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Aramel requested a story about Elrond and Elros, during their life with the Fëanorians, when they learn in one way or another about the fate of Eluréd and Elurín. And so, for you, Aramel, are two hott Fëanorians, two angsty little Elflings...and a partridge in a pear tree. ;^)
A Song or a Story
Elros knew that something was wrong the moment that he stepped into the bedroom that he shared with his twin brother. Elrond was perched in his accustomed place on the window seat, knees steepled, open book balanced atop them. But he was not reading and—even without the quiver of unease that he felt in the place of the bond of brothers, of twins—this would be enough to tell Elros that something was amiss. Elrond’s splayed hand held the book open but his forehead leaned against the window, his breath fogging the glass so that there was naught at which to even stare. Yet he did, unblinking.
He didn’t even stir when Elros came into the room, as though he didn’t even hear.
“Elrond?” Elros whispered, and as though suddenly dredged from some cold depths, Elrond gasped and started, and his book tumbled to the floor.
~oOo~
It was quite an accident, learning of the Other Twins.
That was what Elrond and Elros came to call them, their heads pressed close together, whispering, in their shared double bed at night. For they knew of Ambarussa, the younger twin brothers of Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros. Ambarussa had been killed at Sirion, when Mother had left them and they had been found by Ada-Maglor and saved. That had been two years ago, when Elrond and Elros were still very small. They were still small, but Elros liked to think of them as somehow harder, more powerful, since coming to live with Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros. And now, with a terrible secret.
Elrond said that he had gone to uncle Maedhros’ study to ask him a question about something he’d read in one of the lorebooks. Elros was not fond of uncle Maedhros, who tended to either ignore them or give Ada-Maglor sharp looks when they cried. (They cried less these days, having grown to accept that Mother and Father were not coming back and having learned ways to amuse themselves while Ada-Maglor was working; mostly, these days, uncle Maedhros ignored them.) Elrond, though, admired uncle Maedhros; Elros could tell as much. And, indeed, uncle Maedhros did seem to know a great bit about nearly everything, and Elrond—with his apologetic eyes and quiet, bookish manner—seemed to ire him less than did Elros.
The door to the study had been open, Elrond said, but barely, like it had been closed in haste and not fully latched. So Elrond had stood on the threshold, hand poised to knock, until he realized that uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor were talking angrily about something. About twins.
“Us,” he said. “Or so I thought. And so—” guilty now—“I stayed to listen.”
Ada-Maglor rarely raised his voice—at least not when the children could hear—but his voice had been raised then. “You are too harsh!” he’d scolded. “They are children—they have accidents, make messes!”
(Elros squirmed upon hearing this, knowing that they talked of him. Earlier that day, he’d been trying to make Ada-Maglor’s favorite pastries, since the baker was gone for the next three months to have a baby and they’d only had dry bread since—and he’d spilled an entire canister of sugar inside the pantry. Uncle Maedhros has scolded him harshly and made him clean it up—and clean the entire pantry, while at it.)
How Ada-Maglor had found out about it, Elros didn’t know. But he was angry with uncle Maedhros, that much was clear. “You will make the same mistake with them as Father made with us,” Ada-Maglor had said, and uncle Maedhros had raised his voice then too: “How can I? Neither of us are their father. We are childless, you and I.” Ada-Maglor’s face went very white then, and uncle Maedhros started pacing, like he didn’t want to look at it. Elros understood; he would sometimes play underneath the bed while Elrond cried atop it.
“Taking in Elwing’s sons will not replace our brothers, Maglor,” uncle Maedhros had said, and Ada-Maglor quickly retorted, “I do not wish to replace Ambarussa. I cannot replace Ambarussa. But all in our life need not be consumed by that awful Oath. We still retain the power to do good, Maedhros. What of the Other Twins? They could not bring back our departed brothers, yet you did not forsake them.”
Uncle Maedhros grinned a mean grin then, Elrond said, and Elrond ducked behind the door, frightened suddenly of being seen. “But my dear brother, you did.”
~oOo~
“Perhaps two of the other brothers were twins as well? Celegorm and Curfin?”
“Curufin,” Elrond corrected. “And no, Celegorm and Curufin were not twins.”
Elros knew that, but he liked to toss out improbable solutions and watch Elrond struggle to knock them down. Elrond sought an answer for everything, but for this, they had discovered naught.
“What about Fëanor and Fingolfin?”
Elrond gave Elros a stern look. “They had different mothers, Elros. Don’t be silly.”
But what else was there to be? With Ada-Maglor gone on a hunt and uncle Maedhros drifting moodily around the fortress, never seeming to sleep but always wearing his nightclothes, the days were interminable and Elros thought that the silence might drive him mad. And so he sought to be silly, to make their bedroom ring with laughter. He glided across the floor, huddled in his dressing gown over his clothes, in an imitation of uncle Maedhros. “Oh, stop it!” Elrond snapped, turning his back on Elros and returning to his book. The pages rattled when he turned them because his fingers trembled so. The game grew old fast. Elros liked to believe that he was becoming too big for such childish games, but really, there was a cold, queasy feeling inside of him, like his stomach was filled with writhing earthworms freshly dug from the frigid earth, and the feeling wasn’t very conducive to folly.
The Other Twins.
Elros let his dressing gown fall to the floor, and he joined Elrond on the window seat. They were growing big; upon their arrival, they both fit easily up here, huddled close against the draft that squirmed around the edges of the window, teasing the dark red drapes to sway restively. Now, his back pressed his brother’s whether he wanted it to or not, and although he made a show of pushing at Elrond to make himself more room, he was glad of it.
~oOo~
They were eating breakfast with uncle Maedhros the next morning when Ada-Maglor came home. Uncle Maedhros was eating and reading a stack of parchments at the same time, and he’d “begged peace.” Those were his exact words. Not that there was much to say in his presence. At least, being quiet, Elros couldn’t complain about the cold, runny eggs and get himself on kitchen duty for a week, like last time.
But when Ada-Maglor came in, bringing with him a fresh wind that smelled of cold air and evergreens, gone was uncle Maedhros’ peace as both twins leaped from their chairs (Elros’ was knocked over) and pounded, crying out in their delight, towards Ada-Maglor.
Ada-Maglor stooped and held out his arms, which were wide enough to embrace them both at the same time, to lift them and spin them around three times, as they shrieked with glee, pressing his cold face to each of their warm, plump cheeks in turn. “My little ones, whom I did miss / I ask of you, just a kiss,” he sang. This was their Greeting Song, and Elros and Elrond bumped noses in their haste to be the first to kiss Ada-Maglor’s lips. Uncle Maedhros sighed loudly and set aside his fork to turn the parchment with his left hand.
Setting them back in their chairs, Ada-Maglor removed his cloak and his gloves and stopped by uncle Maedhros’ chair to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Nelyo. How fare you?”
“I am well. And do not call me that.” Uncle Maedhros gave Ada-Maglor That Look—the look the twins had learned to dread so badly that they had named it—with his eyebrows scrunched so low that they nearly obscured his eyes. Ada-Maglor, though, wasn’t frightened by That Look and smirked, and uncle Maedhros relaxed a bit and nudged his plate in Ada-Maglor’s direction. “Here. Have this if you wish. The eggs are runny and a bit cold.”
“I am famished. I would eat them raw without complaint.” As he took the plate from uncle Maedhros, their eyes met, and Elros saw on uncle Maedhros’ face a twitch that might have been the precursor of a smile.
They were brothers, just like Elrond and Elros. But Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros were not twins—they did not look much alike at all—but sometimes Elros thought that they knew each other at least as well as if they were. Maybe more. He had seen them look at each other, as they did now, and he could nearly see the air shimmering between them as they wordlessly shared their thoughts. He knew that’s how it worked because it was that way with Elrond and him. He gave Elrond a pointed look, perhaps trying to show them that they are not the only ones who can speak volumes with a single glance, but Elrond was picking at his runny eggs and wouldn’t look at Elros.
They spent the day with Ada-Maglor, nearly treading on his heels in their haste to keep close to him, asking him questions about his hunt: “Did you kill anything? What was it like? Did it die quick—”
“Quickly,” Elrond corrected, for Elros was the one asking most of the questions.
“Was there a lot of blood?”
Ada-Maglor must have eventually grown sick of them, but he did not show it and even let them sit in his music room while he practiced the harp and let them make up nonsense lyrics to his songs. He didn’t even scold them when Elros jumped off the chair, collided with Elrond, and knocked over a music stand full of sheet music.
By day’s end, they were tired, and after supper, Ada-Maglor gave them their bath and tucked them into bed. “Song or story?” he asked, for each night, they could choose whether to have him sing a song or tell a story.
“Song,” Elros said, as Elrond said, “Story,” and they looked at each other—the blankets tucked to their chins—and Ada-Maglor laughed. “Well, little ones,” he said, reaching with both hands to stroke their hair, “I would love to give you both, but I promised your uncle two hours of my undivided attention, and you wouldn’t want uncle Maedhros to be angry with me, would you?”
This happened a lot. Elros usually wanted a song, while Elrond usually wanted a story, and Elros was the quicker and bolder of the two, so song it usually was. But tonight, before Elros could open his mouth to shout, “Song!” Elrond erupted with “Story!” and Ada-Maglor’s eyebrows jumped skyward in surprise and Elros’ mouth hung open with the same. Elrond never won; Elrond never wanted to win.
“Story it is then,” Ada-Maglor said. “Of what would you like to hear, little one?”
Elrond’s words were careful and deliberate. “I would like to hear of the Other Twins.”
Ada-Maglor did a good job of concealing his shock, but his face paled, and they heard him swallow hard. “Little one?” he said, laughing nervously. “What ‘other twins?’ There is only you…and Ambarussa.” He glanced at the fat white moon outside the window then and proclaimed it late, and—quickly kissing them both—hastened from the room, leaving them to fall asleep without a song or a story.
~oOo~
“Uncle Maedhros keeps a diary.”
Elrond should have been asleep. Yet Elros had known that he was not, if not because of his breathing then because he could feel Elrond’s restive spirit squirming alongside his own. The moon was gone from the window, and when he turned, it was so dark that he could not see Elrond, but their noses bumped, and Elros felt the warmth of his brother’s breath on his cheek.
“I must know!” Elrond said, his voice explosive in the dark.
Elros doubted whether he wanted to know. Some stones, he knew, were best left unturned. That was a favorite saying of Ada-Maglor’s, and Elros—usually the most curious of the brothers if satisfying his curiosity could be done with mischief—suddenly agreed. He wrapped his arm around Elrond’s skinny, quivering shoulders and held him through the entirety of the sleepless night.
~oOo~
Uncle Maedhros had come to breakfast that morning fully dressed and surprisingly chipper, wearing his sword at his side. “Come, little brother, let us eat, then spar with me! It has been too long.” He drew his sword and waved it about in fancy patterns while Ada-Maglor—whose shoulders were stooped and eyes darkened by lack of sleep—hissed his disapproval.
“Be careful of the children!”
Elrond and Elros were sent to their room to study, and from the window seat, they could see Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros sparring in the field beside the house. Uncle Maedhros had only one hand but seemed to be beating Ada-Maglor every time. Elrond hopped down from the window seat, took Elros’ hand and tugged it. “Come. Hurry. Before they come back.”
They crept into uncle Maedhros study, which was a big, luxuriant room, much more luxuriant than his bedroom. (They’d only been in uncle Maedhros’ bedroom once, when the plumbing in their lavatory had become clogged and Ada-Maglor had taken them there for their bath because uncle Maedhros had a bigger bathtub than he.) The study was lined with shelves on three walls, and uncle Maedhros’ wide desk sat at the center, piled high with books and parchments, the ink wells neatly aligned with a quill laid out in front of each, at a precise angle, perfectly parallel to the next. On the far wall, there was a portrait of Ambarussa and both brothers stood in front of it for a long while, hands clasped, staring up at it. When they had first come to live with Ada-Maglor, they had learned of all of his brothers—most of whom were dead, it seemed—and they used to pretend to be them during play. As Ambarussa, they tore wildly around the house, screaming and carousing, playing dirty tricks on the servants. But the Ambarussa in the painting look grave, not like the type who would play tricks at all. They were handsome—like Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros—but their faces were more rugged. Uncle Maedhros, except for the scar on his cheek, looked like a statue and Ada-Maglor had high, delicate cheekbones. Ambarussa sat stiffly and unsmiling; their hair was fire-red and neatly braided; their eyes were a dark gray. Like Elrond and Elros, they were identical twins, but where Elros was beginning to outgrow Elrond and they spent bath time sitting opposite each other, pretending to stare into a mirror, and pointing out the small differences in their faces, Ambarussa were impossible to tell apart.
“What do you think they were really like?” Elrond asked in a whisper. Elros shook his head. Their dark gray eyes held no clue.
“They are dead now,” he whispered and Elrond shivered.
Uncle Maedhros had more books than Elros could count (Elrond, though, could probably count that high), and it took them a while to find the shelf with the diaries. Uncle Maedhros was very old, and so there were a lot of diaries. It took Elrond even longer to find the proper one—and he had to climb the shelves first and be held in place by Elros’ hands on his backside—and Elros’ arms were very tired by the time he decided to climb down. “Is that it?” Elros asked, taking the innocuous-looking leather-bound book from his brother. “I know not,” replied Elrond. “I hope so.”
~oOo~
It was hard for Elros to sleep with Elrond taking a Fëanorian lamp to bed each night and constantly wiggling around to get into a more comfortable position for reading. Besides, Elrond liked to pop up from beneath the covers as soon as Elros would fall asleep, shake his shoulder, and hiss, “Hear this!”
And so Elros stopped trying to sleep and joined his brother beneath the covers.
The diaries went back to Maedhros’ life in Valinor. Elros wanted Elrond to skip straight to the part about the Oath and about Morgoth, but Elrond insisted on trudging through the whole thing, even the romantic parts. Elros tried sometimes to read the diary himself, beneath the covers, in the pale blue glow of the Fëanorian lamp, but Elros’ grasp of Quenya—especially to read—was not particularly good.
They got to the part about Ada-Maglor’s wedding in Valinor and both stopped to stare at the other in surprise, for they’d never known that Ada-Maglor had been married. Ada-Maglor talked about a wife for uncle Maedhros sometimes but not what had happened with their marriage; he never mentioned that he himself had been wed. “Do you think he had children? Real children?” Elros whispered to Elrond, but Elrond wouldn’t answer and turned the page.
Five books later, they got to the Kinslaying and the handwriting became nearly illegible and entirely smudged in some places, and so they never learned whether Ada-Maglor’s wife had come with him to Beleriand. “Probably, she stayed behind,” Elros said. “All the others did.” The alternative was unbearable to contemplate, for it meant that she had perished. He got a feeling, thinking of this, akin to what he felt when he dared imagine his mother leaping from the cliff, certain of being dashed to death on the rocks below, but leaping anyway.
There were many pages—nearly an entire book—about establishing a realm in Beleriand that were boring to read, although Elrond refused to skip them and even made noises that sounded like he was interested. Then, the book abruptly stopped, and they had to wait until uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor went hunting the next week to sneak into the study to steal the next volume.
I am returned from certain death….
Ada-Maglor apparently took care of uncle Maedhros after he lost his hand, as he now took care of Elrond and Elros. And apparently, somewhere in the unwritten pages, Fëanor had died; Elros said as much. “Of course,” scoffed Elrond. “Fëanor died in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, an hour before uncle Maedhros was captured by Morgoth.” And he rolled his eyes at Elros’ naïveté and kept reading.
There were lots more battles and talk of strategies and plans. Ada-Maglor had gone to live with uncle Maedhros after Dagor Bragollach, and sometimes, uncle Maedhros spent as much time complaining about Ada-Maglor and the petty arguments that they would have as he did about the great counsels that would determine the fate of the Noldor. “That Macalaurë should learn the impertinence of not knocking before entering his brother’s chamber is too much to hope,” the diary might say or, “Macalaurë has made the same tedious meal for three nights now. He does me no favors in his offer to take a week’s cooking.”
Elros whispered to Elrond, “Do you think uncle Maedhros hated Ada-Maglor?”
“Do not be silly,” said Elrond. “A little bit of disfavor makes love stronger,” and when Elros rumpled his brow and looked puzzled, Elrond went on to explain, “What do you like more? The first warm day of spring after a long winter? Or a warm day in a month of warm days?”
They got to the part where Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros’ next brother Celegorm, who seemed a fairly irritable sort, strode about the hall and made an impassioned speech to his brothers about the necessity of securing the Silmaril from Dior.
“And foolishly,” the book read, “I agreed. Tomorrow, we ride for Doriath.”
Elrond turned the page, although they both knew the outcome, but the diary ended there.
~oOo~
They’d worked their way through an entire shelf of diaries and it was now summer; still, no mention of the Other Twins. Elrond and Elros stood beneath the bookshelf, staring up at the diaries. The next shelf was higher than the first, and Elros doubted that they could climb that high, and as he was about to say as much to Elrond, his brother said, “It is well, then, that we have had time to grow while reading the early volumes,” pushed back the sleeves of his tunic, and began the ascent.
Elrond got to the third shelf and was stretching his fingers for the next diary when the bookshelf suddenly emitted a painful-sounding groan. The shelf beneath Elrond’s foot was bowing dangerously, and as Elros shouted, there was an alarming crack and Elrond tumbled backward to the floor.
The shelf had broken in two, and the books upon it tumbled inward, piling against each other, but did not fall to the floor. Elros turned to his brother and found Elrond sitting up, dusting his clothes with one hand, the diary clutched in the other.
To their bedroom, they crept, before the servants noticed the broken shelf and the boys absent from their bedroom and put the two together, rather than thinking that the shelf had broken on its own accord, from the weight of uncle Maedhros’ impractical, heavy books. The children were supposed to be working on forms of Vanyarin poetry, but even Elrond—who usually insisted on getting their bookwork done before having any fun—scrambled for the window seat without so much as glancing at their poetry primers upon the floor.
Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros were sparring outside again, the summer sun throwing bright darts of light from the blades of their swords. Once again, uncle Maedhros seemed to be easily defeating Ada-Maglor, and as the twins settled in the window seat, Ada-Maglor dropped his sword, shouted, and rushed at uncle Maedhros with his shoulders lowered, sending them both to the ground to wrestle amid their laughter.
Elrond opened the diary, calling Elros’ attention from the excitement outside. Elros made a wish to Elbereth then—he didn’t know if such wishes came true; Ada-Maglor said they did, but they had to be made sparingly—that the story of the Other Twins wouldn’t make him hate uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor so much that he could no longer love them.
~oOo~
I return home, bearing terrible tidings. It is nearly Winter and seems an age ago that we set out in the Spring with the foolish hope of fulfilling our oath—in part at least. In my heart, Winter has always been and, now, always will be for—and I weep as I write this, even now, even when the pain should have dimmed—I lost three brothers in Doriath.
Of their deaths, I will not write, for it something that shall never be forgotten, despite my wish to never remember it. To deny it, even, and awaken in the morning with the hope of meeting Tyelkormo on the stairs or being called to see Curufinwë’s latest masterpiece or to spar with the ruthless Carnistir. Even would I take harsh words with them—hatred, anger, and tears—for surely these things are better than the cold, impenetrable fate of Death to which they have gone.
Of Carnistir and Curufinwë, my memories will remain unsullied, for I held in my embrace Curufinwë—who grieved Tyelperinquar, although he said he did not—and laughed with Carnistir about a memory that came, unbidden, upon both of us at the same time, of Tyelkormo once trying to dance with a maiden after imbibing too much wine and falling into a fountain. I’m sure I also had fair words with Tyelkormo but the memory is dimmed, for upon finding his golden body entwined with that of Dior son of Elwë Signollo, I wept and was comforted by his servants, who assured me that they avenged the death of their master, my brother, for they had taken the twin sons of Dior into the forest and left them to whatever end Fate would conjure.
Whether at his bidding, I had no time to ask, for I began an immediate pursuit of the twins, blind to reason—I now see—but whether or not their abandonment was spurred by Tyelkormo’s words, it grieves me to know that such cruelty was condoned by my brother who was just yesterday, it seems, but a child in my arms. Would he who threw himself upon the ground to keep Fëanaro from accidentally treading upon a butterfly have permitted such wanton disregard for the life of his own kin—peredhel though they are—among those who serve him? He, who can command the loyalty of men to die for him, cannot likewise command mercy and justice? Or perhaps, he simply chose not to do so.
For days uncounted, I pursued the twins and found them not, nor did I learn of their fate. I returned to my home just yesterday, to find that it had been kept by Macalaurë in my absence, and he asked me not about the fate of the twins, for he knew in his heart as I now know in mine that they were not for me to find.
~oOo~
Mashed potatoes were swirled with corn and then piled atop the venison in splotchy patterns and laced with gravy: “Won’t you eat?” Ada-Maglor begged, and Elros—chin pressed defiantly to his chest—rolled his eyes up from under his brows in a near-perfect imitation of That Look. Ada-Maglor, he saw, was startled.
Elrond, also, was not eating, nor was he playing with his food. His hands were gripping each other under the table.
Ada-Maglor laughed nervously, in the way of one who is uncomfortable in the gravity of a room but cannot bear to bring notice to it, as though laughter will make it dissipate. “You two,” he said. “Eat! It is a good meal—the best!” His brow furrowed, “Are you unwell?” reaching out to touch Elrond’s forehead—perhaps not trusting the blood of peredhel to withstand his brother’s drafty fortress—but Elrond jerked away from his touch and swatted Ada-Maglor’s hand with a stinging slap.
As Ada-Maglor’s mouth fell open and he rubbed his wrist in surprised pain, heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, and uncle Maedhros came to his place at the head of the table.
“Brother,” he said, “I have noted the most interesting of phenomena in my study.”
“Maedhros, later. The children—”
“I believe the children might be able to explain the phenomenon. For it seems that one of my bookshelves has cracked. Given the shelf’s age, that, in itself, is not particularly odd. What is odd is the presence of a small footprint upon the very shelf that broke—and a missing volume of my diary.”
The room grew thickly silent. Down the hall came the ponderous ticking of a clock; deeper within the fortress, an impertinent maidservant shrieked with laughter. Elros’ numb fingers clutched his fork; Elrond’s eyes were as wide as the small plates that held their portions of bread. Elros could hear a pounding heartbeat and wondered if he was hearing his own or if his brother’s was that loud—or maybe his was that loud. He felt a quiver of emotion deep within his chest; his lower lip wobbled, and he knew that he was going to cry.
But then Elrond leaped to his feet, grabbed the bread roll from the little round plate, and hurled it as hard as he could an uncle Maedhros, letting out a scream of effort. Uncle Maedhros flinched as the roll struck his shoulder and dropped to the tabletop, then tumbled onto the floor. “You let them die!” Elrond screamed, and Elros—his own twin, who knew his brother at least as well as himself—for the first time in his life felt a disconnect from he who had his beginning as the other half of Elros.
“Die? Who?” Ada-Maglor spoke in a tremulous voice, grinning hopefully at uncle Maedhros as though hoping for some sort of explanation, but Maedhros was staring at Elrond, his face parchment-pale and gaunt, scary, as Elros imagined he might have looked shortly after being rescued from Angband.
“You know nothing, Elrond,” said uncle Maedhros in a low voice. “I pursued them. For months, I pursued them. Which is more than I can say of most,” and his gaze flickered to Ada-Maglor, whose eyes were suddenly wide with understanding. “They were not for me to find.”
“Because you have blood on your hands! You are no better than your brother Tyelkormo or—or—Morgoth!” Elrond spat.
It took only two strides to bring uncle Maedhros to Elrond’s side, and his left hand—large enough to wrap around Elrond’s arm with room to spare—yanked him to his feet. Elrond yelped with fear and cringed, but uncle Maedhros’ deformed right arm hung at his side, unmoving, and with a sneer of disgust—at himself, perhaps?—he tossed Elrond’s arm away and strode quickly from the room.
~oOo~
“Who is more evil, do you think? Uncle Maedhros or Ada-Maglor?”
The boys had gone to bed without supper, for Ada-Maglor had given them a hurt look and chased uncle Maedhros from the room, and so they’d gone to their bedroom, both of their appetites ruined. They’d helped each other put on their pajamas and unbraid their hair; they’d washed their teeth and faces and turned down the covers. They’d even tucked themselves in: Elrond pulled the covers to Elros’ chin and then laid down beside him and did the same for himself.
Elros’ question hung in the air between them, in the heavy silence of the last sleepless hour. Night had fallen outside their window, and the moon was beginning his slow climb up from the horizon. Elrond sighed. “Neither is wholly evil, Elros. Evil cannot be measured, nor can it be absolute.”
They both seemed surprised by the words and so lay in silence for a long time, thinking about them.
“They wouldn’t have gone to war but for uncle Maedhros. And he failed. But,” Elros hesitated, “Ada-Maglor did nothing.”
“Uncle Maedhros went to war for a reason that was not cruelty, and his failure was not his own fault. And Ada-Maglor…he raised mounds over his three dead brothers, in their honor, and he took Ambarussa home to grieve, for they loved Celegorm dearly.”
The diary lay on the table beside their bed. Elrond had been reading of it when Elros could no longer bear to do so. To hate someone was such a grave decision, and Elros found that he could not do it. His conscience bade him to, but he couldn’t erase the memory of the afternoon sun on the blades of Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros’ swords as they were cast aside, as they shouted with laughter and rolled upon the ground.
If that was evil…why he and Elrond were evil too!
“We could have been abandoned,” he said, “like Eluréd and Elurín.” The sounds of their names lingered in the air, then slowly dissipated like the early morning mist that hangs over the sea, in the first light of dawn.
“But,” said Elrond, “we were not.”
The door opened then, and Ada-Maglor entered. In his hand, he held a candle, and the tenuous flame wavered and danced but did not go out. He sat the candle on their bedside table, alongside the diary, for he knew that they sometimes still became afraid in the dark of night.
Elros thought that he would seek to convince them of his absolution of evil, to plead excuses for his behavior or at least explain it—but he did none of those things. He sat on the edge of their bed and stroked their hair, a hand for each twin, his hands—as always—warm and gentle, like their real Ada’s had been. “Well,” he said with a tired sigh and a tiny smile, “what will it be? A song or a story?”
Elros knew that something was wrong the moment that he stepped into the bedroom that he shared with his twin brother. Elrond was perched in his accustomed place on the window seat, knees steepled, open book balanced atop them. But he was not reading and—even without the quiver of unease that he felt in the place of the bond of brothers, of twins—this would be enough to tell Elros that something was amiss. Elrond’s splayed hand held the book open but his forehead leaned against the window, his breath fogging the glass so that there was naught at which to even stare. Yet he did, unblinking.
He didn’t even stir when Elros came into the room, as though he didn’t even hear.
“Elrond?” Elros whispered, and as though suddenly dredged from some cold depths, Elrond gasped and started, and his book tumbled to the floor.
It was quite an accident, learning of the Other Twins.
That was what Elrond and Elros came to call them, their heads pressed close together, whispering, in their shared double bed at night. For they knew of Ambarussa, the younger twin brothers of Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros. Ambarussa had been killed at Sirion, when Mother had left them and they had been found by Ada-Maglor and saved. That had been two years ago, when Elrond and Elros were still very small. They were still small, but Elros liked to think of them as somehow harder, more powerful, since coming to live with Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros. And now, with a terrible secret.
Elrond said that he had gone to uncle Maedhros’ study to ask him a question about something he’d read in one of the lorebooks. Elros was not fond of uncle Maedhros, who tended to either ignore them or give Ada-Maglor sharp looks when they cried. (They cried less these days, having grown to accept that Mother and Father were not coming back and having learned ways to amuse themselves while Ada-Maglor was working; mostly, these days, uncle Maedhros ignored them.) Elrond, though, admired uncle Maedhros; Elros could tell as much. And, indeed, uncle Maedhros did seem to know a great bit about nearly everything, and Elrond—with his apologetic eyes and quiet, bookish manner—seemed to ire him less than did Elros.
The door to the study had been open, Elrond said, but barely, like it had been closed in haste and not fully latched. So Elrond had stood on the threshold, hand poised to knock, until he realized that uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor were talking angrily about something. About twins.
“Us,” he said. “Or so I thought. And so—” guilty now—“I stayed to listen.”
Ada-Maglor rarely raised his voice—at least not when the children could hear—but his voice had been raised then. “You are too harsh!” he’d scolded. “They are children—they have accidents, make messes!”
(Elros squirmed upon hearing this, knowing that they talked of him. Earlier that day, he’d been trying to make Ada-Maglor’s favorite pastries, since the baker was gone for the next three months to have a baby and they’d only had dry bread since—and he’d spilled an entire canister of sugar inside the pantry. Uncle Maedhros has scolded him harshly and made him clean it up—and clean the entire pantry, while at it.)
How Ada-Maglor had found out about it, Elros didn’t know. But he was angry with uncle Maedhros, that much was clear. “You will make the same mistake with them as Father made with us,” Ada-Maglor had said, and uncle Maedhros had raised his voice then too: “How can I? Neither of us are their father. We are childless, you and I.” Ada-Maglor’s face went very white then, and uncle Maedhros started pacing, like he didn’t want to look at it. Elros understood; he would sometimes play underneath the bed while Elrond cried atop it.
“Taking in Elwing’s sons will not replace our brothers, Maglor,” uncle Maedhros had said, and Ada-Maglor quickly retorted, “I do not wish to replace Ambarussa. I cannot replace Ambarussa. But all in our life need not be consumed by that awful Oath. We still retain the power to do good, Maedhros. What of the Other Twins? They could not bring back our departed brothers, yet you did not forsake them.”
Uncle Maedhros grinned a mean grin then, Elrond said, and Elrond ducked behind the door, frightened suddenly of being seen. “But my dear brother, you did.”
“Perhaps two of the other brothers were twins as well? Celegorm and Curfin?”
“Curufin,” Elrond corrected. “And no, Celegorm and Curufin were not twins.”
Elros knew that, but he liked to toss out improbable solutions and watch Elrond struggle to knock them down. Elrond sought an answer for everything, but for this, they had discovered naught.
“What about Fëanor and Fingolfin?”
Elrond gave Elros a stern look. “They had different mothers, Elros. Don’t be silly.”
But what else was there to be? With Ada-Maglor gone on a hunt and uncle Maedhros drifting moodily around the fortress, never seeming to sleep but always wearing his nightclothes, the days were interminable and Elros thought that the silence might drive him mad. And so he sought to be silly, to make their bedroom ring with laughter. He glided across the floor, huddled in his dressing gown over his clothes, in an imitation of uncle Maedhros. “Oh, stop it!” Elrond snapped, turning his back on Elros and returning to his book. The pages rattled when he turned them because his fingers trembled so. The game grew old fast. Elros liked to believe that he was becoming too big for such childish games, but really, there was a cold, queasy feeling inside of him, like his stomach was filled with writhing earthworms freshly dug from the frigid earth, and the feeling wasn’t very conducive to folly.
The Other Twins.
Elros let his dressing gown fall to the floor, and he joined Elrond on the window seat. They were growing big; upon their arrival, they both fit easily up here, huddled close against the draft that squirmed around the edges of the window, teasing the dark red drapes to sway restively. Now, his back pressed his brother’s whether he wanted it to or not, and although he made a show of pushing at Elrond to make himself more room, he was glad of it.
~oOo~
They were eating breakfast with uncle Maedhros the next morning when Ada-Maglor came home. Uncle Maedhros was eating and reading a stack of parchments at the same time, and he’d “begged peace.” Those were his exact words. Not that there was much to say in his presence. At least, being quiet, Elros couldn’t complain about the cold, runny eggs and get himself on kitchen duty for a week, like last time.
But when Ada-Maglor came in, bringing with him a fresh wind that smelled of cold air and evergreens, gone was uncle Maedhros’ peace as both twins leaped from their chairs (Elros’ was knocked over) and pounded, crying out in their delight, towards Ada-Maglor.
Ada-Maglor stooped and held out his arms, which were wide enough to embrace them both at the same time, to lift them and spin them around three times, as they shrieked with glee, pressing his cold face to each of their warm, plump cheeks in turn. “My little ones, whom I did miss / I ask of you, just a kiss,” he sang. This was their Greeting Song, and Elros and Elrond bumped noses in their haste to be the first to kiss Ada-Maglor’s lips. Uncle Maedhros sighed loudly and set aside his fork to turn the parchment with his left hand.
Setting them back in their chairs, Ada-Maglor removed his cloak and his gloves and stopped by uncle Maedhros’ chair to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Nelyo. How fare you?”
“I am well. And do not call me that.” Uncle Maedhros gave Ada-Maglor That Look—the look the twins had learned to dread so badly that they had named it—with his eyebrows scrunched so low that they nearly obscured his eyes. Ada-Maglor, though, wasn’t frightened by That Look and smirked, and uncle Maedhros relaxed a bit and nudged his plate in Ada-Maglor’s direction. “Here. Have this if you wish. The eggs are runny and a bit cold.”
“I am famished. I would eat them raw without complaint.” As he took the plate from uncle Maedhros, their eyes met, and Elros saw on uncle Maedhros’ face a twitch that might have been the precursor of a smile.
They were brothers, just like Elrond and Elros. But Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros were not twins—they did not look much alike at all—but sometimes Elros thought that they knew each other at least as well as if they were. Maybe more. He had seen them look at each other, as they did now, and he could nearly see the air shimmering between them as they wordlessly shared their thoughts. He knew that’s how it worked because it was that way with Elrond and him. He gave Elrond a pointed look, perhaps trying to show them that they are not the only ones who can speak volumes with a single glance, but Elrond was picking at his runny eggs and wouldn’t look at Elros.
They spent the day with Ada-Maglor, nearly treading on his heels in their haste to keep close to him, asking him questions about his hunt: “Did you kill anything? What was it like? Did it die quick—”
“Quickly,” Elrond corrected, for Elros was the one asking most of the questions.
“Was there a lot of blood?”
Ada-Maglor must have eventually grown sick of them, but he did not show it and even let them sit in his music room while he practiced the harp and let them make up nonsense lyrics to his songs. He didn’t even scold them when Elros jumped off the chair, collided with Elrond, and knocked over a music stand full of sheet music.
By day’s end, they were tired, and after supper, Ada-Maglor gave them their bath and tucked them into bed. “Song or story?” he asked, for each night, they could choose whether to have him sing a song or tell a story.
“Song,” Elros said, as Elrond said, “Story,” and they looked at each other—the blankets tucked to their chins—and Ada-Maglor laughed. “Well, little ones,” he said, reaching with both hands to stroke their hair, “I would love to give you both, but I promised your uncle two hours of my undivided attention, and you wouldn’t want uncle Maedhros to be angry with me, would you?”
This happened a lot. Elros usually wanted a song, while Elrond usually wanted a story, and Elros was the quicker and bolder of the two, so song it usually was. But tonight, before Elros could open his mouth to shout, “Song!” Elrond erupted with “Story!” and Ada-Maglor’s eyebrows jumped skyward in surprise and Elros’ mouth hung open with the same. Elrond never won; Elrond never wanted to win.
“Story it is then,” Ada-Maglor said. “Of what would you like to hear, little one?”
Elrond’s words were careful and deliberate. “I would like to hear of the Other Twins.”
Ada-Maglor did a good job of concealing his shock, but his face paled, and they heard him swallow hard. “Little one?” he said, laughing nervously. “What ‘other twins?’ There is only you…and Ambarussa.” He glanced at the fat white moon outside the window then and proclaimed it late, and—quickly kissing them both—hastened from the room, leaving them to fall asleep without a song or a story.
“Uncle Maedhros keeps a diary.”
Elrond should have been asleep. Yet Elros had known that he was not, if not because of his breathing then because he could feel Elrond’s restive spirit squirming alongside his own. The moon was gone from the window, and when he turned, it was so dark that he could not see Elrond, but their noses bumped, and Elros felt the warmth of his brother’s breath on his cheek.
“I must know!” Elrond said, his voice explosive in the dark.
Elros doubted whether he wanted to know. Some stones, he knew, were best left unturned. That was a favorite saying of Ada-Maglor’s, and Elros—usually the most curious of the brothers if satisfying his curiosity could be done with mischief—suddenly agreed. He wrapped his arm around Elrond’s skinny, quivering shoulders and held him through the entirety of the sleepless night.
Uncle Maedhros had come to breakfast that morning fully dressed and surprisingly chipper, wearing his sword at his side. “Come, little brother, let us eat, then spar with me! It has been too long.” He drew his sword and waved it about in fancy patterns while Ada-Maglor—whose shoulders were stooped and eyes darkened by lack of sleep—hissed his disapproval.
“Be careful of the children!”
Elrond and Elros were sent to their room to study, and from the window seat, they could see Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros sparring in the field beside the house. Uncle Maedhros had only one hand but seemed to be beating Ada-Maglor every time. Elrond hopped down from the window seat, took Elros’ hand and tugged it. “Come. Hurry. Before they come back.”
They crept into uncle Maedhros study, which was a big, luxuriant room, much more luxuriant than his bedroom. (They’d only been in uncle Maedhros’ bedroom once, when the plumbing in their lavatory had become clogged and Ada-Maglor had taken them there for their bath because uncle Maedhros had a bigger bathtub than he.) The study was lined with shelves on three walls, and uncle Maedhros’ wide desk sat at the center, piled high with books and parchments, the ink wells neatly aligned with a quill laid out in front of each, at a precise angle, perfectly parallel to the next. On the far wall, there was a portrait of Ambarussa and both brothers stood in front of it for a long while, hands clasped, staring up at it. When they had first come to live with Ada-Maglor, they had learned of all of his brothers—most of whom were dead, it seemed—and they used to pretend to be them during play. As Ambarussa, they tore wildly around the house, screaming and carousing, playing dirty tricks on the servants. But the Ambarussa in the painting look grave, not like the type who would play tricks at all. They were handsome—like Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros—but their faces were more rugged. Uncle Maedhros, except for the scar on his cheek, looked like a statue and Ada-Maglor had high, delicate cheekbones. Ambarussa sat stiffly and unsmiling; their hair was fire-red and neatly braided; their eyes were a dark gray. Like Elrond and Elros, they were identical twins, but where Elros was beginning to outgrow Elrond and they spent bath time sitting opposite each other, pretending to stare into a mirror, and pointing out the small differences in their faces, Ambarussa were impossible to tell apart.
“What do you think they were really like?” Elrond asked in a whisper. Elros shook his head. Their dark gray eyes held no clue.
“They are dead now,” he whispered and Elrond shivered.
Uncle Maedhros had more books than Elros could count (Elrond, though, could probably count that high), and it took them a while to find the shelf with the diaries. Uncle Maedhros was very old, and so there were a lot of diaries. It took Elrond even longer to find the proper one—and he had to climb the shelves first and be held in place by Elros’ hands on his backside—and Elros’ arms were very tired by the time he decided to climb down. “Is that it?” Elros asked, taking the innocuous-looking leather-bound book from his brother. “I know not,” replied Elrond. “I hope so.”
It was hard for Elros to sleep with Elrond taking a Fëanorian lamp to bed each night and constantly wiggling around to get into a more comfortable position for reading. Besides, Elrond liked to pop up from beneath the covers as soon as Elros would fall asleep, shake his shoulder, and hiss, “Hear this!”
And so Elros stopped trying to sleep and joined his brother beneath the covers.
The diaries went back to Maedhros’ life in Valinor. Elros wanted Elrond to skip straight to the part about the Oath and about Morgoth, but Elrond insisted on trudging through the whole thing, even the romantic parts. Elros tried sometimes to read the diary himself, beneath the covers, in the pale blue glow of the Fëanorian lamp, but Elros’ grasp of Quenya—especially to read—was not particularly good.
They got to the part about Ada-Maglor’s wedding in Valinor and both stopped to stare at the other in surprise, for they’d never known that Ada-Maglor had been married. Ada-Maglor talked about a wife for uncle Maedhros sometimes but not what had happened with their marriage; he never mentioned that he himself had been wed. “Do you think he had children? Real children?” Elros whispered to Elrond, but Elrond wouldn’t answer and turned the page.
Five books later, they got to the Kinslaying and the handwriting became nearly illegible and entirely smudged in some places, and so they never learned whether Ada-Maglor’s wife had come with him to Beleriand. “Probably, she stayed behind,” Elros said. “All the others did.” The alternative was unbearable to contemplate, for it meant that she had perished. He got a feeling, thinking of this, akin to what he felt when he dared imagine his mother leaping from the cliff, certain of being dashed to death on the rocks below, but leaping anyway.
There were many pages—nearly an entire book—about establishing a realm in Beleriand that were boring to read, although Elrond refused to skip them and even made noises that sounded like he was interested. Then, the book abruptly stopped, and they had to wait until uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor went hunting the next week to sneak into the study to steal the next volume.
I am returned from certain death….
Ada-Maglor apparently took care of uncle Maedhros after he lost his hand, as he now took care of Elrond and Elros. And apparently, somewhere in the unwritten pages, Fëanor had died; Elros said as much. “Of course,” scoffed Elrond. “Fëanor died in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, an hour before uncle Maedhros was captured by Morgoth.” And he rolled his eyes at Elros’ naïveté and kept reading.
There were lots more battles and talk of strategies and plans. Ada-Maglor had gone to live with uncle Maedhros after Dagor Bragollach, and sometimes, uncle Maedhros spent as much time complaining about Ada-Maglor and the petty arguments that they would have as he did about the great counsels that would determine the fate of the Noldor. “That Macalaurë should learn the impertinence of not knocking before entering his brother’s chamber is too much to hope,” the diary might say or, “Macalaurë has made the same tedious meal for three nights now. He does me no favors in his offer to take a week’s cooking.”
Elros whispered to Elrond, “Do you think uncle Maedhros hated Ada-Maglor?”
“Do not be silly,” said Elrond. “A little bit of disfavor makes love stronger,” and when Elros rumpled his brow and looked puzzled, Elrond went on to explain, “What do you like more? The first warm day of spring after a long winter? Or a warm day in a month of warm days?”
They got to the part where Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros’ next brother Celegorm, who seemed a fairly irritable sort, strode about the hall and made an impassioned speech to his brothers about the necessity of securing the Silmaril from Dior.
“And foolishly,” the book read, “I agreed. Tomorrow, we ride for Doriath.”
Elrond turned the page, although they both knew the outcome, but the diary ended there.
They’d worked their way through an entire shelf of diaries and it was now summer; still, no mention of the Other Twins. Elrond and Elros stood beneath the bookshelf, staring up at the diaries. The next shelf was higher than the first, and Elros doubted that they could climb that high, and as he was about to say as much to Elrond, his brother said, “It is well, then, that we have had time to grow while reading the early volumes,” pushed back the sleeves of his tunic, and began the ascent.
Elrond got to the third shelf and was stretching his fingers for the next diary when the bookshelf suddenly emitted a painful-sounding groan. The shelf beneath Elrond’s foot was bowing dangerously, and as Elros shouted, there was an alarming crack and Elrond tumbled backward to the floor.
The shelf had broken in two, and the books upon it tumbled inward, piling against each other, but did not fall to the floor. Elros turned to his brother and found Elrond sitting up, dusting his clothes with one hand, the diary clutched in the other.
To their bedroom, they crept, before the servants noticed the broken shelf and the boys absent from their bedroom and put the two together, rather than thinking that the shelf had broken on its own accord, from the weight of uncle Maedhros’ impractical, heavy books. The children were supposed to be working on forms of Vanyarin poetry, but even Elrond—who usually insisted on getting their bookwork done before having any fun—scrambled for the window seat without so much as glancing at their poetry primers upon the floor.
Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros were sparring outside again, the summer sun throwing bright darts of light from the blades of their swords. Once again, uncle Maedhros seemed to be easily defeating Ada-Maglor, and as the twins settled in the window seat, Ada-Maglor dropped his sword, shouted, and rushed at uncle Maedhros with his shoulders lowered, sending them both to the ground to wrestle amid their laughter.
Elrond opened the diary, calling Elros’ attention from the excitement outside. Elros made a wish to Elbereth then—he didn’t know if such wishes came true; Ada-Maglor said they did, but they had to be made sparingly—that the story of the Other Twins wouldn’t make him hate uncle Maedhros and Ada-Maglor so much that he could no longer love them.
I return home, bearing terrible tidings. It is nearly Winter and seems an age ago that we set out in the Spring with the foolish hope of fulfilling our oath—in part at least. In my heart, Winter has always been and, now, always will be for—and I weep as I write this, even now, even when the pain should have dimmed—I lost three brothers in Doriath.
Of their deaths, I will not write, for it something that shall never be forgotten, despite my wish to never remember it. To deny it, even, and awaken in the morning with the hope of meeting Tyelkormo on the stairs or being called to see Curufinwë’s latest masterpiece or to spar with the ruthless Carnistir. Even would I take harsh words with them—hatred, anger, and tears—for surely these things are better than the cold, impenetrable fate of Death to which they have gone.
Of Carnistir and Curufinwë, my memories will remain unsullied, for I held in my embrace Curufinwë—who grieved Tyelperinquar, although he said he did not—and laughed with Carnistir about a memory that came, unbidden, upon both of us at the same time, of Tyelkormo once trying to dance with a maiden after imbibing too much wine and falling into a fountain. I’m sure I also had fair words with Tyelkormo but the memory is dimmed, for upon finding his golden body entwined with that of Dior son of Elwë Signollo, I wept and was comforted by his servants, who assured me that they avenged the death of their master, my brother, for they had taken the twin sons of Dior into the forest and left them to whatever end Fate would conjure.
Whether at his bidding, I had no time to ask, for I began an immediate pursuit of the twins, blind to reason—I now see—but whether or not their abandonment was spurred by Tyelkormo’s words, it grieves me to know that such cruelty was condoned by my brother who was just yesterday, it seems, but a child in my arms. Would he who threw himself upon the ground to keep Fëanaro from accidentally treading upon a butterfly have permitted such wanton disregard for the life of his own kin—peredhel though they are—among those who serve him? He, who can command the loyalty of men to die for him, cannot likewise command mercy and justice? Or perhaps, he simply chose not to do so.
For days uncounted, I pursued the twins and found them not, nor did I learn of their fate. I returned to my home just yesterday, to find that it had been kept by Macalaurë in my absence, and he asked me not about the fate of the twins, for he knew in his heart as I now know in mine that they were not for me to find.
Mashed potatoes were swirled with corn and then piled atop the venison in splotchy patterns and laced with gravy: “Won’t you eat?” Ada-Maglor begged, and Elros—chin pressed defiantly to his chest—rolled his eyes up from under his brows in a near-perfect imitation of That Look. Ada-Maglor, he saw, was startled.
Elrond, also, was not eating, nor was he playing with his food. His hands were gripping each other under the table.
Ada-Maglor laughed nervously, in the way of one who is uncomfortable in the gravity of a room but cannot bear to bring notice to it, as though laughter will make it dissipate. “You two,” he said. “Eat! It is a good meal—the best!” His brow furrowed, “Are you unwell?” reaching out to touch Elrond’s forehead—perhaps not trusting the blood of peredhel to withstand his brother’s drafty fortress—but Elrond jerked away from his touch and swatted Ada-Maglor’s hand with a stinging slap.
As Ada-Maglor’s mouth fell open and he rubbed his wrist in surprised pain, heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, and uncle Maedhros came to his place at the head of the table.
“Brother,” he said, “I have noted the most interesting of phenomena in my study.”
“Maedhros, later. The children—”
“I believe the children might be able to explain the phenomenon. For it seems that one of my bookshelves has cracked. Given the shelf’s age, that, in itself, is not particularly odd. What is odd is the presence of a small footprint upon the very shelf that broke—and a missing volume of my diary.”
The room grew thickly silent. Down the hall came the ponderous ticking of a clock; deeper within the fortress, an impertinent maidservant shrieked with laughter. Elros’ numb fingers clutched his fork; Elrond’s eyes were as wide as the small plates that held their portions of bread. Elros could hear a pounding heartbeat and wondered if he was hearing his own or if his brother’s was that loud—or maybe his was that loud. He felt a quiver of emotion deep within his chest; his lower lip wobbled, and he knew that he was going to cry.
But then Elrond leaped to his feet, grabbed the bread roll from the little round plate, and hurled it as hard as he could an uncle Maedhros, letting out a scream of effort. Uncle Maedhros flinched as the roll struck his shoulder and dropped to the tabletop, then tumbled onto the floor. “You let them die!” Elrond screamed, and Elros—his own twin, who knew his brother at least as well as himself—for the first time in his life felt a disconnect from he who had his beginning as the other half of Elros.
“Die? Who?” Ada-Maglor spoke in a tremulous voice, grinning hopefully at uncle Maedhros as though hoping for some sort of explanation, but Maedhros was staring at Elrond, his face parchment-pale and gaunt, scary, as Elros imagined he might have looked shortly after being rescued from Angband.
“You know nothing, Elrond,” said uncle Maedhros in a low voice. “I pursued them. For months, I pursued them. Which is more than I can say of most,” and his gaze flickered to Ada-Maglor, whose eyes were suddenly wide with understanding. “They were not for me to find.”
“Because you have blood on your hands! You are no better than your brother Tyelkormo or—or—Morgoth!” Elrond spat.
It took only two strides to bring uncle Maedhros to Elrond’s side, and his left hand—large enough to wrap around Elrond’s arm with room to spare—yanked him to his feet. Elrond yelped with fear and cringed, but uncle Maedhros’ deformed right arm hung at his side, unmoving, and with a sneer of disgust—at himself, perhaps?—he tossed Elrond’s arm away and strode quickly from the room.
“Who is more evil, do you think? Uncle Maedhros or Ada-Maglor?”
The boys had gone to bed without supper, for Ada-Maglor had given them a hurt look and chased uncle Maedhros from the room, and so they’d gone to their bedroom, both of their appetites ruined. They’d helped each other put on their pajamas and unbraid their hair; they’d washed their teeth and faces and turned down the covers. They’d even tucked themselves in: Elrond pulled the covers to Elros’ chin and then laid down beside him and did the same for himself.
Elros’ question hung in the air between them, in the heavy silence of the last sleepless hour. Night had fallen outside their window, and the moon was beginning his slow climb up from the horizon. Elrond sighed. “Neither is wholly evil, Elros. Evil cannot be measured, nor can it be absolute.”
They both seemed surprised by the words and so lay in silence for a long time, thinking about them.
“They wouldn’t have gone to war but for uncle Maedhros. And he failed. But,” Elros hesitated, “Ada-Maglor did nothing.”
“Uncle Maedhros went to war for a reason that was not cruelty, and his failure was not his own fault. And Ada-Maglor…he raised mounds over his three dead brothers, in their honor, and he took Ambarussa home to grieve, for they loved Celegorm dearly.”
The diary lay on the table beside their bed. Elrond had been reading of it when Elros could no longer bear to do so. To hate someone was such a grave decision, and Elros found that he could not do it. His conscience bade him to, but he couldn’t erase the memory of the afternoon sun on the blades of Ada-Maglor and uncle Maedhros’ swords as they were cast aside, as they shouted with laughter and rolled upon the ground.
If that was evil…why he and Elrond were evil too!
“We could have been abandoned,” he said, “like Eluréd and Elurín.” The sounds of their names lingered in the air, then slowly dissipated like the early morning mist that hangs over the sea, in the first light of dawn.
“But,” said Elrond, “we were not.”
The door opened then, and Ada-Maglor entered. In his hand, he held a candle, and the tenuous flame wavered and danced but did not go out. He sat the candle on their bedside table, alongside the diary, for he knew that they sometimes still became afraid in the dark of night.
Elros thought that he would seek to convince them of his absolution of evil, to plead excuses for his behavior or at least explain it—but he did none of those things. He sat on the edge of their bed and stroked their hair, a hand for each twin, his hands—as always—warm and gentle, like their real Ada’s had been. “Well,” he said with a tired sigh and a tiny smile, “what will it be? A song or a story?”
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Do you write any happy stories?
Date: 2008-01-31 01:08 am (UTC)Re: Do you write any happy stories?
Date: 2008-01-31 01:13 am (UTC)“Neither is wholly evil, Elros. Evil cannot be measured, nor can it be absolute.”
A fairly bold relativtistic statement, one I was surprised that Elrond says, though he is young. I you would prefere not to discuss it I understand but I find so few people I can rationally and pollietly debate on the subject that I usually can't resist the opportuntity (in no way do I intend it to reflect my respect for your work or you as an author). I am an Absolutist, and a Christian Evangelical Fundamentalist one at that (I think you implied in one of our early discussion that I would be well if I fully disclosed my beliefs) or at least that is how somone who likes to lump people in broad groups would put me in (though I will tell you that their is a great variety in that broad grouping in both what people believe, liberty temper by law). Bluntly I must say I think you got it wrong, but not are not far from truth. One saying that evil is niether quantifiable or measurable or absolute in some aspect of its being is very close to deny and existence of evil, it becomes an non tangible idea. Making evil relative lessens the effect that it has on the human condemnation of it because it becomes justifiable. The human experience in the last century has shown one thing demonstrates one thing clearly enough, bad things happen and need to be attributed to some outside force because while people aren't perfect they also are not intially totally evil. Just look @ Dachau or the Ragdan Road (a highway that Stalin had built in Eastern Siberia to gold mines, @ least a million people died in the construction). The people who oversaw the these events might not have been totally evil, nor were the leaders or policies that lead to them even though they certainly were as close to evil as one is going to find in man. Can you quantify evil by the way, or at least humans assign categories of wrongness to actions, such as murder, rape, ect. These things are heneious but again the problem comes from the fact whilst people are capable of evil they never start off wholly evil, merely capable. I am going to leave the argument of an external cause for evil for a second here and go to the second point. That evil cannot be absolute, why because every generation reveals new possibility of man to commit depravetity? I'll have to use some examples here so bear with me. One the question is the infinite absolute? There a hard question the meaning of the word means literaly not finite or bound. But that does not mean it is not absolute, as things can be absolutely infinte, ie the universe (at least according to many mainstream scientific theories). In fact it is constantly expanding in all directions and beyond where there any particulate, physical, material, or energetic forces are there is literally nothing except space and time (neither of which matter because those are things that only apply to areas in which stuff exists to be measure and is some debate whether they really exist out there because of the above reasoning). Absolute infinety: hard concept to grasp and I am no philospher or expert on the sciences.
Last part of my post I swear!
Date: 2008-01-31 01:16 am (UTC)A good simple science example is absolutism is the existence of absolute limits: ie absolute zero temperature which does exist it simply can't be accomplish by modern scientific methods due to technology restrictions. It exist though in the deep vacume of space where the because it is 0 Kelvin and atoms out their will litteraly have their orbiting electrons crash into the nucleus causing massive entropy even to the subatomic level, what happens after I don't know, maybe it becomes anti-matter or dark matter (not sure there is a difference betweens the two) not sure if stuff like strings and quirks are effected because again I'm not a physist. But it is example of a physical abosolute limit. Whats the point of all this? pretty much for me to waste some time while I wait for stuff to start heatin up at old KU, where the temp is current 270 Kelvin. I sure hope I dd not mistakenly assume that you are a relativist, would feel a little stupid but oh well:) got drive on. BTW what story would you recommend I read next I've read: AMC, Choice/Spirit, Constell, Estranged, Forgot Lore, Mem of Cuv, Mercy, Song&Story, Tapestrie. Sorry if I butchered the official abrrevations, don't know them yet but will learn, we love abrv. in the Army WHOOAH! RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!
Re: Last part of my post I swear!
Date: 2008-02-01 03:41 am (UTC)Do I write happy stories? Occasionally, yes. ;) I'll link some for you at the end, when you ask for recs for what to read next. But I do find bittersweet or even tragic stories easier, in a way. Yet, a lot of what you've read so far are what I'd consider happy endings: Caranthir and Haleth end up together forever in "The Choices of Spirits"; Feanor is at peace (with hopes of saving the world) in "The Tapestries." They are bittersweet ... but that is how I see Middle-earth. Even Frodo's "saving the world" came at a great personal price. I get tears in my eyes at the beginning of the movies when he is so carefree, knowing what he will become, what he will sacrifice, and wanting his happiness to last much longer than it does. But I digress. :)
JRRT is ambivialent and ambiguous about the relationship between the last two Sons of Feanor and the Twins of Earendil, I have never been quite sure what he wanted it to be, love despite wrong doing or little love because of wrong doing.
I've been uncertain too, so I'm glad I'm not the only one! :) Yet I think Elrond was wise enough to understand the Feanorians more than some others probably did. And there are empathetic portions of The Silmarillion; if we take that book as a translation of Bilbo's Red Book, then he got that information from Rivendell, probably largely written by Pengolodh. And Pengolodh, I don't think, was very kind to the Feanorians. So I think the little moments of empathy we see for them probably came because of Elrond's influence. Or that is my crazy personal theory, anyway. :)
(which reminds me, in Mercy is it your assertion that Celegorm chooses to become a wraith?)
Temporarily, yes. But the last line, I think, reveals that he will answer the call when he feels ready to do so: "But a strong wind blows into the West, and I might almost hear a song like one I’d heard long ago, in the peace of Valinor, and I might even believe that hope still lives for the Noldor—or even for me." I'm also of the opinion that the call of Mandos is not a one-time thing. That's not based on any canon but just my personal feeling that going to Mandos is a matter of will, and whatever one's will demands is what his fate will be. If that makes any sense at all.
I you would prefere not to discuss it I understand but I find so few people I can rationally and pollietly debate on the subject that I usually can't resist the opportuntity (in no way do I intend it to reflect my respect for your work or you as an author).
Please don't worry about this. I do not take it as such; I take it as a compliment that my stories inspire discussion and that I am a worthy person to chat to. :) I have enjoyed our talks in the comments of these stories, so please, feel free to bring up whatever you'd like! I can't guarantee that I won't have strong opinions on certain things, but if you're cool with that, then there are very few things that I'm unwilling to discuss. :)
Re: Last part of my post I swear!
Date: 2008-02-01 03:41 am (UTC)Actually, I knew that because you already told me: "so far right wing to nearly come out the left," or something like that. ;) I felt the need to disclose my own PoV on things since rights for same-sex couples are a big issue for me on account of my sister. It's something that I get passionate about, so I thought it fair that you had fair warning, since we don't see eye to eye on this.
I am not a philosopher at all, and physics is my weakest scientific discipline, so I'll make a stab at coherence in explaining my PoV on your comments. :) I am definitely not an absolutist. Even in terms of science, "absolute" is how we define it, based on what we know of the universe. Who is to say that that will not change? (Now I am waiting for
In terms of human behavior, I don't think there are any absolutes in terms of good or evil. While we can devise theories about physics, about the universe in its purest sense, I don't think this is possible for human behavior. Another disclosure: my degree is in psychology with certificates in clinical and biopsychology, so my view of behavior isn't in terms of "good" or "evil" but in finding what antecedents cause a particular behavior, whether those antecedents are biological or social/environmental.
For example, I think the closest example to pure evil in The Silmarillion is Melkor. I remember once, on the SWG discussion list, that I made the flip remark that everyone "evil" in the Silm could be excused in some way except Melkor, and
Then there is the idea that Tolkien himself expresses in Ainulindale that all deeds--no matter how "evil"--lead to the end to the fulfillment of Eru's purposes. Eru, I am assuming, represents as close to "good" as one can get in that his will is what defines good in the world much in the way that my will defines "good" in the fictional worlds that I create. So if an act leads to good in the end, can we call it wholly evil? Or if Eru allows evil to occur, can he be wholly good? These are interesting questions, I think, that have been swirling around in my head for some time now. I don't think that there are easy answers.
So, no, I don't think there is such a thing as Evil-with-a-Capital-E, even on Arda, which is less morally complex than our world, I think. Evil acts have antecedents that are not themselves necessarily evil or performed by people who are evil, like Varda's rejection of Melkor, driving him to the deeds he later committed. And evil returns to good, which, to me, makes it just a longer, more painful way to the same end. But it is still the same end.
*whew*
Okay, I dread to think how many times I've exceeded LJ's maximum comment length here. ;)
I hope this all makes sense. This is just a skeptical agnostic social scientist's view of the world. I'm intrigued to know what you think of it. :)
Re: Last part of my post I swear!
Date: 2008-02-01 03:41 am (UTC)I haven't gotten around to putting these on LJ yet:
An Ordinary Woman, a realistic take on the story of Beren and Luthien, is getting a lot of positive attention on SWG right now. (Surprisingly, since I'm only about 50% happy with it myself!)
Rekindling: this one is set after "Tapestries," even, and I am fairly pleased with it.
Stars of the Lesser: probably my favorite from this year's holiday stories, so far anyway. Also has some philosophical ideas that I'd be interested to hear your take on.
And that's that for now. I have probably about 50 Silmfic stories right now, but those are the ones that I'm most proud of, for the moment anyway. :)
Re: Last part of my post I swear!
Date: 2008-02-03 09:43 pm (UTC)