"I do not like this!" Maglor hissed, watching the peredhil being lifted up onto separate horses, then soldiers mounting behind them.

Maedhros continued towards his own horse, unmoved. "You do not have to like it."

"Must we"- Maglor stopped when he realised he still had the small wooden soldier in his hand. Suddenly struck by the incongruity of a battle-hardened warrior wandering around clutching a child's toy, he shoved the plaything into a spent arrow quiver that hung from his saddle.  He then mounted and trotted back over to Maedhros.  "Must we involve the children? They are innocents."

Maedhros, the picture of cool, emotional detachment, hoisted himself atop his own mount and replied, "They are our best hope for recovering the jewel.  Our quest hands by a thread; one wrong step and we will lose it forever. We must persuade Elwing not to cast away the Silmaril.  Can you think of anything more persuasive than those two?"

"What if your gambit fails brother? What then? You would force these boys to watch their mother die?"

"Maglor," a hint of annoyance crept into the eldest Fëanorian's voice, "We did our best to avoid this. She ignored our pleas; this is as much her doing as ours."

"You believe that?" scoffed Maglor.

"I have to."

Maglor hunched his shoulders and leaned over the pommel of his saddle. He closed his eyes against a sea-breeze carrying billows of smoke.  When it passed, he turned in the saddle slightly to see the children dejectedly gazing at what was once their home, looted of it's treasures and now being engulfed by flames.  Maglor was taken aback when an accusing pair of grey eyes turned their attention from the burning house onto him.  Maglor turned to face forwards quickly.  He shook his head; Maglor, who had fought in countless battles, slayer of Uldor, three-times kinslayer, now found himself unable to meet the stare of a ten-year-old child. The look on that child's face in that instant would haunt his dreams for years to come.  Maglor gave a deep sigh and sat up slowly and stiffly. His black charger pawed a feathered hoof on the ground, as if sensing his master's tension. He tried to edge forward only to be reined in by his rider. "Sh, peace, Celebel." He was shaken from his guilt-ridden musings by a hand being clapped on his back.

"Come Maglor, enough of this," said Maedhros and walked slowly to the head of the column and conversed with a few of his troops.

Maglor squared his shoulders and finally granted his mount's wish a few moments after Maedhros gave the order to advance.  He fell into step beside the horses carrying the peredhil and made his way along the sea-front towards their mother.

~*~

Elwing was surprised that the stand-off had lasted his long.  She had expected the aggressors to try and overpower her, attempt to call her bluff or drag her away from the cliff's edge long before now.  At least as long as these combatants were guarding her and the Silmaril, they could not be attacking her people.

She held the Nauglamír from her outstretched arm, her hand grasping the chain loosely.  The Silmaril dangled precariously over the cliff edge, the swinging jewel casting its shimmering light in all directions. 

After a time the host encircling Elwing drifted apart to reveal Maedhros striding purposefully towards her with Maglor a few paces behind, stooping slightly, as if carrying a weight around his neck.  Elwing drew herself up to her full height and squared her jaw.  With her determined expression and the keen sea breezes rippling through her gown and long, unbound hair, she cut an imposing figure; Implacable, immovable, untameable.  Though she spoke nothing her message to them was clear:  Tread carefully.

"Elwing," began Maedhros, "relinquish the Silmaril."  She merely stared back at him, the rage in her eyes burning through him.  Maedhros continued undaunted.  "The battle is over, the day is ours.  Further resistance would be a fruitless venture." 

"Really?" She replied with a mirthless laugh. "Leave this place, or you lose the Silmaril forever."

"You would really cast the Jewel away after all this?" countered Maedhros, gesturing to the destruction behind him.  "Rather a waste, would you not agree?"

"I do not wish it, but if it would prevent your bloodstained hands touching the jewel, I will cast it into the sea.  This is no idle threat.  If you, or any of your lackeys take one more step towards me, I will do it."

"Lady," Maedhros continued, exasperation starting to infiltrate his voice, "You cannot remain like this forever. Yield, now!"

"I do not have to, Lord, I only need to remain here until reinforcements arrive from Balar. I will not move, nor will I yield the Nauglamír to you.  I suggest you leave."

"Very well." Maedhros turned and called behind the line of soldiers, which again divided, this time admitting two Elves, each one holding a struggling child firmly by the shoulders.  "What say you now?" asked Maedhros calmly.  He could see that the wall that had made her unassailable was cracking, it was only a matter of time before it crumbled completely.  The uncertainty that now pervaded her mood was palpable.  Her formerly defiant face was now beginning to crumple.  She drew the Silmaril back from the cliff's edge, and held the necklace in both hands, contemplating it sorrowfully.  She looked up at Maedhros, her eyes brimming with tears. 

"Do not hurt them, please." Elwing blinked away the tears; she was defeated, she was pleading with them but they would never see her cry.

"You know what you must do." 

At that moment, Elros, who was still squirming like an eel, managed to break free of his captor and ran to his mother, calling to her.  His cries turned to a squeal of pain as he was pulled back roughly.

"Elros!" exclaimed Elwing, her rebellious tear ducts threatening her composure again.  "Shh, do not struggle, please." After her best shot at an encouraging look to her sons she turned her attention back to Maedhros.  "Suppose I give you the Jewel.  How can I be sure that you will not harm them anyway?"

Maglor joined in the negotiations. "Just hand over the Nauglamír and this ends now. Your sons will come to no harm, I give you my word."

"Your word?" Elwing's gaze turned icy cold on Maglor.  "Your word? Have you forgotten your words to me this very afternoon? That you had no quarrel with my children, yet here you are, using them as barter."  Maglor cast his eyes downwards, looking like an ashamed child.  "You word is meaningless, for all I know they will go the same way as my brothers."  She exhaled sharply and closed her eyes, clutching the jewel to her chest, as if debating with herself. 

"No".  She opened her eyes slowly and continued, her voice even and measured.  "You cannot be trusted and I will not allow you to use my sons as tools to aid your covetousness."  She slowly and deliberately clasped the Nauglamír around her neck and took a step backwards. 

Elrond looked puzzled.  "Ammë?" his voice was quiet and unsure of itself.  He watched in mounting horror as his mother took another backward step to the very edge of the cliff.  She turned slightly to look down and see the waves crashing against the rocks below.  To his right, Maglor was shaking his head, muttering under his breath, worry etched on his features.  Ahead of him, Maedhros was barking orders.

"Everyone stay exactly where you are, no-one move."  Maedhros held his hand out to Elwing, beckoning her to him.  "Step away from the edge, there is no need for this."

Elwing ignored him and looked to her children.  "Elrond, Elros, be brave. Forgive your mother."


"Oh no," groaned Maglor, his shoulders slumping and his brow knotting together.

"Elwing," growled Maedhros but she still paid him no mind, she regarded her sons with an oddly serene expression, even managing to smile a little.

"Close your eyes."  With that she took another step and was gone.

Elros gave a harrowing cry and broke free again, running towards the cliff-edge.  Maglor sprang after him, catching him around the waist.  The distraught boy called after his mother, the words barely discernible, coming out as heart-rending screams.  Elrond stood rooted to the spot, staring at the place his mother had fell from in dry-eyed, dumbfounded shock.  Maglor picked up the bawling Elros, trying in vain to quiet him, while shooting venomous glances at Maedhros, who bore an expression much like Elrond's. 

Suddenly, a great shape rose up from beneath the cliff, glowing with a white radiance.  All eyes looked to it in wonderment and saw that it was a white bird, with the Silmaril shining on its breast.  It rose up, borne by an inexplicably strong updraft, circled once and then took off to sea. 

Maglor could not suppress a relieved smile.  He gently shook Elros in his arms, "See? She lives, she lives."

"Ammë! Ammë!  Elros stretched his arms out towards the fast disappearing point of light, standing out against the night sky.  Maglor turned around to walk towards Elrond, who was staring in disbelief towards the horizon. 

"How?" he breathed, in a daze.

"The Valar smile on you, Pityo." Maglor's comment barely registered with Elrond, who continued staring at the horizon.  Elros rested his chin on Maglor's shoulder, his arms now draped limply over Maglor's shoulders. 

"Why does she not come back?" asked Elros forlornly.

Maglor gave no answer.  He shifted the disconsolate child on to one hip and crooked one arm beneath him.  He used his free arm to steer Elrond away from the cliff and back towards the town.  Elrond's legs seemed to move of their own accord and he found himself leaning tiredly against Maglor, grateful for the physical support, not really caring where it came from.

"Maglor," said Maedhros, his face dour, "we are leaving. Bring the children."

"Why? Ships from Balar will arriving soon, we can leave them here, they will be safe."

"They could still be useful to us.  Their mother still has the Silmaril, they would be valuable hostages."

"Maedhros no! No!" Maglor's expression was one of absolute disbelief at what he was hearing.  "We have caused enough pain this night, please, do not add to the suffering."

Maedhros raised his voice, "There is every chance she will return for them. If we do not take them, we lose our most powerful negotiating tool." 

"It did not work tonight, why should the strategy work later? She probably thinks them slain."

"And who's fault is that?"

"What?" cried Maglor, incensed. 

"She was beginning to waver until you decided to impart your 'wisdom'.  If we take them with us, then all this need not have been in vain."  He came closer to Maglor and his voice dropped to a sibilant whisper.  "Do as I ask.  I will not be argued with in front of my men." He turned on his heel and stalked back to his horse. 

Elros peeked out from the folds of Maglor's cloak, where he had shrunk back and hidden his face when Maedhros had approached them.  "Where are we going?" He piped up.

"Amon Ereb," answered his captor-cum-protector.

"Is it far?"

"It is to the East and North of here, beyond the Taur Im Duinath, so yes, it is a long way." Maglor gave the still somewhat oblivious Elrond a gentle pat on the back.  "Come, we had best be off, lest I rouse the wrath of my brother again."

~*~

After fording the Sirion, they came to a small base camp where some other Noldor were waiting with a few pack horses and baggage carts.  A tall elf armed with a light bow jogged forwards to meet Maedhros and Maglor.

"My lords! How went the battle?"

"Galmacil!" Maedhros came to a stop before him and nodded.  "Victoriously"-

-"Bloodily," interrupted Maglor sardonically.

Maedhros sighed, looking sideways at his brother through narrowed eyes. "Amrod and Amras were lost. But the day is ours"-

-"Pointlessly," again Maglor interjected, looking upwards, his tongue rolling around in his cheek. 

"We failed to recover the Silmaril," Maedhros explained, willing his brother not to open his mouth again, "But we have  with us two extremely valuable hostages."

Galmacil looked nervously to Maglor, expecting another barbed quip but none came.  He cleared his throat and began. "Condolences on the loss of your brothers my lords, they were"-

"Oh save the platitudes Galmacil," groaned Maglor as he dismounted from Celebel carefully, trying not to put too much weight on his injured arm.  "Just call a healer to me and bring some clean water and food.  Enough for the children too."

"Children?"

"The hostages," clarified Maedhros.  He gestured towards Elrond and Elros being lifted from separate horses.

"Peredhil! Eärendil's sons?"

Maglor swept past them towards his tent, cradling his wounded arm, a low growl issuing from his throat.

"Did I cause offence, my Lord?"

"Nay, pay him no mind," assured Maedhros.  "He is grieving."

~*~

Elrond and Elros sat on the ground in Maedhros' tent, pale and frightened.

"Elrond, what are they going to do with us?" The question came out as barely more than a nervous squeak.

"We are safe Elros, do not worry," answered Elrond, trying to sound confident.  "They need us.  We are hostages, remember?

"Meaning what?"

"They want to swap us for Ammë's necklace."

"Why do they want Ammë's necklace so badly?"

Elrond paused for a moment.  "It is complicated.  It matters not anyway; Ammë will return. She will find Ada at sea and they will sail back and save us."

"Maglor said she would not.  He said she thinks we are dead."

"Well then, you should not listen to him.  Never listen to him."

They fell silent when Galmacil entered the tent with two plates bearing dried meat and some unidentifiable vegetables.

"We will not remain here long," the adult informed the children, "just long enough to rest and water the horses so I suggest you eat and get some rest while you can." The boys looked at the food with apathy written all over their faces.  "Eat something!" said the elf before leaving the tent again. 

"Elrond, I am not hungry," said Elros despondently.  "I feel sick."

"And I Elros.  But we should keep our strength up."  He picked up a piece of dry, cold meat between his thumb and forefinger, examining it.  "We might feel better with food in our bellies," he said uncertainly.

"It looks like one of Nárwen's roasts," said Elros, his voice cracking and his bottom lip quivering but still managing a smile.

"Nay," replied Elrond after a painfully short-lived laugh, "It is too juicy to be one of Nárwen's roasts." He dropped the meat on the plate and pushed it away.  He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat but his vision blurred and a quiet sob escaped him.


~*~


  The sun rose sullenly, its light filtering slowly through the clouds as if it were loathe to show its face that morning.  Maglor sat by the dying embers of a fire, whittling single-mindedly on a small strip of wood.  So engrossed in his task was he that he did not notice the approach of his brother.

"How is you arm?" enquired Maedhros, seated on the ground opposite him. 

"It will heal," replied Maglor, not taking his eyes off his task.

"What are you doing?"

"Carving," Maglor answered distractedly.

"I can see that.  You appear to be carving a twig," Maedhros paused and squinted more closely at the object in his brother's hands, "into a smaller one.  Do you mind if I ask why?"

"It is a peace offering," was Maglor's cryptic response.  "And how fare you brother? I do believe this is the first time you have sat still since yesterday morn."

"I am tired.  Maglor, forgive me for being short with you.  It was not your fault.  It is just," he paused, sighing, "we came so close."   

Maglor looked up from his work and regarded Maedhros through questioning eyes.  "You never told me what happened to the twins."

"They were betrayed," replied Maedhros after a brief hesitation.  "A few of our followers decided to aid Elwing instead of their own lords."

"And what happened to them?"

Maedhros poked the fire with a stick, clenching his jaw before answering bitterly, "I dealt with them." Maglor said nothing to this, he knew exactly what that meant.  "You think me harsh?"

"No, no.  You know my feelings on traitors."  Maglor could imagine the rest.  He surmised that one twin had been slain by a rebel and the other had haplessly rushed in to defend his brother, not thinking of the consequences.  It made a kind of perverse sense to Maglor for them to die together. In life, wherever Amrod was, you could be sure Amras was not far away.  In some ways it could have been worse if one had survived; Maglor could not imagine them sundered from one another but the mental image of their identical, broken bodies lying next to each other still sent a stab of acute grief through Maglor's heart.  The small sliver of wood snapped across the edge of the knife as Maglor pressed a little too hard.  He tossed the two pieces onto the fire in irritation, where small orange flames briefly licked around them, before subsiding quickly.  The last sons of Fëanor sat quietly, watching the fire die out for some minutes before Maglor broke the silence with words that had been echoing through his soul, begging to be spoken ever since he saw Elwing fall.

"That was the last.  No more, I am done with it."

"Maglor, the oath is stronger than you. You know this." Maedhros imbued his voice with as much sympathy and understanding as he could.  "If you try to resist your fate, it will only cause you more anguish."

"On this night alone," stated Maglor matter-of-factly, "We have destroyed a peaceful dwelling, killed hundreds, abducted two innocents and seen the last of our brothers slain."  He shrugged.  "All for what? An oath, that we came no closer to fulfilling.  I have had enough."

"Trying to avoid your doom will only make you more unhappy."

"I have forgotten happy," countered Maglor evenly.  "At least my conscience will be clear. What is left of it."

Maedhros saw little point in arguing any further with Maglor when one of his black moods took him. He felt sure he would come around eventually.  "We must away.  We have lingered here far too long," he said briskly, trying to turn Maglor's mind to more practical matters. 

Maglor paid little heed to his elder's instructions.  He just stared at the ascending sun spilling its crimson rays across the clouds and spoke softly and mournfully, "Yarvaxië i fanyarë nar."

Pityo: "Little one". This was also Amras' nickname.

 Yarvaxië i fanyarë nar: "The sky is bloodstained." [lit. 'Bloodstained the upper airs and clouds are.'] (Quenya)