I'm so sorry for the long silence! T.T I had (and still have) some severe health issues including hospital and all that shit. Plus RL just happened. This chapter turned out rather long, so I parted it in two. Part two will follow soon (I hope).

Naugrim (Part 1)

Maglor gave the children little harps for their birthday, as he had promised, and then gave them harp lessons. The children were interested, but did not yet have a real feeling for music. As a result, they were not learning at the pace they would like to, and they became frustrated. Maglor had to slow them down and keep reminding them that no master had fallen from the sky yet.

"But you make it look so easy," Elros moaned.

"After all, I have a few years more practice than you do," Maglor said calmly. "You've only been studying for a fortnight. I was barely older than you when I started with the harp, and I can still learn new things today. It takes a lot of practice and patience to master an instrument."

The children did not seem happy about it, but they gave in and did not give up. Nevertheless, they made remarkably rapid progress. Maglor was proud of them.

His brother, on the other hand, became quieter and quieter. Maedhros retreated more and more, building walls around himself and not even letting Maglor near him. The joy of the younger of the brothers at the children's learning progress was overshadowed by his concern for Maedhros.

Maedhros had taken it upon himself to manage the affairs of Amon Ereb almost alone. This left Maglor with a lot of time for the twins, but it also put Maedhros to work. He would not allow anyone to help him either, and so Maglor had no choice but to stand idly by and watch with concern as the walls around Maedhros grew higher day by day and with every document he devoted himself to.

"Why don't you let me help you?" he asked, not for the first time.

Probably once too often.

Maedhros smashed the letter he had just held in his hand onto the table and struck the wood with his fist. Anyone else would have flinched from his anger, but not Maglor. He knew his brother.

"Enough," thundered Maedhros. "Someone has to keep everything going, and obviously it's not you!"

Maglor struggled to keep calm. "I have offered you my help often enough," he growled. "What else can I do? Beg you on my knees?"

"Being serious about your offers would have been enough," Maedhros shouted at him. "But I see how you've made a fool of the brats. They are our prisoners, no more and no less, don't forget that. There is still a chance that their parents will return, and then they will be nothing more than leverage to get our property back."

"But a few weeks ago that sounded very different from the way you said it," Maglor reminded him.

"Can you be sure that they really won't return? Are they dead? Are the Valar holding them in Aman? If we don't know that, there is always the possibility that they will return with our property. But you seem to have completely forgotten that above your infatuation."

"Infatuation? Brother, listen to yourself!"

"Don't change the subject! Have you forgotten our own brothers? Have you forgotten what they died for? You can't just replace them with another set of twins. They are not Ambarussar."

That hurt Maglor far more than he liked. Since they had returned to Amon Ereb, he had hardly thought about his youngest brothers and instead had spent all his energy on the two half-elves. Partly also to escape the pain that loss brought with it. He had blinded himself with open eyes because he had simply not been able to control the flood of feelings that raged within him. He had ignored them to avoid being washed away by them.

He should have known that this could not go well.

The dam broke.

Trembling, he took a breath while somehow trying to stop the flood. But it was as if he was fighting the ocean with his bare hands. Tears came to his eyes and he clenched his hands into fists to control their trembling.

"I too mourn for our brothers," he croaked. "Each of us in his own way. How can you think of me in this way?"

Maedhros stared at him wordlessly. But suddenly his gaze softened. His shoulders slumped down and he let himself sink into his chair with a heavy sigh.

"Please forgive me", he said softly. "I... I just don't know what came over me."

Maglor wanted to yell at him, but at the same time he knew that it would not be fair to Maedhros to take out his own frustration on him. Both of them were under great stress after everything that had happened. How could he blame him then, if he once made a mistake in tone? Maglor demanded so much from him by taking the children in. How could Maglor blame himself if he somehow tried to cope with his overwhelming emotions and stumbled?

Maedhros ran his hand over his face. He looked tired. How long had he not slept enough?

"The dwarves of Belegost answered", he changed the subject.

Maglor didn't want any conflict with his brother, not now and here, and so he accepted with thanks. "What do they write?"

"That they will reconsider my offer and take a look at the goods," Maedhros replied. "They invite us and speak of a chance to negotiate if they like what we offer."

Maglor sighed in relief. At least one less worry. "That is good."

"There is still no reason for joy," Maedhros dampened his enthusiasm. "Their tone is very restrained and they make it clear that nothing is yet decided. I have no choice but to go to Belegost and negotiate with them. Perhaps they remember the alliance I once made with them."

"And Nogrod?"

"So far, no answer." Maedhros laughed bitterly. "Maybe they blame us for finishing what they started."

Maglor pulled a face. "I don't want to joke about this."

Maedhros lowered his eyes. "You are right. I should know better. Anyway. I will prepare my departure in the next few days."

"Your departure?" Maglor repeated. "Not ours?"

"There is no need for both of us to go, and the roads have become dangerous these days. We have no army left to accompany us, only a few soldiers," Maedhros reminded him.

Maglor pondered for a moment. Then he tried to find a conciliatory tone. "I still want to come along. It's a good opportunity for the children to see a little more of the world and meet dwarves."

Maedhros looked at him sceptically.

"Just children, remember?", Maglor quickly said. "You yourself said that I should see to their education."

"It's not that, it's just..." Maedhros searched for words. "The streets are dangerous enough for our kind. We don't need two little children there."

Maglor tried a confident smile, but feared that he failed. "I can take care of them."

Maedhros looked at him in silence. "If you can't be dissuaded, then let them come with me. Maybe the dwarves will even let us enter Belegost."

So that was that. The twins showed restrained curiosity when Maglor told them that they would soon go to the east to see dwarves. It still seemed to Maglor that they did not really dare to show joy. Much had become more relaxed between them since that snowy day, but Maglor sensed that the gulf between them was far from being bridged. At least it was a step forward that they no longer withdrew completely. And at least they were definitely enthusiastic about playing the harp. Maglor could not deny that he was extremely proud that his music was the first point of contact between them.

"But hadn't it been dwarves who killed Thingol?" Elros wanted to know.

"Yes, but strictly speaking it was the people of Nogrod. We do not go to them." At least he hoped so, Maglor added in his mind. They had had a better relationship with the dwarves of Belegost since Maedhros had once saved their lord Azaghâl and Caranthir had later maintained that relationship, which had brought him considerable wealth.

Maglor remembered another detail. Elros seemed to have been very taken with the history of Túrin. Perhaps he enjoyed finding out where the origins of the Dragon Helmet lay.

"Would you like to hear a little story?" he asked. "But not in verse this time."

A little hesitantly, the children nodded.

"Once upon a time, a blacksmith named Telchar lived with the dwarves of Nogrod," Maglor began. "He was one of the greatest blacksmiths of this country and among his works are famous swords like Narsil, but also Angrist, the knife that Beren used to break the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown. The Dragon Helmet of Dor-lómin was also forged by Telchar."

Elros' eyes became large. "Ohh!"

"Telchar once forged the helmet for his lord Azaghâl," Maglor continued. "As he traveled the dwarven road, he was attacked by orcs who had lurked for him. By chance, however, Maedhros was nearby and rescued him. In gratitude, he gave him the helmet, but Maedhros later passed it on to Fingon; they were very good friends, you know. Nothing could have separated them."

"Were? What happened?", Elrond wanted to know.

Maglor lowered his eyes sadly. "Fingon fell in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I beg you, do not mention him in my brother's presence; the memory of him brings back too many painful memories in him."

"Oh. I'm... sorry," Elrond said somewhat helplessly. Apparently, he did not know what else to say.

Maglor looked up. "But that's another story. A little over a hundred years ago, Fingolfin founded the fief of Dor-lómin and appointed Hador the first lord. To celebrate this, Fingon, his son, gave the helmet to Hador, who later passed it on to his son Galdor. Through him he came into the possession of Húrin and finally Túrin".

"Whew. So many names," Elros groaned. "How can you remember them all?"

Maglor had to smile. "Fingolfin is my uncle. It would be a bit weird if I didn't know who I was related to. It is also important for our kind to know who is allied with whom, and thanks to Fingon, Maedhros and so I were always quite well informed about who was in charge in Dor-lómin." Even if it was sometimes a bit difficult to be up to date. Men were so terribly short-lived! Maglor had never quite understood why Finrod had taken such a fancy to them.

Elrond and Elros seemed to have to deal with that for a moment. They knew they were descended in direct line from Fingolfin; Earendil had seen to that. But apparently he had misrepresented that Fingolfin's older brother was Feanor.

"So we are related to you too." Elros sounded confused.

"All the great houses of the Eldar are related to each other, even if some are only distant," Maglor said. He realised, however, that this conversation was going in a direction he did not feel too comfortable with. There were things he was reluctant to talk about. Dead friends and relatives were among them. So he quickly changed the subject: "So, now you know the origins of the Dragon Helmet. Soon you will be able to get to know dwarves. Telchar is no longer alive, but I am sure you will find our journey interesting nevertheless."

The twins seemed to have a lot more questions, but they were silent. Perhaps they sensed that Maglor did not want to talk about it.

In the next time, some life came back into the house as Maedhros organized their departure. Several elves went in and out to prepare the transport of goods. Both princes would leave, so that meant that someone had to stay behind to take the lead in their absence. The twins seemed to be in good spirits, for they hardly spoke of anything else. They knew dwarves only from stories and were eager to see representatives of this people with their own eyes. Maglor had to gather his entire repertoire of songs about dwarves and perform them, and yet they couldn't wait.

The day of their departure had come. The children still did not seem to like showing their enthusiasm, but now their joy was so great that they could hardly hide it. Maglor hoped their expectations would not be disappointed. Then he looked at their escort and was more concerned about their safety. Maybe his brother had been right after all, and he would have been better off staying home with them ...

But now it was decided and they set off.

The beginning of spring was hardly less unpleasant than its previous seasons. The first days of their journey turned out to be less than pleasant when they were soaked for days by an unpleasant drizzle. Maglor did his best to keep the twins dry, but he did not really succeed. He hoped they would not catch a cold again. At least he had allowed himself the luxury of a tent so that at least in the evening they could sleep in the dry while he dried their clothes on the fire.

Their way finally led them through a small forest near Sarn Athrad. Here they wanted to cross the river Gelion to continue their way east along the old Dwarf Road. It was also here that Beren once defeated the forces of the dwarves of Nogrod after they returned from the plundering of Doriath and conquered the Silmaril - the very Silmaril that led first to the destruction of Doriath and then of the ports of Sirion at the hands of the Feanorians.

As he watched the glittering ribbon of the river in the distance, Maglor wondered what would have happened if Beren had been defeated. Would Maedhros have planned an attack on Nogrod instead, or dropped the whole thing? And had he attacked the dwarves, would they have consigned Nogrod to the flames as Doriath and Sirion did, or would they have failed at the axes of the small people?

Would their failure perhaps even have been the best for all?

Elros tore him from his thoughts as he nervously tugged at Maglor's sleeve to get his attention.

"I'm scared," whispered the boy in a thin voice.

Maglor comfortingly put a hand on his shoulder; in the meantime, the twins allowed him to be close to them in this way and no longer flinched from him.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. "That's just a little copse up ahead, and there are no enemies for miles around."

"There's something evil up ahead," whispered Elros and made himself very small. "Bad things will happen."

Maglor frowned and turned his gaze to the forest ahead. Maedhros had also stopped his horse when he heard what Elros said.

"Something will happen?" Maedhros repeated. "How can you know that, child?" He had struck a serious note, but his voice had none of the sharpness that usually lay in it when he addressed the twins. He seemed to take what Elros had to say seriously.

Elros looked at him with big eyes and didn't seem to know what to say. "I ... just know," he said feebly.