Chapter 3

The land was hilly and even mountainous in some places, and forests were sprinkled among them. Elrond and Arwen listened closely for any singing to discern Maglor's whereabouts, but nothing had yet materialized. Elrond found it likely that Maglor knew of their arrival and was hiding, but it was also possible his mental state was so poor he did not know what was going on around him very well. Elrond hoped he was not in such condition, but was determined to do what he could to help him.

Elrond squinted and spotted some ruins in the distance, on top of one of the higher hills. He climbed up the hill he was currently on to get a closer look from a higher vantage point, Arwen a little behind him as she stopped to pull something out of her pack. He looked down to see her putting on a sparkling blue cloak, and weaving some flowers into her hair. Elrond frowned in confusion, before she explained, "It is said Luthien looked something like this when Beren came upon her in Doriath. Perhaps this will confuse them enough for you to get close. I feel like they might be in those ruins, which are not far from here."

"You do indeed look much like how she is depicted, although I believe you are even more beautiful," Elrond replied with a fond smile. "Maglor and Maedhros will swoon at the mere sight of you."

Arwen's grey eyes sparkled in mischief and excitement. "We shall see!"

Elrond turned his attention back towards the ruins, and squinted as he thought he had seen movement under the cloudy, darkening skies. "Perhaps I imagined it," he whispered, after staring for a while and seeing nothing else moving. He clutched his staff in his left hand to steady himself, and his cloak billowed around him in the cold wind. Could this be the main fortress of Himring? Maedhros had told him stories about his many years living and commanding the freezing cold realm, and despite his clear fondness for it, Elrond could not imagine finding joy living in such a place. Imladris was a realm of beauty and warmth, and not just a functional outpost to defend against evil.

"Shall we continue, Ada?" Arwen asked. "It is not far now to the ruins."

"There is no guarantee anyone is living there," Elrond cautioned. "Just because it is a structure, it may not be safe to live there." It certainly did not look stable, but Elrond had to admit he was curious, having always enjoyed history.

"Well we will never know unless we go and find out," Arwen urged with a grin. Elrond rolled his eyes in exasperation, but could not suppress a smile. Despite his misgivings, he was glad to have his daughter beside him in such a significant moment. They both carefully traversed down the other side of the hill, using their staffs to support themselves. Elrond kept looking frequently at the ruins for any sign of inhabitance, but nothing was plainly evident. It was chilly, so would there not be even one fire to keep warm? Yet no smoke was visible.

They were much closer now, and Arwen held up a hand. "Let me go ahead of you," she whispered. "I will sing one of those old Sindarin lays Lindir taught me. Perhaps Maglor will sing back?" Elrond shrugged, and it took all his willpower to agree to her plan. All he wanted to do was hide her and keep her safe, but her plan was sound. "Wish me luck." With that, she put her staff down and stood gracefully, before beginning to sing and dance. Elrond was entranced as he watched her; there was a small patch of wildflowers beneath her feet, and while they were not like niphredil, she enhanced their simple beauty with her presence.

After singing for a while, she jerked to a stop when another voice joined hers. Elrond's hand flew to his chest at the familiar voice, due to his rapidly beating heart. Eyes wide, Arwen recovered quicker that he thought possible and continued, but her eyes were darting around as she danced and listened to discern where the voice was coming from. It seemed to echo all around them.

Elrond was focusing so much on finding the source of the music that he was caught off-guard when another voice croaked, "You should take better care of your weapons, trespasser," and a dagger was brought to his throat. Elrond froze, barely breathing. He could still hear the other voice singing with Arwen, so who could this be except…

"Atya?" Elrond breathed. The dagger under his chin shook before it clattered to the ground, and the person shuffled away from him. Elrond whipped around to see a person duck into the trees, and without thinking, he followed. "Atya wait!" Elrond crashed through the trees, pursuing the rapidly fleeing figure ahead of him. Despite the taller stature, the person was tiring, probably unused to running at such speed.

They entered a clearing and Elrond took his chance, and tackled Maedhros to the ground. "Stop, please stop running," he wheezed, arms wrapped tightly around the much-too-skinny torso. They were both shaking.

"You cannot be real," Maedhros croaked. "You must be a vision." His eyes were wide and frightened, and Elrond could see more scars had been added to the plethora he remembered crisscrossing his face. He looked much younger in that moment than Elrond had ever seen him.

Elrond unwound his arms, took Maedhros' hand, and placed it on his chest over his rapidly beating heart. "No, atya, I am real. I…I never thought I would see you again." It felt like a dream, to see his foster-father again. His whole body was trembling at the knowledge that Maedhros was alive and right in front of him.

Maedhros stared at him in growing wonderment. "You are all grown up," he whispered. "Is your brother with you?"

Before Elrond could even think of some response to this distressing question, his head whipped around as Arwen's voice was abruptly cut off. "Arwen!" He stood up and ran, Maedhros stumbling behind. His hand was on his sword hilt as he approached a strange sight.

Arwen was standing very still, her eyes unblinking as if in a trance. A shadowy figure was singing softly as it approached, and Elrond knew it must be-

"Maglor, you may stop now," Maedhros ordered with a frown.

"Muindor, it is Luthien!" Maglor muttered in astonishment. "She has come again, to haunt us!"

Maedhros seemed confused as he looked upon Arwen, wondering if this was indeed true despite Elrond calling her otherwise. "Luthien?" He came a little closer to her. "Let her out of this trance, so we may speak to her and learn the truth of it."

Maglor frowned but waved his fingers in a peculiar way and hummed an unfamiliar tune. Arwen's eyes cleared and she backed away in fear. Elrond noted how disheveled and unwell Maglor looked, and there was a strange light in his eyes. Maedhros did not look much better, but he seemed more aware of his surroundings. Arwen spotted Elrond and stumbled to his side, and both Fëanorians followed her movement before freezing at the sight of him.

"Dior?" Maglor asked in confusion. "How…how can this be? Maedhros, why do they torture us with their presence?"

Maedhros blinked rapidly before turning to face his brother. "Maglor, it is Elrond, and he calls her 'Arwen'. Could it be a nickname for Luthien?" Despite being a little more aware of reality than Maglor, he clearly was still disoriented.

"I am no Luthien," Arwen stuttered, but her voice became stronger as she continued. "She is my ancestor, although many say I resemble her." Their gazes became even more suspicious, but she continued bravely, "I pretended to be her in order to convince you to reveal yourself to us, for Ada has been looking for you." She took Elrond's hand in hers and squeezed hard. "He is here to see you once more, if you wish."

Maglor still had a strangeness about him, but Maedhros seemed more composed as he took a few steps forward. Elrond's eyebrows shot up as he bowed. "Mae Govannen, hiril nin Arwen. I am Maedhros Fëanorian, and this is my brother Maglor." His voice was still very rough, but stronger. Said brother was blinking rapidly, clearly trying to shake himself out of a daze.

Arwen, to her credit, did not miss a beat as she curtseyed, "Mae Govannen, hir nin Maedhros. I am indeed Arwen, daughter of Elrond, son of Earendil the Mariner." Both brothers flinched badly at the name, and Arwen winced at her misstep.

After an awkward silence where no one seemed to know what to do next, Elrond spoke, "Is there somewhere we can go for shelter? It is nearly dark and we only brought the basics of camping gear."

This seemed to snap Maedhros out of his thoughts. "We stay in the fortress. It is not what it once was, but it provides what we need for now." He gazed at it forlornly, and Elrond wondered what he saw whenever he beheld it. Did he imagine what it had been and mourn its loss?

"They are strangers!" Maglor interjected, lunging for Maedhros' arm and pulling him away from Elrond and Arwen. "How can we bring them to our dwelling? They will stab us in the back!" His eyes were wild with paranoia.

"Atto, I am no stranger," Elrond said firmly, very shaken by Maglor's demeanor but trying to hide it. "I have no intention of stabbing you or anyone. I am here to help, if I may."

"Do not call me Atto, only my children may call me thus," Maglor spat. He still seemed very suspicious and confused, and it hurt Elrond to think Maglor did not either recognize him or believe him.

"I am your child," Elrond said calmly, speaking as he would to a spooked horse. "I am Elrond."

"I do not believe you!" Maglor shrieked, before running towards the ruins in anguish. Maedhros sighed heavily, the pain clear on his face. He motioned wordlessly for them to follow, and Elrond and Arwen did so cautiously. His daughter was scared but trying to hide it, and was anxiously looking at the trees. Elrond realized she meant to contact Cirdan via a bird but was unsure how to do so. They were in a potentially dangerous situation; Maglor seemed mentally unstable, and while Maedhros looked to be more aware, could he be trusted?

"If you must, you may call for aid," Maedhros muttered, sounding resigned. "I assume this is not just a social visit."

"I was asked to investigate mysterious singing, so I came," Elrond replied simply. "I needed help to sail here, so others came as well."

"They will not leave without taking us with them," Maedhros said, seeming to read between the lines. "We were able to hide for so long…yet perhaps this is for the best. Our penance is long overdue."

"It is not just that," Elrond argued. "I wanted to see you again because I missed you. I had not let myself hope either of you still lived, until the rumors of Maglor's voice became more concrete. How could I live with myself if I did not at least try to find you?"

"Well, now that you have, did we meet your expectations?" Maedhros said grimly.

"I can tell you are both hurting and in need of healing," Elrond replied, side-stepping the question. "I wish to provide what I can to help."

Maedhros chuckled humorlessly. "I think we are beyond healing, Elrond. Your efforts would be wasted on us."

"He would not offer if he felt it was an impossible task," Arwen scolded gently. "I know if it were me, I would do anything in my power to heal my father."

"We are not his fathers," Maedhros said sadly. "More like jailors than anything."

"I will not dignify that with a response," Elrond said sternly.

"Lady Arwen, you may contact the others, but I request you at least wait until morning," Maedhros insisted, ignoring Elrond's comment. "The hills and mountains are dangerous to traverse in the dark, even for an Elf."

Arwen looked uncertain. "I accept your request, but if I feel we are under threat, I will not hesitate."

"Very well," Maedhros replied quietly. "We are almost there."

Sure enough, just as the skies were almost too dark to see by, they arrived in a main courtyard. It was a glum-looking place. There were tarps made of various animal skins strewn above them, and a living space they had constructed with various pieces of the ruins. There was a fire going now, and the smoke went out of a roughly-made chimney. Maglor was cooking something, and gave all of them unfriendly glares as they walked by. Elrond held in a sigh of frustration; how could his foster-father not believe it was him?

"How long have you been living here?" Elrond asked Maedhros.

"I am not sure, for we do not keep close track of the years," he replied with a shrug. "When you have been alive as long as we have, time seems to lose meaning." After a lengthy moment of thought, he added, "At least a few yeni."

Elrond frowned, "How often do you move from place to place?" He felt certain he would have heard something of their whereabouts over the years.

"Relatively frequently. We did not wish to be discovered and captured. Our isolation was to be our penance," Maedhros said mournfully. "Yet it seems we will face charges after all."

"Do not presume to know what the future holds," Arwen countered. "You may remain free yet." Elrond felt her perspective was a foolish one, but did not comment as such. It was very likely Cirdan would detain them in Mithlond until it was decided what would be done with them. Elrond hoped they could return to Imladris with him and find healing…but considering all the atrocities they had committed, they would no doubt be under lock and key for some time.

Maedhros could technically still be considered the King of the Noldor; there was no King or Queen of their peoples, as Elrond and Galadriel were Lord and Lady of their realms. King Thranduil ruled the Sindar, but they were considered somewhat separated from the Noldor. When whatever punishment he was to face was completed, he could petition for a Kingship if he wished. Yet, Elrond knew Maedhros would never wish for such a title, having given it to Fingolfin voluntarily after returning from Angband all those years ago.

Elrond was startled out of his thoughts when Arwen gasped. He turned to face her and noticed she had grasped Maedhros' wrist and was examining his palm. He was trying to pull away from her but Arwen refused to let go as her wide eyes roamed the damage. Elrond felt his breath catch at the deep scarring and what looked to be fresh burns crisscrossing the skin. His eyes flew to meet Maedhros' gaze, and it was full of shame and pain. "Atya, what has happened?"

Maedhros sighed, and reluctantly allowed Elrond to take a look. "It is from when I grasped the Silmaril I stole from the camp. As soon as it touched my skin, it began to burn." His voice caught in his throat, clearly lost in the memory. "It was the most horrible pain I had ever felt, despite all I had endured in Angband." His gaze moved to where Maglor was sitting alone by the fire. "The same thing happened to him, but he has refused to let me look at it over all these years."

"What did you do with the Silmarils? Are they still in your possession?" Elrond asked, feeling uneasy.

"No, they are far out of reach of anyone who would be looking," Maedhros said, sounding both relieved and grieved. "I threw mine into an open, fiery chasm, and almost jumped in after it." His voice caught. "Maglor reached me just before I stepped off the ledge, and pulled me back. Part of me wonders if he made a mistake that day." He chuckled humorlessly.

"He did the right thing," Elrond replied firmly. "I would not see you cast into the Outer Darkness." Like the rest of his brothers and his father. All except Maglor. "What happened to the other Silmaril?"

"Maglor threw it into the ocean, as far as he could manage. It is likely at the bottom of the great Sea, along with the rest of Beleriand. Or perhaps Ulmo returned it to Aman, and it is located in a place of high honor. We are both glad to be rid of them, and the grip of the Oath." He raised his eyes up to the sky, and pointed. "There your true father resides, with the last of the Silmarils on his ship, or so they say." It was true; Earendil was high above them, and the brightest of all the stars in the sky as he made his way across. "I am glad it brings hope to those who need it, for they only brought us grief and death."

Elrond did not know what to say, but wished to help Maedhros heal in some way. "I brought some healing supplies; perhaps I can help calm these burns."

"It is pointless to try," Maedhros insisted, shaking his head. "They are almost as bad as they were the day they appeared; do not waste your medicine on me."

"Ah, but you have not had access to athelas, have you?" Elrond countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Athelas…no, that is unfamiliar to me," Maedhros murmured. "If you insist." With that, Elrond dug through his bag, squinting until he found the little jar of athelas cream he had prepared, along with some clean strips of linen. Maedhros sighed contently at the scent, and Elrond wondered how it smelled to him. It was less pleasant than it used to be, for it always held a hint of Celebrían's flowery perfume. It used to bring him happiness, but now it was mingled with grief. As Elrond gently applied the salve, Maedhros flinched but then let out a sigh of relief. "This should soothe the pain and hopefully begin to heal the burns."

"They are cursed wounds," a voice growled, and everyone looked up to see Maglor hovering above them. "Nothing in Arda will heal them, for the Valar wish to punish us for eternity. You are wasting your time, imposter." Elrond flinched at the animosity in Maglor's voice, having never been a recipient of such disgust.

Elrond swallowed down an angry retort and instead asked, "Would you let me at least try to help? I am a learned healer, and have a salve which contains an herb you may not have used before."

"We deserve this pain!" Maglor spat, eyes flashing. "We deserve to suffer for what we did! We do not need your 'help'. Leave this place, phantoms!" He looked unhinged in that moment, and Elrond moved closer to Arwen, who seemed frightened.

"If I were a phantom, I would not be able to physically do anything," Elrond replied, hoping he sounded calm. "I know you do not wish to believe it, but I am Elrond, truly. I am the Peredhel you saved when my brother and I were lost and afraid, and had no one else to care for us."

Maglor looked conflicted, chest heaving as he breathed heavily. "Where is your brother then, if you are truly Elrond, as you say?"

The pain had lessened over time, but reminders of Elros were still difficult to bear. "He is dead," Elrond said thickly. "He chose the Gift of Men, while I chose to be of Elvenkind. He became a great King, of a land called Numenor, which is now under the Sea."

"Yes, we had heard of this land, and knew something terrible had happened from gathering scraps of news, but we did not know Elros had been the King," Maedhros murmured, looking heartbroken. Maglor didn't look much better, and Elrond was surprised to see tears rolling down the Ellon's face. "He was at peace with his choice?"

Elrond nodded, looking away from their intense gazes. "He felt guilty, at first, for choosing the opposite fate of my own. He even said he would change his mind for me, if I asked." He smiled a little nostalgically. "He was always looking out for me. I told him to stop such foolishness and choose what was best for him. He lived a happy, long life, full of love and family. I was able to visit him from time to time, and seeing the joy in his eyes and how well he ruled his people was all I could have asked for."

"Did…did he ever speak of us?" Maedhros whispered.

"Do you mean to ask if he forgave you?" Elrond clarified. When he received a nod, he added, "He told me, if I found you were alive, to tell you he loved you both, and had indeed forgiven you for the pain you caused us as children." By this point, Maglor had crouched down next to his brother, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Some of the madness had faded from his eyes, and he was staring intently at Elrond, who tried not to fidget. It was like he was being stripped naked down to his very soul. "He wanted you to find peace, and healing, not despair."

Arwen was gripping Elrond's hand tightly, clearly aware of the significance of this moment. Her voice was small as she said, "We are family, and though I do not know you both, I hope we may become closer. Would…would you come with us tomorrow?"

Maglor's open expression closed, and Maedhros looked grim. "It seems we will have little choice."

"You would let them put us in chains?" Maglor hissed. "Drag us to prison where we will rot?"

"No one is going to let you rot," Elrond argued, trying to diffuse the tension. "I will advocate on your behalf, and make sure you are treated fairly and without cruelty."

"You cannot make such a promise," Maedhros countered.

"I am one of the highest-ranking Elves in Middle Earth," Elrond replied, but not with arrogance. "I hold plenty of sway over what happens regarding our people. I will see justice done, but I will not allow you to be treated like you are lesser than the rest of us." At least, he hoped he could throw some of his influence around. Under who's jurisdiction would be the sentence of Maglor and Maedhros? He could see Lady Galadriel getting involved, being their niece, but what would she desire to happen to them? She had grown greatly in wisdom and patience from when Elrond had met her in the 2nd Age, but she could hold a grudge better than most.

"Do you believe we are who we claim, Lord Maglor?" Arwen asked worriedly.

Maglor scoffed, "I am no 'lord' of anything. Just Maglor, please." He looked back and forth between Arwen and Elrond, before sharing a longer moment of silence with Maedhros, who gave him a small nod. Maglor crouched down close to Elrond, and reached out a shaking hand to touch his face. Elrond remained still, knowing this was a critical moment. Maglor cupped his cheek, and then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear with a fleeting smile. "Always so disheveled, the two of you were."

A collective sigh of relief seemed to come over the group, and Elrond smiled. "You believe it is me, Atto?"

"If it is not, then I am having the most marvelous of dreams," Maglor murmured. "It seems impossible for you to be here, in this ancient and cold place. Why would you risk your safety to seek us out?"

"Because I love you," Elrond whispered, trying to contain his whirlwind of emotions under his usual calm mask. "I love you both, and I could not simply stay home when one or both of you were likely suffering a life of loneliness and despair."

Maedhros knelt beside his brother, and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Elrond and Maglor in an embrace. None noticed Arwen silently move towards the fire, both to warm herself and give them some privacy. She knew any shared moments like this between the three of them would be few and far between, once they were taken into custody.