Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Three
Maglor




The shadow of this night is thickened by smoke; clouding vision, stinging eyes. The smell of burning Elven-flesh is heavy on the air; confusing senses, sickening hearts. This was the worst, I believe. The worst of all three Kinslayings. I wish it could be the last, but the Silmaril has again flown... will the Oath not compel us to pursue it, no matter where it goes? Who of even the wise can tell. I see nothing of the future, nothing of the strength in my heart; I see no further or deeper than the buildings consumed with dancing flames before my eyes.

The fires are beautiful, in a way.

The fires are also idiotically accidental to an infuriating degree, yes, but still radiant, for all that danger and beauty may agree to disagree in this dazzling show of devastation. I cannot deny the irony, but I derive no mirth from it. We Kinslayers are even unable to do a knowingly immoral thing correctly. We cannot even act rightly in our wrong deeds. Truly we are cursed. All that we touch, all that we attempt, ends in this: death and ash, shadow and flame.

I am still angry about the fires, I suppose. It was no one's fault, and perhaps that should console me, but it does not. None knew such a harsh wind was to come -and this Seaside weather changes in the blink of a blasted eye! None knew the fires we purposefully set to Elwing's home and the convention hall would spread so ruthlessly. None knew my foolish esquire would put flame to the communal barn, successfully scaring the horses into flight and thus discouraging retreat, but incidentally killing himself in the process, overwhelmed by the blaze born from his own hand. Just as he did not know the inferno he caused would not yield until it reached the library house and beyond.

And who would have known that the fires would be so terrible, so mesmerizing? So beautiful...

I feel guilty for allowing myself to think such a thing, to accept it. But as I ride through the city once called Sirion, I dismiss the guilt as unreasonable. For my path gives me clear view to so many other deeds for which to rightfully feel guilt. Deeds delivered directly by my hands, at my order, on my word. My steed carefully treads athwart the dead and dying scattered about the ground, and I lean over to check its step, dull eyes staring lifelessly back at me from below, in tangled heaps of corpses not yet disposed of... Aye, they make for better reasons to feel guilt than the finding of beauty in the fires of destruction, I deem. And in my arms, indeed under my very nose, is yet another reason.

Said reason gives a small stir, as if on cue to my very thoughts. I shift the bundle around in my grasp, thinking to ease some unseen discomfort by altering its position. And not for the first time in this last day, I find myself on the receiving end of a terrified stare. I could weep for the fear in those eyes, opened wide and shining brightly under the starlight.

I wish he would not look at me so, and I smile down at him in a vain attempt to change his expression to something other than dread. I am not as fair as my brother, but I have faith the peaceable gesture might achieve desired ends. His tiny body begins to tremble against me, and that is not his only response to my 'comfort', as tears also gather in his eyes, the color of a storm against blue sky. I put my smile away, much feeling like sharing his tears instead of preventing them.

Hastily I do my best to ignore him, realizing with the sting in my sinus that I am closer to grief than I had calculated. If I allow myself to weep now I know I may never stop, so I distract my mind by wondering what name will be given to this day. What title to sum up the horrors we have visited upon this land and its people. I wonder what I would call it. Besides a massacre, besides unforgivable... A great composer of songs I am, a renowned poet and bard; I should be able to do this thing, I should be able to give a name to this... this...

We ride on. I in contemplative silence, my small companion in muffled sobs and pained whimpers.

I have done this to him, I remind myself. Certainly, wrongdoings of others have driven me to these desperate means, but here and now, it is I who has brought such anguish upon this child. His suffering is wrought by my hands, as it was my choice to deliver unto him this fate, my fate. He is not at fault for the bereavements of my own past, but now he shall share with me the consequences of my cursed Oath, for the rest of his life.

I am hardly better than Morgoth himself, in this. I have learned no lesson from my own pain, and I relate my tribulation by example. Those twisted tendencies dominate my 'righteous' purpose indeed, yet at least I remember enough of myself to know it is a vile and shameful doom taken upon me. It is to a low level I have stooped, and such is no secret to my mind or heart. I sicken myself, and admittedly at that.

The child's eyes are upon me still, wondrous, afraid... so bright. I can imagine those eyes glimmering in hatred, fueled by power and strength not yet contained in one so young. My fault, it would be, in that case. I wish not to be responsible for such a bitter outcome, when I am responsible for so much already.

"Learn to forgive, little one," I say without thinking. He is so... pure. Today is the only interim of evil that has touched him, and I want to make it better, somehow less, even in a small way. I want to show him that even fire can be beautiful. I hug him closer to my chest, or rather to my armor, being as gentle with his delicate frame as I can. His head is rigid against my shoulder; he does not lean into me at all, there is no surrender in his tense muscles, no give, none.

I must deny the offense striving to develop within me. What should I expect from him, at this time; a friendly conversation, a pat on the back? Forgiveness? Nevertheless how I crave those things, I know better than to obligate them from a timid babe. So he will not excuse me now, but he might eventually. If I can wait that long.

I say softly, "Do not be as I was, child, as I still am. If you learn nothing else in your entire life, may it be how to forgive. Valar grant you all the understanding and mercy cleaved from us forsaken Exiles, and the wisdom to use it well."

He cries out openly and I start, thinking him somehow in physical pain. In my brother's arms beside me, the clear ring of a second babe's wailing hurts my sensitive ears. Now both children cry as one, my bundle remaining as usual the quieter of the two, and I thank the Valar for small favors.

I can barely discern my elder brother's groan through the din of the two grieving young sons carried between us. Scornfully, Maedhros murmurs something I wish not hear about the 'matching set', as he seems intent on calling the twins we hold. But I ignore his complaining, as it is what comes most naturally to me, and dedicate my attention to maintaining whatever might yet remain of my hearing.

"Hush, little one," I sooth, patting his back. "There, there now... all will be well." Or so I imagine myself to be soothing, though my charge seems not the better for my efforts. Without consideration I press a kiss to the top of his head, his hair silky and soft to my lips. I realize at once it was a mistake to touch him so, and I vow from now on to think ahead before I act upon this child.

The babe reacts to my affection by doing his best to jump out of my arms and hence off of our mount. Surprised by the speed of his actions, I barely catch him around the waist in time to stay his descent to the rocky ground several feet below. He flings both arms out of the blanket still wrapping him, reaching with all of his might for the night sky. What began as a shrill and wordless squeal forms the word 'mother', and instantly I understand.

He is not futilely reaching for the stars; they are simply the closest things that hold the most likeness to his mother, or rather, to her Silmaril - to MY Silmaril. And by attempting to dislodge himself from me, he only meant to fly away after Elwing.

Whether or no he understands that such is an impossible feat, I know not. He would have fallen like a stone to the dirt had I not stopped him, but such is probably beyond the knowledge of one so young, and I wager I shall never have his thanks for sparing him the harsh landing.

He continues to struggle against me without reserve. I only want to keep him safe, to care for him and provide all of that which I have taken away; and he only wants to be gone from me. I eventually become angry at his behavior, but force the impulse to subside. What right have I to judge this child? His actions are not so unreasonable; in fact, his instincts are fairly accurate. He senses danger in me. And though I mean not to harm him, he knows that I could harm him... perhaps he even knows that I almost did.

It requires me to use more strength than I would prefer to bring the child back under my control. Once I have him close again, I wrap the blanket tighter around him and tuck his now quaking form snugly into the nook of my arm. I believe my brusque manner frightened the child anew, for he fell quiet with haste whilst I rearranged him, and now again stares at me in horror.

I tell myself that it cannot be helped, that this poor child will fear me no matter what. The thought brings me no comfort, but as it seems to be the fact of the matter, I can at least find contentment with some sort of closure. He does fear me, and thus is as it will be, possibly forever.

I suddenly feel like weeping anew.

Remembering that a moment ago in my peripheral vision I spied the other child making an equal attempt to escape Maedhros' hold, I look to my side upon noticing now that my brother's burden has also stilled. I raise my eyes at Maedhros in silent query. He says nothing in reply, but the wry grin on his mouth tells me all I need to know. The time will soon come when I shall teach my sibling, by force if necessary, that he is never, under any circumstances, to silence these children with threats of punishment or harm. I have witnessed him do so once already since our... acquiring of them, and feel certain that he has just done so again.

For now, I look down with a weary sigh, surveying my own young riding partner. Though apparently resting at last, I see he is not relaxed. I doubt he will ever relax in my arms, perhaps not even in my presence. I accept this, both because I must and because it hurts. Such is no more or less than I deserve.

True to my new vow, I contemplate first, and then I begin to sing. Whether deciding that there was no harm in a mere song, or that things could not possibly be made any worse, it matters not. I need to do something that does not remind me of the blood on my hands, or the stains I have unwittingly imprinted on the child I bear. The song I choose is simple, and I sing it softly, respectfully.

My little Peredhil tries very hard not to listen. I believe he succeeds in the end, for eventually he ceases crying again, all on his own; his brother following his every example. After a long, heart-wrenching while, they both fall asleep. I know I will find no sleep, nor peace or rest, for very long. Not after this day... this unnamable day.


***continued***