I seek to reinforce, by trying to bring out the many outcomes that would have come to pass, had the same events occurred, with the only change being the absence of this important elf lord. The quest succeeded because there was a Fellowship between the people that inadvertently helped others succeed in their part of the quest. A Fellowship which owed it's making to Lord Elrond Half-Elven. Almost every chapter of this work would aim to bring out a scenario wherein Lord Elrond's presence would have been very crucial,and the events that may have followed due to his absence. A catastrophe, if you like. Glorfindel will not be a part since his reembodiment is solely to protect Elrond and his descendants. I will be assuming that Vilya is in possession of Lord Cirdan,as he would have then been the only one to stay beside Gil-Galad as he died. Do take the liberty to let me know if anything, in your opinion, has not been written in the way it is supposed to be, I'll do my best to make it better...Thanks for reading!

Prologue

After many a restless hour, fleeing from her home and seeking shelter, Elwing, daughter of Dior, descendant of the elf-maiden Lúthien, came upon Sirion, and it is here that she took up residence, away from her pursuers. Away from the kinslayers. Away from the Fëanorians. After all, hers wasn't the only life at stake. Following her union with Eärendil, the Mariner, she now had two innocent elflings depending on her too. If she left this world, so would they, for the world is a cruel place. Alas! No place could hide her from harm's way. Maedhros had heard tidings of Elwing's survival. His conscience would not let him have the blood of his kin on his hands once more. He would let it pass, and yet, his own oath haunted him. The oath sworn to his father now set him on a path of vengeance. The Silmaril was theirs, and theirs alone.

Back at Sirion, as word spread that they were being attacked, Eärendil was away sailing the seas. Elwing was now truly alone. More so, than ever before. The Fëanorians were ruthless killers. They were people who killed there own kin. All who defended her would fall, and so would she. No! She would not let them take the Silmaril, and so, she did the only thing she could. She fled. Running as fast as her legs could carry her, an elfling holding on to each of her outstretched arms, and wearing the Silmaril upon her own person, Elfwing ran towards the seas, across the bloodied forms of her kin, now laying about her feet. Their blood was smeared across the hem of her clothes as she ran, but it mattered not. She tripped, she fell, she ducked, and swirled, but she would not stop. Not with Maedhros and his men hot on her trail. She was in the midst of a battle with no way out. Standing now near the sea, she knew not what more she could do. Her sons had been separated from her whilst she was fleeing. As a mother she would have gone back for them. They mattered to her much more than she or anybody else could comprehend, but there was no going back now. She would be of no use to them dead,for that was what would happen to her if she went back to those bloodied grounds. Thus, when Lord Ulmo gave her the form of a swan, she flew with what might she had left. Pushed on by her grief and anger for the injustice done to her, she flew to Eärendil, bearing the grave tidings of the fall of Sirion. She shared with him her weary tale , and together,they mourned the loss of their sons, much like the sons of Fëanor would mourn the loss of the Silmaril, and much more.

As the battle they had brought with them seemed to have ended, Maglor, and Maedhros, the brothers, each scoured the battle field for both, the elleth, and their own brothers. What Maglor came upon instead was a young elfling, so young and unprotected, roaming the field, probably looking for his caretaker, his loved one. Maglor was overwhelmed with guilt and pity, for the little one reminded him very much of his own brothers. Amrod and Amras were their names, and only hoping that they made it alive, Maglor decided to take the elfling under his wing. As he approached him, and looked upon his noble yet innocent face, he knew who he was. He son of the maiden they now hunted. Elrond or Elros, he did not know. He would have killed him right then, had it not been for the thought of someone killing Amrod and Amras as he was now about to. He gently held the elfling's soft little hands and led him away from the bloodshed, keeping an eye out for Maedhros, Amrod or Amras to appear. They wouldn't be disappointed with his decision, would they? After all, he knew that it was not in either of the brothers to commit the kinslaying. It was but their vengeance, and a forsaken oath they had taken alongside their father.

However, there was one thing Maglor did not expect to see. There, on the battlefield, sat Maedhros, mourning the loss of a fallen warrior. The last time he had seen his brother grieving on the battlefield was when he had lost his brother in all but blood. It was then that they had discovered Fingon's broken and battered body. A sudden fear began to grab Maglor as the world around him began fading away. He suspected the worst. One of his brothers didn't make it alive. They had lost another. Yet, he was wrong. They hadn't lost one. They had lost them both. As he slowly sunk down to the ground next to his grieving brother, still trying to come to terms with their loss, he held the young one close. Tears unabashedly made their way down all their cheeks, for though the brothers weren't nearly inseparable, they were the only ones they had left. Time flew by as they mourned, and slowly, as a red dawn rose, Maedhros stood up. There was nothing more to be done. He turned around, now noticing clearly, the face of the little one he had brought along during the course of the battle. He reminded him of his own two brothers who fought for him one last time, before they left for Mandos' unforgiving halls. Who was he? Why was he here?

However, one look at the little one's face gave him all the answers. Answers he would rather not have. He was Elwing's son, and there was no mistaking the resemblance between them. Blinded by the rage that now coursed through his veins anew, he drew his blade from its sheath. He drew it with blind rage. Unreasonable rage that the fair people had seen only in his father and later, to a smaller degree, in his brothers. Rage that knew no reason or bounds. No pity, and no honour. He would avenge the lives of his younger brothers. He had first committed the crime with great remorse that he no longer found in himself, for he had lost all honour the day they had first slaughtered their kin for the jewels they had sworn an oath to protect. It mattered not anymore. "Elrond!" It was then that he saw another face, identical to the one he had rescued. It startled him to see one so young whose face reflected the very anguish he was feeling at the loss of his brothers. It was then that he realized what had come to pass. He had unwittigly taken an innocent life. The elfling had lost his brother just like him. That face belonged to the terrified and shattered form of a child mourning the loss of his twin. His heart twisted with pain seeing the little Elros standing frozen at the spot. Gone was the unreasonable rage that had filled his very being. It was replaced with a feeling he had carried with him for too many years now. Guilt and regret. The two feelings came back to haunt him unbidden when he saw the confusion that was clear upon the little one's fair face. He would run to his brother, had it not implied his own death by the same hand that had cruelly snatched his brother away from him. He was scared. He knew the truth, and yet it was too bitter to accept- If he ran to his brother's still form, it would mean accepting that he was gone forever, although he had not the courage to follow soon after. For all he knew, he had just lost his only remaining family. He was alone now. It was a feeling Maedhros knew all too well. His heart twisted with pain, knowing that he had inflicted upon an innocent heart the pain that he had just experienced. Guilt was already driving him to the brink of insanity. On the other hand, Maglor knew not what had happened. By the time he realized the scene unfolding in front of him, it was too late. He knew but one thing. The hatred he had seen seething from Maedhros' form said it all, no matter how fleeting it seemed. It was silent message to Eärendil and Elwing.

You and your kin cost us the lives of our twins. We will avenge them, and we begin by taking the lives of yours...

Gathering in his arms the grieving elfling, and walking side by side with his guilt-ridden brother, he made his way away from the bloodied earth. He had made his final choice. They both had. They would break their oath. Maedhros and he would raise Elros as one of their own, to redeem themselves of their guilt, if it were ever possible.