Chapter 25 - Sirion

Elwing escaped the sacking of Doriath with our father's Silmaril, but it was thirty years before we acted upon the knowledge. In the intervening years, my younger brothers wandered the wilderness while once again I cared for Maedhros. He was ill a long while following Doriath, twisted with guilt for our crimes and the loss of our brothers. His health returned slowly, and with it the weight of our Oath. When it became a burden too great to bear, he wrote to Elwing and her people, demanding they return the Silmaril to him. I knew what their answer would be before I read her letter. They would not hand over to the sons of Fëanor that which so many of their own had died to defend. And so Maedhros called our brothers home to him and we declared war against our kinsmen once more.


Middle Earth
First Age 538

The elves of Sirion were defeated and in exchange the two youngest Fëanorions lay dead among the ashes. There was no time for the elder brothers to weep for them. They stepped over the bodies that had once been Amrod and Amras and fought on. Maglor was Maedhros' shadow, covering his brother's back as they cut through Elwing's warriors one by one. They fought their way to the river where Eärendil's tower overlooked the bay. There was no knowing if Elwing sheltered within, but the number of guards defending the gate was evidence enough to press on.

Maglor, himself, had long since ceased caring how the battle would end. He fought only to keep Maedhros alive and in the hope that if they found Elwing, their quest to reclaim the Silmaril would be complete. They reached the tower guard and fought their way inside, losing one warrior for every five of Sirion that fell. Maglor, Maedhros and two of their most trusted warriors cut their way through a narrow hall to a heavily guarded room. When its protectors lay dead Maedhros kicked down the door.

Screams greeted them, children's screams. Maglor's eyes found them in the arms of a silver-haired elleth. She knelt in the corner, clutching two raven-haired children to her breast. Maglor's breath was driven from him the moment she lifted her face.

Anira.

Maglor recognized her at once, though he had not seen her for hundreds of years. He barely had time to acknowledge her when movement near the great window drew his gaze. Maglor had never seen the Lady Elwing before, but he knew her immediately. She possessed the same unique beauty of her father and the Silmaril hung around her neck.

Maedhros stepped further into the room flanked by Maglor. The warriors who came with them held back, guarding the door. Maedhros glanced at Anira and the children before turning all his fury on Elwing. "You should have answered my letter."

Elwing remained silent. Wide eyes stared blankly at Maedhros, her back pressed against the wall. She inched slowly towards the great window opposite the door. Maglor knew the window was her destination, and he knew also that neither he nor Maedhros would reach her in time should she decide to jump. Maedhros was about to take another step towards her but Maglor laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He took a step closer to stand at his brother's side, drawing the elleth's attention.

In a calm, gentle voice he spoke to her. "Elwing, show yourself wiser than your father. Give us the Silmaril."

The elleth shook her head furiously, her right hand clutching the jewel. She reached the edge of the window. Eyes shifting between Maedhros and Maglor, she stepped onto the ledge. Her voice and spirit trembled. "You will never lay a hand on it. Never."

Maglor lifted his hands slowly in a placating gesture. He could see the madness in her eyes, had dealt with it before. He thought to reason with her, but Maedhros was far beyond the point of reasoning.

"Enough of this!" Maedhros roared.

Three long strides and Maedhros stood before Anira. She screamed as he ripped one of the children from her arms. Anira pleaded with Maedhros, begging him not to hurt the boy, but her cries fell on deaf ears. She could only hold the second child tighter as Maedhros dragged the first across the room by its arm.

The boy in Maedhros' grasp screamed and fought his captor, but even with only one good hand there was no escaping him. Maedhros pinned the boy to his chest with his right arm and drew a dagger with his left, pressing the blade against the pale tender skin of his neck. Maedhros' furious eyes met Elwing's – her madness having unleashed his own. "The Silmaril, Elwing. Give it to me! Or I swear by all the Valar he will die."

Elwing stared at the knife pressed against her son's throat, her voice a whisper, her words meant for her and her alone. "Like my father, my mother, my brothers. You will kill us all."

"No," Maglor stepped forward once more, in a vain effort to reason with her. "No more have to die today. Give us our father's jewel and we will withdraw. No harm will come to you – or your sons."

Elwing's eyes were fixed upon the knife held at her son's throat and the thin line of blood where it rested against his skin. She gave no sign of having heard him.

"My babies."

The crushing weight of despair in her voice told Maglor there was no reaching her now. In her eyes, her sons were already dead. Before Maglor or Maedhros could move Elwing let go of the window frame and fell backward over the edge.

A roar erupted from Maedhros' throat the moment Elwing let go. He threw the child to the floor, lunging for his mother, but he was too late. Maedhros watched, transfixed, as she fell a hundred feet into the rushing river below. Strong currents bore her and the Silmaril away towards the sea. She was gone, and with her, their father's precious jewel.

Maglor stood motionless, speechless, staring at the window where only seconds ago Elwing and the Silmaril stood. He vaguely recalled the echo of Anira's scream when Elwing fell. She reached out to the child crawling towards her across the floor and drew him to her chest, holding the boy and his brother close.

Maedhros' rage consumed him. At long last, a Silmaril. He had been close enough to touch it! And now. Now! He drew his sword. He would send that mongrel's brats with her into death. He crossed the small space between the window and the corner where a nursemaid huddled with the children. He lifted his sword and brought it down upon them in one deadly stroke. It would have sliced through the elleth and children both had Maglor's blade not deflected the blow.

Maglor had followed the path of his brother's anger and stopped him before he could strike. "No brother!" Maglor shouted, throwing Maedhros into the wall with some force. "We need them!"

Maedhros was not interested in his brother's words. "I promised her they would die!"

"Listen to me!" Maglor commanded with all the strength left in him. "What do you think Gil-galad and Círdan will do when they learn of what has happened here? Or Eärendil when he returns? They will come for us, unless we have some threat to keep them at bay."

Maedhros' laughter was cruel and biting, but his fury began to ebb. "You think these mongrels will stay Círdan's hand?"

Maglor shook his head. "The children are for Gil-galad and Eärendil. She will hold off Círdan."

At the word she Maedhros, for the first time, took account of the elleth shielding Elwing's children. He stepped closer to her and lifted her chin with the tip of his blade. Maedhros studied her face. He had seen her once, centuries ago…

"I remember you," he said at last, "at Fingolfin's Feast. Círdan's daughter. My brother serenaded you." He lowered his sword. "Well then, at least one of us will leave this city with something he desired."

Maedhros moved to the door shouting, "Bring them, quickly," to Maglor and his warriors.

Maglor sheathed his sword, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He sent Maedhros' lieutenant after him and beckoned his own lord and servant, Arandur, to him. Maglor took a knee before Anira and reached out to take the child nearest to him, but Anira would not allow it.

"Don't touch him!" she shouted, tightening her grip on the child.

Maglor was not the least surprised by level of venom in her voice. But he did not have time to argue. "I will not harm them – or you. But we must leave Sirion. Now."

Anira's eyes were full fury. Her voice trembled with it, and her hands balled into fists. "You can lie to yourself, Fëanorion, but not to me!" For a moment she looked ready to strike him, before her face fell and her eyes flooded with fear, pleading. "There is no reason for this. The jewel is gone now, beyond anyone's reach. Leave us here. Let this be the end of it. Please."

Maglor looked down at the children and thought of his brothers – corpses in Doriath and now Sirion. "It will never end. It will go on and on until we or the jewels are turned to dust." Maglor reached out once more for the boy Maedhros had terrorized, able to tell him from the other only by the thin line of blood crusting on his neck. "I will carry him."

Anira had no wish to give the child up, but she was given no choice in the matter. He took the boy from Anira's arms, but this time the child did not struggle. Maglor glimpsed the paralyzing terror in his eyes before the boy shut them tight.

Maglor stood and Arandur lifted Anira gently from the ground with the second boy still in her arms. Maglor motioned for Arandur to follow him with the elleth and child. The warrior kept his hand firmly clamped on Anira's arm as they followed Maglor down the hall and stairs. By the time they reached the front entrance of the fortress tower, their company was ready to depart. The battle within the walls was won but a new battle raged outside the gate.

"We must fight our way free," Maedhros informed his brother. But before mounting his horse he approached Anira. "Give me that little beast." He took the second child from her arms and this one did scream, but when Maedhros roared, "Be silent!" silent the child fell, though his sobs could be heard long after.

Maglor turned to Arandur. He was Maglor's most trusted lord and soldier. "Keep her safe," he said of Anira, who appeared frozen with fear at the thought of the children riding with the Fëanorions. She knew well the danger should one of Elwing's warriors aim a blow at the lords and miss. That was the point, of course. Elwing's warriors would not attack a rider carrying one of their Lord and Lady's beloved children. Or so Maedhros hoped. Maglor could only pray his brother was right.

When the company was mounted Maedhros cried out, "Cut down any who bar our path – be they friend or foe."

And as it was in the beginning, so it would forever be. Maglor obeyed his brother's command, cutting down every ellon he passed until they were through the gate and their company rode free.


Lord Arandur had only his blood stained cloak to wrap them in, but it would have to do for the night. "They are cold. Here." He knelt down beside the elleth and tucked the cloak in around the children clinging to her skirt.

The children shrank from him, hiding their faces in the elleth's skirt, but a touch of the lady's hand seemed to calm them. She pulled the cloak higher to cover their heads. "They chill easily," she whispered and then added a soft, "Thank you."

Arandur nodded solemnly before rising to fetch them dinner. He returned to the center of the camp where the lower ranking warriors were preparing food for the rest. There was a line of elves waiting, but they stepped aside for Arandur until he reached the front. It did not take long for him to gather enough rations for himself and his three charges.

He could not have been gone for more than five minutes, but upon his return he was greeted with a disturbing sight. The children lay nestled close to the elleth as before but now their eyes were closed as if in death. For a moment, he believed the elleth had done something terrible to them in the short time he was gone. But a second later the sound of soft, steady breathing reached his ears.

"Are they asleep?"

Anira nodded. It was not the first time she'd seen that look of concern for the children in another elf's eyes. While Elwing's servants were accustomed to their strangeness, she knew these elves had never seen a peredhel – not alive, anyway.

Arandur shook his head. "How strange." He continued to watch the children sleep even as he seated himself across from them. He held one bowl out to the elleth. It contained lembas and an assorted mixture of nuts and dried fruit. A meager meal, but the company would not risk building a fire while there was a chance of being tracked by warriors from Sirion.

Anira took the food from him without thought of protest. Elrond and Elros would need it when they awoke. She took a small bite of lembas despite her lack of appetite. They would need her as well, and she would need to be strong if she hoped to protect them.

Anira watched the warrior watching them. He was highborn – one of the Noldor from across the sea. She could tell by the light that still shone from his eyes. Even after the atrocities he and his brethren had committed, that light could not be extinguished. He possessed the same eternal beauty gifted to all the Firstborn – except for one flaw. A scar. It was old and faded, but clear enough to elven eyes even under starlight. It ran along the left side of his throat where someone or something had attempted to part his head from his body. A tiny part of her wished that someone had succeeded, and the shame of wishing such a fate on her own kind caused her steady gaze to falter. Her eyes fell to the children who were sleeping fitfully in her arms. But they were warm under the kinslayer's cloak and she was grateful for that if nothing else.

"Why is it they sleep as if in death?"

The question broke Anira from her silent reverie. She lifted her eyes to find the warrior's fixed upon Elrond. A mixture of concern and curiosity shone from them. "It is their mortal heritage. Men sleep thus, and so do the half-elven."

The warrior nodded at her explanation and fell silent, attending to his own meal while Anira finished hers.

Arandur's silence was filled with many thoughts – mostly disjointed, for he was so very tired. Tired of war, of blood of death – of the sound of screams and weeping children. He was charged with guarding and protecting his lord's prisoners, but he had no desire to look upon the frightened faces of these half-elves or the elleth who cared for them. And now Arandur was certain he should have tried harder to convince Maglor to leave the elleth and children behind. He should have argued the point with Maglor more strongly. It was his duty as steward of Maglor's house, to question his lord's actions if he found fault in them. And he found more fault in this decision than any other his lord had ever made.


They had stopped near a stream to break and rest the horses. Arandur watched the elleth clean a cut on one of the boys' throats. He rubbed his own scar instinctively. There had been some black poison on the blade that cut him so the wound never fully healed. Someone had held a blade to the child's throat not hours earlier and Arandur had one guess who that someone could be.

Maglor came up beside him and cast his gaze in the same direction as his steward's. "You will be their guardian on this journey – and when we return."

Arandur turned to face Maglor and shook his head. "We should leave them here, my lord, while we are still within the borders of their land."

Maglor frowned. "We cannot do that," he said and started to walk away.

Arandur followed him arguing with his lord in hushed tones. "But my lord … Maglor … Makalaurë!"

Maglor turned at the sound of his name. Few would dress him so familiar and fewer still by his mother-name. Arandur had done so only a handful of times and each moment had been a pivotal one. And Maglor listened, if only because Arandur was the last voice Maglor knew he could trust.

Arandur knew he had his lord's undivided attention. He had stepped beyond the boundaries of servant and Maglor was allowing it. For his friendship and loyalty, Maglor would listen – so Arandur knew he must strike hard so that his words might count. "No good will come of this, my lord. No good at all. Our quest was for the Silmaril, and now it is gone. This madness can end, here, now, if you will only let it."

Maglor shook his head. "We need them. We need the protection their presence offers."

"What protection?" Arandur asked. "You wager that Círdan and Gil-galad will not attack if we hold their loved ones hostage? We have slaughtered their kin before. Why would they believe no harm will come to these three? What proof of safety do you think they will accept?"

Maglor had thought of an answer to this already. "We will send messengers with a letter in Anira's hand assuring them."

"You think she will agree to that?"

Maglor returned his gaze to Anira and the children clinging to her skirt. "I am sure of it."

Arandur was not so easily convinced. "And if they decide to attack us despite your proof, what then? Would you put them to the sword? Because I tell you now that is one order I will not obey or stand by while it is carried out."

Maglor reacted to his second's promise of treason with nothing more than a small frown. "You would defy me, then?"

Arandur nodded, standing his ground, ready to face the consequences with resolve. "In this … yes, I would. It has to end. The Silmaril is lost, your father and brothers are dead, and we both know Maedhros is …," here Arandur almost uttered the word 'insane' but thought it perhaps a step too far. Instead he chose, "unwell."

Maglor closed his eyes and breathed a tired sigh. He cast his sight on his brother. Maedhros was in a mood so terrible none but Maglor would dare approach him. "I know," Maglor admitted. "And I fear he might …." But whatever Maglor feared his brother might do died before it reached his lips. He turned to Arandur, fixing him with an appraising gaze. "That is why I leave their protection to you. I cannot be with my brother at all times, but you can be with them, ensuring their safety."

"I don't…" Arandur stole a glance at Maedhros who sat alone arguing with himself. "What is it you wish me to do?"

"Protect them," said Maglor, "from everyone – anyone – that would harm them."

"Even you?"

A ghost of a smile reached Maglor's lips. "Even me."

Arandur thought long on this broader mandate Maglor had given him. His lord had effectively given him permission to kill both Maedhros and himself to protect his charges. Arandur was not sure if that made him feel better about the situation – or worse. "I will remember you said that."

"So will I."

Arandur knew there was nothing left to discuss. The conversation was over. "I still say this is not a good idea, my lord."

Maglor nodded once. "And one day we will discover if I should have listened," he said, before moving off to sit at his brother's side.


Arandur was certain time would prove him right and for more reasons than one. He had an excellent memory and had instantly recognized the sea elf's daughter when they entered Elwing's hall. He had accompanied Maglor to Fingolfin's Feast and remembered well the song Maglor wrote for her. Caranthir and others had made unkind jests about Maglor's lowborn infatuation, but the prince had not been alone among the Noldor in appreciating Anira's beauty. Even now, after the horrors of the day, the elleth's silver tresses were a marvel to behold – glittering as they did with the light of the stars, framing a face as lovely as any Nolda Arandur had ever known. Arandur was certain Maglor thought the lady just as beautiful, and he feared his lord's long buried infatuation was, in part, the reason she was with them now.

Arandur set his bowl down and shifted to a more comfortable position from which he could keep an eye on his charges. The elleth glanced briefly in his direction but she said nothing to him, and that suited Arandur fine at present. Small, delicate hands tucked his cloak around the children, ensuring they would remain snug and warm before her eyes glazed over. Arandur spent most of the night watching her sleep, and when he, himself, dozed, his dreams were of silver and starlight.