Chapter Twenty-Two: The Kinslayer and the King
Elrond leapt backward from Maedhros' groping hand, cringing at the elf's terrible moans. There was nothing but rage in his dark eyes.
"Run!" yelled Maglor. "Get out of here!"
Elrond needed no further bidding. Ducking away from the furious, semi-conscious son of Fëanor, he bolted from the room like a startled deer. Maglor sprinted at his side, stopping only to lock and bar the door. They skidded to a halt at the other end of the hall.
"Don't even think of saying 'I told you so'," Elrond panted, leaning against the wall as he recovered his breath.
"I wasn't planning to," Maglor replied. "But now that you mention it, I–"
"Quiet!" Elrond hissed suddenly.
Maglor held his breath, and Elrond listened in horror. Heavy blows sounded from behind the door to the infirmary, accompanied by a slight creak of wood.
"Can he get out?" Elrond asked. "Would he be able to break down the door?"
"Normally, I doubt it," Maglor answered, a tremor in his voice. "But at the moment, I'm starting to think the opposite…"
As if to confirm the statement, the creaking noises grew steadily louder as the thudding continued. The two elves weighed their options carefully.
"We have two choices," said Maglor. "We could run for our lives, or try to fight him."
"Let me see," Elrond murmured. "On the one hand, if we flee… uncertain death. On the other, if we fight… uncertain death." He gazed hopelessly at his comrade. "It appears that we're trapped between a rock and a hard place, does it not?"
"Indeed." Maglor shook his head, sighing. "So what do we do? Fight or flee?"
"What can we do? It makes no difference either way; the outcome appears the same from any angle you choose."
"Well, we should really decide now!" cried Maglor. "We never know when–"
He was cut off by a huge crash, and the sound of many wooden splinters hitting the floor. The livid figure of Maedhros stood amidst the wreckage of the infirmary door, his clawed hand still grazing the air. He took a step forward, then another…
"When that will happen," Maglor finished weakly.
"Run?" Elrond suggested.
They hurtled down another corridor, with Maedhros' terrible groans following them. All of the doors on ether side were closed and locked, except one.
"Get inside!" Elrond gasped. "Hurry!"
The pair skidded through the door, which Elrond shut and bolted.
"That should hold him for a little while at least," he panted.
"This is your room, isn't it?" Maglor asked.
Elrond nodded, moving over to where a sword lay on a small table next to the wardrobe. He indicated that Maglor should take the weapon, opening the closet and taking a darkly shimmering cloak down from its peg, and fastening it about his shoulders.
"What about you?" Maglor inquired, seeing that the half-elf had no sword.
"I have knives," Elrond answered, now hunting for them.
"You really think those will hold him back?" Maglor asked, as Elrond pulled the daggers out of a cupboard. "And why did you choose that cloak in particular? I can see you have others. Also, why wear a cloak to battle in the first place?"
"Never mind that," Elrond replied, now tucking the weapons into his belt. "Just be ready for his arrival."
Boom.
The bedroom's door shuddered visibly beneath a heavy blow from the other side. Maglor hurriedly unsheathed his borrowed sword, glancing at his comrade in trepidation.
"Right on time," Elrond muttered, clutching a knife in each hand.
Boom.
"Stand your ground…" the half-elf murmured.
CRASH!
The two elves flung up their arms to block the barrage of large, wooden fragments that came flying at their faces. They had no time to react further before Maedhros was upon them.
Elrond was flat on his back before he realized what had just happened. Maedhros was pressing his only hand forcibly down onto the elf's throat, but thanks to his cloak, Elrond was unharmed. He gazed up into his enemy's eyes, and met a stare of purest loathing and fury. It was like staring into the face of an enraged wolf, in more ways than one. Saliva dripped from Maedhros' mouth as he grinned in evil triumph. Elrond averted his head as well as he could from the elf's hot, horrible breath.
There was a yell from somewhere above him, and a dark figure slammed into Maedhros, sending them both to the floor. Elrond scrambled quickly to his feet, snatching up one of the knives that had flown from his hand when he had fallen.
Maglor wrestled madly with Maedhros, using every ounce of his strength. The brothers fought tooth and nail, the sweat of exertion mingling with blood from their wounds. They rolled and thrashed about on the floor, toppling desks and chairs.
Maedhros suddenly pinned Maglor to the ground as he had Elrond. Fëanor's younger son raised his sword, but it was knocked away by Maedhros' handless right arm. Elrond leapt forward, repeating what Maglor had done for him. The dagger in his hand met Maedhros' left wrist, slicing through flesh and striking bone.
Maedhros let out an animal-like yell of pain as blood poured thick and fast from the gash. Elrond sawed hard with his blade, refusing to stop until the entire hand was severed. It fell to the ground and lay unheeded as Maedhros reared up, preparing for another assault.
"He won't be quick to forgive you for that!" Maglor panted as Elrond helped him upright.
"And there are a great many things I've never forgiven him for," Elrond replied bitterly. "It evens out."
Maedhros ignored the blood streaming from his wrist, baring his teeth in a wolflike snarl. Giving voice to another inhuman howl, he lunged for Elrond's throat yet again. His jaws closed on the elf's torso as he twisted his body away.
Elrond felt his robe ripping across the front as his attacker seized it tightly with his teeth, his only remaining weapon. The half-elf's chest and shoulder were mercifully unscathed; he could use his arm to its fullest advantage.
He seized his chance immediately, raising his fist and punching Maedhros squarely in the jaw. He heard bones cracking as the elf fell back, unconscious.
"Let's go!" he yelled to Maglor.
The son of Fëanor helped Elrond to his feet, and they fled as fast as their legs would carry them. But they had only gone a short way when Maglor crumpled, his right leg folding up beneath him.
"What is it?" Elrond cried in concern.
"I think my leg's broken," Maglor gasped. "I can't go on. Just leave me to die."
"Nonsense," Elrond replied. "I'm a healer; I'm not just going to let you die. Besides, I've just bought us some time. Maedhros won't wake up for a while."
"Isn't that what got us into this mess in the first place?" Maglor panted, as Elrond bent to examine his leg. "You knocking him out?"
Elrond chose to ignore that fact, carefully moving his fingers along the elf's shin from the ankle upward. He stopped when Maglor yelled in anguish; he had obviously touched the break.
"Hold still," the half-elf ordered. "I need to set your leg back into place. This is going to hurt. Find something to bite down on."
Maglor hurriedly wadded up a handkerchief he tugged from his pocket, and shoved it into his mouth. He gave a muffled noise to indicate that Elrond was to begin.
Elrond pulled the two ends of the broken limb apart as gently as he could, cringing at his friend's strangled howls. He carefully moved the bone to its correct position, then began to heal it. Maglor's screams gradually faded to faint sobs, and then to silence.
"There you are," the half-elf spoke up after a few silent minutes, gently lifting his hands from the mended limb. "You'll be much stronger in that leg from now on. Bone is one of the hardest things to break even once, and even more difficult to break twice."
"Th- thank you," Maglor replied, pulling the saliva-coated handkerchief from his mouth.
"Anytime," Elrond replied, smiling briefly. "Now come on!"
They hurried onward, out to the very back of the house. There Elrond threw caution to the winds, and reached into his robe for the Silmarils. They were still there.
"What do we do now?" Maglor asked fretfully. "Maedhros will surely wake up sooner or later, so much the worse for us."
"Not if we're not here when he comes to," Elrond replied.
"You mean we should just leave? People will wonder!"
"We'll leave in secret," Elrond replied. "We'll take them with us." He pointed toward his breast pocket, where the Silmarils hid.
Maglor nodded, but looked up abruptly as a thought struck him. "What of your godsons? You can't leave them behind!"
"They're coming with us," Elrond confirmed. He knew very well what the consequences would be if they didn't.
Maglor nodded. "I'll pack the supplies; you get the children. Meet me in the stables."
----
Elrond rushed to the stables ten minutes later, with two confused elflings in tow. Maglor was already there, with two horses saddled and ready.
"We can each take one of the children," he told Elrond.
The half-elf nodded, helping his young self up onto a dappled grey stallion while Maglor and Elros mounted a palomino.
"Let's go," Elrond I whispered.
They left the stables in almost total silence, and rode swiftly east and away.
----
The sun was setting when Maglor called a halt at the foot of a high mountain range. The first stars were twinkling in the deep indigo sky, and the air was still and warm. The elves laid out bedrolls and blankets; there was no need for a fire. Elrond II and Elros fell asleep almost as soon as they lay down, side-by-side. Elrond I and Maglor kept watch.
The son of Fëanor frowned at the half-elf, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, eyes staring into space.
"A copper coin for your thoughts," he murmured.
Elrond glanced at his comrade, replying, "Have them for free. I was thinking of the day we met."
"Ah, yes," Maglor sighed reminiscently. "Happy times, I think not."
Elrond nodded. "Lord Mandos spoke to me a long time ago. He said that you and one of your brothers would be friend and foe to me."
"Oh?" Maglor raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," the half-elf sighed. "He warned me to 'beware the one with hair of flame', and he also said that Gold-cleaver would be my ally."
Maglor stared at him. "My name is Gold-cleaver!"
"Is it?" Elrond smiled. "Well, that worked out nicely."
They sat in a calm silence for a few long minutes, until a strange sound met their ears. It was a male voice, singing quietly in Elvish; the sound drifted down to them from above, somewhere in the mountains.
Elrond frowned as his heart sped up a little. He knew that voice…
"Wait here," he whispered to Maglor. "I'll go and investigate."
He crept warily forward, seeing a narrow path leading up the nearest incline. The rise was high and a bit steep, but his natural elven grace made progress easy. The familiar voice grew gradually louder as he advanced, though he could see no-one nearby.
A lone figure slipped softly into his line of sight. Whoever it was, was hidden by a cloak of shadows. He was softly singing; it was the owner of the voice Elrond was following.
"Who's there?" the half-elf called out softly.
The figure stopped singing and leapt forth, and was illuminated by starlight. His dark hair hung in braids by his pointed ears, and his pale grey eyes glittered like the fine circlet he wore upon his head. A cloak of midnight black fell to his ankles, held in place by a silver clasp. His very countenance spoke of power. Elrond bowed instinctively.
"Who are you?" the figure asked imperiously.
"I am named Elrond the First, formerly of Sirion," Elrond replied carefully. "I mean you no harm, my lord."
The other elf's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Sirion? That haven was destroyed."
"I know," said Elrond, not getting up. "I am one of only a few to survive the attack."
The imposing elf nodded again, relaxing. "I see. What brings you here?"
"I am on a pilgrimage, sire," Elrond answered. "I was hoping to reach Lindon, and–"
"Say no more," the other elf interrupted, smiling calmly. "I am the ruler of the realm that you seek. I am Gil-galad Ereinion, High King of the Noldor."