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The Havens of Sirion

   For the sons of Fëanor that yet lived came down suddenly upon the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath, and destroyed them.

Of the Voyage of Eärendil                                                                           The Silmarillion

    Elwing could not sleep. As the hours slowly drifted by, she lay motionless in her chamber gazing out of the window at the sky above. It was very dark tonight, only the light of the stars piercing the blackness, for there was no moon to speak of. Lying there alone in her empty bed, she wished with all her heart that her husband was with her. Never before in the years since they wed, had she been so in need of his guidance and wisdom. For days now she had been aware of a foreboding in her heart that she could no longer ignore. Fear had been steadily growing within her until it had come to plague her every waking moment.  Then, this morning, she had finally learned the reason for her unrest when a stranger had ridden to her door with a letter sealed with the unmistakeable stamp of the House of Fëanor.

   As she feared, the letter had come from Maedhros.

   This was the second such missive she had now received, but the tone of this latter message was more demanding than the first. Maedhros’s purpose was clear; he wanted the Silmaril. After reading his words, Elwing had sat alone at her table for a long time with her guts twisting in fear. Doubt tormented her, but of one thing she was certain; it was now beyond hope that this son of Fëanor  would abandon his oath and give up his accursed pursuit of the jewel, this in spite of three of his brothers having died in his last attempt to claim it. If the Silmaril was not relinquished willingly, it was quite plain that Maedhros would attempt to seize it by force.

    Without the benefit of her husband’s wisdom to aid her, Elwing considered her options. Perhaps, she wondered, she was wrong to withhold the jewel from Maedhros; it had, after all, belonged to his father. Handing it over to him now might avert another Kinslaying, and she had no wish to witness again the horror that occurred in Doriath.  But this decision was no longer hers alone. When the first demand of Maedhros had come, she had taken council with the wise among them. None was in favour of returning it to the sons of Fëanor for all believed the Silmaril brought a gift of healing and strength to the people of the Havens. And, since so many lives had already been sacrificed in Doriath to keep it from their hands, most were loath to it give up willingly. For this reason alone she felt inclined to agree, for among those who died in that terrible slaughter were her own mother and father, as well as her two young brothers. But there was more to her reluctance than even this consideration. Something, some small inexplicable voice, told her the Silmaril would be needed yet and it would have an important part to play somewhere in the future, though quite how this might be was as yet unforeseen by her. 

   Finally, Elwing was unable to lie in sleeplessness a moment longer. She rose from her bed and silently came to the room next to hers where her twin sons lay sleeping. She looked at them fondly and smiled as she watched them slumbering peacefully in their adjoining beds. She knew it was mostly for them that she was afraid. They were little more than babes; she could not bear to think of the same fate befalling them as had her brothers.

    As she looked upon them lovingly, she knew in her heart her decision was made; Maedhros must not find the Silmaril. It had to be kept from him somehow, but the cost of doing so terrified her. Could she risk the lives of her people by denying him it? Now that Tuor and Idril had sailed into the West, her husband, Eärendil, was lord of the Havens; they had a duty of care to protect the people here. But Eärendil was away, sailing West, trying once again to find a path to Valinor. He carried with him the hope of Elves and Men that he might yet come before the Valar and plead for deliverance from Morgoth.

    But right now, here this very night, Morgoth was not the enemy closing in on them. Maedhros and his people had been homeless since the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, his fortress at Himring abandoned. Rumour had it that he dwelt now with the Green Elves in Ossiriand on the far side of East Beleriand, but this latest message had come from near Nan-tathren. Clearly, he had already journeyed far to find her. Nor would it deter him in the slightest that the refugees at the Havens were now a large people, their numbers swelled by the survivors from Gondolin. She knew it was only a matter of time before Maedhros struck.

    Elwing shivered and pulled her shawl around her. She would seek the advice of Círdan in the morning. Tenderly, she placed a hand on each of her sons’ heads and returned to her own room. But she had barely settled upon her bed when she heard her maid approaching, her light footsteps moving swiftly towards her door which she opened abruptly without the usual courtesies. Elwing was already on her feet and grabbing her cloak as she entered the room.

    “My lady!” cried the maid breathlessly as she burst through the door. “I have been sent by one of the wardens to fetch you and your sons at once. He and the others have gone to oversee the defences of the city, but he said you must leave without delay.” The maid paused for a moment and gulped nervously before continuing. “There is a host approaching the Havens from the North. They say it is Maedhros, my lady. They will not be long in coming here.”

    Elwing immediately felt dread and panic rise in her, but she schooled her expression and remained outwardly calm for the sake of Lindhwen, who was both her servant and her oldest friend.

   “How far hence are they?” she asked as she quickly bundled a few items into a bag. The Silmaril she removed from the drawer beside her bed and slipped over her head, its light concealed beneath her cloak.

   “Two leagues only,” replied the maid, her fear obvious in her voice. “He has not waited for your reply,has he?” Lindhwen had dwelt with Elwing since she was a child in Doriath and had long been in her mistress’s confidence.

   “No, he has not,” said Elwing making swiftly for the door; there was no time now to gather anything beyond the most essential of possessions. Elwing and her maid raced into the twin’s room, each scooping up a bewildered child in their arms and wrapping the blankets about them as best they could.

    “The warden said we must make for the harbour and take a boat to Lord Círdan,” said Lindhwen, both women struggling to descend the stairs with their cumbersome burdens.

    “Then we will do as he suggests,” agreed Elwing, realising this course provided their best hope. Maedhros would find attacking the Isle of Balar far more difficult than the Havens. But, as they fled from the house, she feared that she was abandoning her people to a terrible fate. If Maedhros was determined to take the Silmaril, he would not hesitate to slay any who stood in his way. But she knew the people of the Havens would fight fiercely, not only to protect her and her sons but also to save their boats which provided the livelihoods of many of them. But countless lives would be lost before the dawn, of that she was certain.

    Leaving the yard by a small gate, Elwing ran down the narrow path to the harbour as fast as her legs could carry her. The children were beginning to whimper and fret at this unexpected activity in the middle of the night. The women did their best to soothe them, but neither had breath to spare for words of comfort. Behind them they were suddenly aware of the sounds of battle as the people of the city fought to repel the invading army.

    “He is come!” cried Elwing in terror. “Run,Lindhwen, run!”

    Burdened by their awkward bundles, the two women could go no faster, but they were not far from the sea and the harbour was soon before them. Elwing thought her lungs would burst such was the burning within them. She did not know how she found the strength to move her legs so fast and still hold on to her child who was now crying openly in his distress. But they had reached the quay. Thankfully, it was deserted. Both Elwing and Lindhwen scanned the water’s edge looking frantically for a boat sufficiently light that they could handle between them.

    “Here!” cried Elwing, ushering Lindhwen before her as she spotted what she sought. “We will take this one.”

    Moored between two large sailing vessels was a rowing boat. It was rather small to be out on the open water, but they could easily manage it themselves. And it need only get them as far as Balar, though Elwing knew their progress would be slow. And if they were discovered, there was no denying, any of the larger boats would soon overtake them.

    Suddenly, there was a commotion in the streets behind the quay. Houses were bursting into flame all around them; people were running screaming from their homes. Amid the mounting confusion, horses galloped down to the water’s edge, stopping abruptly as they reached the boats. Many riders dismounted and started running along the quay, apparently searching for any attempting to flee.

   “Oh my lady!” cried Lindhwen. “They have broken through our defences so quickly. What are we to do?”

    As the maid cried in panic, Elwing’s mind whirled frantically as she sought a means of escape, but it was too late. They had been spotted. A shout went up and, in response, the invading Elves raced towards them. Elwing and Lindhwen immediately dropped their bags and fled, their limbs finding a strength and a swiftness that neither would have though possible a few minutes ago. Valiantly, they strove to evade Maedhros’s troops, but, for all their unexpected speed, they were soon outpaced by the power of their pursuers. Suddenly, both were flung violently to the ground, the two children falling helpless beneath them.

    The Elves gave no quarter and, although the two women battled valiantly, beating at their captors with their bare hands, the invaders soon had all four restrained.

    As the women were roughly hauled to their feet, one Elf, who was clearly in charge, pointed to the tall building that overlooked the quay and said, “Take them to the tower and hold them there until Lord Maedhros arrives.” Then with a chilling glare at those in his command, he added: “If they try to escape, kill them.”

    Elwing said nothing. She drew her children to her, desperately trying to calm and comfort them. They had cuts and scrapes from their fall and whined softly with fear and pain.  The guards quickly bundled the four of them up the path towards the high tower above the harbour and, once inside, forced them to climb the steep stairs to the small circular room at the top. As the only door slammed swiftly behind them, Elwing heard the key turn in the lock and the sound of footsteps retreating. No one spoke as the four captives fearfully clung to each other, struggling to catch their breath. The guards had not left them so much as a single candle but, thankfully, the many windows allowed the gentle light of the stars to penetrate the oppressive gloom of the room.

    After a few moments, with the seriousness of their predicament weighing heavily upon her, Elwing eased herself away from her children and peered out of the nearest window. The tower had long been used as a look-out post and so commanded wide views of the sea, but the room that now held her and her loved ones prisoner rose far above the swirling water that lapped at its base. None could hope to jump and survive the long fall to the treacherous water below.  Elwing, her mind in torment, turned to look at her sons, seated now and huddled fearfully against Lindhwen; so young and so very vulnerable. Her mother’s instinct screamed at her to protect her children at all costs. Yet she knew not how could she do this and still retain the Silmaril. She felt she would rather die than let Maedhros take it, and, without a weapon of her own, she knew she would be powerless to resist him. But her children were another matter. While she was with them, Maedhros need only hold a knife to one of their throats and she did not doubt that she would be powerless to withhold the jewel. For all Maedhros’s repentance in the past, she would not trust him not to harm her small sons. Her brothers had been much the same age when Doriath had fallen and they had never been seen again.

   Seeing no hope of escape, with dismay, she realised they were all utterly at the mercy of the sons of Fëanor.

   But suddenly, and with all the clarity of mind of one who has chosen death, she knew what she must do if she was to save both the Silmaril and her sons. She closed her eyes for a moment and summoned her strength before sending a silent prayer to the Valar that Eärendil would understand her dilemma and forgive her the choice she was about to make. Then she turned to her children, taking each of them in turn in her arms and kissing them lovingly before again wrapping them securely in the arms of Lindhwen.

    “Take care of them for me,” she said softly as she smiled reassuringly.

    “Of course, my lady,” said Lindhwen, not understanding the meaning of her words. Then Elwing, with one last glance at her sons, raced to the far side of the tower and, before any present realised her intention, she threw herself out of the window and tumbled into the water below.

    “NO!” screamed Lindhwen,leaping to her feet and stumbling after her in the darkness. Horrified, she peered out of the window at the long drop to the sea, calling frantically for her mistress. But there was no sign of Elwing. Lindhwen could see nothing but the tall waves crashing violently against the sides of the tower. Scarcely able to believe what had just happened, nausea seized as shock and incredulity ripped through her. But then, just as panic threatened to undo her completely, Lindhwen suddenly felt a calmness settle upon her that she would not have believed possible and a great wonder filled her. As she stared out at the sea through tear-filled eyes, to her amazement, an enormous wave appeared below the tower where Elwing had fallen. It swept up the sea into a mighty crest of water and, as Lindhwen watched in stunned silence, a single white seabird burst from it and flew up into the air above. On its breast was a brilliant light which blazed forth like a beacon in the darkness. For a moment, the bird seemed to hover before her, but then it turned and was gone, flying Westward, its bright light visible long after it had disappeared from Lindhwen’s sight. Awed, and unable to truly comprehend what she had just witnessed, the maid turned from the window and collapsed on the floor of the tower. She was immediately smothered by two weeping boys, eyes wide with terror, both asking pleadingly for their mother.

    Lindhwen embraced them both and tried her best to soothe them, for she loved them as her own. They were so young. What could she possibly say that would calm them and ease their fears?

   “Your mother has gone to find your father,” she said at last. She knew not why she said this, but at that moment the words had come to her and she was surprised to see the two boys accepting this without further questions.

    Time passed slowly. Lindhwen tried singing softly to raise all their spirits and keep her small charges from dwelling upon the fate of their mother. As the night gave way to the dawn, the boys were at last beginning to have difficulty keeping their eyes open, but then all were brought abruptly awake by voices outside the door and the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door flew open and a very tall and imposing Elf stood in the doorway, his red hair as a fire about his head. He was clad in bright armour and richly coloured robes which were splashed and stained with much blood, though none of it appeared to be his own. Lindhwen noticed at once that his right hand was missing, his arm ending in a long-healed stump. This, she knew, must be Maedhros, the eldest of Feanor’s seven sons.

    The Elf’s bright eyes scanned the bleak room, his noble face, stunningly beautiful, yet grim and fearsome to behold. “I was told there were four captives here,” he said in a commanding voice to the guard who stood just behind him.

    “Yes, my lord,” replied the guard, “two adults and two children.”

    “Then pray tell me where you have put the fourth,” growled Maedhros. The guard turned pale and poked his head around the door.

    “But she can not have escaped,” he stammered. “You saw for yourself, my lord, the door was locked.”

    Maedhros ignored him and strode around the room, stopping to look out of each window at the sea below, which was now calm and still. Seeing nothing, Maedhros turned on the maid.

    “Where is your mistress?” he demanded, grabbing the front of her robe and roughly lifting her to her feet. Lindhwen shrunk from him in terror. She had witnessed the evil deeds committed by this Elf’s warriors in Doriath. She knew she had every reason to fear him.

    “She is gone, my lord,” she finally managed to say, desperately clutching the children to her, her arms shielding them as best she could.

    “And the Silmaril?” asked Maedhros in a quiet voice, although his eyes were ablaze and his voice betrayed the depth of his desire. As he spoke, he released his hold on Lindhwen and pulled out his sword, holding the point dangerously close to her throat.

     Maedhros’s imposing physical presence was terrifying. As he loomed over the stricken maid, his might and his menace were almost tangible.  But this time when Lindhwen spoke, her voice was steady and defiant.

    “It is gone; it is beyond your reach,” she said proudly. “My mistress has been taken by the sea, and the jewel with her.” He may be about to slay them all but she could deny him his victory.

    Maedhros’s eyes turned to fury as he looked out of the window at the long drop to the water below. As hope swiftly turned to defeat and he realised that once again he had been thwarted in his desire, he roared his frustration and rage as he murderously raised his sword above Lindhwen’s head.

   But at that moment, another Elf appeared in the doorway, in appearance very like to Maedhros, though his hair was dark, and his expression quite different.

    “Maedhros, no!” the Elf cried as he strode forward to grasp Maedhros’s hand firmly between both of his.

    “No, brother, no! You will never forgive yourself if you do this,” he added, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper. Maedhros glared at him, almost insane in his rage, and Lindhwen was quite sure he would strike him, but slowly she saw the anger leave Maedhros’s face to be replaced by dull resignation and utter weariness.

    “It is lost to us again,” he said, hoarsely, as he allowed his brother to slowly lower his sword. The two warriors stood there then, looking at each other, still and silent, as the dreadful reality came to them that once again they had needlessly committed appalling atrocities towards their own kind in their pursuit of the Silmarils. And once again, it had all been for nothing. They had failed to regain the jewel and worse, their evil oath still bound them to continue trying.  Maglor and Maedhros were now the last surviving sons of Fëanor, Amrod and Amras having died that very night in this battle of their own making.

    Many minutes passed before both warriors were pulled from their dark thoughts by the sound of sobbing coming from the two children. Maedhros then turned his attention to them.

    “Are these Eärendil’s sons?” he asked Lindhwen.

    Lindhwen nodded, unable to find again her earlier defiant courage.

    A glimmer of hope now entered Maedhros’s heart. Without consulting with his brother, he turned to the guard. “You have one chance to redeem yourself,” he said. “Bind these two and bring them with us. If they escape, I warn you now, I will run you through with a sword myself.”

   Maglor looked at his brother in astonishment and immediately protested at such treatment of ones so young.

   “They are but children,” he said. “There is no need to treat them as if they are our enemy.”

    But Maedhros, in his bitter frustration and disappointment, turned on him then.

   “Do not try to gainsay me, brother,” he roared. “I spared their lives to please you, but now I see they may yet serve some purpose. The Silmaril may resurface. Perhaps it will come into the hands of Círdan or Gil-galad. I am sure neither would wish to see harm come to the sons of Eärendil.” A gleam then appeared in his eye which chilled Lindhwen to her very core as she heard him add, “We now have something to barter with.”

   With that, he turned abruptly and stormed out of the tower.

   Maglor watched him go and sighed.  He then stood for a moment looking at the two children. They had ceased crying, but still clung fearfully to their maid. Maglor squatted on his haunches to study them more closely. They were beautiful children, more like those of the Eldar than the Edain. And their dark hair and grey eyes spoke of their distant kinship. Maglor smiled at them and held out his hand to gently touch their small faces though both boys backed away as he did so. He could not blame them; Maedhros in battle mode was a formidable and terrifying sight. They had also just witnessed their mother almost certainly jump to her death. Small wonder they looked so scared.

    The guard reappeared, approaching with ropes and thongs to bind the children’s hands, but the boys started to scream as soon as he touched them.

   “Leave them,” commanded Maglor, getting to his feet and grasping the guard’s arm. “I will deal with then.”

   “But my lord, you heard Lord Maedhros,” the guard said, dismayed. “On my life I must do as he says.”

    Maglor looked the guard in the eye and said coldly: “If you touch those children you will have not need to fear my brother for I will have run you through myself. Leave the youngsters to me.”

   The guard, caught as he was between two masters, wisely chose to obey the one present but he decided not to let any of them out of his sight.

    “How old are the children?” Maglor asked the maid as he turned his attention back to the boys.  With their unique parentage, he was rather unsure of what to make of them.

    “They are but six years old, only babies really,” replied Lindhwen. “Please my lord, if you must take them, then I beg you to take me also.”

     “You should be glad my brother has spared your life; be content with that mercy,” Maglor replied sternly, his eyes cold and hard, but he smiled at the two boys. To him they looked identical and it disconcerted him rather that he knew they had already touched his heart. But of one thing he was determined in this dreadful dawn: no harm would come to them while there was breath in his body to prevent it.

     He was sick of their oath, and this night had seen the worst yet of all the Kinslaying carried out in attempting to fulfil it. Even some of their own people, appalled at the slaughter, had turned from the battle. Some had even fought along side those of the Havens. He knew, in his heart, Maedhros felt the same but, as the eldest of Fëanor’s sons, the obligation to reclaim the Silmarils had always lain the heaviest on him, and so he still vehemently sought the fulfilment of his oath. Maglor, however, would not allow the deaths of these two small children to be a further stain on his brother’s heart. He remembered how desperately Maedhros had tried to find Dior’s sons after Celegorm’s servants had so cruelly abandoned them in the forests around Menelgroth. He had searched for them for days after the battle, and his grief had matched Maglor’s own when they had failed to find them. Maglor would protect these innocents if he could, not only for their sake, but for his brother’s as well.

   Looking at them cuddling up to the terrified maid, he relented a little and said to her kindly: “Have no fear; no harm will come to them.”

    But his attention was quickly caught by the sound of shouting from outside the tower. All Maedhros’s warriors were being instructed to depart at once. It seemed ships had been spotted sailing towards the Havens from the direction of Balar. Maedhros clearly had no wish to await an encounter with Círdan and Gil-galad. Maglor quickly scooped up the children, one under each arm and carried them down the steps to his waiting horse. Lindhwen ran after them, tears falling as she called out to them, but the guards shoved her back and she fell to the ground. Helpless, she watched as Maglor mounted his horse and perched both boys in front of him before riding swiftly after his brother.

    In despair, Lindhwen knelt and wept as the children she had cared for since their births vanished into the reek of what remained of the burning city, captives now of the last remaining sons of Fëanor.

    Great was the sorrow of Earendil and Elwing for the ruin of the havens of Sirion, and the captivity of their sons, and they feared that they would be slain; but it was not so. For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them and love grew between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor’s heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath.

Of the Voyage of Eärendil                                                                           The Silmarillion

A/N Anyone interested in discussing the difficulties of unravelling Elrond’s early years, please visit: http://inzilbeth-liz.livejournal.com/63416.html