Notes

A short story about encountering darkness and finding light. Nothing too original but needed to be written. Because. 😊 Also a bit less angsty than usually. Well… perhaps.

As always, immense thanks and hugs to Ellynn for beta-reading!

Himring, F.A. 539

This year, the spring has come early to the hills. As soon as the snow has melted and the paths are passable, I leave for the northern border. There is a shadow of fear in Maglor’s eyes as he smiles and bids me to travel safe and come back swiftly. He has always seen me off like this, with a smile and with the same blessing, but his fear for me has grown steadily. The years since Doriath have proved that I care neither for my safety nor swift return, and I can only imagine what weight must be on my brother’s heart now. Yet maybe it comforts him a little that this time I go in a company of four others. Even I am not so reckless as to travel alone after winter, a time of prowling beasts and Orcs.

Our scout discovers a band of the enemies when we are but a few hours travel from the outpost. The Orcs, twenty of them, have slipped past the border wardens and made a camp in a clearing, apparently prepared to rest until the night. We watch them unseen, from the shadows of the encircling trees, and then my men look at me with unspoken question. They have fought together with me before and likely expect me to give order to attack at once. One Noldo against four Orcs – we have done that. There will be blood and some poisoned wounds, but in the end we will most likely prevail. But as I am about to give that command, there is an unexpected, uninvited memory. Small fingers holding my hand and two pairs of large grey eyes looking up at me.

Elrond and Elros have been clinging to me ever since our travel last summer, and I have failed to understand their affection. True, I have told them stories, to keep at bay tears and loneliness and longing for their parents. I have never been unkind to them. I have never even dared to say a sharper word to the children whom we had made orphans. Still, nothing of that should merit their grief at my departure. Yet grief there was, and fierce hugs, and questions amid tears. ‘Uncle Maedhros, will you start teaching us Quenya when you return? Uncle, will you come to the river with us when you are back?’ To both these questions I answered ‘yes’, but what was a simple dismissal some days ago, now seems like a promise.

“Lord Maedhros?”

A whisper pulls me back from my thoughts; I turn back and see the intent gazes of the Noldor, sharp and unyielding as steel. They would follow me into battle without hesitation. But suddenly, behind the determined expressions and war-hardened eyes, I see more of what they are. Not merely hands wielding weapons against our bitter Enemy, but also people whose lives are too precious to be thrown away or endangered needlessly, however noble the quest. Fight we must, and cleansing the face of Endor from the filth of Morgoth is our duty, yet this time, I will not rush blindly ahead.

I do not command an immediate attack. Instead, I send a messenger to warn those at the outpost; reinforcements come by nightfall, and we destroy our enemies in a whirlwind of arrows and blades, with nary a scratch to any of our warriors. And later in the camp I sit long by the fire and wonder at my choices.

During the following days we scout the woodlands together with the border wardens. We discover no more enemies, and when I have spent at the outpost less than a week, I suddenly realize that I want to return. So, instead of remaining abroad and seeking out dangerous frays until my injuries require healer’s attention or until the thought of the silent worry in my brother’s eyes becomes unbearable, I take leave of the border wardens and turn my steed towards Himring.

When I reach the fortress, it is already late. The building looms dark upon the hill against the night sky, but there is light twinkling in some windows, and it almost feels like coming home. Almost. This is a strange, nearly forgotten feeling, but now it occurs to me that something similar has visited me several times during the last months. Since we have returned from Sirion. Since the two children are dwelling under our roof.

I stable my horse and enter the fortress, keeping my steps quiet due to the late hour. Not everyone sleeps though. Soft sounds of harp drift from the music room, and I halt in the hallway to listen. It is a hauntingly beautiful and sad melody. The tune falls silent, then starts anew, slightly changed. It is not polished yet, but when ready, it will be one of the most heart-breaking songs ever composed, a lament of something… or someone. Maglor started to play it almost at once after our return from the south, yet I have heard it only a few times, and always when returning unexpected. It is almost as if he does not want me to hear it.

I stand still listening until music falls silent. Then, unwilling to be caught spying on something my brother wants to keep hidden, I turn towards my room. It is dark as I step over the threshold and reach out towards the wall to uncover the lamp hanging there. But ere my hand touches it, darkness closes its grip on me firmly, and I freeze. This will be one of those nights. A night when memories will keep me awake, or, if I will succeed to fall asleep, they will trap me in their net and force to live through the past in nightmares. Alqualondë. Angband. Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Doriath. Sirion.

Once, in Valinor, darkness was laced with starlight, and golden flowers swayed there on slender stems. Once, I loved the soft, warm comfort of the night. No longer. Now, night is cold, and torches burn in the darkness; their dull light falls in pools of blood on white stone piers. Burning wood crackles sharply, and dark smoke rises skywards. Shadows lurk in the darkness now, shadows with groping hands and hard, biting claws, with burning eyes full of malice and hatred. There are screams and harsh laughter. There is silence of death as dust settles on the battlefield. There is clash of weapons echoing in vaulted caverns. There are cries of children, forsaken in winter woodland. There is a brief flash of otherworldly light ere it disappears under waves. And there are two blossoms of wild white rose upon a stone-clad burial mound overlooking the Sea.

Without another step further I turn abruptly and leave the room. I do not want to remain alone with the memories. The guards in the dimly lit corridors are used to me wandering around the keep, and sometimes it seems to me that not only the living are about in the fortress at night. The stone floors still recall the steps of those who dwelt here before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, those whose bones are now covered with grass on the Hill of the Slain. I remember all their names and repeat them to myself as I walk slowly along the hallway. That is all I can do to honour their memory.

Suddenly a flicker of movement catches my attention, and I spin around towards one of the benches set in the niches along the wall. Cautiously I approach the shadowed corner, and my hand closes around the hilt of the dagger I wear at my belt. There is a quiet gasp, and then I look in the frightened eyes of a child who sits there, nay, who is curled in a ball upon the bench – knees drawn up, arms tight around them. I release the weapon.

“Elros, what are you doing here?”

There is no reply save another gasp and another terrified look in wide grey eyes. Elros’ lip trembles. He is on the verge of tears, and I realize – the boy likely does not recognize me, a tall, cloaked shape, looming dark against the half-light.

“Elros, it is me. Do not be afraid.” I pull back my cloak and take a step closer to the lamp, so that its light falls on my face. “It is only me.”

“Uncle Maedhros? You are back?” His quivering voice is so low that I have to lean very close to hear him.  

“Yes, I am back. Why are you not in your room?”

He looks at me closely for a few moments, as if to assure himself of my presence. “I was afraid,” he then replies quietly. “I awoke, and the candle had burned out.”

“I see.” I sit beside him on the bench. “Was there something in your room that frightened you?”

Elros shakes his head. “No. It was just… dark. I did not want to be afraid. I willed fear to go away, but it did not go.” He bows his head, then whispers, ashamed, “I think I am a coward, uncle Maedhros.”

The boy shivers a little. It is still early in the year; the air is chilly in the hallways. His hands are cold, so I wrap him in my cloak, and he huddles close.

“You are not a coward, Elros. See, I am wandering around the fortress, too. I am also afraid of the darkness.”

He raises his face towards me, eyes wide in disbelief. “No, it cannot be, uncle! You are brave! You and my father are the bravest people in Endor!”

“Do you think those who are brave are never afraid?” I ask, wryly amused at this strange thought, even though I can guess where it comes from. I suspect that, given Elros’ unquenchable thirst for adventure stories, someone in the keep may have shared a tale or two about the Battle of Sudden Flame. “That is not so. Some of the fell things I encountered on the battlefield terrified me. And do you think your father was not afraid when he went to sea and faced the wrath of Ossë for the first time?” He looks at me, confused. “Being brave is about overcoming one’s fear,” I explain. “If you are afraid of something, it does not mean you are a coward. It simply means you still have to find your courage and face what you fear.”

“In truth?” the boy asks uncertainly.

“In truth.”

Relief flickers in Elros’ eyes. He sits still for a while, then stirs again. “But, uncle Maedhros, are then grown-ups scared of darkness too?”

“Sometimes they are. When darkness reminds them too much of evil things.”

“What… things?” A whispered question follows. “Things in that very bad place where you got your scars and lost your hand?”

I nod, hoping the boy is done questioning. I am mistaken.

“And… did you find your courage?”

Did I? Was it courage or spiteful defiance that made me raise my head and look proudly into Morgoth’s burning eyes? Was it courage or smouldering hatred that sealed my lips despite the blinding pain caused by whips and blades and other devices of torture, such as may be contrived only by a fully corrupt mind? Maybe neither. Maybe it was some wild, desperate hope that my bearing might unleash the cruelty of my torturers so much as to sever the bond between my spirit and my body, to free me from the consequences of my own terrible choices…? But these are not the answers I can give Elros who looks at me with intent, questioning eyes.

“I hope so,” I softly reply.

“I know you did.” The boy hugs me tightly. He is silent until he has thought of the next question. “Uncle Maedhros, what can we do about the darkness?”

“What do you think?”

Elros’ brow furrows in thought. “We could light candles,” he suggests. “Or take lamps to the room.”

“We could.” I agree. “But sometimes there are no lamps and candles at hand. Come, let us try to find some other light. Something that lasts longer.”

I lift him up, still wrapped in the folds of my cloak against the chill of the night, and we go outside, to the wall that runs around the keep. There I halt. The rolling hill plains are stretching below, and countless stars glitter overhead.

“I have never been out here at night!” the boy in my arms gasps in wonder. “And now I can see over the wall, too!” The parapet is higher than his head. “Where is the light we came to look for, uncle?” he then asks curiously, looking around.

“The light of the stars is there always,” I reply. “Elbereth made them in defiance of Darkness, and even if they are not always visible, they do not fade. Look there.” I point towards a small cloud that obscures part of the sky. The stars vanish, but then the cloud is driven away by the breeze and they appear again, glittering with the same pure radiance. “See? Darkness is a passing thing. Always remember – even behind the thickest clouds there are stars.”

Elros nods gravely. “I will remember, uncle.” Then he looks at me with question again. “And you? Did you remember the stars… there?”

“I did.”

This is a lie. I forgot them. I could not recall their white brilliance amid the red glare of smoking torches. My memory was dimmed by the agony of pain, and later the reeking smoke and fog that always wrapped the mountainside kept away everything else. I remembered the stars only in Mithrim when, on a clear winter night, Celebrimbor carried me outside for the first time since I had awoken after my rescue, too weak to stand, almost too weak to speak. Only then, looking at the starlit sky of Endor, I remembered clearly the glittering promise of Light.

But that, too, I cannot tell. I can only hope that neither Elros nor his brother will ever come to a place where Light becomes a fading memory.

We watch the sky in silence, but then Elros yawns and his head sinks on my shoulder.

“It is a pity we cannot take the stars to our rooms, uncle,” he mutters ere falling asleep.

“A pity indeed,” I say quietly, then cast one last look at the sky and go inside.

As I approach the boys’ room, I hear hurried steps around the corner, and then my brother nearly runs into me. Maglor’s face is pale, eyes wide. His obvious relief at the sight of me stabs my heart.

“Maedhros, you are back! I am so glad!” But worry fights joy in his expression. “Brother, Elros is missing!” When he notices the cloak-wrapped bundle in my arms, confusion replaces worry. “Where…?”

“We were outside, on the wall.”

“You took him outside? Without saying anybody? I was terrified! I thought…” Anger now flashes in Maglor’s gaze.

“I regret, brother. When I returned, I found Elros sitting in the hallway. He said he was afraid of the darkness in the room, so we went to look at the starlight.”

My brother’s anger fades.

“I should have remained with the boys,” he says quietly with remorse. “But they fell asleep so swiftly this evening, and without crying, so I thought…”

“You cannot sit with them every night, Maglor.”

“I could at least have left a lamp burning.”

“Darkness is a thing of this world, brother. They must understand and learn to accept it.”

Maglor nods. Still, ere entering the boys’ room, he takes one of the lamps that hangs on a chain in the hallway.

Elrond sleeps soundly and does not even stir when we enter. But Elros, when I attempt to put him in the bed beside his brother, half-awakes and clutches at my garment. When I attempt to pry loose his fingers, he whimpers and tightens his grasp. Beside me, Maglor laughs softly.

“Just like Caranthir when he was little. If he fell asleep in your arms, there he remained. You will have to stay here tonight, brother.”

Instead of helping me to get rid of my burden, my brother gently moves Elrond to one side of the bed, to make room for me.

“Thank you.” I attempt to fill my words with indignation, but that only amuses Maglor.

“You are most welcome.”

After one more unsuccessful attempt to put Elros to bed I realize that it will not happen without a fit of crying, and I surrender. Thankfully, the bed is large enough. I stretch on my back on the edge, resolved to wait until the boy will be asleep so deeply that I will be able to free the handfuls of my shirt from his fists without waking him. This intent must be plain on my face. Maglor’s lips curve in a smile again, and I realize I have not seen such peace in his eyes for a very long time. My irritation vanishes.

“It is good to see you glad again, brother,” I speak my mind.

He nods, but then sparks of mirth fade in his gaze, and he considers me closely.

“It is good to see you return home swiftly and unscathed.”

“Forgive me.” I avert my gaze, as sudden feeling of guilt washes over me. I have given so little thought to Maglor’s fear before. But then I gather my courage and meet my brother’s eyes that have never looked at me with reproach, no matter how disastrous my choices have been. “Forgive me,” I repeat. “I have been reckless and selfish. While I should have been a support to you, I was merely another cause of concern. But I promise not to endanger myself needlessly anymore. Nor anyone else.”

A relieved smile appears on Maglor’s face. “I am glad to hear that.”

He briefly rests his hand on my shoulder, then brushes fingers over the dark head on my chest, sits down on a chair and reaches for Elrond’s small practice harp. I say no more but lie quietly, listening to the soft breathing of children and to the melody of an old lullaby my brother is playing. With this tune, Elros should soon be asleep fast enough, so that I can leave the room to haunt the hallways or to stand upon the wall until dawn colours the eastern sky golden. At dawn, the shadows always fade. So it will be this time also. At dawn…

---

I awake with sunlight on my face and two pairs of grey eyes looking at me.

“Good morning, uncle!”

“Good morning!” I return the greeting, sit up and look around, still dazed by the sleep. My cloak is folded over the back of a chair, my boots set neatly on the floor. Instead of a terror-filled night, I have had a long and peaceful rest.

“Uncle, we are so glad you are back!” Two pairs of arms hug me tightly.

“I am glad to be back too.”

And, to my own astonishment, I realize that it is true. For the first time since we travelled back from Sirion I allow myself the thought that my brother’s counsel to foster the twins may bring some good, rather than evil.