Change has come to Amon Ereb, to its bleak cycle of days and nights without hope. The din of high-pitched voices, the little feet scuttling across the floors... the light in Maglor's eyes which had not been there since Doriath.
Maedhros maintains his distance, mistrustful. Surely this cannot be so easy... it should not be. They have no right to that.
Yet, it seems a mere blink of an eye for the twins to become accustomed to their new life in the fort, to Maglor, and even to their new names (for their true names none can bear to say).
It takes even less than blink of an eye for many a seasoned warrior to mellow around the twins, and so they soon spend time with Elvegil and Lindir in the stables, and climb on Saelon's lap for treats whenever they venture into the kitchen.
There are no other children on Amon Ereb, and Maedhros doubles the watchers and patrols to ensure that no raiding Orcs fall upon them unawares.
All too easy for his liking...and he knows that this will not last.
The slow creaking of the door to the training room catches him in between rounds of strenuous exercise. Having long ceased being self-conscious about his scars, and with fewer hands to wash the sweated tunics than at Himring, he is bare to the waist when he turns to the sight of the twins, clinging to each other for support and staring at him wide-eyed.
"Come in or stay out, but do not stand in the doorway, little ones," he says calmly, maintaining his face expressionless. "Which will it be?"
For a moment, it seems that they might take the latter option, but then, hand in hand, step in and lean against the closed door.
Seeing their distressed but intent eyes, Maedhros can feel chill building at his nape. "What is it?"
"We must ask you something." Elrond's face, deathly pale, sports two bright red spots as he is tilting his head far back to look right into Maedhros' eyes. He is breathing hard.
"Ask then."
"Is it true -" the boy's voice breaks.
"Is it true that you killed our nana ?" Elros blurts, his eyes swimming, yet both boys stand their ground and stare him down with a courage that many their senior wouldn't be able to muster.
The chill claws at his spine. To gain time and put the boys more at ease, Maedhros slowly sits down at the ground, cross-legged. "Who told you this?" he asks softly.
No response. Their eyes swerve.
"Answer me." Maedhros waits, knowing the weight of silence.
"No-one." Elros sulks finally, shooting him a dark look.
"No-one, Lord Maedhros," confirms Elrond. "We simply heard somewhere."
'Somewhere'. May those careless gossipers burn in Morgoth's pits. He will have to redress this but gossip, like Orcs, can never be exterminated, always rearing an ugly head. As if plain truth was not ugly enough as it is. And so it is the truth that he offers.
"I did not push your naneth off the cliff in my wrath, if this is what you have heard. But I was leading the pursuit and it was me from whom she was trying to escape when she threw herself into the sea in despair."
This is too blunt, the detail too vivid. The pale faces contort and tears over flow, and he is Lord Maedhros , grim and scary, not the gentle ada Maglor who might take them into his arms and whisper calming words, and he did cause their naneth 's death whether he laid his hands on her or not.
Things turn even worse when Elros starts stomping his feet. "That was bad! Evil! You are evil!"
"Yes, little one. You are right. It was."
The calm admission leaves the child in stunned silence, softly sniffling. Elrond, however, keeps measuring him up with teary eyes: the honed muscle and cord, the ugly scars, the scary stump.
The killer. The monster.
The villain of the story.
So be it, as long as it is him, and not Maglor. He can bear that; Maglor would shatter.
"Wipe your eyes." Maedhros keeps his voice calm. "Ada would be worried. You do not want to worry ada, do you?"
Both violently shake their heads. " Ada is nice ," Elros glares at him. "Good."
"Yes. He is."
"We like ada !"
So do I. "Yes. You are good boys. You did good when you came to ask me, and not ada , he would be very sad. Always come to me if you hear such things again."
The tension is dissipating but the puffy eyes and faces will need time. He needs a safe topic... safe and thoroughly captivating, to keep them distracted sufficiently long. Safe for the boys .
So be it then. "When you overheard the gossip... did you also hear how I lost my hand?"
The two pairs of grey eyes open wide, then both drop to the stump, innocent in their morbid curiosity. The twin sweet mouths are open no less wide... for an instant.
"No, we didn't..."
"Did Morgoth cut it off?"
"They say that you fought a Balrog..."
"...we asked, but ada wouldn't tell us..."
No, Maglor wouldn't. Maedhros himself wouldn't, earlier when Thangorodrim was never to be spoken about. But that was a long time ago, buried under further layers of pain and loss and guilt.
"I will tell you then, if you wish to hear."
Unsurprisingly, they do. An epic tale of Fingon the Valiant, who took a great risk to save a friend whom he had every right to believe had betrayed him, of the song sung in defiance of Morgoth, and of Manwë's great eagle who came to their aid. The parts that would fuel their nightmares Maedhros carefully redacts; the rest he paints in vivid colours, with the blood of his heart.
When he finishes, there comes a flurry of questions. Did it hurt much? Couldn't the hand be reattached? Couldn't a smith make a new hand? And what did Fingon do next? More about Fingon! He was a true hero, tell us more about Fingon!
At the long last, Maglor appears in search of the twins. To his brows raised in concern, Maedhros replies with a feigned smile, and manages to hold together until the door safely closes behind the boys, though but barely.
"Ada! Ada!"
Yet another night when the past returns to haunt. Little as the boys remember from that terrible night, it still plagues their dreams. Maglor's embrace is always at the ready, and soothing songs, but there are also nights when nothing can do but snuggling into the bed with a twin at each side, holding them safe until the morning.
Such a remedy, however, has its limits.
"But what if you also have a bad dream, ada ?"
"Do not worry. I will not sleep."
"But the last time -"
"Fear not." Maedhros leaves the shadows of the hallway and pulls a chair to the bed. "I will watch. And I will wake anyone before he might start trashing about."
That calms them. All three of them fall asleep under his watch.
Like nightmares, questions also recur.
"But why , Maedhros, why? How could you do that?"
"The oath ..."
"The oath, the oath!" More and more upset, Elros almost falls back to his foot-stomping days. "Why didn't you say that you do not want to do it anymore? And why did you swear such a thing in the first place?"
Maedhros bites his lip. He had tried to explain the meaning of their oath, in words and concepts that the young minds might grasp, but apparently failed in delivering. It would probably be easier if he hadn't been plagued by the same questions himself.
"Hmmm... let me show you," he slowly removes the dagger from his belt. The two pairs of eyes watch warily as he bares the steel. "What happens when you cut yourself?"
Receiving a puzzled look, he draws the edge across his forearm so quickly that the boys do not even manage to open their mouths in shock before he speaks again. "When you cut, you draw blood. You cannot put the blood back; you cannot make the cut go away. It is the same with oaths."
Seeing their eyes wide and white, he worries that he might have gone too far again, but then Elros yells angrily: "That was stupid ! Why did you do this?" while Elrond produces a handkerchief of dubious cleanliness, apparently to mimic Maglor fretting over a scratched knee.
Maedhros quickly stops the intervention. "Don't. Ada would ask about the blood. It will stop shortly, it's but a scratch."
Elrond purses his lips. "But it was stupid . You shouldn't have done it."
"You are right, little one. I shouldn't have done it, and I shouldn't have sworn the oath. But what is done is done, and I cannot undo it."
"But why did you do it? Did you not know that it was stupid?" His hands planted in his sides, Elros frowns – the very image of Maglor finding the brothers at some mischief.
"Do you remember what I told you about Fëanor, our father?"
"He made those blue lamps!" The twins had never seen the Noldor lamps prior their arrival to Amon Ereb, and the concept of light without fire has not lost its appeal.
"Yes. The lamps, and many other beautiful and wondrous things. He had a brilliant mind, and possessed incredible skill; none of us could ever compare, and he was our ada . We admired him, and adored him. In our eyes, he could do nothing wrong. He blazed like the Sun. Do you recall what happened when you looked into the sun, after Maglor told you not to?"
"It hurt," Elros shuffles his feet.
"And I couldn't see anything for a while," adds Elrond softly. "It was too bright."
"It was the same with our father. He shone so bright that we could not truly see, and we did not want to hear when others spoke about his pride, his hot temper... his ruthlessness. We preferred to look into his light instead." And we paid with blindness and pain .
"Like moths and fire." The boy's voice is barely a whisper. "And that fire..."
... burnt not only us but everyone that we touched.
A shiver passes through him.
The boy before him is very pale. "You should not have sworn... Ada should not have sworn!"
Sensing his brother's distress, Elros wraps his arms around him, shooting Maedhros an accusatory look – not for the first time, and hardly the last. He waits.
"We love ada Maglor," says Elros finally in a tiny voice.
"I know."
"We love him, even though – although -"
"I know, little one. And I am sorry, I truly am, for everything that our stupidity has brought upon you."
Some nightmares occur at daytime.
When the twins climb on the roof of the tallest watchtower, and Elrond nearly drops over the edge. When they perfect their hide-and-seek spot to the extent that the whole fortress is turned upside down only to find out that the the lock of a half-forgotten cellar had sealed shut. When they raid a pantry and overindulge on whatever draws their eye, to their utmost regret several hours later. When Elros topples into the well, or nearly darts under the hooves of a galloping horse. When they decide to experiment with certain herbs. When Elrond becomes distracted during a sparring session and earns a blow to the head. Whenever they dare each other to a feat whole levels above the previous.
None so terrible, though, as the day when they slip into the woods on their own, thoroughly assured that their proficiency with sword and bow and each other's company makes them invincible.
Maedhros is livid to learn, and he does not waste the time on a full set of armour when mounting a search party. That later earns him a gash from an Orc spear when the search turns into a rescue at the nick of the time, just as the twins learn, to their woe, that fighting off a party of Orcs is very different from courtyard practice.
Maedhros wreaks havoc among the beasts, his eyes flaming white with wrath, and barely feels the spear until after, when the Orcs are but corpses and he has made sure that the boys suffered no more but a fright and a few scratches.
The sight of his blood sends them into a flood of tears, though.
"Adar , I am sorry... we are so sorry!"
Elros flings himself to his arms, sobbing, and Elrond follows. "Forgive us, adar ... we won't do that ever again!"
He pulls them into a tight embrace, though his side hurts now. "Silly boys. What do I care for one more wound? You could have been hurt or killed, or -"
Or -
He holds them so tight that he must be hurting them, but they do not even whimper, and he needs to hold onto them, to reassure himself that they are safe, safe.
When Maglor arrives, worried sick and no less livid, ready to trash the twins with not only his tongue for once, Maedhros shakes his head: no need to anymore.
At night, however, he lies wide awake, struggling with the need to be sung to sleep, with a twin, safe and unharmed, by each side, to combat a completely a new set of nightmares – that night, and further nights to come.
He watches the new star, Gil-Estel, as many a night before: it holds a twin promise for him, bittersweet, but still he watches often.
Hearing light footsteps behind him, he does not turn. "You should be resting."
"As should you, adar ."
At another time, he might scoff at that, but not tonight: the last night .
As many a night before, he takes the twins by the shoulders; it has been long since he had to stoop for that, and they have grown tall themselves, though not reaching his height.
For the last time, they watch from the battlement together.
'I do not think that the Valar would have saved the Silmaril but let naneth perish,' Elrond had said on one such night. 'I do not believe that.'
Neither does Maedhros, and that is the hope that the star holds for him, though he may never learn. The other promise has already been fulfilled, with the distant grumbling of the ground and strange lights flickering against the northern skies, and that is the reason why this is the twins' last night on Amon Ereb.
The journey is uneventful and on the final evening, Maglor sings under the stars while Maedhros keeps watch in the dark; the lands are empty and the greatest danger far and wide is himself, but he doesn't take any risks. The smoke from the fire that they had lit on the coast could be seen by not only those intended for, and he will not fail before the end, not in this single task of his life that he has not failed.
With the dawn, a sail appears on the sea, and the time has come. The twins are pale and their eyes too bright, but they stand tall and proud. Few words are spoken; all has been said before.
"We will not leave you!"
"You must, and you will. Our Curse might fall upon you, and our crimes would stain you, if you stayed. You must leave – if not for your sake, then for ours, as seeing you hurt would pain us more than seeing you leave."
"We will not repudiate you!"
You must. Few, if any, might ever understand your attachment to us. Repudiate us, and any connection to us, to be cleansed of any shadow that we might cast over you. Do so, sons. For our sake, if not for yours. Forget us.
"Ah, edair ... why do you ask of us what you would never do yourselves?"
The words said in the hall of Amon Ereb hang in the morning breeze, ruffling their hair and stinging their eyes with sea salt. The boys have become men; as men, they accept the necessary but do not waver in their conviction.
It is pride, pride and love for the two young men, that holds Maedhros together through the last embraces. But as he bends to kiss the brow of Elros for the last time, strong hands suddenly cup his face and bring him lower, to return the kiss.
"Váetsenuvammetyet," the young man says solemnly, stepping back.
"Illumë renuvamme," Elrond's lips touch his forehead as he takes his brother's place. "I swear ."
"That I swear," Elros echoes.
And then they step back and leave the cover of trees to await the sailors on the beach, and through the blur of tears held back too long Maedhros watches them to get in a boat, and then the ground rises to meet him, its embrace cold and unconsoling.
He does not know how much time has passed before Maglor gently helps him to his feet. "Brother. We must go. We must return."
Return to the bleak existence of lost hopes, and the unfulfilled oath. Their respite is over.
He is on the way to the smithy when he hears the news, and pauses, torn between a desire to see, and an urge to flee and hide. Such urges, though, Celebrimbor has learned to keep at bay, and so he turns his steps towards the hall, keeping his head high while the star clasping his cloak is searing his chest. With a seeming of leisure, he slowly makes his way among the gathered, and so even before he can see, he can hear a clear voice uttering:
"Many things can be said about Maedhros Fëanorion, but craven or liar is not one of them!"
'Do not slander him', Celebrimbor can almost hear, and cannot but admire the attitude. There was a time when he would have responded no less hotly, for House Fëanor never shies from their deeds, whatever they may be. It seems to him that back then, he was so very, very young. He crosses his arms on his chest, to prevent them from trembling.
A few more steps, and he can see the speaker: one of two young men, so similar to each other that they can hardly be told apart. The same handsome features, the same dark hair and grey eyes... the same proud posture under the stares of the gathered Lords. Only the King's eyes show nothing, as he watches the scene unfold from his raised throne.
"A cold comfort to those felled by his hand," Haldir of Doriath replies coldly. "In my arms did I carry your mother, a mere babe, out of the sack of Doriath, only to see her life taken by none other than those very same Kinslayers! You defile her memory, and that of the kin for whom she had named you!"
Diorréd and Nimlothrín, Celebrimbor knows. There are many such names committed to his memory: the legacy of the House of Fëanor, crafted from the blood spilt. His clenched hands hurt, as if the many-pointed star was driving its spikes into his flesh.
"We do no such thing," the other youth replies, in a tone less challenging, but perhaps bearing even more resolve for that. "But instead of living as constant reminders of evil, we choose to keep the names given to us as a remembrance of good."
"It is not your choice but your misplaced loyalty towards the accursed Kinslayers that makes me doubt your intentions, and you. Why did you leave the side of those whom you seem to hold in such a high esteem then?"
Uncowed by the words and tone, the young peredhel gravely holds Haldir's eyes. "It would have been easy to hate the sons of Fëanor, had we been treated harshly or with cold hearts. But loved and cherished we were as foster sons, and could not but repay in kind. And it was out of selfless love that we were sent away, not to fall under the Curse that lies upon them."
"Whatever amount of good they may have shown you, it cannot erase their evil deeds," speaks another voice, the sound of which always sends a wave of unease into Celebrimbor's heart: Orondil of Nargothrond.
"Is evil stronger then, to erase the good?" comes a retort.
Inadvertently, Celebrimbor flashes his eyes towards Gil-galad but the young King's face is all too well trained to remain expressionless, although he, like Celebrimbor himself, undoubtedly holds many a memory of Maedhros rocking him on his knees.
Celebrimbor takes a deep breath. "Well said," he raises his voice, stepping forward and looking around the hall. "Many of you carry a sword wrought by my hand, but my skill comes from my father, and from his father before him, whose names you now hold accursed. If you deem everything that has ever come from the House of Fëanor as evil now, you should repudiate your blades." And me.
Meeting the twins' eyes, he can see recognition even before he adds: "Well met, kinsmen. I am Celebrimbor of House Fëanor."
"Well said indeed," finally sounds the voice that matters most. Slowly, Gil-galad rises from the throne. "I will gladly see you prove your own worth, regardless of those who raised you. Welcome to my court, Elrond and Elros."
Stepping back, Celebrimbor takes the first opportunity to leave the hall, to flee into the sanctuary of his smithy. Only there, behind the locked door, does he allow himself to sink against the anvil, his lips silently forming the word that he had forbidden himself once: atarinya.
His trembling hand slowly strokes the metal. Oh, atya ...
A/N:
First, a disclaimer: the reasoning for keeping the oath is that of Maedhros, not mine. As far as unworthy oaths go, I'm fully team Jaime Lannister here. The "blink of an eye" that it takes the twins to warm up towards the Kinslayers is also his (Elven) perception. I am perhaps making the twins a bit younger here for this very purpose, though not too young to remember their names, and with this 've taken the liberty to stick to the version that it was Maglor who named Elrond and Elros, as it provides a great narrative payback when they decide to keep his names. The original ones are my invention, inspired by Elwing's stubbornness, and serving as an explanation why new names would be needed and later kept, other than showing the depth of the bond between the twins and Maglor.
As for the presence of survivors from Nargothrond: I presume that going to Gil-galad would be a logical option. I also suppose that this is where Celebrimbor would go directly, and discard the version that he ventured to Gondolin, as I don't see how he would have wound up there when its location wasn't known and travelling to the conquered lands in the north without any clue doesn't really make sense to me.
nana (Sindarin) - mommy
naneth (Sindarin) - mother
ada (Sindarin) - daddy
adar (Sindarin) - father, plural edair
Vá etsenuvamme tyet (Quenya) - we (dual) will not (refusing a request) forget you (dual)
Illumë renuvamme (Quenya) - we (dual) will always remember
Diorréd (Sindarin) - Heir of Dior
Nimlothrín (Sindarin) - Remembrance of Nimloth
atarinya (Quenya) - my father
atya (Quenya) - my daddy
As always, the credits for the Elvish go to Vinyë Lambengolmor