Hi people!

Here's the next chapter.

First of all I want to thank Celridel for her editing as well as d'elfe, Backstreet Girl and Ducking Cute for their encouraging reviews.

What will Laura do with the twins? She has realized that they're not like her, they're princes and as such they must be raised.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!


Chapter 4: Love Something, Let It Go

Laura woke with a start, shivering. At her side, Elros stirred restlessly, as if sensing her unease.

The woman drank deeply of the winter air. She felt she had been deprived of it somehow, during her dream.

She carefully slid Elrond's head off her arm and flexed it until the blood flowed freely again. She took off her fur cloak and laid it over the twins, kicked snow on the smoldering embers of the fire, and disappeared into the greyness.


Maglor sat quietly on a rock, his gloved hands steepled under his chin. He felt the cold creeping up on him, making every muscle clench and cramp. The pine trees crowded around him like old sentinels, charcoal outlines standing against the starless sky.

Occasionally a sentry would pass him by, but they knew enough by now to let him alone.

A bird called, its whistle pecking in through Maglor's grey fugue. He lifted his head and listened. The call came again, and now it sounded less like a birdcall and more like someone mimicking a birdcall. He glanced around, saw that the sentry was half around the camp, and stole off into the forests.

The call did not come again, but his exquisite hearing, that had made him the most renowned musician East or West, let him pinpoint the sound, leading him to a tall spruce tree. He noted the fallen needles that scattered in the snow, sure signs that the tree had been disturbed, and then let his gaze travel upwards until he saw a human figure crouching in the branches.

He stepped back, and the figure leaped down.

"Mortissë," he said quietly. He had not laid a hand on his sword.

"Disappointed?" she asked.

"Disappointed to see you? Always," he returned angrily. "What madness brings you here? You were supposed to protect the twins, not dangle them in Maedhros' reach."

Her eyebrows were scornful arches above green eyes. "You don't want to start an argument with me, Kinslayer. Because when I argue, my opponents get chopped up into mincemeat."

"Kinslayer?" he asked incredulously, gesturing to her attire. "You are no innocent either. All the cloth in the world would not cover up that truth."

"Come with me," she growled and led him at a brisk run to a rock outcropping. He saw the twins lying there, still asleep, wrapped in a fur cloak.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "After all this, you suddenly decide to give them up."

"Look, I don't like this any more than I like you," Mortissë snapped. "But I had no choice."

She went and sat by the twins, gently shaking one and then the other. They woke up slowly, their hair tousled and their eyes gentle with sleep.

"Hey kiddos," she murmured. "It's time to say goodbye."

"No!" Elros exclaimed. "No!"

"It's going to be alright," she said. "This is how it's supposed to be."

"You are just going to leave us with them?" Elros shouted, and the anger in his voice twisted like a knife in Laura's heart. She could see the fury in the boy's eyes and knew that consoling him would be useless. So she turned to Elrond, and said weakly, "It's going to be alright, kiddo."

"I know," the boy replied. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. "I have a gift for you, Mortissë." From the folds of his cloak, he produced a leather band, studded with smooth river pebbles, and put it in her hand. "I will remember you, mellon nín," he said solemnly.

Laura felt tears sting her eyes. She would not allow Maglor to see her cry, but she hugged Elrond back. "This isn't the end," she told him. "Someday we'll meet again, I promise you. And Mortissë never breaks her word, you can be sure of that."

That would be the beginning of a friendship that would endure for three Ages.

She stood up and guided Elrond to where Maglor stood. Then she turned to Elros, remembering that first day in the woods, the little boy who tried to hide his fear with bluster and bravado.

"Kiddo," she said. "I'm going to miss you."

Elros looked up, and the hurt in his eyes broke off a piece of her heart. "So will I, Mortissë."

Laura knelt down in the snow and opened her arms for a hug. After a long minute, Elros came. She could feel him shaking through his many layers and wished she could take his fear away.

She stood up then and looked at Maglor. "You're going to take excellent care of them," she said, her voice cold and dry as ice. "If you don't, I'll know, and you and I will have a bone to pick. By which I mean your bones will be picked clean by crows."

"I will," Maglor said softly. Laura reached down and ruffled Elrond's hair. "Good luck, kiddos," she said, and then turned back to Maglor. Her eyes told him she meant every word he said.

"The same to you, Mortissë," answered the son of Fëanor and turned, the twins behind him. Nothing was seen or heard as they returned to camp, but Maglor was sure that a pair of eyes were watching him intently.


"It seems pine trees bear strange fruit nowadays," Maedhros said coldly.

"Yet now we know where Elflings come from," Maglor said, hoping to make Maedhros smile, but not a glimmer of humor cracked his brother's stony mask.

The red-haired Elf crouched down in front of Elros. "Well met, little one. I am Maedhros."

"I know who you are," the boy said, then added almost conversationally, "And one day I'm going to kill you."

Maedhros rocked back on his heels, studying the child intently. "No," he answered. "You will not. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. What is your name?"

"That's my business."

For some reason, Maedhros smiled. He stood up, picking up Elros and perching him on his hip. His hands were experienced, having helped raise six younger children. "I like you, little one. But you will not be around me long enough to return the sentiment. What is your name?" he asked, turning to the other boy.

Elrond stepped forward. The rising sun played shadow games on his quiet face; his eyes were a clear, pure shade of grey. "I am Elrond. What should I call you?"

"Maedhros. Or anything you wish. Words do not trouble me."

Elrond nodded calmly, and Maglor said, "Go inside the tent now." Elros wriggled out of Maedhros' arms and the two boys disappeared inside, the tent flap falling behind them.

Once they were gone, Maedhros turned to Maglor. His face was thoughtful.

"So the woman gave them back? Did she learn that playing nursemaid is harder than it looks?"

Maglor shrugged. He found no reason to talk about what happened in the forest. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. What will you do now?"

"Send a message to Balar," Maedhros said instantly.

"And if Gil-Galad refuses? What will we do with them?" Maglor demanded.

Maedhros studied his younger brother, and a frisson of tension seemed to pass between the two. "Makalaurë, an army is no place for children." His eyes seemed to read Maglor's argument, and he sighed. "When you stand with your head among the clouds, you see many things. If Gil-Galad refuses to trade the Princes, you will care for them. Not I. I have had my share of twins."

Maglor nodded, relief blossoming in his heart.


Vingilótë shuddered in the grip of the storm and Eärendil wrestled with the wheel, his feet slipping on the wet deck.

The storm raged and boomed all around him. Waves slammed into the ship, and all the timbers quivered. He watched them, raking his dripping hair from his eyes, seeing that not all waves came with the wind. The wind howled, wild to smash Vingilótë into kindling, yet he steered straight into the gnashing teeth of the gale.

Eärendil had spent three days and three nights at the helm, fighting to keep the ship on course, knowing that only this layer of wood lay between him and drowning. Exhaustion wailed in his bones, but worse than that was the tangled knot in his stomach, telling him something was miserably wrong.

Plumes of spray beat against his face, half-blinding him but when he shook the water away, he saw something in the distance, white against the thrashing clouds.

It came closer to him, hurled by the wind, a pale flame on the wings of a storm, and he saw with wonder it was a great white bird, with a star burning on its snowy breast.

It came crashing to the deck of Vingilótë and lay still on the shivering timbers. Quickly, Eärendil left his post, snatching the bird up before going back to the wheel.

All its feathers were sodden, dripping with salt-spray, its body cold. He held the wheel steady with one hand and tucked the bird inside his cloak to warm it. He wondered wearily what it was doing here, so far from any land.

He caught himself falling into a doze sometime later, his head hitting the spokes of the wheel and straightening him with a jerk. He looked around wildly for a minute, disoriented by the churning sea. His legs were as weak as water.

Hours later, he woke up briefly, feeling a warm body against his, and thinking it was a dream, he whispered Elwing before sleep claimed him again.

The ocean was as still as plate-glass when he broke, the sails hanging limp and forlorn on the masts. He looked at all these things from where he lay prone on the deck. Eärendil tried to stand but felt a weight on his chest. He looked down and saw Elwing asleep, her head cradled against his heart. A snowy cloak streamed behind her, and as he watched, it dissolved into mist. Under her closed eyes were purple crescents, markers of a weariness that had pushed her nigh unto death.

He shook her shoulder, feeling how warm and solid she was, how very real. This was no dream then.

"Elwing?! Elwing?!"

She woke at the sound of his panicked voice, springing to her feet, then stumbling with fatigue. The Silmaril blazed at her chest, brighter than any star, burning with an unfaltering brilliance.

He caught her as she fell, crushing her to his chest. "Elwing, what is this?" he whispered. "Where are our children?"

"They came again," she said, her voice thick with sobs. "They came again, they came again! They razed the Havens to the ground!"

"Our children!" Eärendil cried, pushing Elwing away so he could see her face. "Elwing, where are our children?"

She was shaking her head wildly. "No, no, no!"

"Elwing!" he shouted, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Elwing, do you know what happened to your brothers when the Kinslayers came? Where are our children!"

She pushed him away with a burst of strength. "I don't know!" she screamed at him. "I don't know! I don't know!"

She was close to hysteria, close to doing something wild. He approached her cautiously, held her carefully, whispering meaningless things into her black hair.

When her shudders had turned into trembles, they sat together on the deck, staring out at the slate-grey, stone-still sea. Elwing spoke slowly, her eyes fixed on some distant nothing.

"I hid them in the cellars. I could not think of anywhere else. Maedhros came after me and...and I fell. I had nowhere else to go but the sea. That was the only way I could save what was entrusted to me." She opened her trembling hand, showing the Silmaril. "Take it," she pleaded. "I don't want it. It has too much blood."

He took it from her gently, and she continued softly, "When I was... when I was drowning, I heard a voice. I don't know. I don't know," she finished shaking her head.

"Know what?" Eärendil asked, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders.

"It said they would be safe," she breathed, not looking at him. "Was that my guilt or was it something else?"

"It was something else," he said firmly. "It was something else, Elwing. They will be safe. I know it."

The sails above him bellied out then, suddenly pregnant with a westerly wind. Lines thrummed and tightened, singing a sweet song and Vingilótë began to glide across the flat sea. Elwing turned to him, her eyes huge, liquid pools of silver, and held him tightly. Her tears fell like warm rain on his neck.


Waiting for your reviews, guys!