Long ago there had been great castles, castles that could float in
the sky and stay there. The sky was their home, and the sky they stayed
in, always wandering from one place to another like birds in a flock.
At least twenty such castles were around Arda, and there might have
been more beyond. How exactly the castles stayed up was a mystery to
all the others except for the Ae'tar themselves, who inhabited the
castles. One popular Human legend said this, another said something
entirely different. None were very close to the mark. The Ae'tar were a race branched off from the Humans, and they were not
unlike Elves, for their stamina and strength were greater than Humans'.
Many Ae'tar's hair and eye hues stayed only in the lightest shadows,
varying from the grey of the foggy days to white that was whiter than
pure light. It was rumoured that the Ae'tar had powers like the Elves,
power to control the air, the sky, and the weather, but it was never
proved. The Ae'tar had once been an open and friendly people, but as
time went on they closed to almost everybody except to themselves. The
castles drifted farther and farther from the ground, avoiding contact
from all Humans, Elves, or Dwarves. That had been only the First Age. None who had been born after the First Age ever saw the Ae'tar. Things never were sure about the Ae'tar. Almost no recorded history or
describings seemed to have lasted from the First Age, and the fireside
tales of the Ae'tar were hushed. There was a good reason why so. Nearly
half of the Ae'tar had turned against their own race, their own family,
and - although the Free Folk could never determine - there seemed to
have been a civil war in the air. It certainly had seemed so. For in
the scarce parchments that had survived the Sky War, records great
fires in the sky and long screeches that of like a bird's, with dead
corpses of strange winged creatures, had been written. None was ever sure what the other half of the Ae'tar was. Perhaps the
darker side had been corrupted by evil, perhaps by Morgorth. The darker
Ae'tar soon developed a colouring as dark as the night, and nearly
golden or silver eyes that seemed to flash in the night, like cats'
eyes. They seemed more beautiful than any Ae'tar who had not been
touched, and they developed even a keener set of senses. It was that time, perhaps, the Ae'tar lost their wings. If they ever
had wings, that is. For in the lost legends they had beautiful,
magnificent wings like the birds of the sky themselves, ranging from
ones black and fierce like a hawk's to a graceful set like a swan's.
How they lost their wings - that is lost. Perhaps the corruption
touched them all. But the loss was greatly wept over, for the freedom
of the skies were a part of the Ae'tar themselves. So the Nenami'l -
the Dark - and the Yenlaer - the Light - were even more separated. Things became darker for the Ae'tar after they lost their wings. The
immortal Ae'tar started dying out strangely, losing the brilliance of
their eyes and becoming sick as hot fevers and cold illnesses attacked
their immune system - and successfully toppling it. The magic of their
castles was gradually lost, for no reason, and most crumbled to the
ground in unknown lands, never seen again by mortal eyes. But perhaps those are all myths, all legends, all a mere figment of
imagination. Perhaps they are, and the Ae'tar never existed.
Darkness covered the scene of the forest, quenching the last of the golden sunlight and blackening the shadows that already covered the ground and the unknown places between the trees. Owls hooted somewhere in the trees, and occasionally an amber pair of eyes - belonging to foxes or badgers - peeped out from the undergrowth. Although they made no sound, two figures were traveling through the woods. They seemed of the same height.
"We should stop for the day, gwador nin," a male voice spoke out quietly in the night. "It is already dark. We can postpone the arrival at home for some more days."
"Aye," a similar male voice spoke out as well. This voice was eerily similar to the other voice that had spoken before, but the words were slightly faster. "Let us light a fire. It has been a long battle."
Some crunching, a spark of a branch catching fire, and some more crunching of the leaves later, a fire was lit. The bright fire seemed unusual in the forest, and around the fire all went silent. It was only after a few moments that the quiet chatter of the woods started once more. The two figures - now revealed by the light - sat by the fire and rested their horses.
The two appeared to be brothers. Twins, in fact. They were as same as two reflections in a pond. Both were tall, and seemed Noldorian of the Elves. Hair dusky and dark as the night sky above them covered their heads, about shoulder-length, and their facial features were fair and wise-seeming, yet young. Silver eyes like stars they had, and ranger tunics - yet of high-making, they seemed of Elvin kind - covered their bodies. They were marked as warriors by the look of their bodies - muscular yet tall and lanky - and they carried Elvin knives - twin knives, in fact, two each - in their belts.
The voice who seemed to have spoken first spoke once more. "It is nearing winter, Elrohir. I can feel the cold."
"Yet the cold does not affect us, have you forgotten, Elladan?" the one called Elrohir grinned and poked his brother, seeming almost child-like in that behaviour. Yet he was almost always serious, but fun-loving. "But yes, I agree. It is nearing winter. Pity we had to leave Halbarad, but I do want to see Adar and the others."
"Agreed," the one called Elladan - the older one, by the look of things - laughed. "I even miss Adar's lectures, do you not agree?" The two laughed. Their father, who was Elrond, Lord of Imladris, the Last Homely House, was famous for his lectures. He was a kind and wise lord, still.
"I cannot wait to see Glorfindel," Elrohir declared solemnly. "He beat me in fencing last time. This time, perhaps, I shall declare victory."
"Perhaps, younger brother," Elladan smiled. "Let us not attack us at the same time again; it only makes him irritated, and he calls it cheating. Cheating, really! He says to pretend it is a real battle with an Enemy. We did. We will always be there for each other."
"Aye, I cannot understand Glorfindel's thinking," Elrohir nodded. They were half-joking. "But even that did not count, Elladan, for you only attacked with a stick while I was armed with my knives and Glorfindel his sword."
"Yes." The two silenced back into quiet reverie, thinking of their home and how glad their hearts would be when they arrived. Although Arwen had gone to Lothlorien to stay with their mother's folk, they would be glad.
The twins Elladan and Elrohir had come from battling and hunting Orcs in the wilderness. After their mother, Celebrian, had been injured and tortured almost fatally by Orcs and had sailed to Valinor, Elladan and Elrohir had bitterly remembered the event and sworn to get revenge, and they had chosen the wilderness path. Although they still did not know whether they would take the course of immortality or mortality, they knew that one would choose the same path as the other. They were this close.
The two Half-Elvin brothers tended their horses — named Gílroch, or "Star Horse," and Tálagor, or "Fast Foot" — and as the stallions drowsed off, Elladan and Elrohir silently tended the fire and watched while the other did what Humans call "sleeping." Elves do not sleep, rather it is wakefulness and dreams mixed in together, reviving the body. Elrohir took the first watch, and he thought of many things and listened to the stars sing, as all Elves can.
Elladan and Elrohir, with Arwen, had received a gift of slight understanding of the future from their parents, as their mother — Celebrian — 's mother and father were the Lady and Lord of Lorien, Galadriel and Celeborn, themselves, and their father, Elrond Half-Elvin, 's family had possessed the gift from a long time past. Years ago they had discovered a powerful gift in themselves, one they could only use with the other's help and useless on its own. They could, rarely and with a lot of strength — yet it got easier with more use — delve into other's minds, and speak to one another in their minds. They had told no one of this gift, not yet. They did not use this gift for fun, only when it was necessary, for it was wrong morally to seek another's mind.
Elrohir, not being really in the mood of watching the fire for the remaining time, took out a scroll from his pack. Being bookish as well as adventurous, he usually carried a book or scroll around to keep him company alone at night. Unfolding the dusty parchment, his eyes went over the words... The Legend of the Ae'tar.
Elrohir started reading, not mindful of the time passing by.
Elladan woke up from his half-sleep and half-dream. He sensed that he had overslept, and Elrohir had not woken him up for his watch. Sitting up, he looked at the moon - one hour past the time he and Elrohir were to trade positions. Stretching a little, he went over to where his twin had been sitting and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Did you not notice that it is past your watch?" Elladan said with a smile. "Come, rest for now. I shall take this watch."
Elrohir nodded and folded the scroll up. "I am sorry, I was reading a scroll I found in Adar's library." Elrond's library was immense.
"Sorry? What for?" Elladan asked, grinning. "You are the one who lost sleep. Now rest, little brother!"
"Little brother, my foot," Elrohir snorted. "You are only senior by thirty minutes, you know that, Elladan!"
"You are still younger," Elladan smirked.
"You are more immature," Elrohir rolled his eyes at his older twin, a thing that he occasionly did, and took his place at his bedroll.
"Perhaps I am," Elladan smiled fondly. "Now rest. We have a long day ahead of us."
Elrohir nodded and his silver eyes glazed over, as he was already lost in his dreams.
A lone figure was watching the two brothers jesting with each other, and he did so suspiciously. Black hair and silver eyes. Did that mean they were the Enemy?
The loner, swinging on one branch silently and effortlessly to another, let out a low owl cry, his near white eyes flashing in the moonlight. He almost hissed with pain as the light met his eyes, and ducked his head under. His eyes, being of that hue, were extremely sensitive to any sort of light. He often went near blind at day, and so he bound his eyes with cloth. He had only taken them off to take a closer look at the Half-Elves. They were too close to the border of the Castle, and if they passed over the border...
Elves. He could vaguely remember them in his mind. But the memory was too far away and too past, and he paid no attention. But the Elders might know of them. They might not be Elves. His half-misty mind acknowledged this thought and told him to go to the Elders, the Elders in the Castle.
The figure melted away into the shadows. All that remained was a few leaves settling down on the wind.