I have mixed feelings about the new Rings of Power series.
I never expected them to be as good as Peter Jackson's two trilogies, because I knew they were going to be different, but I don't dislike it. Actually, if I manage to separate them from the books, or pretend that it's a fan-made alternate universe given public rights, I actually do enjoy watching them. So far, I find most of the actors fitting well into their roles (though one of the characters are likely fictionalized to balance with the introductions of canonical characters), and still wait impatiently for the next episode. However, I do still have a bunch of questions about some things that don't match the storyline. I can just only hope that they are part of a plan for actual canonical drama that the series plan to explain in full detail.
Pros: the special effects are amazing, the kingdoms of Middle-earth are still awe-inspirational as ever (especially Valinor, Númenor and Khazad-dum in their full glory:), most the actors are not bad at their roles, the attire and makeup is still good, the characters are all intriguing in their introductions by far, I love Bear McClearly's epic music score, I personally love the Harfoot arc (Nori and Poppy are adorable) and how it introduces us to a very important character we all know and love;) (at least, I'm SURE that it's him), I still like how they sneak in some historical facts that connect to either the First Age or the Third Age, and we are SO close to FINALLY seeing Sauron's actual face.
Cons: I hate how they kept ALL the male Elves' hair short (that's an important cultural and traditional detail that should NOT be ignored! Any more than having of the Dwarves be entirely without their beards!), there are still so many important details (from Galadriel's First Age introduction) that were left unspoken and ignored, they don't mention the year dates as they switch between character arcs and their times (IF they are shown at different time eras), we are not given a full historical introduction of Númenor, there's not nearly enough mention of Elros Tar-Minyataur as Elrond's brother, Halbrand's character seems slapped on (though his true identity being revealed makes me start to wonder if there's something about his role in the series that will prove to be shocking, just like Theo's character), but worst of all, Galadriel's time and place of being there does not make any sense!
But my most important issue of all: where the heck are Celeborn and Celebrían?
Anyway, enough of my railings. I hope you enjoy my next update. There's some spoilers in the Silmarillion mentioned, and contains mentions of past violence, attempted suicide, and child neglect as a warning. And Kyle Dainson's cussing, of course.
The moment their father's name left the Lady Galadriel's lips, the rest of the exchange between the siblings and the White Council had barely been comprehensible. The words became like noise in the background. Two sentences echoed through her mind in an endless, distant loop.
Aravír is Arthur. Arthur is Aravír. Aravír is Arthur. Arthur is Aravír. Aravir is…
"That's...impossible." Even when Maia whispered it, she already knew it to be false. They all knew it, even Lori, who in her reaction seemed to be the only one of the three who didn't feel like their world came crashing down. Again.
"Daddy is from here?" the little girl exclaimed. Glancing at everyone with wide eyes, as if trying to seek out any more denial and finding none, she whipped her head around to face her brother and sister, dark curls bouncing with the sudden movement. "I knew it! We knew it! Maia, Sparky, we were right!" she squeaked with breathless excitement. "Daddy's from Middle-earth! That's why the Elves know our code-talk!"
More like why we know theirs, Maia thought numbly.
But it made sense. It had been one of the first clues that had been dropped on them from the first day they entered Rivendell, the first time they heard Gandalf speak it to Lindir, and then to Elrond. If the outlook of Hobbiton and the introduction of Gandalf the Istari hadn't been obvious enough from their father's fables––if the orcs somehow invadingtheir farmhouse, in their own world, and somehow reappearing on the hills near Trollshaw hadn't––this most certainly hit the nail on the head.
Kyle's face was closed off. He seemed to be trapped in an unseeing haze of his own thoughts, filled with inner turmoil in much the same way Maia felt.
"What is this?" Saruman spoke, narrowing his black eyes on them. "You already knew of this?"
"What? No! No, it was more like…an educated guess," stuttered Maia, shaking her head. "Something we've only thought of recently, but...we only thought he was an artist!" Her voice rose in a high-pitched tone. "A story-teller! Some secret fan of lore, myths and legends, fantasy role-play games, or something! We even thought he was a former veteran, with all those scars and tattoos he had! But ever since we ran into those orcs before coming here, we only just started to realize our father might be from here, that he was connected those orcs somehow. But...but how could we have guessed this?"
She looked at Galadriel, feeling the lump in her throat. "If that was him in the visions, and if he somehow survived the orcs, then...then how did he end up in our world? How does anyone not know about this?" Her voice cracked, feeling her eyes heat with the threat of tears she struggled to keep at bay.
If this was supposed to be a council among the wise, then how was it that none of them knew anything about how they ended up crossing between worlds, let alone how their father had managed it, long before they had? They didn't even know if he had survived or not, up until now...only for his fate to remain unknown! Not for nearly a year, since the attack at the house!
"I am sorry," Galadriel said softly, compassion glimmering in her blue eyes as she met Maia's gaze. She reached over to touch the older girl's hand, keeping it light but comforting. "Long have I walked this earth, and longer still have I used the gifts bestowed unto me, hewn by the will of those who have lived beyond the world's making, to see beyond the limits of past, present, and future…but even my Sight is limited. There are still some things of this world, secrets of its creation, of Eru's will, that even the wisest do not yet understand."
"Or are forbidden to," said Elrond, grimly, "but not without good reason, I imagine. It would not be the first time that our knowledge has been limited, only to be sorely misused when discovered. Half of such potential discoveries have often led to their own destruction, when not used with pre-caution, or guidance."
"Spoken like a true-born Noldor, Lord Elrond," said Saruman, though it was hard to say whether it was a compliment or not. "If this is true, then we have indeed only begun to tap into a mystery that could easily prove to be catastrophic, if not handled with care and study. The fate of Melduin's heir and the arrival or his offspring are connected." The White Wizard looked down upon the siblings. "There can be little doubt."
Maia stirred uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, strangely feeling like a frog in a jar waiting to be dissected. The more he felt his black gaze on her, the more she truly did wonder if that was all the White Wizard saw them as: experiments to be picked and prodded.
As though sensing her discomfort, Galadriel pulled the young woman's attention back to her with an encouraging smile. "Let us not let the mysteries of this world hinder us, Maia Dainson," she said, her deep voice strangely lulling. "T'is only a delay. Another piece to fit into the great puzzle, if the three of you would but give us time we need to solve it."
"I..." Maia swallowed hard, wondering how long it would be before any of them would be able to figure it out––whether it would be months, or years, when their answer could still likely be at the Lonely Mountain, if the dreams they had once before were little more than a concept––and wondering what it meant for the Company of Dwarves if they were forced to wait that long.
But feeling desperate for the assurance of someone both wise and motherly, she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Gandalf said they should stay a few more days. That should be enough time, right? She hoped so.
"Master Kyle?" Gandalf called to the boy, who hadn't spoken the whole time. "Are you in agreement?"
When everyone looked at Kyle, he still hadn't moved. The thirteen year-old boy was staring sideways at the ground, his lips pressed so hard in a thin line they turned white. His hands were clasped together across his knees, one of which was thumping his heel repeatedly against the alabaster floor, betraying his suppressed anxiety. His eyes were empty, staring ahead but seeing nothing.
"Kyle?" Gandalf spoke again.
Suddenly the boy leapt to his feet and bolted out of the pavilion with the speed of a rabbit.
"Ky!" Maia instinctively began to get up, but with Lori in her lap, she was not quick enough to catch him before he was far away. Lori cried out, "Sparky?!" But the girls' voices were weak from their own share of shock at their brother's reaction.
"Master Kyle?" called Gandalf, equally as startled. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, that went well…"
He heard his name being called out by multiple people, but he just kept running, blindly. He wanted to get away from those all-knowing faces, away from how suffocated they all made him feel!
Skipping stairway steps, crossing a winding bridge, turning another corner of thick silver pillars…with absolutely no idea where he was going, he just kept running in the middle of the night, relying on the bright full moon to light his way. His bare feet pounded on the smooth stone, his breath coming out in dry, anxious panting as his head roared with a deafening flame filling his brain and channeling out of his ears like jet propellors.
His stomach began to take turn for the worst when reaching a private garden covered completely in ivy, roses, and gardenia over cobbled white stone plaques and statues.
Kyle dropped to his knees and threw up right there in a beautiful bed of ivory, white flowers. Completely ruined by his vomit. And––was that someone's grave stone he was kneeling in front of?
Well, crap.
Standing up, wiping his mouth with his arm, Kyle got a better look at the statue of a bearded man wearing a winged crown and a tranquil expression on his smooth, blank face.
"Sorry, bro," he muttered to the statue with a grimace, and then looked around, hoping nobody saw…but he soon realized then he was in a hidden garden. The midnight blue sky was surrounded by low hanging trees, glittering with emerald hemlock leaves and ivy green vines dappled with tiny irises and pink buds set in bloom.
In every corner of the moss-covered garden were white marbled statues with memorial plagues carved at their feet. All were surrounded by beds of green growth with various kinds of colorful summer flowers. There were mostly roses, tulips, and peonies, dappled in the purest white, the warmest yellow, and the brightest shades of pink in the corners in the tall grass, the vines around the courtyard walls, and two sets of stairs guarded by two statues of a naked man and woman holding a thorny ring above the entry.
But at the feet of the memorial statues (one of which Kyle threw up on) had light beds of irises, pale yellow star-like flowers, and tiny blue forget-me-nots clustered together with a scatter of petals rained around their base with care like a drift of gentle tears from the garden, mourning their passing, yet caressing their memory like loving kisses.
It was a hidden garden of tranquility, pale swirling arches of Rivendell's structure partially hidden behind the thick groves, where people could pass through the naturally reserved square, to hide and mourn in peace.
The wind and waterfalls of the dell could still be heard from the far-off distance, but here a faint harmony of crickets, frogs, and night birds, set like a soft choir of angels, eased their way into Kyle's ears like it hadn't before. Almost like it was set in a dream.
Letting himself wander around in this strange tranquil sanctuary could almost let the boy forget what had made him run off to begin with. Almost.
We believe, Kyle Dainson, Galadriel's deep voice echoed in his ears, against all odds, all reason that we cannot predict or yet explain…
Hot tears blurred his eyes. His throat hardened to the point where he started to choke.
…that Aravìr Ragnòrian may have been Arthur Dainson. Your father.
He rapidly wiped at his eyes, his breath coming out rapidly in quiet sobs he barely kept back as turret emotions threatened to spill out at once. Most of them angry, the rest of them confused. Above all, he was devastated. He felt betrayed more than he had before when Arthur left them.
Deep down, since long before that talk he had with his sisters, he already suspected that his dad was somehow connected to this world. How could he not be? It was pretty obvious when looking back at a wider perspective.
The code talk being Elvish. The sketches of the Shire hidden in tiny, private office. His "made-up" tales of things connected to their travels. Off-handed mentions of Istari and Maiar lost in his childhood. Mentioning absolutely nothing of his childhood, and yet bearing scars and tattoos…
Kyle felt sick when remembering the series of visions, brief and vaguely clear like that of a passing dream.
His main focus had been on that little boy who fought down all the goblins like a deadly little maniac…until he got overwhelmed and disappeared in the chaotic mass.
Everyone had been so sure that the little boy with the angry eyes was killed in the fray, along with his Ranger parents. Until now, apparently.
He still did not know how it was possible, or how those events from long ago led to the here and now––but he knew. He knew, behind a barrier of denial, before the Lady of Light had voiced it aloud, that the same little boy from back at that war zone was the same person who became their stoic and silently-loving father, and husband of Laura Hayes. The same person that somehow ended up in Texas, via New Zealand, or who knows where else?
Same steely gray eyes, same facial structure, same nose and grim-set mouth, down to the same damned fighting stance when getting ready for play-sparring…Without question, it was him.
"How?" choked Kyle, sniffling. He wiped his nose, angrily pacing the garden in front of the statues. "How was that him?" He kept muttered softly. He kept digging his fingers into his hair, pulling as he kept thinking, denying, and then thinking once again, turning his thoughts over and over. "How is it possible?"
It was driving him crazy, learning a truth kept from him his entire life, but not knowing whether he was learning all of it.
He certainly knew Maia and Lori were just learning about it. But what about their mother? Did Laura know who Arthur really was? Did she ever find out who exactly she was married, or had she been married to a lie?
Kyle refused to believe his mom, for all her strength and slightly reckless independence, would be foolish enough to marry man she barely knew. Or thought she knew.
There was still so much that he didn't know about his own father that Kyle didn't know what to think or feel anymore! For all his closeness, for all the hints Arthur had given him, he suddenly felt like he didn't know him at all! He thought his world had been turned upside down back when they had fallen into the Shire, but he was wrong.
Tonight, nearly two months later in the wilderness, felt like it finally did.
"Dammit!" he growled, wanting nothing more than to kick something, but knew better to kick anything in this holy place, especially after throwing up on one of them. "Dammit!"
"Master Kyle."
Startled, Kyle jumped and whipped around.
Entering the garden, a worried looking Elrond approached the boy, midnight blue robes shimmering in the darkness. "You had us all worried. Your sisters especially. Are you well?"
Of course it was Lord Elrond who found him. He would, after all, know his way around his own home.
When Kyle still didn't respond, the Lord of Imladris looked over to where was standing. His mouth quirked, an eyebrow raised. "I see you found my brother."
Kyle stiffened, then slowly looked back at the statue. Whose bed of flowers he vomited over. "That's him?" His voice cracked slightly, sounding more than a bit high-pitched.
"Mm." Elrond came closer to stand next to him, at least two feet taller in height, both looking at the monument of Elros Tar-Minyataur. The stone plaque was written in a dialect the boy could not read. "I often come here to talk to him when I need time alone with my thoughts," said the elder of the two. "It's ironic that his sculpture is better listener than he was, despite being my twin."
It sounded like a joke, but Kyle didn't smile. Observing the statue, he tilted his head. "He, uh…kind of looks a little like you?" He didn't really, but Kyle wasn't about to point that out.
Elrond shook his head, humming in disagreement. "I am certain it was the beard," he said. "Many did say we started to show our differences when we have fully grown. I remember the gradual change of shape his ears displayed were the most shocking."
Kyle huffed, then pointed at the flower bed. "I...kind of threw up on his flowers," he mumbled. "Sorry about that. I can replace those."
"You are forgiven." Elrond chuckled softly. "My children were certainly get a laugh out of it, I am sure. Elros definitely would have."
"Great," muttered Kyle, before turning around to walk over to the nearest bench. He sat down heavily, slumping.
Elrond cautiously approached the boy, towering mightily over the young mortal's shorter form. When the teen didn't react, still thumping his knee, the half-elven man gracefully sat down next to him, so that their eye level was somewhat equal. His gray gaze was compassionate. "Master Kyle," he said gently. "I understand that the knowledge we have placed on you is much to process. More than you and your sisters should have any right to be burdened with. For that, you are angry. Because to be angry is better than to feel afraid. Is that not right?"
When Kyle's eyes moved up to look at Elrond, still looking depressed, the Elf Lord continued, "No one will blame you for how you handle the truth, but I implore you to talk about this with your sisters when you have the chance. To speak of this with Gandalf, if you desire, or anyone you trust. I am willing to listen if you are willing to speak. I understand."
"Understand what?" Kyle said, angrily. His eyes filled with tears, chin wobbling as his face turned red with anger. "I'm sorry, but what can you possibly understand about what I'm feeling right now? Did your dad keep secrets and disappear without a word, leaving us and our mom behind, only to possibly get himself abducted and presumed dead? Do you end up getting his shit thrown back in your face and with no way out?"
His mouth clamped shut when soon realizing how extremely rude he acted just now. To his host, no less, who had been nothing but kind and patient to his guests, no matter much they didn't return the same courtesy. Kyle wasn't often praised the most for being "nice" or "polite" like his sisters were, but he certainly didn't want to come across as cruel.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but Elrond had already answered him with a grave calm, "Yes, Master Dainson, I did. More than once."
The words died in his throat. What? He stared at the Elf Lord seated next to him with open surprise.
Never would he have guessed that the even-tempered ruler of Rivendell has endured any kind of suffering of this sort. He certainly did not strike Kyle as someone who suffered abandonment issues at first glance.
But, then again, was one just born with wisdom and patience, or did they have to work hard to gain it? With that in mind, Kyle wondered what the rest of the White Council had to face. Especially Galadriel, whom for all her powerful, intimidating aura seemed to be the epitome of elegance and wisdom in her angelic beauty without a scar to be shown...and yet, ironically, she was the only one among them that didn't have Maiar blood, who sounded like angelic beings in their own right.
Elrond sighed. "I confess it is not quite in the same predicament as the three of you," he said, "but I assure you that I understand far too well what it is like to have an absent parent in your life. My twin would have agreed with me, if he were with us now."
Kyle looked away with a huff, feeling skeptical.
Undeterred, Elrond patiently continued, sharp eyes fixed on the boy's reaction the entire time. "You feel as though your world has crumbled around you against your will," he spoke lowly, "and will force you to accept a change you have never asked for. You feel mortally hurt, because you feel the one you should be looking up to more than anyone else has kept you at a distance...and then one day, without warning, they leave you behind, never to come back. Perhaps he did have his reasons. Perhaps he did do it with the best intentions, for love or pure necessity…but no matter what his reasons are, it never feels excusable enough to have him leave you behind, with nothing but questions of why."
Kyle had been slowly turning his head back up, eyes widening with each sentence that betrayed his emotions. Elrond looked him in the eye then. "Yes?" he prompted.
The younger swallowed the lump of anger and sadness in his throat as he nodded.
That was exactly how he felt when his father ghosted his family. That was exactly how he felt after losing all hope of his dad showing up on his worst days or at least answering his calls in order to just talk (and get answers!), back when he still had hope of him coming back.
But by the time Arthur Dainson had managed to give them a total of two calls, nearly half a year had already gone by, and Kyle no longer wanted to speak to him. Not on the phone, anyway.
If his dad had something to say to him, he could come over himself in person. That had been Kyle's ultimate resolve.
But then the attack on Arthur that happened, and everyone heard the whole thing on that terrible phone call, which had continued to haunt him for months on end.
Since then, Kyle remained stuck between a stubborn anger and guilt for ignoring his dad's (albeit sorry) attempts to reach out to him when he had the chance.
To make matters worse, despite how close it seemed that they had always been, it never sat right with him to realize he never once heard his father say 'I love you' to him, for as long as he could remember.
Except through Lori, apparently. Lucky kid.
"Only time, wisdom, and the love of those who are willing to listen can put a balm on such hurts," said Elrond. "I cannot assure you that it will go away, or become any less painful a memory, but it will help you make peace with what has happened and will help decide what you will do with what comes afterward."
He sounds like someone who experienced exactly that, Kyle thought, before then realizing that while they learned he had a twin brother, he never mentioned anything about his parents. Hearing him now, it seemed like an even more sensitive topic to bring up.
"Did you––I mean––" With his surprise distinguishing his previous attitude, Kyle fumbled, suddenly wary about how sensitive the topic must be for Lord Elrond, whom he already knew had lost a twin. He sounded like Maia did when she'd lose her self-confidence. "W-What happened? To your father, I mean."
"Hm, which father?" Elrond gave him a small, tired smirk. "I had three."
"Three?"
Elrond nodded. "My birth-father," he said, "and the two who have raised me and my brother."
"So…you were adopted?" Elrond Half-Elven seemed to have a chock-full of personal history he would never have guessed early a mere handful of hours ago. Silly as it may sound, he barely could even imagine the wise Lord of Imladris ever being a child, let alone an adopted one.
Elrond seemed hesitant for a long while, before replying, "I was, but…the circumstances that led to such were…very much less than ideal. Complicated, to say the least." He looked at Kyle, who was staring back at him intently. Full of curiosity at the meaning behind the words. "Truth be told, my brother and I were stolen."
Kyle blinked, unsure if he heard right. "'Stolen?'" He repeated in disbelief. "As in…kidnapped?"
"Kidnapped. Held for ransom. Raised up." Elrond nodded to himself.
"Holy crap," whispered Kyle, still shocked. Kidnapped and adopted? How the heck did that transition occur, and for Elrond to speak of it so casually? As far as all the kidnapping stories he heard from the news or documentaries—at least, back in his world—such stories almost always never ended happily. It alway either ended up in arrest, trauma, or death, because more often than not, the said-kidnappers were often perverts, murderers, or just plain crazy.
"How are saying this so casually?" he exclaimed. "You're telling me that the same people who kidnapped you were the same people that adopted you? And you're okay with it? Didn't anyone try to rescue you?"
"It is like I told you: the situation of our kidnapping was complicated," said Elrond, "and therefore complicated tale to tell. It is...not something I would share very often with anyone. Not even among those of whom I hold in the highest confidence."
He pulled a face. "And why are you telling me this? You barely know me."
"Because it has become evidently clear that with the struggles you face, the knowledge you have been exposed to," answered the elf lord. "I feel that this is something of myself that I can at least I can share with you, Young Master Dainson. Your sisters, as well. In due time."
Intrigued, Kyle turned to him fully. "Then, can you tell me about how it happened?" he asked. "If you don't mind, " he quickly added. He was not expecting a compliance, but he couldn't help how full to the brim with curiosity he felt to know Elrond's side of the story.
The Lord of Rivendell seemed to take a minute to consider the boy carefully. "Very well, Master Dainson, I will tell you," he said, finally. "I would only for now ask that you listen until the end and keep an open mind for after you first hear it. Please keep in mind that this is important to me."
After a brief moment of consideration, Kyle nodded. Then, he quickly added, "You wouldn't mind just speaking, right? No visions?"
"No," Elrond smiled, shaking his head. "Once was enough for you, I believe. That is Galadriel's specialty, not mine."
It only took him a minute of contemplation, the two listening to the crickets and frogs chirp in the night.
"It has been many lifetimes since I have last seen my parents, before the westernmost of Beleriand became what is now part of the sea," said Elrond finally. "The Mouth of Sirion was the home of my birth, a sea village of refugees from two fallen kingdoms of the Eldar, who have coerced in the aftermath of their destruction. My mother was called Elwing, daughter of Díor and Nimloth, the sole surviving heir of Doriath, and Eärendil was my sire––my birth-father, the only child of Tuor and Idril, and the last prince of Gondolin.
"Yes, Kyle, t'is the same city of Gondolin whose blades your Company discovered in the troll hoard. The same city whose king was my great-grandfather by blood, but one who perished long before my brother and I were born.
"Eärendil and Elwing were both half-elven, descended from a union between Elf and Man, but Elwing was the great-granddaughter of Melian the Maia. She not only carried the blood of Elves and Men, but that of the Ainur. As half-elven heirs of once-mighty kingdoms now laid to ruin, Elwing and Eärendil grew up together on the shores of refuge. When they were older, they were later wed, securing the alliance between the two former kingdoms of the Noldor and the Sindar in their union as Peredhel. Not long after, Elros and I were born, but even in that time, Eärendil had already been called away at sea and was not present in our earliest years, or so we were told.
"My memories of him are barely existent, for he was so often away on his voyages that he only stayed a handful months in between the six years we have been alive. The last true memory I have of him was when we were four years old. He…had dark golden hair, and a gentle voice, and eyes as blue and distant as the sea that drew his longing. Little else do I remember of him, other than never being too far away from his ship. As a mariner first and foremost, he was gone overseas for long periods of time in his search for Valinor, leaving our mother behind to rule Sirion in his stead.
"Elwing…did not fare any better in his absence. While she was there with us physically, her mind had always somewhere else. She rarely wore anything other than a gown of pure white, but always did she wear the Nauglamir, a necklace fashioned by the Dwarves of Menegroth to contain a legendary jewel that was said to contain the light of the Two Trees in Valinor, the light of the stars, and the powerful fëa of its true maker, Fëanor.
"The gem was called a Silmaril, one of three that were ever made. A stone that shone so brightly, so beautifully, and with such purity that the Queen of the Stars herself hallowed the gems, so that no evil—and arguably, no Mortal—would ever lay hands upon them without being forever scorched. A treasure that was so beautiful to behold, that it even enraptured the heart of the Morgoth himself—the first Dark Lord. One of three sources of light—that many an Elf had fought and killed to obtain," Elrond whispered at the last, with a hint of bitterness in his tone, "for believing so greatly to be the source of their greatest hope…when in reality it served as the greatest source for tragedy.
"That being said, the face of my mother had always been hidden behind the bright light of the Silmaril, making her seem more fair and ethereal, almost like one of the Divine…but that was it. Her attentions were only pulled toward two things in that time: the sea where she waited for Eärendil's return from his voyage, or the Silmaril she always wore around her neck as though it were her own child. Rarely has her gaze ever lingered long on Elros and I before it was turn back to its light with an even greater longing, and never did I realize then Elwing, like her father and grandfather before her, had been captured by the addictive lure of the Silmaril's power. There was even a time when Elros and I heard an exchange of whispers in the room where she dwelled to admire the gem, but no one but herself had occupied it. I wonder even now how no one amongst our people, not even our own father, had realized then that something was wrong, and I myself was too young to understand the mind sickness that had already enveloped my mother, as it had enveloped so many others. And always did I resent and distrust the gem for the part it played on all of my kin.
"It had been already been two years since Eärendil left on his latest voyage when the first letter came. I was very young still, but even from the earliest years of my childhood, my brother and I were...more attentive than most people realized. We had our own talents that were just coming to surface, but always kept those abilities between us for our lack of understanding in their purpose. We learned of what the letter was about and what it was that Elwing, and her people, refused to heed. My brother and I had ever been told of the horrific stories of the kinslayers. Murderers among Elven-kind. And none more so terrible that the seven sons of Fëanor, the creator of the Silmarils; they who had sworn an Oath under Eru the Almighty to reclaim all three of the Silmarils, by any means necessary, lest the darkness of the Void be their unmaking. Two kinslayings did they already commit under the will of the Oath, one of them being that of Doriath, my mother's kingdom. Elwing had lost both her parents in the attack, and her twin brothers––Elúred and Elúrin––were chased off into the wilds to their death, never to be found again. So much needless blood and death unwonted in the name of their Oath, causing such tragedy to forever embed into the hearts of the Eldar. And now, after three decades of hiding and avoiding detection, the Fëanorians had resurfaced, demanding Elwing through letters sent by ravens and one Fëanorian emissary, to relinquish the Silmaril to avoid another attack demanded by their ruthless Oath."
All for a jewel? Kyle thought, trembling in absolute anger and disbelief. So much death over a frigging rock? He briefly wondered what was so special about this specific jewel that someone would evidently kill for. Or why someone would choose to make an oath over it and still go through with it!
"The letters were ignored and were given no reply to the demands, in much the same way it was said Díor responded in the days before the Second Kinslaying. Most of the people of Sirion, many of them survivors of Doriath, agreed that Silmaril was in the firm belief that the stone belonged to them by right. In memory of the heroic deeds of Beren and Lúthien, a man and elf who had successfully recovered the Silmaril from Morgoth's possession when such a feat was deemed impossible, they dubbed the Nauglamir a great symbol of hope.
"Even without their pleas, Elwing maintained a fierce possession over the necklace, refusing from them on to let anyone touch it or come near her, save for Elros and I, when we were not with our nannies. But the whispers in the room would grow louder, and Elwing's paranoia only grew worse in a short amount of time since we were given the warning. Even I could sense a foreboding of doom upon the shores, but could not yet explain it until it happened.
"The sons of Fëanor and their army attacked Sirion in the middle of the night. Without warning. The battle had lasted until the sun rose, and the sky was tainted red as blood. Many of our people were slaughtered or scattered about. Houses were set aflame, and soldiers had fallen in the attempt to parry the attack. The Third Kinslaying was dubbed the cruelest of the three, for there were many of its people that were lacking warriors to defend their people, unguarded and unprepared, full of women and children left without protection. Some of the opposing fights had even turned against their former leaders in the attempt to defend Sirion, but to no avail.
"When they had reached the tower, Elros and I were brought out of our room and pushed into the nearest closest by our nanny at the time, saying that she would come back for us. She never did. Hearing all of the noise of battle outside our hiding spot, Elros and I decided to look for our mother. We found her…and one of the sons of Fëanor approaching her near the edge of the window."
The hairs on the back of Kyle's head rose as he listened.
"He threatened her. Threatened us. He had been desperate, but he had sounded so cruel, back then." Elrond closed his eyes. "I remember crying out to her, hoping she would come to us. But when that didn't work, he resorted to pleaing with her, promising no harm to befall her or her children. He even lowered his sword to the ground and held up his hands, in an act of good faith, stained as they were with the blood of Elves and Men. He promised her that if she handed over the Silmaril, right there and then, her life—and that of her sons'—would be spared.
"She had been standing right there, and Elros and I were standing right there at the doorway, within her sight. Hoping against hope that, for once, she would choose my brother and I over the accursed gem…" Elrond breath wavered, his eyes growing distant with a flash of anger. He had to close them, and Kyle quietly watched the Elf Lord breathe through his nose, before continuing more calmly, "But still, she refused. Once more, she had chosen the Silmaril. In her last moments on Middle-earth, she only clutched the stone to her heart, whispering incoherent words as if in prayer, and let herself fall from the window."
Kyle made a noise of horror, but when Elrond looked at him, his gaze only hardened in a way that said he wasn't finished. "We thought at first she had fallen to her death, but moments later a bight light flashed mid fall from the tower to the sea. The Fëanorion who had chased her from the balcony ran to the ledge and beyond him, we could see the white form of an albatross soaring speedily across the ocean toward the rising red sun. Dangling from its neck, glittering like a star from the night sky, was the Silmaril.
"I knew then it was Elwing who flew away, leaving Elros and I alone in the tower with one of the monsters of her childhood."
Elwing? Someone named her right for the occasion, Kyle thought stupidly, picturing the woman with bird wings for arms. Wait, hold on! The meaning behind Elrond's words suddenly slammed into him, along with the sickening realization that followed: that this Elwing—his own mother—had abandoned her kids to the mercy of her enemy! She––She left them?! The hell?! His blood boiled hot and cold at the very thought. She ditched her six year-old kids to save her own skin—for a stupid, shiny rock?! Are you kidding me?!
It took everything in himself to bite his tongue to keep from yelling and cursing in rage, remembering his promise to keep his opinions to himself until the end.
If Elrond was aware of the enraged mixed of emotions crossing the boy's face, he gave no sign of it. "We thought then for sure that he would kill us for our mother's defiance," he said, "so we ran back to our room, and into the cupboard of our hiding place. He followed us. Trapped and with nowhere ago, Elros and I could only wait as he approached. When he opened the cupboard doors, I could clutched my brother, close my eyes, and wait for the killer to do the deed with more fear than I have ever felt in my young life."
Kyle listened with his heart pounding, fully intent to find out what happened next. But then, to his surprise, Elrond's face softened, full of sad reminiscence.
"But he did nothing of the sort," he said gently. "He only stared down at us, kneeling, doing nothing but look at us for the longest time. When I could finally could bring myself to look at him, truly look at him for the first time, I remember feeling an overwhelming flood of fear, of anger, and…a peculiar sense of curiosity towards him."
Elrond thought for a moment, thinking back on his earliest days. "He had this…certain beauty to him, one that reflected the once tender-hearted soul dipped deep in an ocean of blood, and he had the brightest blue eyes, like that of the Lady Galadriel, but in the moment I first looked into them, he had a feral light in his gaze that looked fey and possessed…but when he stared into my eyes, held them, it was in that moment that same cold fey light in them slowly began to fade. His shrunken pupils gradually dilated to a normal size, as though whatever evil had seized his entire being had immediately loosened its grasp the longer he held my gaze. It was like he became an entirely different person in mere span of seconds. Like a heavy spell he had been trapped under had started to seep away. Rather than look cruel and wrathful, as I had expected, he looked…sorrowful, like he had the weight of world on his soul, and was on the verge of shattering.
"If not for the blood and dirt that stained almost every inch of his face and armor, we would not have believed this Elf would have dared kill a single being. His face looked innocent, but his soul was stained. But if not for the tears that tracked his dirtied cheeks, if not for the agony and remorse that I could read in his eyes like an open book, I would have stuck to the belief that he truly was nothing more than the cold-blooded monster we were warned of.
"He took pity on us that day. When he spoke, it was the honey-sweet lull of his voice that truly swayed our hearts, for such belonged to the mightiest singer among the Noldor. He introduced himself as 'Maglor,' and vowed he would not harm us. We did not believe him at first. But after a while of encouragement and bit of struggle, Elros and I then became desperate for the comfort of an adult, so we finally let him hold us. In other situation, it would be the last thing that should have been done, and we did not full trust or like him during that time, for very good reason…but we were so young, and yet even then there had been something about him that I had felt—had seen—in that very fist moment that we could trust him enough to make sure we were safe.
"Later, Maglor faced off his brother, Maedhros. He convinced him to take us with them, hoping to hold us for ransom in exchange for the Silmaril. Maedhros was, and still is, the tallest and fiercest Elf I had ever met in my lifetime; his hair long and fiery red, his face and ears riddled with a deep scars that set his mouth into a permanent scowl, his entire hand missing at the right arm, and eyes that burned with the intensity of a silver blade in a fiery forge, almost matching the brightness of the Silmarils themselves.
"They had only just recently lost their youngest brothers in the battle—twins, as it turned out—and were so beloved that their deaths had so very nearly shattered them both. Maedhros would not even look at us, while Maglor rarely let us leave his sight, as if our very presence would help soothe the agony of their loss. They took us from Sirion and we made a long trip back in land until reaching the old fortress of their youngest brothers, Amon Ereb. Thus, our kidnapping. King Gil-Galad and Cirdan's forces had arrived too late. They did search for us, for a time, spreading out for rumors of our whereabouts when the first letters of the sons of Fëanor were sent out for our ransom, but it did little good. Elwing was gone with the Silmaril, and the other two were still held in the possession of Morgoth. There would be no bargain, until Elwing and Eärendil came back and agreed to make the exchange.
"Even after what we had seen, Elros and I had held on to the hope that our mother had only flown off to find our father. We hoped that they would return for us, bring the Silmaril back, join the High King's forces, and together they would make a proper ransom to exchange the jewel for our freedom.
"Maglor helped keep that hope alive in us. He would tell us stories, sing us songs, ballads and lullabies, teach us how to play the harp...Within a year in their stay, he already felt like a father to us. We had started to call him Ada.
"Even Maedhros had eventually softened his heart towards us, a feat that a mere handful could only accomplish in that time, for he had already lost everything and everyone he loved besides Maglor. Maimed and hardened by tragedies beyond our comprehension, it had twisted him into the cold-hearted monster that everyone had rightfully feared…but during the times he had closed the distance between us and him, we grew to love and pity him more than we feared him. Whatever harshness he carried with him ever on, he used it to protect us and to teach us all that we needed to know. Everything that I know now, to this day."
Elrond looked at Kyle with a sigh.
"It would take us all night to tell you everything of our time with Maglor and Maedhros, but within a few years of staying with them, the moment we saw the brightest star rise into the sky with its familiar flick, it was the first time we realized that that our father and mother would not be coming back for us. It later turned out that Noldoran forces led under High King Gil-Galad were forced to cease their search for us then the tidings of war turned for the worst, but even then, Elros and I gave up on the hope for anyone coming for us. At the same time, Maedhros and Maglor had given up on keeping us as their hostages, knowing now that the Silmaril was forever out of their reach. After much debate and arguing on whether it would be right to send us away under discretion to the safety of people, it was decided by the will of brother and I that we stay with the son of Fëanor. So, rather than stay as their prisoners or their guests, we instead became their sons. We even performed the ceremonial rights to seal the fëa bond that had formed between us to make the adoption official.
"They became our fathers in all but blood. And from that day forward—though I will not say that that they were not the villains of many things that had unfolded during the First Age— even when there were moments that our fathers had threatened again to commit vile deeds, even for our sake, I believe it was also for our sake that Maglor and Maedhros had managed to not kill another Elf from then on.
"It is strange to admit that even after thousands of years, the days before we came into their care still remain one of my earliest and darkest memories," he said softly. "And yet, being with them had been filled with many of my most cherished."
When Kyle listened in silence, Elrond continued, in a careful tone, "My brother and I were raised with love by the oldest sons of Fëanor. To Elven society were dubbed traitors, kinslayers, and monsters told to fright young children in the night, even to this day...but to Elros and I, they were our most beloved guardians, our Atar and Atya, who had given everything they had to keep us safe and loved. Their actions which led to such were…nothing short of horrifying, but all I can tell you now, that they were more of my fathers to me than my real one had ever been. They loved my brother and I, and we had grown to love them back. To this day, I still do."
Elrond took another breath. "However...terrible misfortunes of their own making has inevitably led us to be separated from them. Elros and I were nearly grown by then, fighting alongside those who took part in the great war, but it did not make their parting any less painful. My brother and I were left parentless once more, and alone. For a long time, it had been that way. Even among the former-friends of our birth parents, there was no one we could truly trust, save for a few former followers of the Fëanorians, one of whom serves as my head councilor now. We salvaged a few important possessions of our fathers: Maedhros' sword, Maglor's harp, and their twin brothers' star pendants they had gifted to us.
"After that night, I…I never saw Maedhros again. And Maglor, he…"
When Elrond didn't speak for a long time, seeming to be lost in painful memories, Kyle took the time to process everything he just heard. Complicated didn't even seem to cut it...but he found himself aggrieved for what happened to Maedhros and Maglor. For whatever bad things they had done, it was clear that Elrond really loved them, and it sounded very much like they loved him back. It sounded like raising him and his twin had changed them for the better...only for Elrond and Elros to lose them. They had done more for the twins than their own mother and father ever had! It was not fair!
Kyle swallowed the hard lump in his throat. "Did you," he croaked, before clearing hi throat, "did you ever find out what happened to them? Where did they go?"
Elrond kept staring ahead. His eyes were fixed on the monumental statue of Elros Tar-Minyataur. Below the King of Númenor's folded hands was the hilt of a longsword, where at the base was carved into an eight-pointed star. Then, he straightened up, blinking back the wetness in his eyes, before placing a hand on the young teen's shoulders.
"Perhaps another time," Elrond said, with a faint smile. Kyle looked liek he was about to protest, so he added, "I fear I am getting too sentimental to be of good company any longer, and I am needed to return for the gathering Council, and you to your sisters. For now, I think it best you may have time to process what we have just discussed."
"...Okay," Kyle nodded. "Sure."
Lord Elrond himself straightened to his feet, yet looked more emotionally drained than before, and Kyle stood with him.
He was quiet for a long time when they walked out of the garden together. When they started in the direction of his bedroom, halfway there, Kyle opened his mouth. "Lord Elrond? Sir? Can I ask you one more question?"
"You may."
Kyle paused, turning the question over his mind, before deciding to go for it, "Did you ever forgive them? For what they did to you and your brother? Any of them?"
The minute of silence seemed to weigh like heavy lead. Then, Elrond nodded. "I forgave all of them," he said at last.
Figures, Kyle thought tiredly. Despite his own reservations, he honestly couldn't help but admire the extent of the half-elf's compassion.
Kyle had no idea what he would do in a situation like that, but what he was now sure of, in that moment, when comparing his own issues with his dad to Elrond's with his parents (all of them), it didn't feel nearly as bad.
But then, after observing the boy for a moment, Elrond added, "But to forgive does not always mean to forget. One can choose to forgive a great wrong if to let the past go, lest the wound would start to fester into a darkness that will take control of your life…but to forget a wrong would lessen its meaning. You can forgive, but still be angry, if only to remember why it had wronged you in the first place. But to forgive is to learn to understand the wrongdoers' perspective in the actions they have taken against you, to accept that it has happened, to become stronger for it, and learn to move on from it, so as no not let that anger be your undoing."
"So," Kyle frowned, "wait…You're telling me even though you forgave all your parents, you can still be still mad at them?"
"I am saying that it is common to still feel embittered by matters of the past left unresolved," said Elrond patiently. "While I now somewhat learned to understand and forgive their decision, there will always remain part of me that cannot forget how easily Eärendil and Elwing left my brother and I behind, when we were still so very young and facing certain death. Because I was and still am unable to personally settle matters with them, I fear there will always be that grievance between us. The only lesson I can learn from them can only be to ensure not to repeat the same mistake with my own children.
"As for my foster-fathers," Elrond looked down at Kyle, "I will never forget what their part in the attack on our home before they took Elros and I in. You would think that my anger towards them should be great, everlasting, for their crimes outweigh any sin my parents have ever committed…but it is not so much with them. Not anymore. Do you know why?" Kyle shook his head, tongue-tied. "Because Elros and I had already confronted those issues with them, a long time ago. We fought with them, declared our hatred of them, accused them of murder, threatened to kill them or tried to run away from them…"
Jeez, Kyle thought with a wince. And people thought I was savage.
"We had already vented so much anger on them…and never once did they deny that we were wrong to do so, no matter how much our words pained them. Always there something about them to vent about…but in the end, I realized that whatever ire and cruel words were thrown their way..." Elrond took a breath, "...there was no one who held more contempt and disgust than they did toward themselves. They had regretted almost every choice they made since binding themselves to their Oath, not least of all being the three kinslayings.
"I realized then," said Elrond slowly, while Kyle listened with fascinated intent, "that their Oath was more than just words of declaration, or words of obsession for one too proud to withdraw. It was not even remotely that simple, for I remembered then the fey light in Maglor's eyes from the very first moment we met, and remembered the way his shrunken pupils seemed to refocus themselves, like a curtain being pulled back from an open window. I remembered how uncomfortably tense his entire frame had been, trembling with an internal struggle, as though reacting painfully to a physical set of iron bands bound throughout the ties of both his hröa and fëa––his body and soul."
Feeling spooked at the implication, Kyle's instinctively folded his arms around his body.
"I knew then that the Oath to Eru Ilúvatar was not merely words declared with absolute resolve. It was a living thing, Master Kyle. Twisted by the hate and will of one who did not foresee the consequences of his hubris. A spiritual binding made physical by powers beyond the circles of the world, growing tighter in a constricting hold with every struggle they ever made to resist it, until the pain and madness became unbearable.
"The Oath merely grew worse with the centuries they carried it. Like a rot that determined to spread, but like a cage, it ensured they would not will themselves to die. It became their master, a siren of misery and suffering, when word or sight of a Silmaril came to their attention. The more they resist, the worse they break. Such as it had been for the thirty years they struggled after Doriath...up until Sirion," Elrond whispered.
"So, it's like...some kind of curse?"
Elrond nodded. "Once I had begun to understand the true extent of their suffering, their pain became our pain. Within a few years, whatever hatred we carried towards them had exhausted itself. I only ever felt sorrow when the Oath reared its hideous head, but from then on, we had grown to love them as they loved us.
"If there is any anger left I had toward them, it was for leaving us the way they did, when Elros and I wanted nothing more than to stay with them. But despite my anger, I understood why they have done it, and I forgive them of this because they did it out of love for my brother and I." Elrond paused, swallowing. "Many times did Maglor tell my brother and I how much he loved us, and never let us forget it…but at the moment we bid farewell, it was the first time I heard Maedhros say in words that he loved us...and the last thing he ever said to Elros and I when we parted."
The first and last time…Kyle felt his chest ache. To express love with actions, but never with words.
Dad was the same way, he realized.
"Why did he wait until then?" he bit out, when they were just approaching the hallway leading to his and his sisters' bedrooms.
Elrond looked away. "Because it is often those who suffered a lifetime of loss and death who trouble opening their hearts again, let alone say the words," he whispered. "And Maedhros…my Atar suffered in more ways than anyone I had ever met. He feared to love us…because he feared of losing us."
That doesn't make any sense, thought Kyle in frustration. What, is saying 'I love you' too much of a taboo now?
"I have only ever truly resolved my anger with Maglor," Elrond finished with his previous question. "More or less."
"Why?" Kyle asked, curious now.
They standing just outside the door of his bedroom now. And just further down the hallway, his sisters were likely waiting, if not already asleep.
Elrond gave him a soft smile. "Because he was the only one of the four who came back," he said. "And in my heart of heart, now and always, I know he always will."
You know what takes longer than writing a long chapter? It's revising and editing a long chapter! Especially one that ends up getting cut in half. Somehow, I'm still not completely satisfied with this, but there will be another revision in the future one we reach the end of "Unexpected Journey" arc, so it might get re-edited like the others.
I wrote two other different versions of Elrond's tale about his childhood with his Kidnap dads being told. I wanted do badly to write this conversation between at least one of the Dainson children and Elrond because one) it's based on one of my favorite story arc quotes in the Silmarillion, and 2) more emotional connections, and 3) contains clues that may prove to be important later on;) I plan for the next chapter to reveal more regarding the Dainsons' family history.
There was one that was originally going to be Kyle running off into the garden and finding Arwen there instead, and the other was Elrond comforting Kyle while leading up to story being told to all the Dainson siblings. I was not satisfied with those two, so I went back to the original vision of Kyle and Elrond having alone time, just to squeeze a last minute side-scene before things start to abruptly change for the Company of Thorin, and the Dainsons. Let's just say we're almost out of Rivendell, finally.