Author's Note {important!}:
'Surrogate Jewels' is indeed a combined revision of the stories previously titled 'The Sack of Sirion' and 'My Brother's Others'. Several things were altered and/or added during the overhaul of the latter fics- and the finished product was 'Surrogate Jewels'. I apologize for neglecting to make a note of this beforehand; it certainly was not my intention to deceive anyone. Honestly, I simply didn't think of mentioning this fact until I realized it might seem like a premeditated dupe: which it was and is not.
---AfterEver




Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Two
Maedhros




I see them, ahead. Little silhouettes in the murky gloom of night and war, outlined by the vicious light of stray fire, blurred by the coal-black smoke of ruin. They run like rabbits avoiding danger; darting from cover to cover and pausing behind every shelter before dashing out again. Quite effective, in fact, and I make note that Earendil raised no fools, for all that he may be one himself.

I follow them into the building, what used to be Elwing's home, if Elwing remained- but now, I suppose it is theirs; Earendil's sons, Sirion's little Lords. I follow. My steps feel heavy, every move of my body tiresome to my mind. I want to rest, with the three Silmarils and my six brothers. Thus I want what I cannot have, and how it angers me. From that anger I fend off my tears, for I now have but one brother left, and no Silmaril to present him with, and Maglor has plenty tears of his own.

The doorway is in pieces, a discarded battering ram crossing the threshold, slain elves scattered about the porch. I do not care to discover their identities. I hear a defiant scream further inside, and something heavy falls to a wooden floor, the resultant clang echoing in my ears. I follow the sounds into the dining room, where the glint of a blade catches my eye foremost. But it is lying unused upon the ground; not hoisted as at first I thought, but abandoned. The Peredhil are alive within the room, along with my brother.

Entering, I see Maglor stooped on his knees, and the children before him. Twin males, black hair, alike faces, young bodies... I should not look closer than that, but I do. Trembling with fear I wish I could extinguish, covered in soot from the inferno we did not mean to cause, crying tears I wish I could prevent, their eyes alight with that which my heart desires most.

Maglor turns slightly and spares me one glance, from which I deduce so very much, then returns to his business. He is smitten, and already he denies it even as he silently warns me against interfering.

You think I did not notice, brother? Think you that the Light in these Peredhil's eyes was lost on me? Nay, oh, nay indeed. Not the Light of the Two Trees, as only now preserved in father-Feanor's Silmarils... and in the memories of those who have seen It.

It becomes them, the glorious Light to these harmless babes, and that infuriates me beyond rationality. Spite! I suppose they shall not covet the precious Jewel, either. I suppose to them the Silmaril was simply that which held more of their mother's faith than her own two sons combined. An object of their scorn, if a thing of any regard at all. Aye, so they reflect the Light in their eyes, but have naught lechery in their hearts. They saw the ember, but caught not aflame.

In their eyes, the likeness of a storm over Sea, is purity foremost, but within that is a glow like lightning behind cloud...
And yes, Maglor -Iluvatar help me- but I do crave it too. Would that those eyes look upon me in kindness, and mirror my admiration, return my affinity. But they will never, and I know this! Why cannot you see? Amrod and Amras we lost to Mandos and his cursed Halls this day, and still claimed we not Elwing's Silmaril, now taken from us again thanks to Ulmo and his cruel favor. And there you are, coddling two wailing beasts. I could help you, brother. I could help you comfort them, and bring them under some sort of control. And then I could always Help you, and toss both those half-breeds out of the belltower with one heave.

Approaching his side, I see tears gather in my brother's eyes. Tears of frustration, and loss, and despair, tears he has not the strength or will to restrain. Now this I cannot abide! Ah, Maglor, my dear little brother. He was never meant for this, nor it for him. So glad would he have been to simply sing happy songs for the rest of the world's days, and so glad would all have been to listen. But instead he is here, we are here. Amid the rubble of Sirion and the dead of our kin; Elvenkind... alas, even our very own brothers lie slain outside.

I would spare you from this, Maglor, if I could. Though my own heart has no desire for bloodshed, I am already marred irreparably by the torment and torture of war. There is no turning back for me. But you... For you I would gladly suffer even longer to but keep you from one more day of anguish, one more moment of regret, one more second of grief.

Poor Maglor... I wish I could ease his pain, even now. Even as I watch him in this futile act of benevolence, this hollow gesture of armistice. Senseless is it, because it will be unheeded. Meaningless is it, because it falls upon deaf ears. He wishes to win those children, to tame them, perhaps. Impossible! I cannot help him in that. But nor will I leave him here trying.

"Maglor," I announce, coming closer now beside him. From his crouched position on the floor, he twists his shoulders to look up at me again. There are tears flowing freely down his grimy face, and for my part I cannot help but think of Amrod and Amras when I behold the matching twin sons of Earendil, but keep my emotions better in check.

"They are Elwing's children," he explains a bit frantically. I suppose it is possible that I might not have guessed as much, but Maglor's statement only leads me to believe he is not thinking clearly. And he goes on, stammering, "I almost- I meant to..."

He cries harder, and I see he has lost control for a moment. Elwing's children are crying openly as well. Terrified, clutching at one another, crammed against an overturned table and no doubt fearing for their lives, or worse. I put my hand on my brother's shoulder and squeeze reassuringly. I know he would never have harmed the children, but it is the fact that he believes he could have which has driven him past the brink. His nerves are but in shambles after this terrible day, as are mine, as is to be expected.

"We must go, Maglor." I know he already is aware of as much, but I do not trust his judgement of time or priorities just now.

"They saw!" he gasps for the breath to continue, "They saw Elwing--" He turns towards the children and again tries to coax them over. "Come, children... come here. Please come here, I will not hurt you, I promise. Come!"

I harden my grasp on his shoulder to get his attention. The children are only more frightened now, and Maglor is doing himself no good either. He will render himself deranged in short time at this rate, and probably the twins as well.

"Why will they not come?!" Maglor blurts at me. I can see in his face that he truly does not know, and only more deeply do I feel for him. He is nearly insane with distress already.

I explain, gently as I can, "'Tis because you are a mere stranger to them who are but children, Maglor... and because you are acting like a mad fool at that." I do not mention that his armor is also covered in the gore of battle, though I have no doubt the children noticed at once.

He stops his sniveling all the same, and thinks.

Then he actually laughs. I do too, more I think out of my own nearly overwhelming sorrow than mirth. I fall to my knees and draw Maglor into my arms. It is the only way I know of to try and pull him together somehow. And ai! It feels so good to hold a brother against my breast who yet lives.

It does not take him long to calm down, and regain some composure. I heft us to our feet and hand Maglor his discarded sword, which I retrieved when I entered. He sheaths the blade reactively and I force him to take a few drinks from my 'reserve' canteen. It is in fact filled with a very potent wine, and it has served me well on this day, just as it has on several other occasions in the past. Maglor does not even seem to notice what it is that he swallows, but I see with the rise and fall of his chest-plate that his breathing is made regular again.

Suddenly it occurs to me that save for the lingering sounds of conflict from outside, the room has gone quiet. Maglor notices it too, and our eyes turn towards the Peredhil. They look still ready to scale the wall, if they could, but are no longer sobbing. Just trembling, and sniffling.

"We must go," I say again, lost in my thoughts, and in the storm that ever brews within the Peredhil's eyes... the lightning, the Light...

Maglor has regained all of the poise he was born with, and all of the stubbornness he assimilated from me. "We must take them with us," he states resolutely.

The Peredhil hear his plan, and quake all the more violently.

I look into Maglor's eyes and see the want there, the loneliness and the longing. And if I could cleave it clean out of him, my dear brother, I would. To spare him more heartache and failure, I would. For these children will never look upon him in the way that I too wish they would look upon me. But he cannot see. I can see.

I examine and ponder Maglor, his foolish hope, his immature fancy, and I look again at the Peredhil. Ah, not only mere children, but also Earendil's sons. Hmm.

Ai, Earendil, you fool! If you had just been home with your family, none of this might have happened! For you might have had the sense to convince that wife of yours to surrender to us our father's Silmaril. If you had been here to lead your kin, I might not have had to cut them out of my way. If you had been here with Elwing, she might not have sacrificed herself for my jewel. If you had been here with your sons... Ah, your sons. Hmm.

I realize what it is that stilled them somewhat. 'Twas when Maglor and I embraced that they fell quiet. Whether in confusion or amazement I know not, but that is what settled them. Monsters do not hug each other, and monsters do not laugh or cry or share a flask... I wager the Peredhil are wondering why Maglor and I did all of the above, for surely we must appear to them in all other aspects as monsters and nothing else.

My brother has been staring defiantly upon me. He need not have bothered. He thinks I do not see. He thinks I see not the Light, but I do. I think he sees not the invaluable worth of Earendil's sons to us, and truly he must not. He would take them indeed, but to care for them, maybe even rear them personally. And I would allow him, but for none of the same reasons.

He sees the Light, and feels long-lost hope rekindled, and is burned by a familiar desire.
I see the Light, and estimate immense value, and rightly covet such unequivocal protection.

I believe Earendil would have bid Elwing surrender the Silmaril, if for nothing else than their sons' safety. Well, I mean to extend an offer indefinitely towards our friend the Mariner. He shall have the option to trade his matching pair of sons in exchange for my father's Silmaril for as long as I live.

"Very well, Maglor... very well," I soothe. "As you wish."

I step forward, my left hand on the hilt of my sword. The Peredhil stiffen and cease breathing. So does Maglor behind me. "Hail, Peredhil. I am Maedhros, first son of Feanor," I declare. "You have already met my brother, Maglor, Feanor's second son."

They look briefly to him, then back at me- or rather, back to my blade and the blood on my hand. "Maglor has taken pity on you," I say, "thus ye shall be spared from his wrath."

They seem to breathe again, and Maglor comes to stand firm beside me. "Now come you forward, children, and have no fear," he says with most of the determination returned to his voice.

The children do not move, save that one has begun suckling his thumb. I no longer reserve much patience for this sort of thing, and these babes must learn to obey, as my brother and I have not the time for anything other than unquestioning compliance.

I seize one of the children, the one who seems the more pacified of the two -what with his thumb in his mouth- and Maglor takes the other. Immediately they both begin to squeal and struggle. By Iluvatar, I possess no tolerance for this.

"Silence!" I say, and simply shake the child in my arm so he knows to whom I speak. "Hear ye, sons of Earendil! You both are hereby apprehended as Prisoners of War to the last living Sons of Feanor." Maglor appears nearly as shocked as the twins, but I must continue with or without his support, "And know now that though my brother has spared you his wrath out of pity, I have done no such thing." Maglor looks ready to duel me, but I hold his outrage at bay with a glare. "So dare you never to cross me, Peredhil, for this is the only warning you shall ever receive," I finish, and the children resign their fight to pitiful whimpers and involuntary shuddering.

I give Maglor an evaluating glance. He looks... far from pleased with me. Well, he will forgive me eventually. After all, these stranger children could not possibly hold a higher place in his heart than his last living brother.

Maglor turns away, his glower never leaving me beforehand, and we depart in silence.


***continued***