Windwraith suggested I attempt backstories on such characters as Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond. I'm not going to abandon Legolas, of course—Dragonfly, there should be a draft coming your way in the next couple of days!—but I thought it would be interesting to take up Windwraith's suggestion. This story is therefore about the childhood of Elrond.
The Mouths of Sirion had been chosen as a place of exile, but it was the only home Elros and Elrond had ever known, and the young Elves found it beautiful. They did not like being kept inside when they could be exploring the verdant forests and glades that swept back from the banks of the silver water, but, although young, they were of an age when it was necessary that they spend some time each day at their books—or so said their parents! Restlessly—the day was exceptionally lovely—they sat one morning at a table in the library under the gaze of a Tutor who was patient but also strict. From time to time the elflings would raise their heads to look longingly toward the window of their retreat on the second floor of the Hall, but always the Tutor would catch their eyes and nod toward the tomes that lay open upon the table. Obediently, they would return to their studies.
This morning, however, it became exceedingly difficult to pay attention to the chronicles that they were perusing. At this time of day, the Hall usually was quiet, but the Tutor and his charges began to hear shouts from afar. As the shouts drew nearer, Elrond and Elros found it harder and harder to concentrate and stole more and more surreptitious glances toward the window. At last even the Tutor had to concede that, under the circumstances, studying was becoming difficult. "I will see what causes this uproar," the Tutor declared brusquely, "and I will put an end to it. But be sure that you do not abandon your studies in my absence! I shall examine you upon my return."
In another room in the Hall, Elwing, mother of Elros and Elrond, had heard the noise as well, and she feared what it might portend. She was closeted with several councilors who were advising her in the absence of her husband Eärendil. "Go you," she said to one of them, "and see who it is disturbs this place of peace." The councilor hastened from the room, but almost immediately he returned, running more swiftly than he had when he had departed. He burst into the room without any attempt at ceremony and cried out his news.
"My Lady, we are under attack—and the enemy force is greatly superior to our own! Already our outlying guard has been driven back, and our foes begin to make entry into the inner compound."
Elwing leaped to her feet. "My sons! I must go to my sons."
The councilors drew swords and formed a tight circle around Elwing as they hurried through the Hall. But the library was far away, and they had to traverse many corridors. Before they were even halfway to the chamber, the enemy had breached the Hall itself. Turn after turn the company took as they tried to evade their foes, but at last it became apparent that many hostile warriors stood between them and the library. In one narrow corridor they confronted a fierce band of them, and little by little they were forced back.
"Lady Elwing," panted one of the councilors, "we must retreat lest our enemies come behind us and cut off our escape. We will not remain standing long if they do!"
"I cannot leave my sons!" cried Elwing.
"My Lady, you can do nothing for them. You cannot reach them! Too many foes stand in the way. You must take the Silmaril and seek Eärendil. That is the only course of action open to you."
"They will be slain!"
"Eru grant that they are not. The anger of the sons of Fëanor runs deep, but one would hope not so deep that they would slay children."
Weeping, Elwing allowed her councilors to usher her out of the Hall. So it was that the news of the attack would at length be brought to Eärendil, with results that would change the history of Middle-earth.
But Elrond and Elros knew nothing of this. For a time they attempted to do their Tutor's bidding, gazing fixedly at their books even though they found it impossible to piece out the words on the pages before them. But as they vainly tried to concentrate on their studies, they began to hear metal clashing upon metal. They had never seen battle, but they knew the sound of swordplay, for they had spent many hours loitering about the armory, watching as older Elves perfected their skills. At last they abandoned all effort at studying. The two crept to the window and peered out.
As they watched, they saw their Tutor run into view. Immediately behind him sprinted a servant clutching a sword.
"He is not one of the warriors," said Elros, puzzled. "He mends the library fire and mixes ink for our Tutor. How came he by a sword?"
Hard on the heels of the servant, strange warrior Elves swarmed into view. The servant turned and brandished his sword at them. Whilst Elros and Elrond, horrified, watched, one of the stranger Elves drew his bow and shot the servant where he stood. The sword clattered to the ground. Swiftly the Tutor bent down and seized it and turned to face his pursuers. Now the elflings understood how the servant came by his sword. He had retrieved from the side of a dead Elf in a desperate attempt to guard his master's back. Now the Tutor would do the same in an effort to keep the stranger Elves from entering the library. It was an attempt as valiant as it was doomed. Within seconds, the Tutor lay dead beside his servant.
Elros drew back from the window and ran for the door. "I want to find Nana!" he cried.
Elrond came after him and seized his arm. "Gwadur-nîn," he whispered urgently. "We must stay here. You saw what happened to our Tutor. It is not safe outside."
They heard a pounding upon the door below, followed by the sound of splintering wood.
"Soon it will not be safe within, neither," whimpered Elros.
Elrond quickly looked about the room. "We must hide!" he exclaimed. Dragging Elros by the hand, he ran to a corner of the chamber and pushed his brother behind a bookcase. He scrambled after him, and then the two of them sat silently huddled together. They no longer heard the clash of metal upon metal, but shouts and the noise of marching feet reverberated throughout the Hall. Doors were thrown open, their panels thrust violently against walls. Drawers were yanked out and from the sound of it their contents dumped upon the floor. At last the two young Elves heard footsteps come into the library itself. Someone was walking about, stopping and opening drawings and chests. A second pair of feet joined the first.
"What have you found?"
"Nothing, Lord Maglor."
"In all these books you have found nothing?"
"I meant, my Lord, that I have found only books."
"Only books? You speak as if books were of no matter. They are a treasure in themselves. We shall take the gold and the silver and the jewels, but the books as well."
A hand—Maglor's hand—drew a book from the shelf above Elros and Elrond's heads. The two young Elves squirmed closer to the floor.
"This is a beautiful volume. Great care has been taken with the illuminations."
The volume was replaced, and another removed.
"Yes," mused Maglor, "great treasures may be found in libraries." Suddenly a hand shot through the space left by the book. Its fingers seized Elros' tunic. Elros yelped. Elrond, for his part, grabbed the hand and bit it. The hand released Elros and withdrew. The two elflings threw their arms around each other as Maglor came around the corner of the bookcase. He was nursing his hand, but he looked amused.
"Two small but doughty warriors. Armed with pen knives, no doubt. What is it that Men say—'the pen is mightier than the sword'? But not the pen knife, I think. You had better yield, young masters."
Elros looked at Elrond. Elrond nodded. They loosed their grips one upon the other and rose to their feet. Maglor beckoned at them to draw near. Reluctantly, the two did so. When they reached him, he put a hand under each chin and titled back their heads, examining them closely.
"Brothers, I see. Twins, I think. Is that not so?"
"Yes," said Elrond. It was useless to deny what was so obvious.
"Male twins, and dwelling in the household of Eärendil and Elwing. You would be Elrond and Elros, would you not?"
Elrond nodded.
"I am told that Eärendil is at sea. Yet you would not have been abandoned. Where is your mother?"
Both elflings remained silent.
"Do you not wish to be reunited with your mother? If you tell me where she is, I will take you to her."
Elrond twisted his head free and took a step back.
"Elros," he said, "come away from him."
Maglor drew his hand from Elros' chin and gestured for him to join his brother.
"Your mother will be found with or without your help. These Halls are being searched even as we speak."
"Why do you want her?" Elros asked, his voice trembling.
"She possesses something that my brothers and I wish to reclaim."
"What is this thing?"
"A jewel. Merely a jewel."
"Our mother has many jewels," Elrond said fiercely. "Take one and be gone!"
"Ah, but not any jewel will do, young Master—is it Elrond or Elros?"
The twins again exchanged glances.
"I am Elrond; he is Elros," Elrond said at last.
"Thank you, Master Elrond," Maglor said. "And I am Maglor."
"We already know that. He addressed you so," said Elrond, pointing at the other Elf, who had been watching the exchange whilst fingering his sword.
"But do you know who, in fact, I am?"
"He called you a Lord."
"And aren't you the least bit curious as to my father?"
"You know our father," Elrond said with a show of carelessness. "I suppose it won't hurt to know yours."
"My father was Fëanor."
Both elflings blanched. Young as they were, they had heard of Fëanor. Or, to be more precise, they had heard of the Sons of Fëanor.
Elrond recovered first.
"You and your brothers slew our grandfather Dior," he said accusingly. "You attacked Doriath for no good reason."
"To recover a stolen Silmaril, that is no good reason?"
"Our mother's Ada did not steal it!"
"Nevertheless, he had it in his keeping. If he had surrendered the jewel wrought by my father, there would have been no trouble."
"He was safeguarding it at the behest of Lúthien."
Maglor shrugged. "Why am I arguing with an elfling, and a captive one at that? What you think does not matter."
"It will matter some day," Elrond said bravely.
"If there is a 'some day'," Maglor said warningly.
Elros seized Elrond's tunic and tugged upon it. "Elrond," he whispered anxiously, "perhaps you shouldn't make him angry. As he has said, we are prisoners."
"Your brother is very wise. You had better listen to him," suggested Maglor. Now he was smiling a little. "Ah, Maedhros," he said then, turning to an Elf who had just entered the room. "Have you completed your search of the Halls?"
This new Elf looked very like Maglor, but he was not smiling. He glowered at the two elflings before answering Maglor.
"Yes, we have completed the search."
"What of Elwing?" Maglor asked eagerly. Elrond and Elros again clutched each other tightly. What had become of their mother?
"She has escaped," growled Maedhros.
"And the Silmaril?"
"She bore it away with her."
Maglor slammed his hand upon the shelf, knocking several books to the floor. He did not spare them a glance.
"There is more, brother," Maedhros continued, again glowering at Elrond and Elros. "Amras has fallen."
"My youngest brother," whispered Maglor, laying a hand upon the hilt of his sword and gripping it hard. "Amrod's twin." Now he, too, glowered at Elrond and Elros, who held each other even more tightly.
"Who slew him?" demanded Maglor, finally tearing his eyes away from grandsons of Dior.
"One of Elwing's guard, who held us back as Elwing fled. Amras overcame him at the last, but they fell together, each pierced through the body by the other's sword."
"Amras' slayer is dead, then?"
"Yes."
Maglor eased his grip on the hilt.
"Then Amras has already been avenged," he said thoughtfully, "and by his own hand."
"Avenged?" said Maedhros, disbelievingly. "But the sons of Elwing still live!"
"True," said Maglor slowly. Again he gazed upon Elrond and Elros, and as he did so, he thought of all that he had lost. "My brothers Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir," he murmured, "slain at Menegroth. Slain by Dior's folk. And now Amras. Slain by one of Elwing's meiny"
Maglor looked the elflings up and down. "They are twins," he said softly. "Amrod and Amras were twins."
Maglor began to pace the room. Maedhros watched him keenly. "They are the sons of our foes," he declared, his face a mask of ruthlessness.
Maglor stopped pacing and looked at his brother. "Yet in and of themselves they are innocent of any offense against us or our kin."
The elf-lord resumed pacing.
"We are sworn to recover the Silmarils," he said at last, "and that is all. We have taken no oath that requires us to harm any Elf unconnected with its theft—and certainly no oath that would require us to harm a youngling!"
"They will not always be young," Maedhros warned darkly.
"As to that, even if we do not slay them today, that does not mean we cannot slay them tomorrow."
Some of the tension left Maedhros' body.
"That is true, brother. I had not thought of that. Very well. If your conscience is too nice to permit that they be slain out of hand, the matter can keep until another day. For I will not forget that they are the grandsons of Dior and the sons of Elwing!"
He turned and glared at Elros and Elrond one last time before stalking from the room.