Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Twelve
Maglor




It has occurred to me that I am prone to obsessions.
It is no secret now to myself or anyone else that I am undeniably enamored of these children. They can do no wrong in my eyes and I'll suffer none to speak poorly of them... my little Peredhil.

No. They are Earendil's children. I must never forget that.
Though he did not raise them, though I doubt they even remember him, though he will likely never see his sons again; he is still and always their Sire. But... then can I not be their Father in his stead? I know not, and I refuse to allow myself to decide. I no longer trust my own judgement. Three Kinslayings and three unrecovered Silmarils removed my faith in me long ago, and any accompanying ability of mine to do right.

Though... Earendil's sons are my kin, albeit far removed, so was it not right for me to take them in? Nay, 'twould have been right to leave them in Sirion for King Gil-galad's finding, for he is nearer kin to them than I.

Bah! What have I to say of right and wrong. My mind drifts back to Sirion. What a dreadful day... Nay, I must not think of that. The children, then. How they always bring me cheer; their antics, their games, their wide eyes and boyish little faces.

And how very much they've changed since the beginning. I remember well, that difficult time not so long ago. How at first they were so full of fear and mourning. Then gradually their fear diminished, giving room for a kind of casual defiance, and their sorrow lulled, allowing a bit of hostility to take its place.

I struggled unhappily for a time to stop myself from caring about them; they who could not be pleased no matter how hard I tried. And they did much to earn my spurn! They were unappreciative, uncooperative, and every bit as unforgiving as any embittered Edain could be. Eventually that stage passed as well, and thankfully along with it their attempts to escape!

For a deal of time afterwards they seemed in all aspects to be at least content, if not overtly cheerful on any occasion. They no longer fussed, nor hid, or ignored people. In fact, it came to be that they would bring themselves before their nursemaids and ask politely for naps, or snacks, or baths. And to me they would sometimes come and ask for stories, or songs, or lessons. It was a peaceful, welcome repose. We would go on walks, have picnics and ride horses together. Though we rarely spoke much, or I should say, the children rarely spoke much. But they seemed happy to listen, and I assume, learn.

Sometimes they would ask questions of things, seldom adding any comments of their own. They spoke to each other, naturally, but only when they thought no one was listening. They even finally told me their names, or rather, they told me why they would never tell me their names. 'They are all we have from mother and father,' one had said, with the other adding, 'We promised never to give them away.'

Promised each other, I imagined. Of course, I hadn't the heart to break brotherly oaths, so never again pressed the subject. They could keep the names their parents meant for them, and I would simply give them new ones! ... Although, that didn't work. No matter how many names I tried, they would not answer to any of them... unless I said 'children', 'Peredhil' or 'sons of Earendil', they would just as soon not hear me. A last trace of defiance, perhaps, that would need more time to extinguish.

I remain certain that someday soon they will desire to be addressed by me and those in my company. It may be that they will choose their own names in time. Perhaps, with this new phase they are entering, they will be more compliant. And indeed, they are compliant... more so than ever. But it... almost seems as though their overall interest in things is fading, and along with it any remaining insurgency whatsoever. They have reverted these days to moping about, only now they cease when bid to. They do anything they are instructed to do these days. Anything at all. It is... unnatural, I think. Could it also be unhealthy? I wonder. I worry.

My brother is no help at all anymore, if he ever was. I tried to speak of my concerns with him recently. He appeared unabashedly amused by it all. 'But I thought they loved you now?' he had said, overly aghast.
I replied, 'I, too, thought they did, in their own fashion. But now... now...' Maedhros laughed rather coldly at my obvious turmoil. I deliberately scowled at his reaction. One of his lesser friendly moods had taken him, and for it I felt no tolerance that day.
Any further remarks we might have made to each other were interrupted as a servant brought into the chamber Earendil's sons... I had forgotten that I sent her to fetch them earlier.
'Ah!' my brother exclaimed with false enthusiasm. 'And here are the little darlings now!' Before I could stop him he rushed to the nursemaid and promptly took both children from her unwilling arms. 'My, but how little they have grown!' he continued cheerily. The twins looked scared and I moved quickly to remove them from Maedhros' foul mood. 'Dear brother, whatever haven't you been feeding them?' He laughed again and set the children down ungently, finished with mocking them.
The second I was near enough I slapped him as hard as I could across the face whilst only using the back of my hand. He recovered soon enough and stared back at me, clearly and honestly astonished by my action. The children, meanwhile, fled into each other's arms, and remained thus, visibly shaking with alarm as they watched my brother and I.
'Never...' I warned, and so great was my ire that I needed to collect my breath, 'never again disrespect them with your bitter sarcasm or petty insults.' I could actually feel the blood pumping through the veins in my temple.
'Or what?' Maedhros leapt at me, taking the back of my head by the hair with his remaining hand. He forced me to look at the twins, though not so roughly that I stopped him. 'They are not your sons, Maglor. They are not even your friends.' Next he forced my face to meet his again. 'But I am your brother...! Your only last living brother!' Very unexpectedly, he pulled me into a firm embrace. 'I am your brother of flesh and blood, and I do love you unconditionally.' He released me, stepping away once, his expression hardened with careful control. 'Yet you would strike me, who loves you and expresses as much in proclamation and deed... You would strike me who is your brother and who honors you devoutly, because of them? You would strike me and quarrel with me over two unruly prisoners of war?'
I was stunned silent for a moment. I had never struck my brother before. Nor any of my other brothers, if memory serves... well, perhaps Caranthir in retribution, but certainly never Maedhros for any reason. 'I... forgive me. I was so angry, but... it was wrong to strike you. Please, forgive me.'
Maedhros looked oddly pleased, though not maliciously so. 'Aye, brother mine. I forgive you.' He smiled, sadly. 'But they...?' he pointed down at the twins, 'They never will. I wish you could see that.'

With nothing more, he left.

That was long ago. I have not seen Maedhros for some time now. I miss him. Even if his usually infrequent cruel moods had become regrettably more recurrent over the centuries. He is, after all, my only brother now, and I know that he does indeed love me... perhaps he is the only one who still does, who always will.

Suddenly I am disturbed from my reflections by a small body crawling into my lap. At first I wonder wildly why the child did not announce himself from the doorway like usual, but then realize that in my motionless state of deep thought, he probably took me for sleeping.

He curls under my arm, in a way he has never done before on his own determination. I risk a glance downwards, wishing not to disturb his peace. If he thinks me asleep and is so comfortable with it, I have no desire to change his mind. He stares into the fire before us, attentively watching the flames dance about, as he so likes to do. It is strange, but though I still get them confused with each other sometimes, even such a small trait as the way one watches a fire distinguishes him apart from his twin. This is the one I tried unsuccessfully to name Lomdil, if I am correct. I thought it was so befitting... but he simply never answered to it.

I see a twinkle in his eye... is it simply reflection from the firelight, or...? "Where is your brother?" I ask him softly. His brother I tried naming Mirhil, also to no avail.

The little one who-will-not-be-called-Lomdil sniffs, and a single tear slides down his pale cheek. "He will not wake up."

A gasp escapes me before I can stop myself. As any parent, or would-be parent in my case, I cannot help but immediately assume the worst. He is dead. My little Peredhil who-would-not-be-called-Mirhil is dead... and his poor brother was the first to discover him thus. How sad, how terrible...

I steel my nerve and ignore the erratic pounding of my heart. "Oh?" I must swallow to say more. "Where is he?"

The child not named Lomdil shrugs and wipes another tear from his eye. "In the library, where all of his favorite books are kept. You cannot wake him up though; I already tried."

I bite my tongue. Then harder. "Well..." what can I say? I must go to Mirhil, but I cannot bring Lomdil with me, in the event that his brother truly is lying dead... "Perhaps I shall bring him in here then. He can sleep on the fur in front of the fire, and thus be with us as well." Yes, there. Then if Mirhil is dead, I shall send a nursemaid back here in my place, and she can keep Lomdil occupied until-- until what? Until I find a replacement twin brother for him? Ai, what a predicament is this!

Lomdil shakes his head sadly. "But he is sleeping on the window sill, watching the stars above. He does not love fire... He said we should all look to something we love, when we are feeling very lonely, like mother used to do, and it will hurt less... Then he fell asleep, and now I am so tired too." He yawns, my heart stopping until he finishes to take another breath. Then he looks up at me with sleepy blue-gray eyes, brimming with unshed tears. "Would I find my brother in my dreams if I slept now?"

"No!" I cry, then add with forced calmness, "No, you would not. Stay well awake." I stand, lifting him up with me, and he rests his head atop my shoulder... normally he would only do so if I leaned it there for him, and I fear his reasons now are brought on by weariness and not affection. "Wake...!" I shake him, possibly harder than I ought. "You must guide me to your brother. Do not sleep."

He looks at me strangely, then shrugs and begins explaining the way. I make him repeat the directions several times... as many times as it takes until we are to the library, and I trust Lomdil will keep himself awake in order to see his brother.

When we enter, the quiet is not lost on me. I am a mighty Elf-lord, who has for centuries honed my inherently keen Elven senses to potentially life-saving perfection... but I cannot hear Mirhil's breathing from just across the room. I stop my own lungs to listen, but the gentle rhythm of Lomdil's breaths is all I make out. I clear my throat to attract his attention, and set him down.

"I wish to go sit with your brother a moment. Please..." please keep your body moving and think of things other than sleep, lest you die...? What should I say? "Please play with something a while." Ai, that was pitiable. "Ah, here!" I place him in a chair at my desk and hand him a quill, setting out a piece of blank parchment. "Draw a picture, hm?" I hastily light every candle nearby, so his Half-elven eyes can better see in the dim. He is already thoughtfully at work when I turn and walk to the window Mirhil has always favored.

I sit down beside him on the stone sill, carved smooth to serve as a sitting bench. Mirhil often lounges here while reading, though I have never before seen him as he is now; lying on his back, a book under his head, staring with unfocused eyes at the starry night sky. My head bows on accident, and I hope Lomdil was not watching. I wish him not to think me concerned... but there is no way around that now, is there? I bend down, placing an ear on Mirhil's narrow chest. To my utter exhilaration, his heart does beat. He yet lives. I release a sigh of relief.
"Son of Earendil," I sing softly whilst gently shaking him, "Come back now awake, Peredhel." He makes no movement. Absentmindedly I run my fingers through his silky black hair, cascading over each shoulder, and wonder why he removed the braids he wore this morning. "Wake, little one," I shake him again, harder this time, my voice also more urgent in tone. No reaction.

I turn in frustration, meaning to summon Lomdil over to us. Perhaps if we both call upon Mirhil--
But now Lomdil is also still, bent over the desk with his head resting atop one arm. His face is turned towards me, and I can see his eyes are staring without seeing at one particularly large candle, burning brightly.

Now I cannot hear him breathing, either.

Carefully, so very carefully, I compose myself. It takes several deep breaths, but at last I am confident that I will not cry. I will not cry. I must not cry.

I take Mirhil up in my arms, then the equally insensible Lomdil, and determinedly make my way to the Healers Ward.

They will know what to do.

And if they do not, I may lose my mind, and slay them all.


***continued***