Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Fourteen
Maedhros




Before me is a sight that I consider one of particular strangeness. Two servants are walking down the hall, towards me but not to me. One carries the Peredhil's blanket that used to be Maglor's, and the other has a tray of foodstuffs. I hold up my hand, and try for a disarming smile. "Greetings, Ronecuir and Faelloi. Where are you headed?"

They nod in acknowledgement of me, their arms too full for actual bows, and each waits for the other to answer. They exchange slightly annoyed glances with each other, wordlessly sparring for the right to remain silent. Eventually, Faelloi gets the better of herself, and responds; "Hail, Lord Maedhros. We are headed to the Healers' Ward."

"Ah." I nod. "Why?"

Faelloi averts her eyes, scanning the tray of edibles she holds, and says casually, "Well, it is time for the midday meal, my Lord."

"Yes." I nod again. "And what is the blanket for?"

Ronecuir gives a very small start, and blurts, "To keep one warm and cozy, my Lord."

It was far more of a question than a statement. These two servants are from Maglor's remaining legion, and by their manner I judge they are torn between obeying their Lord Maglor's orders and the will of his brother, Maedhros Lord of Himring and-the-roof-over-their-very-heads. "Exactly whose cozy and warm noontime meal are you serving in the Healers' Ward?" If they mean to defy me, they shall do so directly or not at all.

Faelloi sighs nearly without sound, and answers, "Lord Maglor's Peredhil, Lord Maedhros. They are unwell, and have been bid to remain in sickbeds under the Healers' close watch."

So it has come to this, at long last. Sickbeds are something few elves have seen outside of wartime, and only then in the case of injury. More common it is that an elf would simply roam about with less fervor whilst recovering from wounds, instead of remaining bedridden. Unless the damage is very severe, elves heal too quickly for the need of prolonged bed rest. Unless there is no healing imminent, in which case it is release an elf lies in wait for, not recuperation. And that is as it is now, truly. It is not a sickbed the Peredhil lie upon, but a deathbed; for they are not ill or injured in the sense of being temporarily disabled, but in the sense of being hopelessly beyond repair.

"I shall accompany you," I hear myself say, even as my thoughts dwell elsewhere. Without seeing the path before me, I follow Ronecuir and Faelloi to the Healers' Ward. Once therein, I behold the children. They are lying on separate beds for no reason apparent other than that is where they were set, and they likely have neither the strength nor the will to do anything about it. They are pale, still, and feeble. They even look... wrong somehow, without being side by side.

As Faelloi arranges her tray on a small table beside one of the beds, I pass Ronecuir by and approach the other supine child. This one has his eyes open in wakefulness and is staring blankly at the ceiling. He looks at me with mild surprise, as I sit down on the bedside and bend over him, but he does not speak, and neither do I. Though I do smile as I take him into my arms and stand back up.

"Wha-?" Ronecuir starts, but falls silent in apprehensive confusion. Faelloi stares at me with wide eyes, and I read on her face that she means to go and locate the senior Healer as soon as my back is turned to her. But I do not care.

I cut in front of Faelloi's path to the bed nearest her, and sit down on the bedside next to the child still asleep. He stirs at the slight shift of my weight settling next to him, and blinks at me exhaustedly. I smile again, and he gathers a confused little wrinkle between his eyes. I maneuver the twin I hold to my other side, and set him down on the mattress beside his brother. The Peredhil meet each others eyes at once, the expressions on their faces matching in pleasant surprise. They each drape an arm around the other's waist, and turn to rest on opposite sides, thus facing one another. Ah yes, that is indeed much better. Mirror images they are, without a doubt...

Ronecuir stands behind me now, and I twist to take from him the blanket he brought. He hands it to me willingly, and I see in his face approval, or understanding at the least. But Faelloi is gone, probably seeking the senior Healer as I suspected. I still care not.

I turn back to the children, their eyes now lightly closed in the sleep of mortals, or Half-mortals as the case may be. I stand to unfold the blanket and cover them with it, bringing it up to their chins, just like I did not so many nights ago, before they were this... far gone.

With a sigh I turn, only to be met with Ronecuir's questioning stare. "Are you not going to feed them as well?" he asks a mite hopefully.

I glance at the tray sitting on the table behind him. It matters not what delicacy is upon it; The Peredhil will not eat because they cannot. They would not taste the flavor of the food any more than they would benefit from its nourishment. They hardly feel anything at all besides despair. I suppose I should take heart, in that at least they do not experience in mind the hunger their bodies are going through. They do not perceive that they starve. Though I would rather they felt empty of sustenance than full of grief...

"I shall let the Healers see to that," I answer Ronecuir, and make my way to leave. "They too should feel as though they at least tried."

***

It has been several long hours that I have remained up here. My horse is dozing a few paces off, through for now with nibbling upon the tall grasses of the glade we rest in. The sun is setting soon. No... no. It is rising right this very minute. I... oh my. I shake myself to full wakefulness, realizing that I was actually quite asleep a moment ago. It has been far more than mere hours that I have dwelled here. It has been the entire night. Bother.

I call my stallion, and he comes to me gladly, no doubt wondering why in the world I led us up here to sit in a field and stare at my shoes for the whole night.

"I needed to think," I explain to him. He nickers loudly and nearly knocks me over with a rather powerful and wholly unexpected nudge. I laugh and recover my balance, then mount and bid him run home as fast as he wishes. Apparently he was very much ready to depart, as he gallops down the embankment we traversed uphill yesterday evening faster than I would have advised. But I am confident in his surefootedness, and do not slow him.

We arrive back home after only a little over an hour's worth of hard riding. I dismount in the main courtyard and my stallion immediately saunters off without a second glance at me, making his way towards the stables and, I imagine, into his stall for a more peaceful nap. He is a moody one, at times. My brother used to tease me that such is the reason my horse and I get along.

Ai, Maglor... I shall go and speak with him now. This most recent change in the Peredhil's condition must be hurting him terribly... It is time we ended this unspoken vow of silence between us. He needs me, and I can no longer stand to know that he is suffering, whilst I turn my attention to everything other than his plight. We should never have quarreled with each other, and we certainly should not have held such grudges afterwards. I admit to being stubborn by nature, and in this instance Maglor acted no differently than I. But I have resolved to put right this wrong. I miss him my brother dearly, despite his flaws, and despite how he has shunned me for the Peredhil. I am willing to be considered second to Earendil's children, if it means that I may still be a priority at all of Maglor's.

I am just ascending the stairs of the citadel when I hear a shout from behind.

"Lord Maedhros!" Someone calls, and I turn with haste. It is Ronecuir... He is running towards me at the fastest pace I wager he can manage, with the reins of my steed in his hand. My horse follows somewhat skeptically until he spots me, then assumes a more dutiful disposition.

I reach the bottom of the stairs in a few long jumps and race to meet Ronecuir. "What has happened?" I ask even as I mount. I am positive the danger is not within the fortress itself, for Ronecuir would not have brought my horse in that case. Through my mind in a heartbeat rages a hundred thoughts, all centered on who must be attacking my stronghold at Himring, and why.

Panting slightly, Ronecuir answers, "I saw you approaching from the north, Lord, and suspected I would find you setting your horse out in the stables..."

"Ronecuir, just tell me what has happened!"

He meets my steady eyes, and his are panicked. "It is your brother. He..." Ronecuir swallows hard, but his voice is no more smooth afterwards. "Lord Maglor has set the Peredhil free."

"Curses...!" I hear myself growl. "When?"

Impossibly, Ronecuir is made even more unsettled by my outbreak. "Yesterday evening, shortly after you rode out, Lord Maedhros."

"Spite!"

I am not shouting at Ronecuir, but rather shouting in general, and unintentionally at that. But he hastily stutters an explanation regardless. " I rode out on my own last night and tried to find you, Lord! And when I could not I even searched for the children... but... but..."

I force myself to breathe in some way other than violently sharp huffs. "Fine, fine." Through gritted teeth I compel the next words to leave my throat, "Thank you for your efforts, and for informing me."

"Yes, Lord Maedhros, or course." Ronecuir is still holding my reins, I realize, and it will be impossible for me to leave whilst he does so. I extend my hand for him to place the leather straps upon, and he does so very slowly as he speaks further; "Please, do not tell Lord Maglor that I acted against his wishes..." he asks meekly.

Ah. So Maglor not only meant to release the children without my knowledge, but he also bid none others seek them out and bring them back. That clever little...

"I hope you find them, Lord," Ronecuir continues shamefully, "though I loyally serve Lord Maglor and trust his judgement... of this I deem he has ruled foolishly. I have faith that you will do what is right."

"And you fear Gil-galad without Earendil's sons to dissuade the High King's vengeance," I say before I think. I have little respect for Ronecuir. Not only has he knowingly disobeyed my brother and expects me to keep it a secret just as willingly, but he also stood well aside at Sirion, refusing to enter the fight. Such was the pandemonium of that day that he was forgiven his qualms, and my brother thus disregarded his conduct as something other than betrayal. But I never did.

Ronecuir stares at me in shock, finally managing, "I... believe we all do, Lord Maedhros."

I eye him for only a second longer before spurring my horse onward. I found the Peredhil once, and I shall find them again. They only have a head start of half of a day, most of which was during the dark of night, and they are terribly weak regardless, not to mention traveling on foot... I will find them, no doubt.

***

"BROTHER!" I march into the conference chamber shared by the brother and I during times of council, and exclaim, "This is an outrage!"

"It wouldn't be the first," Maglor replies, and yawns. He yawns! I have been searching for the Peredhil all day... I even organized a party of trackers to accompany me when I was unable to find so much as footprints from the children... and there my brother sits, yawning.

I swing my hand around the room, and continue, "They are nowhere to be found, Maglor, nowhere! What have you done?"

He smiles, replying smugly, "The first right thing in an Age. I aim to make a new habit of this, dear brother. You should try it for yourself sometime; it is quite endearing."

Preposterous. He must not understand what this means... he still must not see. "Maglor," I say slowly, deliberately, determined to have his complete attention. "The border sentries said it has been hours since they passed, with your leave, I might add. And. They. Are. Gone."

"That. Is. The. Idea."

By Iluvatar. He knows. He knows exactly what he has done. He must not care. What does he care about then? Surely not our safety, not our protection... not even the children...? My thoughts drift into words, and the concern in my voice shocks even me. "After all you did for them, Maglor, and I know you tried so very hard; why? Why did you release them now?" I reach the left hand out to Maglor, a gesture of reconciliation, if he accepts it. "I thought you loved them..." I need his help now, I need him to agree to search for the Peredhil, I need him to change his mind... I need them back!

"Brother..." Maglor does not seem to notice my hand, and his voice is even more assured than before; "It is because I came to love them so much that I let them go."

That cursed fool... I forget about his help, which I will not receive, and also about my hand, which he will not take... my only thoughts now are for the children. "We need them, Maglor. I sense dark times ahead, and they would be invaluable in the case of a war." I put all the emphasis I can on the most important words there are. "We need them."

"Gil-galad may have been discouraged from battle with us, had we held as prisoners Earendil's only sons," Maglor says thoughtfully, "but mayhap we have an equal advantage with which to abate the young King's wrath, for having spared and released his own natural heirs."

"Perhaps and perhaps not." I must keep calm, and I regard Maglor meaningfully. There is logic in his intentions, but not in the outcome. He is considering the present, and I am considering forever. I know I am right, and I can convince him of as much... "And if those two Peredhil whom you love so much should march against us eventually, beside their King, grown mighty and terrible over long years... what then?"

Thank Iluvatar... he is thinking about it.

And thinking still.

He smiles. "...'Twould be a good day to die." And then he laughs.

There is some sinister beast in the distance growling dangerously at his honest words, at his sincere laughter; but the unheeded creature with its pathetic lament could not be me, since I have already left.

Again.


***continued***