Part 3
Maglor was sobbing. I'd never seen a grown man sound so utterly anguished. My heart lurched with each shuddering intake of breath he took.
It was several months after the confirmation that Elwing, Eärendil, and the Silmaril were long gone. Elros had more difficulty accepting that than I. Maglor was a sufficient enough guardian, always knowing what we needed, always knowing what expression to form to make us a bit more at ease.
Russandol was a different story. Elros hated him, and though I avoided him at all costs, I always thought him quite the mystery.
Until now. Until I'd stood outside Maglor's chamber with the door ajar, listening to a bickering tide of Quenya shooting back and forth between Maglor and Russandol. Until Russandol's voice died out into a vicious growl and Maglor yelled back with desperation. Until there was a smack of flesh and I heard the thump of Maglor falling to the floor.
Russandol hissed a response and stormed out, paying me no heed even as I beat furiously at his legs.
This was Russandol; he was either dead, or angry. I didn't think that was all there was to him, but now I couldn't help but feel my chest burn and my eyes redden.
Now Maglor was draped over the edge of the bed, sobbing.
There was more to this.
I was tired of Russandol. I was tired of his anger and his callousness. I was tired of Maglor running to his beck and call as if he were Russandol's servant.
Everything always screamed 'wrong'. Everything felt 'wrong'. Was a bit of stability too much to ask?
I felt Elros as he came up from behind and spun me to face him. His eyes were flashing as usual with 'what are you doing here while they are fighting'?
Elros; he was almost like Russandol sometimes, in a way. Though I knew he'd turn red with fury and box my ears if I ever told him that. Then I would hear him sniffling at night, stroking a handful of feathers from his pillow as if it would bring Elwing back somehow. That's when I'd turn around and try to block out the smudged memories of distant screams and the clashing of metal.
Elros' grip tightened. His eyes were glistening as if he was about to cry. I wondered if it was because he missed mother or because he hated our captors this time.
Oh, he'd asked a question.
"Elrond you fool, why are you here?"
We weren't allowed in this part of the stronghold, not that I cared. I tried to pry his hands off my shoulders but it didn't work.
"What does it matter to you?" I shot back sulkily.
"Russandol is furious!"
"Maglor is crying. Russandol hit him."
"Even more so! Come on."
I took a sharp step back when he tried to pull me forward. Fury bubbled in my chest but I soothed it over and promised myself 'soon'. I was tired. Something needed to change.
Elros was getting angry too, but I could tell by the way his eyes darted about that he was scared. He could hardly bear to let me out of his sight since the incident...
But that was several months ago. He needed to get over it.
He tugged me forward again but I stepped back, looking at him very sternly.
"Elrond! Let's go."
"Maglor is crying."
"Why should I care?"
I balked. "I love him."
I surprised even myself with that. Elros' eyes widened, churning and gray as the tumultuous seas. He was afraid that maybe he loved Maglor too.
I tried to pry his hands away again. He slammed my back into the wall. I felt a twinge of heat rise to my face.
"Damn you, Elrond. Damn you and your-your foolish—"
He was almost to cry. I carefully preserved my rage for Russandol.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
I only stared at him. He knew exactly where I was going.
Maglor's sobs had quieted. I knew he could hear us.
"What does it matter to you?" I answered dully and pushed against him.
He thrust me back against the wall, almost hysterical.
"Because you're the only thing I have left, I—"
He really was crying now. I doggedly accepted his crushing embrace, running my fingers through his hair as Elwing might have done. I hardly remembered her but it seemed to calm his shaking. His thumb fingered the little white scar on my neck where Russandol had nearly cut it open. We shared nightmares of that sometimes.
"Elros, I'm not going to die. I'm not going to leave you."
He nodded against the wet patch on my shoulder from his tears. Elbereth, I loved him more than anything.
He finally pulled back, quickly wiping his tears as if he were ashamed of them. He was older, after all.
"Maglor is crying," I told him again.
He swallowed and nodded. I watched him come up to Maglor, who raised his head. I felt the rage flare up again when I saw the redness on one side of his face.
His eyes weren't dead like Russandol's, but they would probably be less anguished if they were. I shuddered at the thought, imagining maggots turning in his stiff gray flesh.
No, I loved Maglor. I wondered sometimes if he was more miserable than those who had survived Sirion.
I watched as Elros tentatively reached out to stroke Maglor's hair like I would have done to comfort him. Maglor collected Elros into his arms as if he might break. Elros seemed to melt, and I could see his eyes flutter closed, then flit over to me in silent bereavement.
I felt a pang of pity for him. He had seen too much. I don't know what I would have done if I had to watch him wrestle on the brink of death just to draw in another breath like he had for me.
I had the sudden urge to come forward and hug him again, but he was with Maglor now. He needed someone stronger than him, even though he would go to lengths to deny it.
I turned and left them together, knowing it would be alright.
Steeling my jaw, I strode purposefully past cobbled walls with towering ceilings.
Dusty, moth-eaten banners—turned ragged and faded from the small openings in the stone above—wafted uncertainly in the wind, showering dust down below.
An approaching sentry stifled a cough into his hand as he rounded the corner with the familiar clank of armor and jangling belts.
I didn't really see how he managed to get from the bend in the hall to directly in front of me so quickly. Wraiths, these Noldor. Both inside and out.
He grabbed my shoulder with his gauntlet. He probably wore it more for warmth than protection.
"You're not supposed to be in here, boy." His breath misted in the frigid air as he spoke. His eyes were cold as the gray sleet outside. Wraiths, I tell you.
I only shoved up my chin and stared him in the face. The Light in his eyes swam, almost crazed-like.
"My business is my own." I pushed past him and continued on. He didn't follow me.
Hands clenching and unclenching into fists swayed at my sides.
I threw open the door I knew was Russandol's office where he all but lived, throwing heed to the unkind wind.
I hoped he saw the blaze in my eyes when he started at the sound of the door banging against the opposite wall. I could feel it bubbling hotter and hotter even as my breath misted before my face in great puffs that seemed to wash Russandol away.
"Get. Out."
I took several steps forward. "What are you going to do, Fëanorion? Hit me?"
He pushed his chair back, the legs shrieking against the cobbles, and narrowed his eyes at me.
"Oftentimes I regret letting my brother have you, Eärendilion."
"Maglor regrets too, I've heard him say it. He regrets that he followed you into a bloodbath that—!"
Russandol slammed his fist onto the table, setting the open inkwells into a distraught chime.
I flinched. My heart pounded against my chest like a battering ram.
He stood from his chair, his shadow looming over me like the maws of Carcharoth awaiting to close on Lúthien.
My bluff disintegrated when I saw his hand stray to the broadsword in his scabbard that he never removed. My throat ached in remembrance and I brought a hand up to cover it.
He was so large, and I so small and insignificant; a pestilant fly buzzing at his ears that he could crush without an ounce of effort.
Every time I looked at Russandol, the guise that Elros and I were loved here dissipated. His dead eyes reminded me that we were just hostages for a ransom that would never come.
I backed up a rapid step but a draft of air had clicked the door back shut. My eyes burned but I squinted against the tears and stared up at him, trembling.
His fingers twitched, as if uncertain whether or not to draw the sword from the scabbard, or close upon a small dagger instead.
"Kanafinwë knows not what is best for us. He has kept you too long... grown attached... a bandage around a festering wound that will never heal..." His face was blank but his eyes were thoughtful, the chaos in them swirling a bit more sluggishly now.
My heart sped up until I was certain something inside of me would burst. I pressed my eyes closed in an attempt to collect myself, but only squeezed a tear free. I shamefully dashed it away with my sleeve, hoping he didn't see.
Wraith.
I summoned the courage to speak. "How old were your brothers before you found them dead at Sirion?"
His gaze darted to me and I shook under the strain. His dead eyes flickered, as if bemused.
"You can never replace them."
"I don't want to."
His breaths were coarse, as if his airways inside were muddled. My breaths puffed in and out, shrouding Russandol in a cloud before the Light in his eyes cut through, followed by the whiteness of his scars.
He bent down and reached forward with the creak of leather to swipe a tear off my cheek with his thumb. His presence crushed me into the wall. I froze as still as the corpse of Turgon's lady wife. Just a fly...
"You have courage that is brash and vain. Your mind is mature and largely incorruptible."
What? I didn't know what he meant by that and it struck terror within me.
A pause. Russandol straightened and breath woodshed into my hammering chest.
"Maglor would be better off without you and-and Elros to distract him from our purpose here."
Heat drained from my face. I cowered against the door. Tears burned tracks down my cheeks. Purpose? What purpose; to kill? To break hearts and divide families?
I can't do this. I leaned against the handle of the door. It was difficult to tense for flight when my whole body trembled with the frailty of a banner in the wind.
"Maglor doesn't need you..." he said, more to convince himself.
He unsheathed a dagger, shakily. I felt that I was going to be sick, unable to tear my eyes away from the dull glow of torchlight on the steel. I saw in mind's eye a very similar sheen of steel in Russandol's hand.
Dust rained down, oh so slowly, trapped in time as we both seemed to be.
He took a step forward, almost uncertain, his breathing erratic, and I slammed my elbow against the door so hard it cracked open. I fell backwards into the hallway with a scream.
He bore down above and I could only think of how desperately I didn't want to die. A ragged sob.
"Don't—"
Russandol loomed above, unchanging. Blank, but thoughtful. I couldn't see the knife in his fist through the blur of tears.
I trembled against the frosted stone, gasping. A hand came up to cover my throat. I wanted to be brave, but Russandol was disarming in a way that left me like this.
A fly with its wings pinned.
"I thought your kinslaying was over."
"So did I, after the first two."
I wondered how many other children he'd killed this way, cringing against the floor and crying for mercy. Bile rose in my throat.
"I won't leave Elros."
"I'll kill him too." The callousness of the words stung.
I glared up at him, terrified but also angry. He never learned, did he? No matter what was taken away from him, he never learned. Maybe he was tainted. Maybe he was evil as Elros insisted.
My eyes strayed from the dagger to his stump. The white scars netted across his face. Stories, they held. Something had made him this way. I stared into his eyes, scrubbing the tears away with my sleeve.
"You won't."
Russandol scoffed but his wide-eyed hesitation thus far offered as much reassurance as could be given in a situation like this.
A deep breath.
"You won't. You won't kill me. You love me and Elros. You won't."
Russandol clenched his jaw.
"You won't."
He threw down the dagger with a deafening clatter and shower of sparks that tingled my hand. I flinched, but managed to get my feet under me.
An act... the villain had been putting on a dreadful act. I clenched my teeth, not about to let this go again because I was frightened.
He turned and stalked back into the chamber. I don't know what possessed me to follow him.
I still shook, but he looked more stable now. As if I had trapped him in a corner and he'd relented.
He sat at the desk, propping up his elbows, and said nothing. I stood near to him, as if in a vain, fearless defiance. As if to try to prove to the both of us that I wasn't afraid of him and the death in his eyes.
It slipped out before I could choke it back. "What is wrong with you? Why are you this way?"
A pause.
"I was happy, once."
I frowned, daring to reach out and finger the stump of his arm. "Before you lost your hand?"
He shook his head and pulled the arm out of my reach. "Before we all turned mad."
His eyes met mine and I tilted my head to the side. He never once denied my words that he loved Elros and I.
An evil Russandol may be, but a mysterious one.
I turned my back on him and walked out, back to Maglor's room. Elros slammed into me the minute I set foot inside. My knees were still weak with fright but I let him embrace me crushingly.
He obviously had sensed my distress and threaded his fingers through my hair as Maglor might of done. I got no comfort from thoughts of Elwing now.
Maglor watched us, his hands clasped neatly in front of him.
I couldn't really breathe, and tried to pull away but Elros would not have it. His voice was muffled into my shoulder.
"Idiot."
I smiled shakily and met Maglor's eyes over Elros' shoulder. They were gray as sleet like the frigid sentry's, but sad where Russandol's were dead.
Maybe that's what Russandol's deadness hid. Maybe he was just layers and layers.
"Russandol loves us," I said.
I pretended not to notice Elros stiffen. Maglor smiled—sadly—and nodded.
oOoOoOo
A/N: Finished! Would love to hear y'all's thoughts :).