Maedhros and Maglor guessed correctly, as all the world knows. Although in the end, the result was yet a surprise to everyone in the Hither Lands.
After the rise of the Silmaril into the vault of heaven, many of the survivors of Beleriand took hope. Yet nothing else seemed to change, at first. The new star was seen at evening and at morning, but no other sign came out of the West, no vision or dream to tell anyone what was upon us.
The Enemy seemed content to toy with us, hunting down the last few free Elves or Men who dared to linger in the spreading desolation of Beleriand. Morgoth's creatures had the run of the land, ranging as far as Arvernien and the edges of Taur-im-Duinath. Orcs and wolves began to show themselves even near Amon Ereb, sometimes ravaging almost to the very walls of the fortress. Maedhros and Maglor worried that they might have to abandon even that last castle, fleeing into Ossiriand or over the mountains into wild Eriador.
"Where can we go, that he will not pursue us?" Maglor muttered on many an evening.
Then, two years after the coming of the star, in the spring, the Host of the West came up out of the sea.
No one expected it. Certain it is that Morgoth was taken at unawares. I think he had become so proud, so convinced that his brethren would never again interfere with his dominion, that he did not even prepare for any assault from Valinor.
There came a thousand of the Maiar, led by Eonwë the herald of the Elder King, arrayed in forms young and beautiful and terrible. There came the Noldor of Tirion, fifty thousand strong, aflame with rage at what had befallen their kindred since the sundering. There came an even greater host of the Vanyar, the Fair-elves who had never seen war, but who quickly proved fell and fierce in battle. The Teleri of Alqualondë came as well, refusing to fight, but willing to carry all in their swan-ships across the sea.
The host landed in Arvernien, putting such Orc-bands as were present to headlong flight, and then marched north to camp by the lower stretch of the Narog, in the willow-meads of Tasarinan. The fore-runners of the host moved north swiftly, reaching the Long Wall and the hills around the ruins of Nargothrond before they met opposition.
There they were forced to halt, for Morgoth brought the main bulk of his Orc-horde against them, and Men of his dominion, and there were Balrogs. So, though the host of the Valar held the ground they had taken, they soon found themselves unable to press on toward Angband. Neither could they flank the enemy, for below his falls Sirion was impassable if Morgoth chose to hold it. So matters remained for several years: a stalemate, in which losses mounted upon both sides in skirmish after skirmish. Yet the enemy's forces seemed inexhaustible, whereas the host of the Valar were forced to rely upon a supply line that crossed the wide ocean.
At least Morgoth now had larger matters to tend to than the taking of Amon Ereb. The Orcs no longer ventured close to Maedhros's walls, and we had a fragile peace again for a while.
So began the great War of Wrath. Where were the sons of Eärendil? A hundred leagues and more away, that is where, with wilderness and desolation and all Morgoth's armies in between.
It didn't help that we were still children in the eyes of our guardians.
To be sure, my brother and I were peredhil, Half-elven, like our parents. We seemed to get the best of both kindreds. Our minds grew as if we were Elves, and our bodies as if we were Men. Soon we both were tall, hardy and strong, yet sharp of wit and long of memory, rich with all the lore that Fëanor's sons could pour into our heads.
Still, at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years of age, we had very little luck persuading Maglor that we should be let go off to war. It drove us mad, knowing that the armies of the West faced our ancient foe once and for all, and there was nothing we could do. Mured up in wood-lodge or in castle, we dreamed of the great deeds that other people were doing far away.
It was Elrond who most burned to be gone. Once he had hung on Maglor's every word, learning music, poetry, and history from that master singer. Now he set all that aside. Instead, he spent hours poring over maps and books of lore in the lodge's library. He built a sand-table and marked out the great battles, trying to understand the victories and defeats of centuries past. He plagued every visitor for scraps of news.
For my part, I was hardly less eager than my brother. I cajoled Maglor and grumbled at him, like any youth who feels himself unjustly held back from manhood. I looked over Elrond's shoulder, picking up scraps from his banquet of war-lore. I ran in the forest, climbed the mountain slopes, shot thousands of arrows, worked hour after weary hour with spear and sword and shield.
Indeed, I came to look forward to our trips to Amon Ereb, and I think Elrond did as well. Not that we ever truly came to love Maedhros, as we had Maglor. Even so, Maedhros was the warrior of the two, and he still commanded a few hundred doughty fighters, some of whom had survived battle after battle since before the Sun and Moon arose. He was always willing to critique Elrond's war games, as someone who had been in most of those campaigns, victories and defeats alike.
As for me, he taught me the sword.
"Good," said the implacable voice. "Again."
I returned my weapons to the ready position, glaring at my opponent from under my visor and over the top of the shield. Then I advanced, engaging him, taking some of his blows in my shield and parrying the rest. As usual, I had no luck touching him with my blade, but neither could he touch me. The exchange went on, ten blows, twenty, until finally I saw an opportunity. Pushing with my shield, putting my weight behind it, I managed to throw him off-balance for just a moment. His left-handed parry was a trifle rushed, and I nearly managed to tap his helm.
"Very good!" Maedhros signaled a pause, stepping back and reaching up to remove his helm. Shaking his head, he let his coiled russet braid fall and gave me a small smile. "Elros, you're getting better at this each day."
I set my shield down against the nearest wall of the practice-hall, removed my own helm, and reached for the flagon of water that stood on a side table. "Not good enough to score a point against you. Not yet, at least."
"True. Although I have been training with weapons, and using them, for a thousand years as reckoned by the Sun. No youth, no matter how talented or driven, will score a point against me easily."
A sudden thought made me cock my head at him. "A thousand years? I thought you were far older than that."
"It is hard to say. Those of us who were born in the light of the Trees cannot easily calculate those years in the Sun-reckoning. Time seemed to flow differently then." Maedhros paused for a moment, reckoning in his head. "I would say that I have seen about three thousand, six hundred years of the Sun, so you are right. What you must remember is that for most of my life, none of us gave any thought to weapons. We lived in the peace of Aman, which we all thought would last forever."
"You must have had something."
He shook his head, smiling at me. "For hunting, perhaps. We had the bow and the spear long before Oromë came to find our forefathers by the shores of Cuiviénen. Those remained in use in Aman, among those who followed the Vala's horn and put meat on our tables. But to use them against other creatures that spoke and thought? Never. It took Morgoth to think of that."
Your father, and you who followed him, learned the lesson very quickly, I thought and did not say aloud. "I never realized," was all I told him. "My ancestors among the Sindar were using weapons of war long before that. Two thousand years ago, perhaps, when the Orcs began to show themselves in Beleriand."
Maedhros suddenly took on a thoughtful look. "You have a deep tradition to draw upon, that is true. Elros, have you ever considered that it is your Sindar heritage that gives you your strength?"
"I hadn't thought about it. I assumed it was the blood of Men in our veins that has been helping Elrond and me to grow so quickly."
"I do not speak of growth of the body, but of the fëa within, which commands the body and is its inner light. It defines who you are. You certainly have some descent from the House of Finwë, and Maglor and I have done our best to teach you as we would Noldor youth. Yet I think the two of you are more Sindar than Noldor, in the end. That is no bad thing. It is your Sindar heritage that will teach you kingship."
I made a rude noise in response. Sensing that our practice time was over, I turned away from Maedhros and began to disarm, stacking my weapons and gear neatly on a table. "Kingship? What realm is there, that we could claim the right to rule? Doriath is gone, and Gondolin, and even the realms of Men in Dor-lómin and Ladros. Nothing remains but ashes and ruin."
"Are you sure?" Maedhros came to lean against the wall nearby, so I could not avoid the look of thoughtful kindness on his face. "Some of the people still remain, despite everything that Morgoth, or the Dwarves, or – yes – even my own following could do. You and Elrond could seek them out. Provide them leadership, protect them, find them a home where they could take root and grow once again. Your ancestors, both Elves and Men, did such things with no Valar to guard or guide them. Why could you not do it again?"
It was like a sudden plunge into cold water, that shocks a drowsy man into full wakefulness. I stopped, staring at the Elf I had once hated beyond measure. "You think such a thing is possible?"
"I think you and Elrond could try. I think nothing is entirely beyond your reach, if you but set your minds to it."
"All right." I stood there, moveless, thinking hard for a few more moments. "It seems that my brother and I have more to learn than I thought. We will need more than lore and the use of weapons. Can you teach us kingship?"
At that, his face fell, and his scars stood out for an instant. "No, I fear that is the one thing I cannot teach you."
"Why not?"
He shook his head in dismay, left hand moving to rub at the stump of his right. "Elros, I was a king uncrowned for perhaps thirty years, and I spent most of that time a captive of the Enemy. The best decision I ever made was to give my kingship away. Aside from that, everything I have ever turned my hand to has gone awry. I know nothing of wise rule, at least nothing that you would do well to learn."
"Maglor then."
Maedhros smiled grimly. "No, that will not serve either. I love my brother and respect him, but he is no king. All his life he has chosen to follow others, often to his own harm. He has much to teach you, but kingship is beyond his scope."
I fear frustration made me petulant. "Where can we go, then?"
"I will give it some thought," he said. "Perhaps the time will soon come when you should make your way to Balar, and the refugees and exiles there. Some of them will be your people, and you will have Ereinion to serve as an example."
I said nothing, but the flash of eagerness in my eyes must have been unmistakable.
"Not yet!" said Maedhros, not quite laughing at me. "The way to Balar is long and uncertain, and you and Elrond are the only ones among us who would be welcome there. Yet you are still too young. You are our guests and not our hostages, but we would be poor hosts if we sent you out into the Wild unprepared."
"Perhaps," I said, "but don't linger too long over the decision. Else my brother and I may decide to go on our own."
He nodded, soberly, as one does to a colleague rather than to a child. "I will bear that in mind."
